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frannyzooey · 1 month ago

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On The Green: 5

Ezra Prospect x f!reader

Rating: M — some prospecting violence

A/N: I cannot even tell you how much this chapter kicked my rear end — it would have never been finished without the love and care and hand holding of @the-scandalorian and @the-ginger-hedge-witch ❤️ Both extremely insightful in their own ways, I am eternally grateful to each of them ❤️ Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

—

All morning he’s been watching you when he thinks you aren’t looking.

The weight of his gaze on your back every time you turn around, logic argues it’s because he’s guiding you into something he knows you’re nervous about. But in the end, shame wins out. It tells you that he knows what you were doing last night while he was in the shower. You contemplate just asking him directly, if only to relieve the feeling, to get it out in the open.

Instead, you keep your mouth closed and decide to put your focus where it should be in the first place.

“Go over it again,” you ask him.

He nods underneath the dome of his helmet, carefully picking his way along a nearly invisible path.

“It’s a wreck. Been one for a while. I came across it a few cycles back, but once I saw that she was no longer functional, I cut my losses. Went through her innards, took what I could – which,” he looks back at you, “mind you, wasn’t much.”

He faces forward again, holding a branch to the side for you to pass. You step carefully over a thick root, accepting the hand that he holds out for help.

“She had been long abandoned even then, so I don’t think we’ll encounter any unsavory protectors today.”

You can tell from the state of the path that he must be telling the truth. The indentation made by long ago steps is covered by overgrowth, a trench you can only feel rather than see. The ground slopes underneath the creeping vines, the crooked line of it hidden by lush leaves. You follow his yellow suit like a beacon, the color a distinct contrast against all the green.

With each step, nerves unfurl in your stomach at the idea that he might be wrong. That there might be another person there, just as eager to keep what’s theirs as you are to take it. The feeling creeps through your veins like the thick vines that crawl over the soil, and keeping your eyes on the familiar yellow in front of you, you squash down the nervousness with every break of one under your boot.

“Slow now. She’s close.”

He holds a gloved hand out to the side, and you peek around the curve of his shoulder. Just beyond the trees, there’s a pod covered in overgrowth, a relic left behind. The windows are yellowed with age, mildew growing over their oval openings.

The hatch is closed, and the area is silent and still.

He takes careful, scouting steps and you follow close behind him.

“Weapon out, Birdie.”

Your thrower already in your grasp, you tighten your hold on it.

You focus on his breathing for a moment, slow and steady through the speaker in your helmet.

“You good?” His voice crackles over the comm link.

When you look up, he meets your gaze with a level one of his own. Patient, checking in.

At the hesitation you can feel in your expression, he reassures. “I promise you, any occupants are long gone.” Reaching out, he lifts the barrel of your thrower. “Still though, can’t be too careful.”

You nod, and he takes the lead, shielding you.

The hatch takes some strength to pry open, and though you should be more nervous about what – or who — you might find inside, you’re temporarily distracted by the sound coming through your commlink. Heavy exhales, low grunts. A low groan of exertion as he pulls, followed by a breathless sound of relief.

The crux of your thighs throbs, and as he disappears into the hatch, you scramble up behind him, right on his heels. There is a tense moment as he rounds the corner, but when he gives you the all clear, your shoulders drop their pressured weight. Relaxed, you both study the disarray in front of you.

Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust: the shards of broken monitor glass scattered on the floor, the torn seats with stuffing spilling out, the stripped panels from the wall. It’s easy to find the compartment you’re looking for: a gaping hole in the middle of the floor, wires spilling from its depths.

You curse silently. “Someone’s been in there.”

“They take everything?” he asks. Using the tip of his pistol, he nudges the lid off the top of a storage compartment and peers inside.

“I’m not sure.”

Setting your thrower and gloves to the side, you get down on all fours and reach into the open compartment. A tangle of wires obstructs your view and your fingers sift through them all, searching by touch alone.

Your arm disappears all the way up to the shoulder before you locate the sharp edge of the circuit board. Grasping it, you lift it free with a sharp tug. It takes forever to ease it out, but when you do, a grin breaks over your face.

Two converters. Worse for wear, but it’s something. Not near what you need, but it still feels like a victory nonetheless. Carefully detaching them from the board, you hold them out for his inspection, cradled in your palm.

“Look at you, my little channel rat.”

His levity sucks all of the remaining tension from the room.

You grimace. “What did you call me?”

“A channel rat. Your little scavenging fingers, digging through the depths of a ship for a treat.”

Dismissing his teasing smile, you shake your head. “Didn’t you tell me once that those things reeked of piss?”

He chuckles. “I did indeed.”

Going back to the hole in the floor, you study the wires left behind for possible scavenging. “If you call me that even one more time, I’ll shoot you in the back.”

His grin widens at your deadpan delivery.

“Deal.”

–

Back in the safety of your own pod, you pull in deep inhales of fresh air as soon as you lift your helmet off. There is a certain sort of pleasure to it, feeling the recycled air hit your cheeks. Inside the helmet, it’s humid and sticky, the blower pack in your suit not enough to combat the heat from your body. It’s built to keep you cool, but under the helmet, your hair sticks to your nape and your forehead with sweat. Under the helmet, your stale breath blows back into your face. Under the helmet, you feel like you can’t breathe sometimes - which is ironic, given the reason for it in the first place.

Ezra stands close, tossing his helmet down to fumble with the zipper of his suit.

That sound. You can hear it in your sleep. No different than the sound of your own zipper being tugged down, and yet, somehow, it is. You envision the entire scene with startling clarity every night: his bare fingers working the clasp, his suit falling away from his body, the sound underneath it all.

“You good?” He checks on you, and when you nod your head but don’t say anything, he bends his gaze to your level. The stark lighting of the pod makes his eyes look even darker, and his hand comes to rest on your shoulder. Right at the edge of your neckline, the heat of his palm brushes against your skin. “You sure?”

“Yea,” you reassure him, trying to ignore the weight behind your navel his touch brings. “It went good. Really good.”

“I think so,” he replies. “I’m impressed. Our first job as a duo, gone off without a hitch.”

He winks, squeezing your shoulder for a brief moment. When his hand slides away, you stop your body from chasing it.

“Here.” His voice pulls you from your reverie, a cleaning kit held outwards towards you. “You do this, and I’ll do dinner?”

Nodding, you take it from him.

Cross-legged on your cot, you enjoy the sounds of domesticity filling the pod: the gentle scrub of your steel cleaning brush, the clink of a metal pan on the stove, a spoon swirling along the bottom of the pan as Ezra stirs. His humming joins the din, and you glance up at him.

If there was something that you’d never have expected from your first confrontation with the man, a scene like this would be at the top of the list. When your attraction initially began, it used to eat you up inside thinking about how you didn’t know him. You felt immature and foolish thinking about how the feelings were rooted in loneliness, sprouting from a life lacking attention and flourishing in close proximity. However, as scenes like the one in front of you became more common, it was easier to accept it.

The want that you feel coats the space like the dust that lingers in the air outside; ever present, in every breath you take. You try to ignore it, a small pocket of embarrassment bubbling up every time you think about approaching him, though he seems like the type who would be into whatever arrangement you’d propose. Especially given how long he’s been alone. Not only that, but the way in which he carries himself suggests he’s ever fluid, open for whatever comes his way. Adaptable, a side effect of his lifestyle you’re sure.

You know better though.

His carefree conversation is practiced, a facade. One meant to disarm and distract. You’re fairly certain he’s past that stage with you, given not only the amount of time you’ve spent together, but also the way he looks at you. Unguarded, in the morning after he wakes or in the evening, right before he goes to bed. Distracted, letting himself slip into thought, his eyes hooded as his tongue slides slowly across his bottom lip.

Sometimes though, sometimes you see him looking at you in the same way he looks at others: like they are something to study, his eyes keenly assessing.

That look always gives you pause. No matter how much you know he’d probably say yes, his motives are the question you’d really want answered.

Picturing the bare skin along his ribs that rippled in his stretch the other day when he emerged from the shower, you silently flex your hand, mentally fitting your fingers along the velvet skin. Safe in the secrecy of your own mind, you let your daydreams flourish – a bubble that pops when he approaches your cot.

“Not a feast, by any means,” he says, sitting down next to you. “But it’ll do.”

You accept the bowl gratefully, steam rising from its contents. He blows on his spoon, taking a bite. The motion makes his jaw work, and when he swallows, you watch through the fringe of your eyelashes.

“You did good today.”

His easy praise just slips off his tongue, and for someone who has spent so much time in the darkness, you keen under its light.

You smile over at him, and he returns it - but only for a fraction before it drops.

He looks away, down at his food. “The next one might be a touch harder.”

“How come?” you ask, your mouth full.

“Because it’s occupied.”

You stop chewing.

His eyes flick up to meet yours. “Unattended pods are a thing of rarity. Most are occupied, and their inhabitants can be…”

You raise your eyebrows when he doesn’t finish the sentence. “Can be…?”

“Protective of what’s theirs.”

His statement hangs in the air, his expression sober.

Swallowing hard, you sit with it for a minute. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“Look,” he sighs, studying you. “I feel I should go alone, little bird.”

Frowning, you let your bowl rest in your lap. “What? Why? It’s too dangerous.”

He huffs in amusement. “You wound me with your lack of faith in my skills. I assure you, I’ve been navigating such situations alone for far longer than you’ve even been alive.”

The reminder of his age compared to yours should make you feel more at ease about his capabilities, but instead the statement temporarily distracts you. You take in his calloused hands, the lines that edge around the corners of his eyes, the grey flecks in his beard.

“I’ve taught you a lot,” he continues, “But letting the idea marinate, I believe it’s safer to keep you here.”

His suggestion catches you off guard. Everything about your arrangement has been with the word “partnership” in mind: he’s taught you how to dig, how to shoot, how to be aware of your surroundings. For him to want you to stay behind versus alongside him must mean there is something more dangerous about the situation than he’s letting on.

Not liking the idea of being separated from him, you press. “Trust me, I don’t doubt your skills. I’ve seen you in action.”

He sits up straighter, a proud smile stretching his cheeks, and you roll your eyes, undeterred.

“You’re the mechanic, I’m the muscle,” you mimic in his voice. “Weren’t those your words? If there is anyone there, you’ll deal with them so I can get the converters.”

“I’m afraid they won’t part with them as easily as your statement suggests.”

“I never thought they would.” You hold his gaze, searching. “Why don’t you want me there?”

He hesitates, and you can see a war within the depths of his eyes. Eventually, he answers, his voice softer. “I don’t want to subject you to…an avoidable confrontation. Not if I don’t have to.”

A beat of significant silence fills the space between you. Your dinners forgotten, the space around you shrinks to the size of the cot that you share. The urge to toss your bowl onto the ground and pull him to you builds the longer you sit with his statement, but there is something else about his words that tugs at the back of your mind.

You picture him walking into the Green alone, disappearing from your sight. Weeks with him at your side has you rejecting the mental image. Your stomach churns, your hand reaching out to cover his.

“If you go, I go.”

A grimace flashes over his features, the scar along his cheek highlighted for a moment. “I thought you’d say that.”

Rationally, you know he’s just trying to protect you, but you let your hand fall back, hurt. Busying yourself with your bowl again, you can feel him looking at you.

“Hey now,” he says, soft, but stern. “It’s not a lack of faith in your skills, trust me. It’s just that mercs out here are ruthless, raw. Their sensibilities have been swallowed whole by this place, and I don’t want you anywhere near them.”

His voice lowers even more, his tone gentle. “You remember what I said? About girls being rare in this place?”

You look up, and his gaze is fixed on yours, earnest and serious.

“I meant it.”

Apprehension flickers in your chest, but you remain firm in holding your ground. He can’t go alone.

“You really want to come with?” he asks.

You nod instantly. “Yes.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up, a hint of pride flashing through his eyes.

“Okay then, partner. Let’s talk about a plan.”

–

Ezra shifts on his cot, forcing his pillow into submission under his head.

“If you go, I go.”

Your words echo in his mind, your face appearing alongside. Your presence pulls at him from across the short distance between your cots, and he shifts again, rolling to face the wall.

He doesn’t want you to come with tomorrow.

He knows what this place is capable of, the way it carves out the morals of men to leave them shells of desperation. He himself has fallen victim to it, and though he hasn’t often found regret in his actions, he already regrets agreeing to let you come. He’s been here long enough to know that a partner is crucial to survival, but you…you’re unprecedented. You’re a girl. You’re something no one has seen in a long time, and he worries (an emotion he’s not used to) about how they’ll react when they see you.

If it’s anything like the way he reacts to you, you’re both in trouble.

You stir behind him, and he listens. You shift again, and he stills his breath.

The idea that you might be restless with the want you sated last night blossoms in his mind, heat pooling behind his navel. His fingers lightly scratch the wiry hair underneath it, just over where he aches. His cock twitches in interest, and distracting himself from the thought of everything that could go wrong tomorrow, he immerses himself in the thought of you.

You, right behind him, feet away.

You, trying to be quiet, slick need gathering between your thighs.

You, slipping your hand underneath the band of your leggings.

A phantom stickiness smears across the tips of his fingers, and they twitch against his skin. He teases at the band of his thermals, pretending his hand is yours. He moves it slowly, imagining your hesitation - eager, yet shy.

He thickens fully at the thought.

Unpracticed at hiding his attraction towards someone, he’s testing the limits of his self restraint with every minute spent in your presence. Constantly reminding himself of how vulnerable you are, the idea that you’d go along with any sort of proposition out of intimidation makes him sick. But you wanting it? You making the first move?

His hand (your hand) creeps a little lower, brushing against the base of his cock. It’s stiff to the touch, and he closes his eyes – only to be assaulted with the idea of someone else grabbing your hand to force it underneath their pants. His erection wanes, a series of images flashing through his mind: you screaming for help, you being forcibly dragged out of his sight, someone else taking from you what you never offered.

He softens.

His attachment to you is something like he’s never experienced before. This urge to keep you hidden from the world to protect you, while also helping you flourish. The need that coats him from the inside out, yet is forced to stay on a leash. It feels like a fever dream sometimes, the time he spends in the pod with you. A liminal place, a trapped sort of existence akin to hell itself in the way he wants you, but also something akin to heaven.

A companionship he’s missed, a presence he ached for and now has. Like you dropped from the sky, meant just for him.

He hears you shift again, and he frowns.

He should roll over and ask you if everything’s okay, but he knows it’s not. You’re probably worried about tomorrow and you should be. You’re as ready as you’ll ever be — as ready as this place will allow you to become before you’re thrown into the heat of the fire.

He also shouldn’t because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop himself. If he rolls over, he’ll see you — see your shadowed form in the darkness, the dips and curves of your body. He pictures himself being drawn to it, crawling the distance between your cots. Settling close to you, feeling the heat of your skin. Murmured, dulcet tones of soothing. His hands smoothing away your nerves.

His mouth being drawn to yours in the dark intimacy of the night.

He wants to tuck your face into the crook of his neck and tell you it will be fine.

But he doesn’t know if it will be, and so he stays still, guilt eating at his restless bones.

—

The pod stands alone in the clearing, silent and imposing.

Boot prints have tamped down the soil surrounding it, the greenery eaten away. The tracks are fresh, and they lead in every direction.

“How many do you think there are?”

Hidden in the green together, you speak lowly even though no one is tuned into your frequency but Ezra.

“Hard to say. I’d judge two, maybe three.” He shifts, trying to get a better view. “The size of their vessel doesn’t say much for numbers. Can’t be more than that.”

“Do you think they’re in there?”

Noting no sign of life surrounding the pod, you try to peer in the windows from afar to spot any movement.

He sighs, a heavy and resigned thing through your connection. He turns his head, and you do the same, facing each other.

“Unfortunately, Birdie, we won’t know until we open the door.”

He checks the charge on his pistol, flicking his eyes to your weapon in a motion for you to do the same. “You ready?”

Nodding, you grip your thrower. “Ready.”

Standing from your hidden spot, he takes an automatic lead in front of you. His slinking steps are careful, his breathing steady and measured. The dust motes surrounding you make the whole thing seem like a suspended dream, like you’re moving in slow motion along with them. For every step he takes, you do the same until you’re moving as mirror images, creeping closer and closer.

Anticipation and adrenaline have your entire body on high alert, yet the green around you remains eerily calm. There is no movement and no sound other than the gentle rustle of the trees, and while that would normally be muted underneath the dome of your helmet, your straining ears pick it up. A bead of sweat glides down the back of your neck, your eyes focused on Ezra’s back as he reaches the pod.

His gloved hand strokes down the smooth metal of the hatch, searching for an opening. When he finds it, you can hear a terse smile in his exhale of relief.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “You gonna open up for me?”

He works the latch open with force, and you spot check the edges of the clearing. Your heart is beating so fast you can feel it in your chest, and in contrast, Ezra seems as calm as ever. You think about your own pod in the middle of a similar clearing, and how your role has reversed in your weeks here. Once the trapped person inside, now the intruder seeking what belongs to someone else.

The hatch opens, and you crawl in behind him.

It’s empty inside, though clearly in use. Two cots are pushed against the wall, blankets and pillows crumpled on top of them. Thermals litter the floor, metal dishes are stacked next to the small sink, and there is a station of cleaning tools left out, as if someone stopped mid-task.

“Speed is of the essence, little bird.”

His voice grounds you, your eyes immediately scanning the floor. It takes a minute to find the sealed compartment, but you catch the edge of it underneath one of the cots.

“Help me move this,” you ask him, picking your way over to the panel. While you’re careful with your steps, he stomps without care on anything in his way: discarded papers on the floor, a dirty shirt. He lifts the cot with a grunt, and you drop to your knees.

The panel springs open and sifting through the wires, you wish you stopped to take your helmet off. It’s hard to get close enough to the floor with the dome limiting how close you can get, and a small huff of frustration slips from your mouth as you stick your arm down, down, down, stretching it as much as you can.

Just when you’ve reached your limit, you feel the edge of the panel.

“Anything there?” He delivers the question calmly, though you can hear the slight tone of urgency that slips through.

“Got it,” you grit through your teeth, tugging it free.

The edges of it catch on the neat wiring that surrounds it, and impatiently, you tear through it all. Lifting it from the floor, your eyes widen.

“Ten. There are ten, Ez.”

You look up at him in awestruck wonder, and he returns a tight smile.

“Speedy now. Show me how you use those nimble fingers of yours.”

You click them off with practiced precision, trying to tamp down the elation that you feel at the added weight of each one in the pouch attached to your hip. When you have all ten, you toss the panel back into the nest of wires and slip the lid back into place. Standing to get out of his way, you watch as Ezra unceremoniously drops the cot back onto the floor.

He smiles at you, a genuine one this time. “You did so good, Birdie. So good.”

Relief floods your chest at his praise. Your stomach has been in knots all morning, worsening as you sat in the bush and waited, and though you know you’re not out of danger yet, you take a moment to let your victory wash over you. A sudden, fierce wish to be back in your own pod with him takes you by surprise, a burning need to throw your helmet off and have him do the same so you can kiss him. Your body subconsciously leans forward, drawn to the idea and to him and to the need to have his praise breathed directly into your mouth for you to swallow.

A similar look flashes across his own dark features, and there is a beat of weighted tension. It swirls in the space between you, filling it — and breaking, when he grabs your hand.

He gives it a squeeze, leading you back towards the hatch. “Come on. Before they get back.”

Following the back of his suit out of the pod, you notice the surroundings of the clearing seem brighter, less ominous. The dust that floats through the air no longer seems threatening and nightmarish, but more like a pleasant dream. You take in the details for the first time today, your eyes fixed where the tops of the trees brush the sky – disappearing when you’re ripped from behind with a sudden, forceful jerk backwards.

“Ezra!”

Your thrower gets tossed from your hand, and the air is pushed from your lungs as your back hits the ground with a thud. You kick wildly and try to scramble up, and a sharp kick from behind keeps you trapped in place, forcing you onto your front.

Coughing, you lift your head under the helmet, but the edges of the dome obstruct your view. Straining, you squirm underneath the heavy pressure of a boot on your back, fighting to see where Ezra is. You can see only his boots, toe to toe with a stranger’s.

The voice above you is grizzled and deep. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Looking for something we need,” Ezra drawls, and though you can’t see his face, you can picture it. The truthful admission comes out slow and confident. “We found it, so we’ll be on our way.”

You hear the charge of a thrower above you, and Ezra’s boots shift slightly. It’s a special sort of hell to hear him through the comm link without being able to see him.

“Go in there and see what the fuck they took,” orders the man pinning you to the ground.

You see his partner's boots walk out of your sight, and hear him climb the ramp to the pod.

“You stay right there,” he warns Ezra. “One move and I’ll shoot your partner here.”

Lifting your torso with a grunt, you shift just enough to get Ezra in your sights before the boot on your back forces you back down. Even though you’re prone and he’s being held at gunpoint—both at the mercy of a stranger—reassurance floods through you at just being able to see his face.

“That would be…regrettable.”

The shift in Ezra’s expression is cold and menacing, his fingers flexing slightly on the grip of his pistol.

“That so?” the man teases. His boot wiggles, shoving you deeper into the soil. “Feels kinda scrawny. Can’t imagine what use he is to you for someone so small.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ezra counters.

“Let’s see him.”

The words take you by surprise, just like the swift jerk of your shoulders. He flips you faster than you can react, his boots coming down to step on your arms and the tip of his thrower aims directly at your face – his eyes wide with surprise right above it.

“Is this – is this a girl?”

Your boot flies up to kick him in the back, and he grunts but doesn’t budge. You do it again, and he presses the muzzle of his thrower into your chest.

“Do it again and see what happens.” Antsy, he glances up in the direction of the pod and yells to his partner. “What the fuck is taking you so long?”

Taking advantage of his split second of distraction, you use every ounce of strength you have to bow your back off the ground just enough to catch him by surprise. His boots falter, taking the pressure off your arms and you quickly sit up, driving your elbows into his thighs. He growls in frustration, trying to keep his thrower on you while also bending to swipe for your leg, and you scramble backwards in the soil. Your boots slide on the damp earth, your gloved fingers digging into the ground for purchase and there is a sharp crack in the air as Ezra aims his pistol at the man and misses. You flinch, crawling backwards to get out of the man’s reach, and panic cuts through you when you hear the stomp of boots coming down the ramp.

“What the hell –”

Those are the only words the man gets out before you hear more cracking shots, and then he’s falling backwards, dead, onto the ground.

“You son of a bitch!” The man who had you pinned lunges for Ezra, his thrower tossed to the side, a knife in his hand instead.

Ezra abandons his own weapon, throwing himself at the stranger. You watch helplessly as two of them hit the ground, fighting for control of the knife. Crawling towards Ezra’s gun, you stretch your hand towards the weapon when you hear it.

“Just wait till I kill you,” the man warns between his teeth. “I’m gonna fuck that girl raw. Right here. Right next to your dead fucking –”

A grizzled choking sound cuts off the man’s words, and you whirl to face them just in time to see Ezra jerking the knife out of the man’s neck. Blood spurts across Ezra’s gloves, and he shoves the knife down again, and again. The force behind it is immense, Ezra’s face contorted in a look you’ve never seen before. His jabs are ruthless and quick, cutting and deep, and his arm speeds up, his face in a rage-filled trance, his eyes wild and cold all at the same time.

“Mine,” you hear him between heavy breaths, between each plunge. “She’s mine.”

Frozen, you watch in a morbid sort of fascination, but also in relief.

He doesn’t stop stabbing until the man is long dead.

—

The walk back to the pod is as quick as it can be, with Ezra’s weight leaning heavily on your side. All traces of joy and victory have long vanished, and the two of you say nothing to each other as you trudge along the hidden path.

His expression as he killed that man plays on repeat in your mind the whole way, along with his words.

“She’s mine.”

Though he’s trying to mask his pain, his grip on your hip tells you the truth, as does his labored breathing. You didn’t see it happen, but the man must have hit his mark at least once, judging from a telltale stain of dark red smeared across the front of Ezra’s suit. It seems to take forever to get back, and with every step, his wound gets worse and worse in your mind.

Finally back inside your pod, you strip and toss everything carelessly onto the ground.

“I need the med kit,” he groans, collapsing against the wall. His movements are jerky as he rips his helmet off, and then his gloves, using his teeth. “Fuck,” he sighs, his eyes pinched closed.

He’s pale, his sweat matted hair stuck to his forehead and you kneel in front of him with the kit, rifling through the contents.

“What do you need?”

His hand splays protectively over his lower stomach. “He got me through my suit, just here.” He shifts, a loud groan breaking free when he peels down the top of his suit. He rolls it to the waist, and gingerly pushing the fabric down, you see his thermals underneath, stained dark and saturated with blood.

He lifts it, and you wince.

“Looks worse than it is,” he breathes heavily, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“It looks pretty bad, Ez. Really bad.”

His stomach is matted and smeared with blood, and at the center of it all, a gash.

He holds his hand out for gauze, dabbing at the wound with a hiss. “See?” His stomach flinches, and he wipes it again before looking at you. “A stitch or two should do it.”

“You sure?” you ask, and he nods, letting his head fall to the side as he looks away.

“In you? Always.”

Your fingers tremble slightly when you flick open the med kit, and then rote memory takes over. You’ve done this – your father used to stumble home all the time with various gashes. Bar fights, brawls in alley ways. Prospectors are a rough crowd, and you’d stitched him up more than once. This is just like that, only better because you don’t have someone yelling at you to do it faster – but also worse, because you care about this person more. The thought leaps into your mind, and knowing you don’t have time to dwell on it, you shove it away.

Ezra flinches at the touch of your hand against his bare stomach, his muscles tensing under your fingers.

You pause, and he lets out a nervous laugh.

“Sorry. Cold hands.”

You give him an apologetic smile.

“Keep going.”

You take your time disinfecting the wound, making sure all traces of dirt are gone. Your hand sweeps across this skin more than once, trying not to think about all the ways you imagined touching his stomach for the first time. It’s soft under your fingertips, a slight round to his lean belly and though his neck is taut with tension, he remains still under your exploration. You want him to look at you: for reassurance, for acknowledgement of your hands on his skin – but he is resolute, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall.

Setting your rag down, you pick up the stapler.

“You ready?”

He nods.

Using one hand to pinch his flesh together, you brace the stapler against his skin, blood smearing on the metal. You punch the first one through, and he hisses, his hand gripping your wrist.

“Shit. Shit. Keep going.”

His breathing has turned into panting, his eyes clenched tight. You slide it along his skin an inch, and then punch another one.

The groan he lets out would be filthy, if not for the situation you’re in. It’s a strained, long thing — his head tipped back, veins highlighted along his neck and you toss the stapler to the side, pressing fresh gauze against the wound.

“All done. It’s done.”

He nods, a tired smile gracing his face. Leaning forward, he keeps one hand on his stomach and you watch nervously as he crawls onto his cot. He falls back onto his pillow, calmer now, but still pale.

“My thanks, Birdie.”

He slips into a stress-induced sleep, and you look at him for a moment before cleaning up.

At the sink, you notice his red hand print around your wrist. The blood had pooled between his fingers, the digits a slick slide over your small wrist and you brush your thumb over the marks he left behind. It looks violent, yet there is a part of you that likes it. Being branded with him, a part of him smeared into your skin.

You hesitate to wash it off.

—

He sleeps, and you keep watch.

You had worried for your father sometimes, but it was nothing like this. In the small amount of time that you’d come to know him, Ezra already meant more to you than your own father ever did.

In the dark, you finally let yourself dwell on the realization.

Your father had never truly been a father. He was more of a stranger, or a roommate at best. He dragged you down with him, keeping you close enough to use you when he needed. He was never invested in you, never cared what you thought or wanted. You never needed him for anything, but Ezra…Ezra you need. You need him to survive and get off this planet, but you also need him more than that. Deeper than that.

The respect and courtesy he treats you with is something that surprised you, given the way you met. In a short while though, you’ve come to realize it’s exactly what’s been missing from your life this whole time. His curiosity and interest is genuine, and his care for you — especially after the events of today — is obvious.

She’s mine.

Did he say that because it’s true? Or because he needs everyone else to believe it’s true?

His lashes flutter, a dream seemingly racing through his slumber and you watch the movement of his eyes under his lids. His fingers flex, and without thinking, you place your hand on top of his.

He stills, and so do you.

The minutes and hours slip by, the moon slowly making its way from one pod window to another and you keep your vigil all the while. He murmurs in his sleep, and you cradle the curve of his jaw. Even after he stops, you keep your hand in place.

Your thumb traces the line of the scar on his cheek - a hooked thing, violent. He never told you how he got it, and you long for him to wake up and regale you with the story. He’d make a meal out of it, you know he would.

When he doesn’t stir, you continue your exploration.

Delicate touches: a swipe over his silken eyelid, a trace down the line of his nose. The bristle of his moustache tickles the pad of your thumb, a direct contrast against the smooth patch of skin on his jawline where there is no hair.

He’s a killer, and you wonder how many have gotten as close as this.

She’s mine.

He’s right — you are. In a short while you have become his. The juxtaposition of the man you saw today versus the man in front of you now is jarring, as if he couldn’t be the same man at all. And maybe he’s not, for anyone else. But for you, he is.

You get both, and while you should have been scared by the way he savagely killed today, you instead find yourself proud. You find yourself drawn to it, admiration and assurance and a sense of protection swirling around in your mind.

He did that for you, something no one has ever done.

Emboldened by this knowledge and drawn to his profile in the dark, you rest on his firm chest, and your fingers splay outwards over his heart.

Leaning down, you press your lips lightly against his.

–

He’s been awake for a while.

He has wished for you like this so many times. Just like this, only he never imagined himself like this. Just his luck that his wish comes true, but at a cost.

You’re so close, your face hovering just above his. He can smell the sweetness of your breath, of your skin. The way you’re looking at him has been one he’s only ever seen in his dreams, and though his body aches with a hidden want that threatens to consume, he stays perfectly still, not wanting it to end.

He’s never been touched like this by anyone, and it takes everything he has to keep his eyes closed — until he feels you press your lips against his.

He responds instantly, his hand coming up to cup the crown of your head.

Your kiss is so soft — soft and delicate and vulnerable, just like you. Your mouth fits neatly against his own, and before he can truly savor it, it’s gone.

He opens his eyes and your shadowed form comes into focus, your proximity intoxicating. His dream come to life.

His hand slides down the back of your hair, settling on your neck. Holding you place, he can see the vulnerability that seeps out of your every pore, and he longs to soothe you. If he knew what he should soothe, he would.

He knows what he wants to soothe, but he waits.

“What are you doing, Birdie?” he whispers.

Your eyes flit between his, and you bite your lip, thinking. He watches as you war with yourself inside your head, and his touch drifts to cup your cheek. His thumb slides across the soft curve of it, and when his eyes dip to your mouth, he watches your expression change to something more assured.

Confident, resolute.

“This,” you whisper back, bending down for another kiss.

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect/you #ezra prospect/reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x reader #ezra/you #ezra/reader

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bubblebaththoughts · 1 year ago

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Oral

Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

kinkmas masterlist

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, oral!fem receiving, masturbation, voyeurism

Neteyam couldn’t lie, he was always curious about you, more curious than he was spider, as the two of you were both sky people. But he figured that Na’vi males were similar to human males, but you? How did human females function? He wanted to know.

Kiri once told him that human females bleed a lot every month and he couldn’t help but wonder if that was true or if she was just messing with him.

You were his gateway to knowledge.

But as of recently, you two haven’t spent more than five minutes alone together. He would try and catch you out at the base, where you and spider would spend some time there, but you brushed him off, using any and every excuse in the book.

Neteyam called it simple curiosity. Lo’ak called it a crush.

“Next time she goes to use the bathroom just corner her.” Lo’ak suggested, lowly so you wouldn’t hear.

“No, that’s creepy.” Neteyam elbowed him in the side

“You’re never going to get her alone if you won’t even talk to her.” Lo’ak shrugged, rubbing the spot Neteyam had elbowed

“Why are you such a bother today, baby bro?” Neteyam seethed

Lo’ak put his hands up in surrender, “Whatever.”

You spotted a tree with fruit about, thirty or forty feet away, and you ran as fast as you feet could take you, it had been hours since you had eaten at this point and you would take anything.

“Lo’ak! I need help!” You yelled back

“Ah! Now is your chance bro! Go help her.” Lo’ak urged him

“Thanks bro.” Neteyam smiled back at his brother

You stood waiting, facing the tree with your back turned.

Neteyam came up behind you and picked the fruit for you.

You saw the blue hand and arm and smiled, turning back to greet Lo’ak Neteyam? “Neteyam?”

Neteyam’s heart wrenched as your smile fell.

“Is there something wrong, Tawtute?” He asked, not letting the growing frown over come his face

“No.” You grimace, “I was just expecting Lo’ak.”

“Ah, well I’m taller, better for fruit picking.” He smiled down at you

“Better for fruit picking?” You giggle, teasing his choice of words “You’re so funny Neteyam.”

You take the fruit from his hand, placing it in your bag. “Can we head back? I’m starving.”

“Yeah… me too.” Neteyam shakily whispered, his eyes trained on your hips as they swayed away from him

He could smell you from here, his mouth was watering. It was a relatively short and quiet walk back to the place you called home, it was an old botany lab that Jake and Mo’at had let you move closer to the clan.

It was definitely less of a lab now, more like your own haven that you could always retreat to. Neteyam loved to visit you in there because you didn’t have to wear that damn mask.

“Where did Lo’ak run off to anyways?” You asked

Neteyam shrugged, looking around for his baby brother, who had seemingly disappeared.

“Oh well, just me and you for today then?” You smiled up at him

“Yeah… Just me and you.” He couldn’t find it in himself to smile back down at you, not with the disgusting thoughts that ran through his mind, how could he let himself think about you like this?

Like right now, he wants to bend you over a tree root, rip off all of your tawtute clothing, and then take you to his heart’s content.

The rest of the walk to your home was mainly silent.

Neteyam had to duck through your door to get in, closing it behind him so you could take of your bulky mask. He turned around to grab one of the masks that you had saved for them, putting it around his neck and taking a small inhale of the “CO2” as you called it, before bring it back down to let it hang around his neck.

Meanwhile, you were busy cutting up the fruit he helped you pick.

Well, struggling to cut the fruit. You had a simple knife, much smaller than his, much duller than his.

He removed his own knife, scooting you out of the way and began to cut the rest of the fruit.

“I had it, you know.” You pouted up at him

“Sure you did.” He smirked down at you, finishing up the rest

He brings a piece to you, close to your face, expecting you to take it from him.

“I’m not eating from your hand, Neteyam, just give it to me.” You tried to take it from him but he held you back

“Such a violent and stubborn girl aren’t you?” Neteyam chuckled

You roll your eyes, letting him feed you the deliciously juicy fruit. The juice dribbled down your chin as you took another bite and suddenly all of Neteyam’s dirty thoughts returned.

Like how you would look with the tip of his cock in your mouth, with his cum dribbling down your chin instead of fruit juice. Or how well he just knew you would be able to take him.

He knew at this point, he was hard as a rock, but his pelvis was against your counter so you didn’t know, yet,

Neteyam cleared his throat, swiftly turning around towards the door with a strained “Sorry, I have to leave.”

You watch him in confusion as he practically ran away. Frantically you put on your mask to tell him goodbye but he was too quick. He didn’t go in the direction of the clan, so you followed him, like one does.

He was up against a tree when he stopped. Sweat very lightly covered his forehead. You had to stop yourself from gasping as he palmed his hard-on.

Quickly, his loincloth was discarded, letting his hard cock out.

Wow.

Your jaw dropped, he was so big.

The sun is setting behind the trees, and his silhouette is illuminated by the golden light, and his body is still and tense. You know what he's about to do, and you feel an odd thrill pass through you.

You see his shoulders rise and fall with each breath he takes, and you can sense the intensity of the moment.

Before you can truly process what's happening, his hands move faster, and his breathing becomes heavier. You can see his body trembling, and the tension radiating off of him is palpable.

Suddenly, a low moan escapes his lips, and it's enough to make your heart race. You can feel your own body heat rising, and a strange ache blooms in your belly.

You watch, mesmerized, as he writhes and moans in pleasure. His motions become faster and more frantic, and you can't help but be fascinated by the intensity of the experience.

When he finally reaches his peak, you watch in awe, feeling a strange combination of guilt and pleasure. You can't help but admire the beauty of the moment, and you feel strangely connected to him right now.

Suddenly, his eyes snap in your direction, he can sense you’re there, but he hasn’t exactly spotted you, yet.

Another sound makes his head snap the other way, so you took the opportunity to sneak away.

You thought you’d gone unnoticed, until you had almost reached your hime and felt a very large, sweaty hand on your shoulder.

“Sevin…” He whispered breathlessly

Your head turned back to him, almost scared to face him. “Neteyam… I-“

“Shut up.” He mumbled, pulling your back against him, he was still hard

His whole hand covered your neck, lightly choking you.

“But-“ You tried

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up, Syulang?” He rumbled

You stay silent.

“Mm, good girl.” You could hear the smile in his voice, “Walk.”

He walked you back to your home, once again ducking to get in the door. He closes it behind him, letting it air lock once again.

“Well, were you watching me?” Neteyam looked at you expectantly

“Didn’t mean to…” You mumbled, unable to meet his eyes

“Oh you didn’t mean to? Is that why you stayed and watched the whole time?” He teased, leaning in real close, definitely towering over you completely

“I, I don’t know…” You sighed

He only laughs at you, picking you up by your hips and placing you on your counter, next to the forgotten fruit.

He gets on his knees in front of you, but he’s still at a good height.

“You wanna tell me the truth?” He tilted his head up at you as he played with the button of your little shorts

“I followed you to make sure you were okay, And I, I saw that…” You explained, “It took me by surprise, I didn’t know what to do.”

He scoffed, reached up to your face and unlatching your mask from your face. Immediately he sticks his thumb in your mouth, you let him. He explores your mouth, focusing on your tongue, asking you to suck on his thumb. You comply, sucking on it gently. He couldn’t help but imagine how good you would look with his tip in your mouth.

“Such a good girl aren’t you?” He smiles

His other hand had unbuttoned your shorts, and he was beginning to pull them down.

Suddenly he’s yanked them off.

“I hate your tawtute clothes.” He mumbled. “Doesn’t show enough of you.”

He pulled at you panties gently, “I like these, very pretty and delicate, like you.”

“Mmm.” You whine

You gasp as his hands begin to roam around your inner thighs, his touch sending shivers up your spine. His palms are hot and his fingertips are gentle as he slowly spreads your legs.

A blush spreads across your entire body as his places soft kisses on both legs, leading himself to your needy pussy.

You were definitely smaller in comparison to the Na’vi women he had been with before. He used two of his fingers to separate your folds to get a better look.

Pretty and pink, definitely different from what he was used to.

He leans back in, his mouth watering as he prepares himself to finally be able to taste your sweetness.

“So good.” He growled, licking his chin before diving back in

“It is?” You ask, almost confused

“You don’t believe me?” He removed himself, looking up at you, also partially confused

You shake your head, “I- I can’t imagine it tastes good…” You doubt

“Mmm what a shame.” He shrugged, going back in, nose first.

He takes his time, lapping and flicking his tongue over every bit of your beautiful folds. You can't help but moan in pleasure as his lips and tongue explore you. Every lick sending a wave of pleasure rippling through your body.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his head, he removed his mouth from your center with a small “pop”. And reached over to take a piece of the forgotten fruit.

He brings it to your wet folds, with a mischievous smile on his face.

“W-what are you doing?” You attempt to close your legs

With a grunt, he forces them open, “Trust me.”

He slowly rubbed the fruit around your folds, making it even more slick with the fruit juice.

Neteyam separated your pink lips with his fingers and eased the fruit over your clenching hole, and he lets the tip of the fruit pop in and out.

He leans back in, lapping up your slick and the fruit’s slick. His eyes flickered to your shocked face. You were shocked about what he had done, that fact that he had done it, and that you were enjoying it.

He removes the fruit, his eyes analyzing it before bringing it to your mouth. Your eyebrows knit in concern he nodded at it to urge you to take it.

You let him feed it to you hesitantly, but you ate it.

“Believe me now?” He smirked up at you, cocking his head to the side

You moan in response.

“Mm, good.” He whispered, immediately going back to your needy pussy

His hands grasp your hips, and he moves his tongue lower. You arch your back and gasp as his tongue teases your little hole. Untouched by anyone except yourself and now him. His lips and tongue are relentless as he licks and sucks, exploring your body with expert precision.

“So sweet.” He mumbled against your slit, making you throw your head back

Your breathing quickens and your body trembles as pleasure builds inside of you. You moan and gasp as he works his way up and down your body, teasing and tasting you until you can't take it anymore.

“Neteyam!” You call out to him, your hands found his hair and you pushed his braids out of his face, making brief eye contact with him, before you threw your head back again, heaving.

The pleasure is intense and overwhelming as you reach your peak. Your body trembles and quakes as you cry out in ecstasy. The intensity of the experience is almost too much to bear.

“Doing so good.” He praised, his hands gently rubbing your shaky thighs

As your orgasm fades away, you feel yourself coming back down to reality. You open your eyes to see him smiling up at you, his eyes smoldering with desire. He looks satisfied with himself.

“Maybe I should spy on you more.” You tease

“Maybe you should.” He shrugged, though he sounded more serious than you.

His head laid on your thigh as he stared up at you. His eyes practically piercing through your soul.

“You know, now that I’ve got a taste of this sweet pussy, I can’t give it up.” He smirked up at you

You would never get tired of that cocky smirk from him.

taglist: @danniackerman @loaksslut

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queserasora · 4 months ago

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ACE X CHUBBY FEM!READER | NSFW, Soft Smut ™, Slow Burn Babeyyy WORD COUNT: 9k CONTENT WARNING: alcohol consumption (because I am sora and I am a grown woman who likes to write about alcohol), profanity (not a lot but enough), angst galore, a sprinkle of fluff because it’s cute decorations, unprotected sex (when will they learn???), groping, sloppy kisses because ace is passionate and means well but he is also eager, that being said oral female receiving with some sloppy head, nipple play, plenty of ass grabbing, biting, ace talks way too much for his own good, he is silly and just says things, and it might be embarrassing but that’s just how he is, you know i love my repeating themes so if you hate that please stay away!!, is a hurricane/storm a warning? then yes, i guess dangerous time to be partying and having sex but these are pirates, handjob, what else?, oh jealous ace is amazing, also flirty marco because i love marco sue me A SUMMARY:Ace comes aboard the Moby Dick, fire in his fists, fire in his eyes. Y/N wants to know his reason for fighting, but curiosity is a beast of a burden, and when feelings get swept up in the heat of his storm, Ace has to make a choice between reason and his heart.

I - A Disturbance : Wind & Fire

You were born in summer heat. Your mother’s arms welcomed you into her world, sticky with sweat but full to the brim with love. Her plush lips against your temple, baptize you with a kiss. You grow, not like a palm tree all spindly trunk and leafy green top, but like a wild hibiscus tree; small and closely rooted to the ground with bushy branches covered in small leaves reaching out to the horizon. Like the Hibiscus, you dance in the wind, laughter trailing behind you. In your hair, its red flower entangles in curls. The sparkling water of the beach is always warm when you swim it. Your mother grows weary of warning you about the currents, and the treacherous waves. Eventually she gives up, names you her little mermaid, and braids beads into your hair that sparkle in the sun. Despite your mother’s warnings you always find yourself there, at the cliff by the sea.

He is born in secret. He’s born because there’s nothing left. A mother’s dying wish whispered into the soft spot on his head, to a dark curl who can’t remember the words. In time, he runs as fast as his legs can carry him, through forests, creeks and mud. On the creak of the branches under his feet he tries to find that elusive promise; words he had sworn he never heard but somehow left a gaping hole. Sometimes he thinks he hears them in the howling wind. Sometimes he only feels it on the heat of his skin, when the sun is blistering hot above him. Heart torn in two, he always finds himself there, on a cliff looking out at the sea.

Like a Siren, it calls to them. On the horizon, the sun blinks as it sinks under the water, a fading beacon. The wind whips around their shoulders, tussling their hair with heated fingers. In their ears it whispers: come find me, I’ve been waiting.

You leave to the sea, as your mother always feared. She’s inconsolable at the dock. You laugh to keep from crying, and wipe away her tears with the back of a small hand. She makes you promise to look out for yourself. Don’t dive into the sea, she warns you with furrowed brows. Don’t be impulsive. Don’t head straight into storms. They forgive no one. You brush her worries aside with a kiss on her temple, before you bolt aboard the ship.

Several adventures later, you’re aboard the Whitebeard Pirates ship. You offer your knowledge and skills in medicine; pair it with a big bright smile and hope for the best. Lady Luck favors you, beckons you with curling fingers. Another nurse is just what their ship needed—at least for now. Marco takes good care of you. He is patient, and kind. He is also easy on the eyes. It doesn’t take long before you’re being saddled with responsibilities.

You try your best, thinking your experience in wound care is your strongest skill among a ship of pirates. You did not share their strength, and undying courage but you did have wit, and you have a sharp tongue. You wielded them when necessary, the edge of your words a sharp scalpel. If you throw your words out fast enough, hard enough to kick up some dust they might not call you on your bluff. Compared to them, you couldn’t help but feel like a soothing passing wind; barely noticed before you were gone, no impact, no trace left behind.

His entrance is violent, and eruptive. His presence disturbs the way of things, sending invisible critters scattering to seek refuge. You think you feel suffocating heat when you first see him. Portgas D. Ace is a forest fire at full flame, determined to devour everything, before you even noticed a spark. His eyes incinerate everything he glares at, thick brows furrowed together for so long you fear they are glued that way. Where his crew seemed agreeable even, accepting of their fates, he grew more restless by the day. You had to admire his tenacity. The sheer force of destruction his willpower possessed was alluring; dangerously seductive.

When he tries to take Whitebeard down for the 11th time, Marco is sick of it, and delegates you to the task. You swallow thickly, avoiding his gaze. You think Ace must not be a man of many words, as conversation is clipped and forced. It was just as well. The task was distracting enough. You try to remind yourself to keep your fingers moving as they brush over his skin when you apply antiseptic to gashes on his chest. He hisses, forcing your eyes up and away from the freckles you had been counting. His eye are dark pools that pull you into their depths, so deep you think they’re bottomless. In your mind, your mother’s warning echoes.

Don’t dive into the sea.

You blink, and look away, feeling heat spread across your cheek; splotches of shame kept in secret. You try to focus instead, on the gauze on your hand, the warmth of his body under your fingers when you press it against his open wounds. You look up through your lashes when you apply pressure, wondering if a day would come when he didn’t seem so closed off—so intriguingly unavailable. His jaw is set, teeth clenched so tightly all the time, you had half a mind to inspect his molars for cracks. His eyes flicker towards you and you pretend to inspect the bruise on his temple. You press a tentative finger against it, wondering if you could dip your fingertips into his thoughts that way. When he flinches, you move back to the gauze, wrap his wounds with soft bandage.

Your hands on his chest, you feel heat radiate from him, feel his heart beating steadily underneath. A heart never lied, each beat a tell tale sign. You try to listen closely to each secret told in a pulse against your palm.

Don’t be impulsive.

You were never good at listening to your mother. Your mouth was quicker than your mind; traitorous and vile.

“Why do you keep fighting, if you can’t win?” you ask him, slapping the bandages for good measure; assuring they stick, and assuring your message goes through. Ace flinches, and reaches for your wrist. His grip is strong, thick fingers wrapping around the width of your wrist. For a fleeting moment, you know you should fear him. You have seen what he’s capable of, but the heat from his hand melts away all preconceived notions.

“Sometimes,” he says blinking down at you. His brows are furrowed together—they always are. You see his adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows. His thumb brushes once against the inside of your wrist. You think you hear a call—someone shouting from the sea. “Sometimes, you fight anyway. If it means protecting people you care about.” He lets you go, and you instinctively pull back, bringing your arm to your chest. He watches you fuss over your wrist momentarily before closing his eyes. He looks pained, and before you can offer him painkillers he’s speaking again: “Maybe it’s all I know how to do.”

II – The Depression : A Flickering Flame

He didn’t mind at first, but now it felt like he shouldn’t be there.

He shouldn’t be sitting on the edge of the thin mattress of the nurses station. He shouldn’t stand still when your short fingers tentatively palpated his injuries. He shouldn’t watch you, like a seagull over water, searching—praying, as your teeth sank into the plushness of your bottom lip.

There was so much he should and shouldn’t do, he no longer could keep it together. Ignoring you seemed like the right decision. It should have been easy. You were the enemy, if he wanted to be fastidious about it. A member of the Whitebeards Pirate was just someone else standing in the way of his goal. Most of all, his pride couldn’t stand it. It couldn’t stand the disappointed look in your dark eyes, and the way your mouth would twist into a little smirk when he would walk in. It couldn’t stand the way you would immediately retract from him at the slightest hint of discomfort, how you would look at him like he was a wounded bird, wings teared at the joints, unable to fly again, sentenced to death.

It was pride that kept his mouth sealed shut. It was pride that stapled his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He wished pride would leave him blind instead. He wished to not notice how soft your hands are, how small and cute your hands were against his chest. He wished to not notice how he becomes disgustingly interested in your short chubby fingers, and wonders what kind of reaction he’d get if he could nibble on one or two. He wished to not notice how obsessive his thoughts are over the appearance of your skin; golden, and glowing on the apples of your cheek—how soft they looked. He wished he didn’t think about it at night, when darkness wrapped her arms around him tightly. He wished he didn’t think about your lashes, the look you give him through them that fills his mind with smoke.

Racing thoughts, and a racing mind. It took everything in him to keep them quiet. Your voice is soft when you speak, and his lips part, a beating heart trying to scream but no sound comes out. His cheeks feel hot, and he swallows awkward conversation prompts down. He chooses, instead, to fix his thoughts on something else, something more urgent: like how to defeat Whitebeard.

He simply couldn’t afford to dawdle with you. Ace never thought twice on taking on a challenge, but you were a chasm he couldn’t bring himself to jump across. If he missed, the fall could be deadly. He blinks when you speak again, your eyes fixated on his face. Ace quirks his left brow, and thinks he’s offended you. He wants to speak quickly, heart beating against the sinew and bone keeping it prisoner, but the words tangle in his throat.

The door creaks open, and Marco walks in. You look away from Ace and smile at Marco, before forcing two round white pills into the crook of Ace’s palm.

“Make sure you take those,” you tell him, as you force his fist closed. “You hit your head pretty good.” You reach up to rap your knuckles against the side of Ace’s head lightly. “Gotta try to save whatever brain cell’s are left fighting for their lives in there.”

Marco laughs as you stand up. Ace hears you chuckling lightly, as it grows into laughter. He takes a sharp breath through an open mouth, watches you as you turn to look at him over a shoulder.

He wishes pride would hurry the fuck up and blind him. He wishes it so bad, he crushes the pills in his fist into dust.

The sight of your ass stretching the nurse’s uniform fills him with a heat he’s not very familiar with. It settles at the pit of his stomach, and he stares at the door even after you leave. It isn’t until Marco speaks that he brings himself back to the present.

“Why don’t you join, Ace?” Marco asks, as he settles on the stool you were sitting on moments prior. Ace frowns down at it, annoyed at his thoughts—he wondered if it was still warm, and he hated that Marco would know the answer. “You know, it’s not a bad deal. He treats us like his sons. We’re all a little lost out here, kid. You don’t have to be alone.”

Ace scoffs, mouth twisted into a crooked smile. He tilts his head as he watches Marco, trying to swallow the bitterness in the back of his mouth. His heart lurches, and he shuts his eyes. If he closes them tightly enough, perhaps the hopeless dream will go away. He never had a father figure, and never needed one. It was a lie he recited at night; a prayer to a faceless God.

“I don’t need a father,” he mumbles at last, picking at a string on one leg of his shorts. Marco laughs. Ace looks up, frown back in place.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Marco agrees, reaching up to rub the back of his head. “But why don’t you try? What do you got to lose? It’s not like you have any manners.” Ace begins to protest but Marco’s laughter caught him off again. “And you might learn how to properly talk to a lady.”

Ace thinks his head might start catching fire. He pats his hair quickly.

“I don’t need any help with that!” he says loudly, an elbow digging into a thigh as he leans forward to scowl at Marco.

“Oh, yeah?” Marco says trying to keep his laughter at bay. His smile is crooked, and insufferable. “Is that why you looked like a fish gaping for air when I walked in? Very convincing.”

Just when Ace thinks there is no way he could be more embarrassed, he feels his blush deepening, freckles almost obfuscated. He promises Marco to think about it, and he does his best, but thoughts of you plague him afterward. Your laughter that carried in the wind to him, the way it felt like it sank into his scars, the way it burned and made new ones in return.

III – A Simmering Storm

The needle on his back, sinks into his skin time and time again, embedding ink to stay forever. It is liberating, in a sense, marking himself with a brand of his own choosing. So much unlike the one stamped upon him at the time of his birth; the son of a monster, a nuisance, someone not worthy of the space they took up in the world. No longer did he have to search for reason, or an excuse. Ace could simply be, and he welcomed his newfound drop of happiness with a toothy grin.

A celebration at him joining the ranks, and being able to be commander of the second division seemed a bit over the top but he liked merriment—and the food and alcohol was too enticing. The darkening clouds in the distance threatened to dampen his mood, and the crowd on the deck of Moby Dick. Murmurs spread the word of an oncoming storm but nobody seems particularly worried. The only thing on their mind is how fast they could drink and eat before they got rained out.

The only thing on your mind was the blooming ache in your chest. You try to soothe it with a hand, smearing your palm against your voluminous chest. The crop top is soft under your skin. You try to memorize this, instead of the radiant smile on Ace’s face. He had never seemed so undoubtedly happy as he did now. A different feeling settled between your ribs, a pang so bitter it causes you to hiss. Jealousy was a monster you squashed down with angry fists every time you saw one of the nurses place a hand on Ace’s bicep. You never thought you would have to beat it down into submission while picturing the face of your own captain.

You’re happy for him, truly. You mutter to yourself, over and over, drink after drink. You’re elated, even, that he has finally come to accept the bright side of things. You’re happy that he has been given a position that you feel is well earned, one that you hope he can excel at.

You’re happy for him. You really are.

You’re so fucking happy it hurts to breathe. You force another deep breath into your lungs, the air is humid and the scent of rain floods your senses. You blink back the wetness in your eyes, and when Marco asks if you are okay you blame pollen. Marco tilts his head, but chooses not to pursue the subject. Instead, he swaps your empty cup with his. You barely notice. You’re too busy thinking about where the sea will take Ace next.

Something in your chest seizes—panic, or fear. It rises like heat from the ground, a crackling electricity flying up through the stale air that keeps you trapped on the ground. You try not to move too much, you fear jostling your thoughts, fear that if they move too much—touch a certain way, sparks would fly, singing you to a crisp; charred and useless.

He is happy, truly.

It wasn’t something he could have ever dreamed of or imagined. He smiles as people congratulate him. Alcohol tastes sweet on his heavy tongue. He barely tastes his food as he pummels it into his mouth. He pictures what it would be like, sailing away from this ship, to complete tasks he would be responsible for. He pictures what it would be like to tend to his own wounds, what it would be like to sit at whatever island he found, and not hear your laugh.

He is happy. He really is.

He’s so fucking happy, he thinks he feels sick. It’s not anxiety. Ace could never admit that. Anxiety over what? He did not fear death. He never had a good reason for living anyway. You could only fear death if you were bound to the living. Then what was binding him to this ship? It felt like a vortex, a cone ensnaring him and trapping him to his spot; a gust of wind that kept bringing him back to you, no matter how many times he moved around this damned ship.

He tries moving again, taking his mug of beer with him. You bump into him with your ass against his. He turns around, ready to pick a fight but sees your heated cheeks instead. You mumble an apology that he laughs off. His hand moves before he controls it, and he ruffles your hair—something he knows you loathe.

“I’m not a puppy,” you hiss, pursing your lips. Ace drinks quickly from his mug, to refrain from sighing.

“Then why do you look like one?” he asks you, and leaves through the crowd. You lose track of him quickly, and decide to stomp around on the spot. It was easier than to think about the way he had looked at you, and how it had set your face on fire.

You do your best to mingle. You notice he does the same, but you’re never far from each other. It feels comical in a strangely annoyingly tragic way. When you squeeze between Thatch and Izou to refill your cup, your hand brushes against something warm. You follow the hand to see Ace’s tattooed bicep. When your eyes meet, thunder splits the sky. You move quickly, wordlessly, determined not to see his face against for the rest of the night.

The sea has other plans. The ship begins to move more than usual, and your legs still not quite so strong, threaten to have you rolling over. You blame the alcohol of course, when you land on Izou’s back. He steadies you with a tight smile as you giggle, and spins you in place trying to send you in the opposite direction but your eyes meet Ace’s again. The ship lurches, and you stumble forward. His body is warm, and inviting, you giggle at the ridiculous situation—as people continue to bump into each other mid-party. You try to move again, but your legs betray you. His arms hold you up, and brings you closer to him. Your body is soft against his, plush and delightful. You look up at him with a tiny small, eyes hazy from the alcohol, and Ace swears he hears the sky split open.

You’re on your way again before he can say anything else. It was probably for the best. He loses track of how much he drinks. He could still feel his face, could still keep track of his thoughts—filled to the brim with you, and concludes he clearly hasn’t drunk enough. He holds on to this as he grips the railing so tight, it cracks under his fingers at the sight of you with Marco.

Marco was so kind, and so friendly. His hands were soft around your waist. You know it was shameful, to giggle at all his silly little jokes, but the alcohol has you feeling weightless—for once. You almost don’t feel the wind against your cheeks, you don’t feel it whipping your hair around. You let Marco pull you closer, his hand pressed against the small of your back. It was better this way. It was better Marco than a ship sailing to a destination unknown.

He drops the mug of beer. It splashes on the deck, and he feels liquid splash against his knee. Ace clenches a fist as he moves, fire erupting from his knuckles before it swallows his hand whole. Drops from the sky grow heavier. They sizzle as they reach his wrist, little wispy vapor rising from the flames like warning flags. Ace breathes through his nose and wills himself to smother the flames. They die out by the time he reaches you, but there’s a fire in his chest, flames behind his eyes he can’t control.

The sight of Marco’s hand very comfortable in the small of your back almost threatens to set him on fire again. Marco’s mouth is so close to your ear, Ace thinks he must smell the lotion off your skin the same way he smelled it off you so many times before; the one that always drove him mad, who forced him to imagine tropical islands, to dream of coconuts and beaches, of you and sandy dunes. Your smile takes his breath away, and when he sees it’s aimed at Marco it fills his lungs with lead instead. Your lashes flutter, and Ace sees a drop of water fall and cling to the apple of one your cheeks. He follows its path until it rolls off from your jaw.

As the last rays of light glints on the surface of it, a spark goes off.

His hand is around your wrist. Marco moves away slightly, only pulling away to look at Ace with a quizzical expression. His smile is frozen in place as he tries to assess the situation. He laughs, and naturally Ace feels like he should punch him in the mouth for it. Marco looks over to you, to pull a response from you when he begins to talk but your eyes are nowhere near on him. You are too focused on Ace’s face instead.

You zone in on the arch of his left eyebrow, the narrowing of his dark eyes, the slight curl of his top lip. Rain starts pouring down. You watch rivulets of water streak down the side of his face. You try to breathe as he watches you, try not to think about his fingers wrapped around your wrist but you can’t stop yourself from wanting to know. You want to know what it means. You want to decipher that look in his eyes, the dark clouds forming, the way you think you see lightning.

Your mother’s words ring one more time. Don’t head straight into storms.

A gust sweeps you off your feet, a dream so airy and full of promises you think you can fall forever if it meant he’d look at you this way for another breath, and another.

IV – The Hurricane

It wasn’t enough.

He could consume every drop of alcohol aboard the Moby Dick, pour into his mouth ounce after ounce like his life depended on it, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

There’s nothing, not a sobering thought, not the lightning in the sky, not the dark clouds in the distance, that could free him from the hold you have on him. Your eyes are so big and round you remind him of the softness he hated in himself, the same he tried to strangle with his own hands. In you, it only made him want to kiss you. Right there. Right now. Ace swallows down the last of his apprehensions. He tightens his grip around your wrist, and thinks everyone and everything could go to hell and stay there. If he caused a scene by dragging you away, he simply did not care.

Nature had other plans. The wind picks up, the sea fights back. Waves rise, and rock the Moby Dick—a feat that’s not as easy as it sounds. Marco gives you one last look before he scrambles away, shouting orders to the crew. They desperately climb to close the sails, but you can’t finish watching them work. Ace drags you away from the deck, down a path you’re ashamed to be familiar with.

In his room, he finally lets you go and you stumble forward with momentum. You hear the door close, and a lock click. You spin around belatedly, trying to keep your arms from swinging too much and losing your balance to see Ace’s back pressed against the door.

He watches you from where he stood, hair soaked through. His raven curls are slicked against his forehead, so he runs a large hand through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face. He can’t be bothered to find his hair a nuisance. Not when you’re standing in front of him, wet from head to toe. You’re out of your nurses’ uniform, something he is not used to seeing. Your hair is lose and partially wet, wavy tendrils sticking to your cheeks and shoulders. Your round face looks precious, he swallows as he fights the urge to cradle it in his hands. Your wide eyed expression forces a chuckle out of him, one he tries to hide on the back of one hand.

He notices belatedly, and with a little remorse, the slight blue tint on your bottom lip and the redness on your cheeks. Your eyes are hazy, heavy lidded, and he tilts his head at you, dopey smile on his face.

“You were having fun,” he mentions, eyes trailing away from your cheeks to your torso, the dips on your sides that make your waist. The soft rolls that settle there make him want to touch you. He raps his knuckles on the door behind him instead, fingers tapping without rhythm; anything, and everything to keep himself controlled, especially at the sight of your wide hips, the thickness of your thighs.

“Yeah, I was actually,” you finally find your voice to speak. You swallow with difficulty, slapping a hand against a thigh, over your wet jeans. “Anyway,” you mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose. You should stay focused. You do your best, but the sight of Ace’s bare chest reminds you of how warm he is and how frigid your fingers currently are. You’d love to warm them up right now, skim them over his toned abs. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” he asks you quietly.

“Drag me here. Can’t you see?” you start, licking your lips, feeling very very parched when you follow the small trail of hair beginning at the bottom of Ace’s belly button, and disappearing underneath his shorts. “I have working legs!” You make a show of lifting each one, one at a time, and pointing obnoxiously. “See? Perfectly healthy.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pushing away from the door. He walks slowly towards you, steps hesitant and careful. His eyes roam over your body. You watch him drag his gaze from the top of your head, to your feet, and back up again at an excruciatingly slow pace. Your heart accelerates, and it thunders in your ears. “You’re perfectly healthy,” his voices comes in softer now that he’s standing in front of you. “I can see that.” Ace hands wrap around the roundness of your shoulders. He slides them down slowly from the short sleeves of your crop top, thick callused fingers skimming along the back of your plush and soft biceps. Your skin is soft, tantalizing. It feels as if he shouldn’t touch you. It feels sinful, something he has no privilege to but he continues anyway, down to your wrists until his fingers grip yours gently. Ace tightens his hold on your hands and pulls you closer to him.

He wraps your arms around his waist. You don’t fight him. You move; a leaf carried in the wind. Your fingers grip around his belt loops, as he dips his face to the crook of your neck. His hot breath fans against your skin, when he drops the softest kiss—his lips, or the wind, you’re not sure. He nuzzles the exposed skin, using his nose to move the neckline of your crop top as much as he can to drop more soft kisses. You’re colder than he expected, so he holds you tighter, until your softness fills all his hard edges and gaps. Your curves are a pleasant surprise. He had expected some of it from the way you filled the skirt of your uniform but seeing you out of it had been a vision he shouldn’t be worthy of.

He shouldn’t be worthy of any of it. He shouldn’t enjoy the way your hips feel under his hands, but he still runs them over them up and down, over and over again. He shouldn’t enjoy their width, the way the flesh caves under his grip, how his fingers dig deep and it still isn’t enough to touch all of you. He shouldn’t enjoy the way your skin feels so impossibly soft against his lips, as if it melts under his heat; snow under a sunny sky. He shouldn’t enjoy the scent of your skin, the scent of your lotion that brings him to the brink of madness. He shouldn’t enjoy the way you sigh his name when he sucks on your pulse, and grabs your ass. He shouldn’t tell you the way he thinks no matter how much alcohol swims in his veins. He shouldn’t tell you the way he feels, but words bubble up his throat and out his mouth—a freshwater brook whose source he can’t define.

“You feel so good,” he moans against your ear, when he pushes his hips forward. Your eyes flutter at the feel of his erection against the softness of your belly. “I love touching you, Mermaid.” The nickname usually bothers you; given in passing because you loved swimming in the sea despite the dangers, but from his lips it feels like a spoken song; a poem only for you. “You smell so good,” he licks the shell of your ear, bites on the sensitive cartilage on top. You gasp, and dig your nails into his back, desperately holding on to whatever was left of your self preservation. “Do you know how sick I was?” He thinks he should punish you, and so he does, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck. You yelp, and slap his back but it doesn’t deter him. He smiles against your skin, licks the blooming bruise with a flat and sloppy tongue. “When Marco’s hands were all over you. I thought I was going to burn. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand a second of it.”

His words sound desperate. You try to stay present by drawings circles on his back with your fingertips. The storm screams outside the room. You hear the wind pick up its shrill song, tinny and distant. Water pelts against the small circular window on the door, a drumming sound that soon grows deafening.

“Ace,” you try to interrupt his rambling, but his hands are tangled in your hair. His lips brush against your temple, before he speaks against your head.

“I felt sick watching you. It felt like I was in pain,” he groans into your hair. His hips press against you again. You bite down on your lip hard enough to inflict pain. You rub circles on his back, and force yourself to focus once more. His words come in belatedly, sound traveling a long distance in the air. You press your small hands against his chest.

“Where does it hurt?” you ask him, brows furrowing together. Leave it to Ace, to be injured in a moment like this. You shake your head, not sure to trust yourself or his words. You should have drank less. You should have stayed away from Ace. You should have left with Marco instead. Ace presses his forehead against yours. His breath tickles your nose. He moves his hand over yours. His fingers clutches your hand, and warmth seeps from him to you. You feel it sink it, seep into the rest of your arm and down to your elbow leaving a tingling sensation.

“Here,” he breathes out in a whisper. He squeezes your hand, presses it closer to his chest. “In here.” He pats your hand once, and again, repeatedly in a rhythm that matches his heart beating under your palm. Ace moves slowly, and gently brushes his nose against yours. His heart beats faster under your hand. Your eyes are tethered to his mouth. You can’t look away from the sight of his lips parting, as if he couldn’t catch his breath. You feel your mouth do the same, feel the air in your lungs run out; breathing is not enough, nothing is enough. His head tilts, and you follow his lead; reflections on still water.

“Idiot,” you finally whisper, a breathy laugh bouncing away from your mouth. He feels it reach his lips, and he swallows it whole in his mouth. “You mean your heart?”

“Yeah,” he admits fighting a smile, his lips brushing against yours. “My heart.”

You should laugh it off. You shouldn’t take him seriously. A drunken confession would be forgotten the moment the sun rose again but there is a screaming in the back of her mind—distant and ancient like Sirens on rocky shores. The storm grows louder outside. You had always thought you were a serene passing wind, something to soothe and lick old wounds better; something to be forgotten once you left, but the heat of Ace’s breath against your mouth, spun around you in circles. It transformed you into something bigger than you thought you could be. You wanted to be bigger. You wanted to be something destructive, something that would tear him from limb to limb, leave him with the wreckage of your path so he could have something to remember you by when he was gone.

You reach out, hands seeking a target. You clasp his face as you smash your mouth against his. He hums into the kiss. It’s clumsy and forceful. You leave him no room to push back, no gap to slip his tongue past your defenses. It isn’t until he is grabbing fistfuls of your ass to pull you closer to him, to rub his bulge against your belly once more that you concede. You gasp, and it’s the only weakness he needs to exploit. His tongue strokes against yours, hunger forcing him to be overzealous. He is sloppy, and imprecise, kisses so wet saliva coats your lips, making them shiny under the yellow sconce’s lights of the room. Ace knows he should slow down, show a little finesse but your ass feels divine in his hands. He had been watching it the whole time during the party, watched you saunter back and forth, hips swaying; teasing him.

He moves against you, and you step backwards, the ship swaying enough to make you forget your route. You land against the wall with a thud, your plush ass making you bounce slightly in Ace’s embrace. He laughs against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. “Nice,” he mumbles before he takes your bottom lip for a long and noisy suck. “It’s like a safeguard.”

You groan, hands traveling down the wideness of his back, and over his shorts. They settle over his ass, and you return the favor, digging your fingers into the muscle. He groans loudly, pushes his hips immediately against yours and grinds against your lower belly. The smell of wine on your mouth threatens to intoxicate him further. He closes his eyes as he pushes against you, feeling precum starting to soak through his underwear. Your tongue feels perfect in his mouth. He sucks on it time and time again, taken in by the sheer softness of it. How it doesn’t feel unfamiliar at all, as if he had kissed you thousands of times before.

He wished he had kissed you that many times already. He wished he could tuck away those memories somewhere no one could take them away from him.

Every time he kisses you, it feels like dying, and it feels like coming back to life. You’ve died hundreds of times already, hundreds of little deaths by his hands and by every stroke of his tongue. You think you smell smoke in his hair when he holds you close, when he whispers sweet things in your ear before biting down your neck, leaving a trail of bruises in his wake. His hands are weapons he uses to tear your down. Their heat eviscerates all your defenses. It kills you how they feel so hot, even over your clothes. How when he drags his palms over your belly, you want to feel them lower, towards the center of your legs. Your belly is soft, and pliable, he squeezes and kneads until he memorizes it. His hands move to your sides, where he grips the soft flesh, the rolls that are tender in his hold.

Your cheeks color, and your heart flutters. Embarrassed, you swat his hands, and move them away from your waist.

“Don’t push my hands away,” he says annoyed, going back to grab your sides. “Before I–”

You cut him off with a kiss, pressing your mouth hotly against his. You wrap your arms around his neck. “Shut up,” you say breaking the kiss. You kiss the corner of his mouth, and up his jawline. “If you say it—I’ll leave.” You press your mouth against his pulse, and a soft spot behind his head. “I’ll walk out right now. Don’t even say it.”

He kisses you, and you crumple under the weight of it. It feels like a last desperate attempt at silencing you, at keeping you here with him. His heart is in tatters. He tries to ignore the debris of it, the way it splinters off into pieces. Ace deepens his kisses, crushes you against his chest, and traps you tightly between him and the wall. He knows the truth. He knows the more he kisses you, the more he’ll discover all the things he wondered about you, the more he’ll become familiar with your softness—the more he’ll miss you. A feeling of unworthiness crawls out of a well. He tries to smother it with another kiss, one you moan into. You bring a leg up and he holds on to it, hooks it around a hip and pushes against you, his cock feeling painfully hard. He thrusts his hips, and he tries to forget every touch of your fingers on his back, how your trail them along his muscles, leaving memories in them he could never forget, memories you shouldn’t give him so willingly.

He should be the one to walk out without a further word. If it hurt you, it would mean you’d never look at him again. That was the right thing to do. He should let you go immediately. He should stop craving the heat of your body. He should stop pushing against you, and moaning into the crook of your neck, giving into every desire and fantasy that had filled his body since he met you.

He should. But he couldn’t stop himself from being selfish. Just this once. For once, he wants to seize a semblance of happiness by his own hands without needing a reason for it—without needing a reason to simply exist.

Ace brings you to his bed, pushes you down until you’re seated on the edge of his mattress. He kneels before you. You blink, mouth surprisingly dry considering all the wet sloppy kisses Ace had been giving you. You lick your swollen lips, and think you taste beer in the corner of your mouth; residual of Ace’s conquest. Ace kisses your cheeks—one at a time. He reaches around you to the bow holding your crop top together. He unties it easily, and just as easily pulls it over your head. You don’t know where it lands, and it honestly doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is the way Ace’s eyes land on your breasts, the way he licks his lips as if he’s gearing up for a feast.

He wasn’t expecting you to not a have a bra, but he couldn’t complain either way. Once again, he is amazed at his sheer stupidity. How he had never noticed the size of your breasts, how large they were and how beautifully they hanged from your frame. He swallows thickly, wishing he had done this sooner. He presses his mouth against the middle of your chest, hands tentatively taking in the weight of your breasts. He palms them gently, cupping and lifting as he moves his fingers. His intentions are well meant. Ace would love to take his time with you, but you react so deliciously when he flicks his thumbs over your hardened nipples, mewling against the top of his head that he felt like he had no choice.

If his hand felt like furnaces, his mouth is incomparably vicious. The heat of his tongue is paralyzing. When he sucks on a nipple, his free hand twisting the other one between thumb and index finger, your toes curl. Your panties cling to your folds, covered in your slick since earlier. You whimper, embarrassed and aroused as Ace continues his streamlined assault. His teeth leave marks over the swell of your breasts. You respond to every lick and nibble he gives. Your soft moans leave goosebumps on his skin, reminding him that this is him making you moan, him who has you scraping your nails against his scalp.

He shouldn't—but he smiles—thinking Marco can go kick rocks. He bites down on a nipple, a bit too hard, at the thought. He should mark you more, lest anyone get any ideas.

And like that, his heart aches. Ace sighs against the side of your breast, licks over a bruise in apology. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge thoughts that had no business polluting his mind. He wonders what would happen if he leaves you for too long. Would you move on? His fingers stumble to unbutton your jeans so he tries again. Of course, you would. Who wouldn’t? Marco seems to like you, and what’s not to like about Marco?

Desperate, he finally unhooks the button. You fall back on the mattress with a surprised squeak when he pushes you. Ace tugs your jeans off. You see him standing between your legs, as he unbuckles his belt, and drops his shorts. You hear the thud on the ground, the creak of the mattress as he joins you.

He cages you in, and you immediately reach out. Your fingers splay against his broad chest. His shoulders are wide, and strong, muscles rippling with every movement he makes. The yellow lighting of the sconces compliment the golden tone of his skin. You bite your lip, and rub your legs together, deeply aroused when you brush your fingertips against his muscular abs. Lightning strikes, and bathes him in a flashing white light. You see for a moment, every freckle on his shoulder, and chest. You run your fingers over them, connecting the dots, making up little galaxies on his chest and shoulders and committing them to memory. You’d remember these later, on lonely nights, and hold your hand to the ceiling, pretending that if you trace over the memory of them you could bring Ace back to you like a spell; like a wish.

His kisses scatter your thoughts, little stars clouding your vision. His mouth is on your neck, and on your chest. Heated, and wet. He leaves hot wet trails of saliva wherever he goes, coating you with his smell. He kisses your belly, and nibbles on the soft flesh underneath your belly button. His fingers dancing over your thighs. Ace moves lower as you hum, parts your legs to drop kisses on the inside of your thighs. For a split second, you consider being embarrassed at the state of your arousal but you are past the point of caring. Soaked right through your panties, all you want is for Ace to keep kissing you.

He smells you before he sees it—before he sees the big wet spot in your underwear. Ace chuckles, and you reach out to swat at his head but he is faster than you—as usual. He grabs your wrist and kisses the inside of your palm.

“Don’t be like that, Mermaid,” he says in a good mood, smile wide and crooked. He looks up at you through black lashes, a faint flush over his cheeks. “I know how much you love being wet.”

You think about screaming, and beating him senseless for saying something so embarrassing but when he pulls your panties down in one quick move you are left speechless. Just as quickly, his mouth is on your pussy. He gives long, meticulous licks; ones he uses to slurp up every drop of your arousal. He uses his fingers to part your folds, and traces your slit with the flat of his tongue. Your back arches, and you moan loudly, hands flying to tangle in his black curls. He is noisy, but he does not miss a spot. He slurps up a lip, sucks on it gently. He flicks his tongue around your sensitive nub, making you shiver and tremble.

Just when you think you can’t take the heat of his mouth any longer, Ace pulls your lips apart again, and slips his tongue inside your aching pussy. He thrusts it in and out, upping the pace the more you moan. He slurps up, wet and noisy to suck on your clit. His fingers tease your entrance before he slips two inside you. He scissors his fingers inside, the squelching so loud and lewd, you’re forced to slap a hand to cover your mouth. It is sinful, and you wonder if you should worry when you grow hornier the louder the wet sounds get. He curves his fingers, seeking out that spot that makes your toes curl. His moans against your clit as he sucks vibrates against you, and you cry out as you cum. Your pussy flutters around his fingers as you reach your peak, little tremors running their course throughout your body.

The way you look so disheveled makes him want to stay down there longer. He’d love nothing more than to feast on your pussy all night long, but his throbbing cock is becoming increasingly harder to ignore. He moves to climb over you, but the ship tilts when a particularly large wave comes. Ace sways, but you reach out to grab him by the arm before he rolls off the bed. You pull him towards you, and laugh at Ace’s shocked expression. He laughs with you for a moment, before it dies out. Your eyes captivate him—their sparkle too bright to be dimmed by the yellow lighting of the room, or even by the darkness of the storm outside the room. Ace kisses your cheek, and licks your ear. He laughs into your hair when you yelp, and hit his shoulder with a tiny fist, your own laughter overtaking his.

“Your laughs always carries so easily,” he says quietly, a hand brushing hair away from your face. You wrinkle your nose up at him. “You know that? I always hear you wherever I go.”

There’s a breath that refuses to come back to you. It stays there behind Ace’s smile. You swallow, following the path of his trail of dark hair that starts at his belly button. You grip the tip of his cock gently, and watch his brows knit together, teeth clenching to keep from moaning. You brush a thumb against his slit. His lips part, eyes fluttering close, and as you squeeze your hand down his shaft, he lets go; a moan flying past the front of his teeth. He is thick in your hands. You move them gently at first, taking in the sight of him above you. His dark hair spilled around him like a curtain.

His eyes that he fights so hard to keep open but flutter close every time you squeeze his pink tip just right. He cusses under his breath, upset he can’t watch you jerk him off, how he can’t keep the sight of your white teeth sinking into your berry colored bottom lip in his vision.

You are mesmerized by the sight of him. You try your best to commit to memory the planes of his face, the sharpness of his jawline. You rub your legs together as you stroke, enjoying the way your slick slides down your thighs. You love how vulnerable he looks, how soft his expressions is as he gives in to you, his dark lashes that flutter open and close, the freckles on the bridge of his nose; everything leaves their residue behind like sticky fingers on glass.

You feel his hand swat yours away from his cock. “Stop,” he whines in a hiss, eyes opening partially. He frowns down at you, cheeks bright red, mouth hanging open. “I don’t want to cum like that. I want to cum inside you. With you.” There’s no time to think, you feel him shift your legs, and feel the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance. He pushes inside you, slowly, inch by inch. Your mouth drops open, a sound that refuses to leave your body. When he bottoms out, you moan gently, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

Your thighs are thick and plush as they tighten around his strong hips. Ace feels as he would be swallowed whole—like a small vessel in a raging sea. If you wanted to drown him, he’d let you, if that’s what you really wanted. He grunts with every slow thrust of his hips, wanting to feel you first, let you adjust around him. He’s only begun, but he feels you fluttering around his cock, senses the tightening of your grasp around his shoulders.

He picks up the pace, as the storm rages. You’re panting against his hear, so loud that even the thunder can’t drown you out when you moan. Lightning splits the sky, over and over, bathing your sweaty body underneath him in bright white. He tries to remember the pieces of you, the soft breasts pressed against his chest, the sight of his cock disappearing into your soaking pussy. He tries to remember the sound of the rain, how it compliments your voice when you sigh into his neck. He pushes against you faster, deeper, your moans grow closer and louder. The scent of rain and wet wood floods the room along with the scent of your arousal. Ace can almost taste it on his tongue all over again, as he breathes through his mouth, panting loudly—moaning when you clench around his cock again.

His cologne makes you delirious—mahogany, and sweet blossoms, or it’s the thickness of his cock or both. You bite his neck, scream into the crook of his neck when he picks you up slightly by the hips, when he angles his thrusts and slaps his hips against yours viciously enough to bruise. His cock pushes against your gummy walls, stretching you out until it’s almost painful. He is so hot and warm inside you, you feel like you’re melting, as if your body is built by nothing but pleasure and pleasure alone. You bite his shoulders, leaving marks behind. Your attack is as relentless as his thrusts. You continue to sink your teeth into his shoulders, and his neck, you nibble at his jawline.

He loves it. He loves the pain you leave behind. Ace digs his fingers into your hair, and he tilts his neck to give you more access—anything to keep you going. He groans with every thrust into your pussy, his heavy balls slapping against your thick and plush ass so noisily he worries for a second someone might hear.

“Go ahead,” he whispers to you when you nibble on his neck once more, groaning right after. “Make it hurt.” It is a fitting punishment, he thinks. Pain always left the deepest scars. If it was you, he’d take the scars with him.

The wind picks up more, the shrill tinny scream rises, banging against the round window on his door. It pounds at the glass, demanding tribute. Ace cries out when your pussy clenches around his cock, his body tensing before it relaxes at his climax. He releases, spilling into you, hot cum that oozes slightly out of your cunt. You stay tangled with him in his bed sheets, lightning coloring your bodies in bright white every now and then. Heat envelops the room, a humidity so thick it feels suffocating; muggy. Your bodies covered in sweat, are slippery, almost uncomfortable but you don’t care.

You don’t care about the incessant heat beaming off his body, you don’t care how his hair sticks to your skin when he nuzzles in your neck, you don’t care bout the storm outside the door, the angry sea. You bring your hand to Ace’s chest, feel his heart thumping against your palm. What you care about is there, under skin and bone, just out of reach.

You shut your eyes when he kisses your lips, when he holds your face in his hands.

Your mother’s words cut through the screams of the hurricane outside. Don’t head straight into storms. They forgive no one.

But who was the storm? Was it him? Was it you? Who’s to forgive if there’s no one left in the wake of the storm?

#ace x reader #ace x you #ace x y/n #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader

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loose-angel · 4 months ago

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Protector | Lo'ak

pairing: OlderBrother!Lo'ak x sister!reader summary: You and Lo'ak head into the forest and encounter some trouble. w/c: 1,468 author's notes: wanted to write some Lo'ak content! Never done this before but I love him just as much and I think this came out pretty well! Hope u guys enjoy it!

You and Lo’ak were a chaotic duo. The pair of you were probably the most irresponsible siblings within the Sully family but the two of you liked to call it ‘having some fucking fun’. The two of you loved pulling pranks, playing around or just wandering around in the forest until the sun sets and the moon rises. Everyone knew that when the two of you were together nothing good would come out of it. Many na’vi in the village say that Lo’ak had a bad influence on you as an older brother, and they may be right, but the day always ended with your cheeks sore from laughter and that’s all that mattered to your older brother.

You were enjoying your breakfast when Lo’ak had pulled on your arm to whisper into your ear, a mischievous smile growing on his face as the rest of the Sully family busied themselves with their morning duties.

“We should go into the forest today!” He suggested, his voice low but his excitement was uncontainable. His tail was swishing wildly behind him – always too obvious.

“Lo’ak, dad literally said to not go into the forest today because Nete can’t watch over us.” You scowled, ears flat against your head. Lo’ak simply rolled his eyes and tugged on your forearm again.

“Yeah, and I have a better idea. We go anyway. It’s not like we need him to watch over us all the time.” You rolled your eyes and scoffed. Sure you enjoyed having fun with Lo’ak whenever you could but your dad sounded pretty serious this time and you really didn’t want to get on his nerves today. Your brother on the other hand didn’t really give a shit because he believed he could protect you just fine if the situation arises.

“No Lo’ak. I’m not going.”

Two hours later you’re in the forest. Don’t bother wondering how Lo’ak managed to convince you but you’re here now, running over large tree roots that cross cliffs and you are having more fun than you’ve ever had this past week. You’re jumping from root to root, Lo’ak running in front of you and somehow he’s only getting faster.

You’re looking around, admiring the beautiful scenery. You can see everything from above, the way the trees sway in the wind, the fauna, the beautiful clouds, and the star that shines on Pandora. It’s a view that you could never get used to.

“Try and catch up skxawng!” Lo’ak gloated from ahead, not even bothering to turn around to check if you were still following. You puff out a laugh and attempt to speed up. You end up crossing the cliff a few minutes after Lo’ak, who took the privilege of his speed and decided to sit down on the ground while he waited for you.

“Took you long enough.” He teased with a poke of his tongue. You instantly collapse on your legs and fall over, laying down beside your brother as you attempt to catch your breath. He picks up a few leaves and throws them over your face, laughing as he did so. You swat the leaves away and scowl at him.

“Whatever, you wouldn’t even be here if I didn’t come along.” You grumble, throwing your arms over your head.

You and Lo’ak eventually get back up and continue running along. Every now and then the two of you stop to admire a plant that you find somewhere along your adventure. You two keep exploring for the next few hours and you manage to stumble upon an odd clearing in the forest.

“Lo’ak.” You call over in a hushed tone. You’re crouched down, hiding behind a group of plants that perfectly cover you. Your older brother, who surprisingly isn’t that stupid, follows along and crouches beside you, keeping his steps quiet.

“What’s wrong?” He whispers, curiously looking between you and the clearing in front of him. He notices how your tail is stiff and your ears are pressed against your head. You don’t say anything but he can tell that you’re afraid. The older boy feels the strange energy too and he understands how it can scare you. Lo’ak decides that instead of acting like a fun playmate, he needs to act like your older brother. He moves closer until your shoulders are touching, hoping that it calms you down, even just a little.

He looks around, further and deeper into the forest, and that’s when he sees it. Not too far from where you guys are hiding, there’s a net, expertly covered by leaves and twigs. It’s a trap, but he’s not sure what it’s for. No tribe hunts their game like this but he didn’t want to stay and find out.

“C’mon baby sis, I think we gotta go.” He mumbles to you, but his eyes are still trained ahead of him, trying to look for any threat hiding in the trees. His grip on his bow tightens when his ears pick up a strange sound of shuffling up ahead. Your ears don’t pick up the sound but he thinks it's better if you don’t notice it. You nod and begin to walk away, back crouched down but you’re agile and quiet. Lo’ak stays behind you, following in your lead and making sure that nothing follows.

After a few minutes, he decides that maybe you’d be safer up in the trees. He’s not getting a good feeling and he knows it’s Eywa’s warning.

“Y/N.” Lo’ak calls you over quietly. You look over and he’s pointing at the tree above, signaling for you to climb up. As you walk over to the tree you feel something grab you. You hiss and try to struggle out of its grip but it’s tight and daunting. Your heart drops when you look up and realize it’s one of the Avatars.

“Let go of my sister.” Lo’ak growls in English, his na’vi accent heavy on his words. He's fast and he already has an arrow sheathed into his bow, aiming straight at the Avatar’s head but that doesn’t intimidate the man holding onto you. You whimper when you feel a piece of metal push up against your temple, knocking your head to the side. You attempt to struggle in the Avatar’s grip, your tail swishing wildly but nothing seems to be working.

“English huh? You’re one of his then.” The Avatar grins from behind you. His words sound slimy and cruel. It causes your ears to flatten against your head as you look up ahead at your brother. His stance is tall and confident and he’s still holding onto that arrow, ready to shoot if he really needed to. Lo’ak meets your gaze and attempts to comfort you, taking a step forward but the Avatar huffs and takes a step back, knocking the barrel of the gun back up against your temple.

“Take another step and she’s gone.” He threatens and you couldn’t help but whimper quietly. You meet Lo’ak’s eyes again. They’re narrowed and angry. He decides he has to make a move. He opens his mouth and makes a familiar sound – it’s the signal. You gather your strength and immediately grab onto the Avatar’s arm that’s crossed over your shoulders and flip him over. Once he’s on the ground Lo’ak ruthlessly shoots the arrow straight into his chest. The Avatar struggles and coughs but before he could reach for his communication device Lo’ak hisses, reaching over and grabbing it from the man. He tosses it to the ground and crushes it beneath his foot. Spitting on it after.

You’ve cowered into yourself, watching carefully as Lo’ak kneels down next to the Avatar, “Don’t mess with me again bitch.” He snarls quietly. Lo’ak grabs another arrow and stabs it straight into the Avatar’s chest where his heart would be located. You wince softly when the Avatar chokes up and eventually stops moving.

Lo’ak gives the Avatar one last look before he turns his head and looks over at you. His ears are pointed up, still high with adrenaline – much too aware of his surroundings.

“You okay?” He asks in a hushed tone. You nod your head but your ears are still pinned against the sides of your head and your eyes are still scared. Lo’ak sighs and shakes his head. He gets up and walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into a hug.

“You’re fine baby sis.” Lo’ak murmurs into your hair, “Did’ya see how cool your older bro was? I’d Never let anything happen to you.” You wrap your arms around Lo’ak’s torso and your body slowly eases up. You felt safe here, in Lo’ak’s arms – and he’s proved that to you. Nothing bad would ever happen to you as long your older brother was around.

#avatar #loak #loak sully #loak x reader #loak x y/n #loak x you #avatar fic #avatar loak #avatar way of water #atwow #atwow loak

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hueningsloverr · 1 year ago

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౨ৎ not your song !

chapter six : MISSING YOU

pairing : hueningkai x 6th member!reader summary : tomorrow x together, or txt, wasn't always six members, and for some unforeseen reason, it wouldn't stay six either. set in : late 2020 word count : 0.9k

prev / next / masterlist

huening kai was no stranger to moving; from honolulu to korea, then to china, and once again back to korea, the boy had moved four times before the age of ten.

(y/n) was used to moving too, just in a different sense. from love machine to txt, then back to love machine (except it was not the same love machine this time). three groups in around three years, it wasn’t exactly a good look for her, but who cared?

kai did.

she wasn’t even gone yet, still promoting with txt and recording videos, but it felt like she was gone.

like she was miles away, out of reach. something so easily obtainable, yet so impossible to grab onto.

she was left out of ‘freeze’ and its promotions. she didn’t do dance practices anymore. she wasn’t even in the studio to listen as the boys recorded. she didn’t even know of the song kai had written for her. she simply existed as publicity, and they all knew that.

she knew that too.

“kai, what do you think will happen this comeback?” (y/n) hummed, laying down tiredly on the boys bed. taehyun was out shopping with beomgyu yet again, and yeonjun and soobin were still practicing, leaving just the two.

“i dunno” kai mumbled, playing on his switch.

“i leave soon, and all you do is play on your switch.” she huffed, sitting up and getting off the bed. “i’m gonna go practice with soob and jjunie, since you’re too busy playing games.”

kai simply rolled his eyes, not believing the girl. “on your way back, could you grab me something to eat?” he teased, laughing slightly.

“kai.”

he looked up, a confused look on his face. “what?” he groaned, pausing his game and putting the switch down. “i’m playing right now.”

“and i leave soon.”

he knew that. he wasn’t stupid.

“yeah, dispatch already wrote an article about it.”

“so why don’t you say anything? why don’t you look at me?” she pleaded, tears welling in her eyes. “it’s like we’re sixteen again and you hate me.”

that was worrisome to hear - hate. something kai never wanted to do. he didn’t like hating things; ironically, he hated it. he tried not to be hurtful, hateful, or even spiteful.

but somehow, he was slowly growing to hate (y/n). in his own foolish mind, he was a fool for trusting her, and now he could see how trust is was a nasty thing. he trusted her far too many times, he was naive, and somehow he thought they would work out. the infatuation the teen had for her - he thought it was a love like in the movies, yet every day he grew more infatuated with her, and she fell farther away from his reach. she was no longer spring, but back to the same poisonous venom, pretending to be a plant in his garden, her roots slowly spreading out and killing everything they came into contact with. kai had to watch slowly as his favorite flowers died, and his tree wilted. and for that, he hated her.

but he could never say that to her face. because deep down, he knew it wasn’t true. none of it was her fault. nothing ever was. she had no control over her own life, let alone the groups big hit decided to put her in.

“i don’t hate you, i never did.” he mumbled, unable to look her in the eyes.

“look at me kai, it’s the least you can do.”

looking at her would bring about his end, far quicker then he would’ve wished. for if he looked at her, he would see all the pain she had been hiding since the two met, the resentment she still held close to her heart, and the tragic love she had for txt. and she too would see all the pain kai himself had been hiding. the love that was never truly meant to be his. the love that was never meant to be.

kai was never much of a reader, but he knew of romeo and juliet. lovers who met by chance, and thought they would be together forever. romeo and juliet who didn’t work out.

romeo and juliet who were like kai and (y/n).

"i miss you" he mumbled, still not able to look her in the eyes.

all she did was laugh slightly, taking his hands in hers. kai knew she was smiling at him, the same smile she always gave the teen. and he also knew she was crying. he could hear it.

"i'm still here. don't miss someone you haven't lost."

kai shook his head, tearing his hands out of hers. "i've lost you. i lost you the moment i had you."

all she did was nod. a solemn look in her eyes. "i won't see you for a while, so please, tonight, just be the same hyuka i've known all these years?" she asked, gently placing a hand on his forearm. "all i want is one more normal night."

"i can't not miss you." kai whispered, biting his lip as he attempted to hold back the tears.

"miss me, but don't act like i'm not here. because i've spent these past few days missing you."

kai nodded, letting a tear finally fall.

"you told me you'd always be here for me, hyuka, so that's all i'm asking you to do tonight. be here."

and all he could do was nod again, at a loss for words and unsure any would even be able to come out coherently.

"i've been missing you too - i'll always be missing you." she mumbled, pulling the boy into a hug. a hug was enough. a hug said a million words yet none at all. a hug said 'i love you' for both of them, and 'i miss you' at the same time.

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givemeanaccountalready · 9 months ago

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So while that happens, the entirety of the Hidden Leaf are freaking tf out. Not only did they just lose the first (publicly known) Wood Release user since Lord First immediately after they got her, but they also lost the jinchuuriki too. Anyone who is not in Root has no clue who Sai is or where he came from (hint: inside the walls). It is a disaster.

Sai and Sakura had their little bout of fisticuffs in the Academy schoolyard. Sasuke saw the Wood Release and is like, that might be useful, I need to learn that. He leaves to try and find out where they could have gone. Unlike the adults who are rightfully going wtf, Sasuke is like, sick jutsu bro. He finds Sakura’s little hideout and her diary with all her notes inside. Any pretense of not caring beyond learning a rad new jutsu flies out the treehouse as he sees various mentions of this “Keigo” guy (Sakura named Sai Keigo because he called her Ugly in an attempt to give her a friendly nickname and she cried (no self-esteem), forcing him to explain what the hell he was thinking. Since he told her to give him a name since he didn’t have one and kept being rude, she named him “Polite Speech” as a middle finger) and Naruto is the son of the Nine Tails (that was her best theory, cut her some slack, she was 11 when she came up with it). Sasuke firmly believes that this Keigo guy is an enemy nin who is using his classmates, and decides, yeah I can rescue them because he’s 12 and never not been able to figure shit out. How hard could a rescue op be?

Very hard is the answer. He is able to leave a shadow clone behind to get his classmates (you know, all the clan heirs that you don’t want to lose) to leave the village with him to “find Naruto and Sakura” (really, it’s to throw the searchers off and cause a distraction so he can solve the issue and leverage them for answers about Naruto’s relationship to the Nine Tails). Sasuke is also stuck with this old guy who claims he’s Jiraiya of the Sannin, but really, he’s just a dirty, old man who keeps chasing skirts at every rest stop they’re at. It’s annoying, but the guy might die if Sasuke leaves him alone because if he keeps calling himself a Sannin, people are going to try and kill him. Sasuke still can’t quite believe that Jiraiya is Jiraiya of the Sannin, even after he meets Tsunade. He’s not entirely convinced Tsunade is Tsunade Senju either, and feels for Shizune. Shizune is trying her very best not to laugh at Jiraiya and Tsunade when Sasuke is like, yeah, sure you’re a Sannin, and I have a loving, living family, now chop, chop, put the vices down, we got idiots to hunt down.

These are the shitpost meme esque vibes I got going on:

Jiraiya: “Dear God, whoever took them must be a master of evasion.”

Cut to the three idiots arguing over whether moss only grows on the north side of trees. They personify the song “Lost” from the Percy Jackson musical

Sai: “This would be so much easier if we still had a map.”

Sakura: “It was an accident! You make dinner next time!”

Sai: 100% earnest “Sure, I like eating things with flavor.”

Sakura: “Why you little-” Homer Simpson chokes him

Naruto: holding up the charred remains of their map “Hold on guys, I think we might be near this little, not burnt bit.”

Sai: “No, we’re not. We passed that point two days ago.”

Naruto: “Maybe we went in a circle?”

Sakura: “FUCK!”

Sasuke: goes up to the sleeping Jiraiya “WAKEY WAKEY” immediately uses a water jutsu to drown him awake

Jiraiya: “AAAAAAH!!” Coughs up water “I taught you that jutsu so you could put out any fires started by your Fire Release practice on your own.”

Sasuke: “I’d say a dumpster fire counts.”

Danzo: looks up from his desk “Why do I hear boss music?”

A wild Itachi appears

Tsunade: “Let me get this straight. The Hidden Leaf lost two Academy students who not only were they the worst in their physical training scores, but they also have the potential to be some of the biggest powerhouses in this generation. And you two are their only hope at finding them because the Leaf doesn’t want to alert the other villages to what they lost by sending out an actual search party?”

Sasuke: “Yup.”

Jiraiya: “That pretty much covers it. So? Will you help us?”

Tsunade: starts cackling

#rip my wip #naruto fic

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kayleezra · 2 years ago

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A Sunflower and Their Encyclopedia // (Ezra x GN!Reader)

Word Count: idk like 500-600

Summary: Modern AU? idk but we're on Earth so you decide. Ezra tells you he loves you.. in some less than normal ways...

A/N: FOR MY WIFE @writer-darling WHOSE BIRTHDAY IT IS TODAY (it's short and shitty because I just typed it up after work but I couldn't not post something!) BUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY I LOVE YOU MOSTEST

oh and this is like not at all accurate because sunflowers use circadian rhythm to face and follow the sun but… we’re going to pretend we don’t know that and believe the social media myth

“You’re my sunflower,” Ezra's smooth voice brings you back to reality.

“What?” You ask, not sure you heard him right in your trance-like state.

“You are my sunflower,” he annunciates, “or Helianthus as it’s scientifically known” he adds as if that would clear everything for you.

If the two of you had been talking about flowers, it would make some sense, but you were simply enjoying each other's presence in silence.

“What?” you ask again, clearly confused.

“Well when it’s overcast and sunflowers are looking for the sun, they often face each other. Claiming each other as their own personal sun, sharing each other’s energy. You’re my sunflower, you’re who I turn to in dark times to keep me going.”

“That is… incredibly sweet,” tears brim your eyes, “Then you’re my sunflower too. What brought that up?”

A slow smile creeps its way onto his face, the corners of his mouth lifting with love and eyes warming.

“I was simply enjoying the view, of you. And how captivated and intoxicated I am from the sheer joy you exude. How my infatuation and devotion to you knows no bounds. You’re my life source, my light and my love.”

A cheesy smile is plastered on your face, “And so the obvious conclusion was sunflowers?”

“Perhaps sunflowers didn’t properly convey all that.”

“No it did I was ju-” but before you can finish he interrupts by continuing his thoughts.

“You’re the Acacia Tree to my ant colony,” he finishes with a proud smile.

You stare at him dumbfounded.

“Acacia trees, commonly found in South Africa and Australia, grow hollow roots, structures that allow ants to use as shelter and even feed from. In return, the ants defend the tree from herbivores. The ants larvae also feed off Beltian bodies, which are small pouches of important proteins and nutrients and in return the ants protect new acacia seedlings from being eaten by other small critters.”

“So… I’m a tree,”

“An acacia tree, yes”

“And you… are a colony of ants,”

“Mhm”

“That share a relationship,”

“A symbiotic relationship, yes”

“That share a symbiotic relationship. But why am I the tree and you the ants?”

“Easy. Because you’re a life-giving thing that is much greater than I. A beautiful great standing of Mother Nature.”

Then it dawns on you. Where Ezra is getting all this random nature information. Weeks ago while thrifting he came across a tattered nature encyclopedia, his nose was stuck in the book before he even purchased it. He returned it to the shelf claiming he did not need it but something tells you he went back…

“Did you get that encyclopedia?”

“Is it that obvious?”

You laugh, “I take it you're enjoying it”

“Thoroughly”

“And how many more métaphores do you have for us?”

Ezra looks up and cocks his head like he’s actually mentally counting them, “at least another hundred.”

You laugh again at his absurdity born of love.

“Although I don’t think I could even run out of ways to tell you I love you, my dear. And if I did then I’d learn more languages. And if I ran out of those, I’d create our own language that never runs out of ways to express my love for you.”

And you know that this man in front of you means every damn word he's just said. You can't help but wonder how you got so lucky, while he wonders the same.

Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl @littlemisspascal @writer-darling @avengetheunnatural @louderfortheback @currentobsessionrabbithole

#ezra x reader #ezra prospect #ezra x you #prospect 2018 #pedro pascal characters

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yourflowersfirst · 7 months ago

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day 1,460- june 30. exactly 4 years.

trigger warning

pages 272-280

imagine, for a few minutes, that you’re me. maybe not the best thing to imagine. do it anyway, humor me a bit.

you’ve been a girl on the internet since you were 10 years old, due to loneliness and boredom since you live in ohio. you have few friends and feel some deep rooted desire to be special to someone. it’s genetic. since that age, you’ve been both restricting how much food you eat and a thing for adult men to enjoy sexually. that second thing started when you were 6, actually, but that’s a small detail. unimportant for now.

so, you’ve been an object from the day you gained consciousness. you eventually go into middle school and you’re ugly, the ugliest bitch to walk the earth. you have crooked teeth, glasses, and stupid red hair. not to mention too many freckles. boys ask you out as a joke or as a dare, or straight up call you ugly to your face. you play minecraft a lot and listen to pierce the veil or sleeping with sirens or bring me the horizon. you play clarinet. you have some friends, and men online still like to call you a cumslut and tell you that you have “fuck me” eyes. so maybe it's not all bad. at least you're attractive to someone. even if they are in their 30’s.

high school starts and you don’t gain any weight during puberty. you grow taller but you stay 93 pounds. you grow out your bangs and stop begging your mother to let you dye your hair. the red hair is okay, you decide. not pretty, but okay. you love marching band (specifically bass clarinet now) and horseback riding, and start dating some men and women in band but they’re all terrible to you. one in particular plays tenor drums and begs you to send nudes to him every other night on snapchat. you say yes to keep him happy, and for a time, this strategy works. he’s funny in a self deprecating way, but the deprecation gets old really fast. he's your first kiss but it's kind of disgusting. you’re 14 and a half. he dumps you over text months later.

you date a girl a year later who also doesn’t like eating. you’re forced to consume calories by the eating disorder clinic you’re forced to go to. your mom sneaks ensure shakes into your food. you still aren’t gaining weight- between marching band and purging, you stay 93 pounds as you turn 16 and begin driving. you have to be hospitalized and a tube is forced in your nose. you do finally gain a bit of weight- 93 morphs into 99. the doctors at the eating disorder clinic cheer and tell you its progress; you want to carve your skin off.

said girl is triggering you, constantly. she's losing weight and encourages you both to not eat- inadvertently. you’re toxic together but you love her a lot. your band friends are sick of hearing you bitch about these things, so you two eventually break up. men resume taking advantage of you and you’re an object once again.

you do have some good memories from high school- mostly from band, mostly the trombones and your younger sister being your family and loving you when you cannot love yourself. you treasure them and miss them all the time years from now, even though they probably don't think about you much.

as you get closer to graduating high school, you date some older guys for a time. boys in your school don't look at you twice. you’re never truly happy with them; they keep hurting you over and over. physically and mentally. your mom cries because of you a lot. your grades, your mental illnesses, the boys you date. they all hurt her heart, and yours is almost nonexistent anymore.

you graduate high school and move 2,500 miles away. it feels freeing, you love it. you can starve yourself in peace but the birth control you were forced on makes you gain weight despite eating close to nothing. you love the palm trees and cacti and dutch bros coffee. your freckles get dark due to all the sun. you get an A in your criminology seminar. you lose your virginity in the back of your shitty car to a man who swears up and down he loves you, then ghosts you 2 weeks later. you start doing online sex work. if you’re gonna be objectified and exploited, might as well make money off it. you meet vincent, one of your best friends. you and him go to local bands house shows all the time, and enjoy getting coffee and playing star wars MMORPGs together. covid happens.

you move back to ohio during quarantine, spending march-august of 2020 stuck in the rural midwest. the summer approaching is still. quiet. almost dead. cicadas cry out every night and you lay out in the grass of your childhood home's backyard, hoping to sink into the dirt.

you turn 19. you start dating kyle, someone you kind of knew a few years ago but reconnected with via instagram once covid hit. he is sweet and good and has adorable cats. though you're allergic to said cats. he is tall and big and kisses you good. you two mostly drive around exploring springfield, yellow springs, dayton. or you’re napping together, which is way less fun. your ‘96 chevy malibu always smells like smoke and warm motes of dust. the sun is out often. you and your sister are best friends and hang out as frequently as possible.

something shifts. it’s subtle, hardly noticeable. but there’s an unease, like something is about to snap. your boyfriend judges you, ignores your wants, and makes off putting comments, but it’s not too bad, right?

kyle is no longer sweet and good. somehow you missed the signs, or maybe he manipulated you expertly, who knows? something shifted in him weeks after you began dating; he is now demanding and cruel. he yells at you and calls you a whore, a bitch, a dumb anorexic. he wants things from you. always wanting and taking, never giving anything in return. his bedroom stinks like kitty litter and sweat. he tells you to stop being friends with every guy you know or else he’ll “do something about it”. you’re suddenly isolated and friendless altogether, scared shitless of your own boyfriend. one of your friends is deployed in the navy. your other friends don’t hear from you for hours, days, weeks. you disappear. if you disobey and text someone- especially a man, kyle yells at and threatens you. every time you try to break up with him, he drives to your house with a bat or knife. sitting, waiting. you tell no one. you’re terrified he’ll make good on one of his threats.

one day, he does. you’re crying at his place over your weight- is 110 pounds fat? kyle starts kissing you and feeling you, he’s getting hard. you’re not reciprocating, you’re too distraught, too full of self loathing. he starts initiating sex with you; you try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he pins you down. you say “no”. he forgets what “stop” means. he isn’t listening to you begging him to get off you, to get out of you. he’s twice your size, and he has crawled in and infected any goodness you have left, pinning you down and leaving gross marks. this is the first of many times this will happen.

when you try to get away next time, a few days later, he grabs one of his smaller knives and digs it into your back. you’re crying. he’s still fucking you. it hurts. you’re bleeding from your groin and your lower spine. he doesn’t care. he spits down at you, sneers, grabs your hair so hard it gets ripped out.

you’re glad you’re on birth control now. it’s the first week of july, 2020, and you live and die at kyle’s words. whatever he wants, he gets, whenever he wants it. never mind that he lives 40 minutes away in his grandparents' garage. every time you try to leave him, he drives to your house, threatens you and your sister. the police, you knew, won’t believe a word you say. so you wait and endure, despite the permanent damage he will do to you.

you’re raped at least once a week. any sexual desire you once felt was gone, bleeding out on the floor over and over again. you have bruises everywhere except your face. your parents raise their eyebrows but don’t ask questions; you’re an adult now and can handle this alone. you have 2 friends: your sister and a girl you knew from band. that’s it. kyle looks at your activity and location, always. if you’re online but ignoring his texts, he calls you. tells you he’s coming over. tells you he wants to marry you. tells you that you’re his and no one else’s. tells you that he just doesn’t trust you to be friends with anyone else. makes you cry so often that when you go to his house, you bring your makeup to touch up when your mascara and eyeliner run.

finally, august rolls around. you have to go back to asu, go live with vincent. kyle lets you leave, but promises to book a flight every 4 weeks to make sure you're on your best behavior. you sneakily don’t tell him your apartment’s new address. the day you board the plane to go to tempe, you block kyle on everything, tell your sister to keep an eye out. he, thankfully, stops driving to your childhood home. he is out of your life.

you are finally free.

except you’re not.

a few weeks later, the nightmares begin. violent, visceral, ultra realistic. constantly reliving the assaults. online classes are impossible to focus in when you keep having flashbacks and are very sleep deprived. you wake up screaming every other morning. you never want to date a man again. not after kyle was so sweet in the beginning, but so monstrous near the end. you blame yourself. it’s your fault. you should have fought harder, screamed louder. it wasn’t “real” rape. maybe you are just a stupid slut. maybe you asked for it, maybe you should have known better and seen the signs, maybe you like it rough, maybe you provoked him. you feel dirty and used, more than you ever did at 6 years old. you have multiple panic attacks a day. your grades slip. once you had all A’s, now you’re lucky if you manage a C. you rarely get out of bed. you’re scared of most men but feel stupid for being so scared. when you do leave your bedroom, you’re half dead, a zombie. thick bags under your eyes, classes dropped, no hobbies other than watching tv and movies. no friends minus vincent, your roommate.

you get a dog named fuji who helps you tremendously. she is obnoxious and has her problems but you love her. she gives you a reason to not kill yourself, though you desperately want to. you stay alive only for fuji and your little sister. you cut yourself again, the same way you did in high school. you’re punishing yourself for being a slut, but at least you aren't dead yet. it's 2021. the scars eventually white over and fade over time, but they have still not gone away completely.

a year goes by, then 2, then 3. it does get easier- you try therapy, but it’s expensive. time, your friends, and the dry heat has healed you the most. you tell your family about what kyle did, and they don’t know what to say. they’re not outraged or weepy the way families of rape victims are on tv shows. maybe they don’t care or understand. you slowly repair old friendships he destroyed, and you build new ones from scratch, too. it feels good to know they’re safe from him. you consider pressing charges but know you won’t be believed, not by the police, prosecution, or a jury. the defense will claim you just like rough sex and want revenge after a bad breakup by falsely accusing him. plus you're a sex worker and will never get the benefit of the doubt. "where's the evidence?" people will ask, and it makes you nauseous to think that your story isn't evidence enough. you grow your hair out, continue doing said sex work, and it makes you a good amount of money. plus, it helps your confidence, and you know you’re safe in this environment. this is sex on your own terms, and you can say “no” whenever you want and know you won’t get in trouble. it's just a job- 99% acting, but there's a release in it. it’s weirdly cathartic. people judge you all the time, you get death threats from strangers. your skin grows incredibly thick. you’re not hurting anyone and you’re making money from what is all acting and making social media posts- the death threats are laughable. nothing in your mind could be as bad as kyle.

you do try to date again, a year and a half after you escaped kyle. to no avail. men still don’t want you. girls don’t notice you. this is a fact that never seems to change, even today. men lead you on but they always eventually leave, or they show their true colors and you need to leave them. many judge you for being raped or for doing sex work, or both. you make your peace with this. someday, you hope, you won’t be alone romantically. when the time is right and you meet the right person. someone nonjudgmental, someone totally safe and reassuring, warm, someone who makes you laugh and feel pretty. someone who will respect and still love you when you say “no”. you still have hope. for now, you are content to love your friends, family, dog. you do wish someone would hold you, though. someone to hold you with no undertones of violence, no threat of them leaving you like others have.

it has been 4 years since kyle first raped you. you feel mostly okay most of the time. you eat at least one meal a day, you go for runs, you got contact lenses, tattoos you designed, and hair extensions. people from middle/high school say you’re so pretty now, most likely not as a joke the way it was when you were 12. you laugh. they didn’t notice you then, and you don’t notice them now. many from high school still live in rural ohio, most stayed right in central ohio. you listen to ethel cain and it reminds you of them and that town.

your college grades have improved a lot the past 2 years. in person classes resuming and the time to heal from kyle helped you tremendously. you make the dean’s list in the spring of 2024. you only have panic attacks once or twice a month, and you only have nightmares about kyle once a week, maybe less. it’s still achy and painful but a lot less so. the wounds are slightly more cauterized. you sometimes dissociate pretty badly during consensual sex but you’re working on it. sometimes these regular sexual encounters end up physically hurting, too, leaving you painfully sore and tender between your legs. leftover damage that hasn’t healed completely from how violently kyle assaulted you. but you take some tylenol and deal with it. you write about your life and it is better than therapy; getting it all out of your system is a giant wave of helpless relief. you have a good group of friends (you think), and you’re looking to rent a new apartment now. you still have your dog and your job and you graduate college in 5 weeks. you will probably start your "real" job at terros health not long after that.

you’re nosy. one day in 2024, you look up kyle’s instagram on your shitpost account. he has a new girlfriend and a son now. the kid is about a year and a half old, and you pray to god he turns out nothing like his father.

okay, you’re no longer me now. all of that is my truth, laid out and bare. you can ignore it if you want. i just need to write it down or else i’ll go fucking crazy. today marks exactly 4 years since kyle raped me for the first time. and i want anyone out there reading this to know they’re not alone. you’re so loved by me. you’re not dirty or disgusting, you’re holy and perfect and clean. i will take care of you, i will treat you gently. show me the darkest parts of your soul and i’ll show you how it still shines like precious gold. no one took care of me and it almost destroyed me; now i have to give what i was denied. just because you endured horrible things doesn’t mean you’re broken. hell, look at me. i nearly died a bunch of times and i’m still here; my heart regrew and is bigger than ever these days, no longer nonexistent. that’s something, isn’t it? i bare my teeth without meaning to. i try to be gentle. i apologize, for now my love leaves scars. as fragmented, imperfect beings, mine is a never ending quest. a quest to find my purpose knowing my end is assured. to find the strength to continue when all strength has left me. i'm stronger than you'd think. it takes a hell of a lot to find joy even when darkness descends and, amidst deepest despair, my light everlasting.

i didn’t deserve what i went through.

no one deserves anything like this. all i can do is cope with what happened to me against my will, exhale, and try to go on living.

#day1460

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whitherwanderer · 1 year ago

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13 // check

[ CW: Weird time shit, forests that want you dead, mushrooms where mushrooms should not be. ]

The people that ask why you carry a small pocket chronometer with you into the deep Shroud seem to understand that the answer is beyond the obvious. Yes, of course you carry it to tell the time—the function is the reason. Not something that warrants asking about. But that’s not why they ask. Those who have lived here long enough know that while time is an important thing for a mortal to keep, the Shroud shrugs time off like autumn leaves. Time is meaningless to the Wood, and so it degrades in the dark places where there is no one to keep it. They ask because it seems pointless. You check the time. It is 7:12 in the morning.

Autumn comes to the Shroud like a sigh of relief as the days grow gray and the rains chill bitterly instead of merely cooling. As the trees shiver, their leaves fall away become a thick carpet of brown in a matter of weeks, and the sweet smell of decay suffuses your every breath. The fungi beneath every ilm of this forest is awake and alive, gorging itself on the rot. Its own fall harvest. Greentear is the last known location of the young woman you track. She was foraging for mushrooms. You check the time. It is 9:24 in the morning.

You’ve found a broken basket, but no signs of a struggle. No blood and no other trace of the woman you seek. Circular tracks pad around the area like a strange code. A rhythm few are privy to that even fewer can make sense of, but you know it well enough to decipher fragments of meaning—funguars. There were seven of them, maybe eight. A family, in the closest comparison you can make for things that have no concept of the term. The tracks lead further east along the river into territory that is notoriously warned against for its impassibility and the rumors of the creatures that lurk there. You sigh and check the time. It is 11:17 in the morning.

As you wade into the Shroud’s wild heart, the tracks become harder to follow, but you know where the creatures’ largest lairs are. What you’re more worried about is the Shroud itself; a maw that slavers without a tongue or teeth is still a maw, and the forest has a myriad ways of digesting the things that get caught in its slow consumption. Even intangible things like time are caught and eaten slowly. You’ve felt it before when you were first familiarizing yourself with this Wood, losing a few bells here, a day there. It terrified you, and though you’d never say it aloud, it still does. You force yourself not to think about it, and check the time. It is 12:48 in the afternoon.

You’re not sure how far you’ve wandered from Greentear, but it feels like malms. The forest is still and quiet save for the chitter of birds and bugs, but they are hushed, calling only to assure themselves that their fellows aren’t far. You’re still quite sure you know where you are despite your path being forced to bend with the land, and yet… there’s a tree you think you’ve seen before just off the path the tracks will lead you. An ancient thing, as thick as a cart is wide, with gnarled roots that split at the base and curl around a leaf-strewn hollow. It could be the den of some animal, you decide, and you leave it be. You check the time. It is 5:05 in the evening.

The tracks lead so deep into the Wood that the daylight is beginning to disappear, though there’s still enough for you to follow the tracks. You spot the tree again—old and wide, dry bark cracking under the weight of itself as it sags into the earth. The roots still curl around the hollow at its base, where there is no sunlight, but there is a certain deep, instinctive thought that pulls you into that hollow. To feel the weight of your pack and drop it, to listen to your aching feet and stop. To curl up in the roots and take in the sweet scent of earth and decay while you sleep to the sound of wind in leaves. You ignore it. Your tracks do not lead to it, so you pay your attention elsewhere. You check the time. It is… it is 5:05 in the evening.

It is dark. The trees know you are lost, but the creatures you track are clearly not, and that is enough for now. They wind between old trunks and through shrubs, little circle-stamps printed in the loam like letters on a page. They make a point to give the tree you keep seeing a wide berth and you follow them, quite sure their instinct is wise despite knowing nothing but the uneasy sense of restfulness that comes over you when you look at the hollow for too long. As the tracks round the tree, you stop at a sound. It’s almost like a woman crying for help, but… wrong. You check the time out of habit. It is still 5:05 in the evening.

You are now following the voice rather than the tracks, but you are not sure you should. The cries aren’t right, like a bird mimicking the sound in a stiff tone, over and over, and you know you have made yourself known to the forest in your haste. Whatever calls out to you has your scent and though you cannot escape the feeling that it is folly, your duty demands you do not abandon those in need. You come upon the tree again, but at its base where the hollow rests, there is a figure of a woman. Its head shifts with a jerking, crooked motion, to look at you. Mushrooms grow from its shoulders, and through thin, stringy hair. Help, it calls flatly. Its mouth does not move. Help. Hel—p. Hel. Help.

You reach for your bow instead of your chronometer. You don’t want to know.

#ffxivwrite2023 #[ ffxivwrite2023 ]#[ veil treader ]#[ drabbles; io ]#i had grander plans for a drabble that was 'in the wrong order'#just to kind of further push that idea of a degradation of time itself #but i think that might have been too ambitious and would have ended up confusing rather than interesting #so this is the compromise #please clap i resisted the urge to use zalgo text

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heracrosshero · 2 years ago

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Something in Common

Mercury Black walked away from the campfire towards Blake Belladonna, hearing the crunching of the autumn leaves beneath his artificial feet. So far he had managed to get on good terms with most of Team RWBY and JNPR, as Cinder had requested. A few minutes before, Blake had also walked away from the campfire where her teammates sat roasting marshmallows. Blake was intently reading a novel while resting against an old tree. Mercury approached gently. “Hey Blake, mind if I chill here for a bit?” Blake barely acknowledged his presence, but nodded. Mercury gave a convincing sigh. “I need a quick break from the socializing. Your teammates are awesome don’t get me wrong, but they’re... a lot.” Blake smirked and turned the page. “Yeah, they can be a bit much sometimes. Don’t worry though, you’ll get used to them.”

Mercury nodded and sat down on a large tree root. He tried to think of a way to keep the conversation going, so he could get some intel out of her and make this boring night worth his time. “So uh, what are you reading?” Mercury asked. Blake glanced over at him. “The Girl who fell through the World” “Never read it, what’s it about?” Mercury asked while picking a leaf out of his silver hair. Blake did shut the book at this statement. “How can you never have read it? It’s a classic book of children’s literature?” Mercury threw his hands up in surrender. “I don’t know! I’m not much of a bookworm. Plus my dad was never the type to read bedtime stories to me growing up.” Blake looked disappointed, but not surprised. “Well you should read more, books are a fantastic way to hone your mind and enrich your life.” Mercury chuckled. “Cinder and Emerald would probably say my mind is a lost cause, but eh, maybe I’ll give it a try sometime.” Blake only grunted in response and returned to reading. Mercury let the silence linger. It was starting to get real awkward just sitting her next to an emo girl reading her silly kid book. Wonderful, I know her current book of choice, I’m sure that will be loads of help for Cinder’s plans. Think of something else. Get her talking about herself you idiot. He had half a mind to just cut his losses and go back to eating marshmallows with the others.

Then, almost without noticing, he asked the question that he actually wanted to know the answer to. “Hey Blake, why do you hide your ears?” Blake instantly let the book drop from her hands onto the dirt. Mercury felt a vice grip on his collar and a pair of cold yellow eyes staring daggers into his own.

“How?” was all Blake said. It wasn’t a question, it was a demand. Mercury scoffed at her indignantly. “C’mon Blake, you wear that bow ALL the time. Plus, you’re out here reading late at night in the woods with no light source. I said I don’t read for fun, not that I’m stupid.” This was all technically true, but Mercury left out the part about having already been told that Blake was a faunus by Roman Torchwick. Blake let go of his collar but still glared at him. “I hide my ears because I’m not ready to face the hate and intolerance that comes with it. I hide my ears because unlike you, I don’t get to just waltz into any group of people and assume they’ll all be fine with who I am. Why do you care in the first place?”

Mercury just looked at this angry, hurt girl in front of him. He wasn’t sure if he had really understood exactly how screwed up his situation was until this moment. These people were basically his age, and he figured they were all spoiled brats with stupid dreams of being heroic huntresses and huntsman. The girl in front of him looked a lot more like Mercury than he had assumed. It was almost enough to make him feel bad about helping plot their destruction. He decided in that moment to be just a little honest. Cinder could roast him later for all he cared. Mercury slowly slid his hands down to the ends of his left pant leg and rolled it up. Blake’s expression gave nothing away at first, until the gleam of the distant moonlight shimmered off of his metal prosthetic. Mercury gestured to his exposed leg. “I have something to hide too. I’m sorry to have blindsided you like this, but I just...wanted to know your reasons.” Blake looked at his leg like she was recalling a bad memory, or perhaps a lot of bad memories all at once. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. “I’m also sorry. I’m trying to be a more open person, and I can understand why you were curious. I guess we have something in common.” Mercury gave a reluctant smile. “I think everyone has something in common with everybody else. You just have to find out what it is.” Mercury pulled his pantleg back down over his prosthetic and rose to his feet. “I’ll stop bothering you now Blake, enjoy the book.” Mercury again wandered through the trees, heading back to the crackling fire. He hadn’t learned anything useful for Cinder, but Mercury had the feeling this conversation would stick with him for a long time.

#RWBY #Mercury #Mercury Black #Blake Belladonna #Beacon #Fanfiction

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lotus-flowerz · 3 years ago

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hello hello I love your writings so far sobs I couldn't help but do an ask myself aa (it's my first ask ever help hwkajd) could I request perhaps gn reader that flinched away from the boys by reflex? (preferably with Diluc, Kaeya and Kazuha but you can add or remove someone if you want to!) like they were hanging out and reader was lost in thoughts and suddenly when they see in the corner of their eyes how the boys raise their arm for smth reader quickly raises their arms above their own head to protect it- how would they react and how would they comfort the reader? I hope it's not too much or if you're uncomfortable with it you can ignore it if you want to whaaaa

AHHH TY IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY WRITING! i actually do this too, some of my old friends would make fun of me for it, so i hope that my writing here is accurate >.<

i also added beidou in here, hope you don't mind, i just had to since she's my favorite character <3

TW!! FLINCHING, ANXIETY, PAST TRAUMA, MENTION OF DEATH AND INJURIES

SLIGHT INAZUMA ARCHON QUEST SPOILERS

KAEYA BACKSTORY SPOILERS

The cherry blossoms fell silently from the trees under which you and Kazuha were sitting. Those had remained unchanged since you and Kazuha were children. The beauty of the pink blossoms falling towards the green earth without a care.

It had remained the same through the vision hunt decree, through the war, through watching Tomo get killed by the shogun, through both of you getting injured during said fight. Kazuha's hand was burnt from Tomo's vision, and your body had a large scar running from your knee to the side of your neck from a stray bolt of lighting from Tomo's divine punishment. If not for Kazuha's determination to not lose another friend and Beidou and her crew caring for you, you would be dead.

These days, although you and Kazuha both carried the same trauma, he seemed to be doing leaps and bounds better than you were. Your eyes flitted to Kazuha, who was writing poetry. The only sound that could be heard was his pen gliding across the paper, filling it with his eloquent words that always seemed to flow so smoothly.

You were deep in thought, when out of the corner of your eye you spotted something coming towards your face. Instinctively, your hands flew out to shield yourself, leaving a very confused Kazuha, who was only scratching his head, looking at you with concern in his eyes.

"Dove.. did you think I was going to hurt you?"

You slowly lowered your arms, guilt washing over you.

"No! It's just- sometimes, when movements are too sudden.. I.. you know, I try to protect myself because uh.."

His eyes drifted to your scar, then looked up at your face, only to find it tilted to the ground. He put a finger under your chin, bringing your eyes up to meet his, then kissing your forehead.

One hand snaked around your waist while the other traced lightly over your scar, sending shivers down your spine. You wrapped your arms around him as well, putting a little of your weight onto him.

He kissed your lips, squeezing you tight against him.

"I'll never let anyone hurt you again. I promise."

"Kazuha, it's not-"

"I know it's not my fault. And I know I couldn't have prevented it. But I promise you, you're safe now."

He brought his hand up to cradle the back of your head as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"Thank you." you said, squeezing him a little tighter.

"No need to thank me. I love you, Y/n."

"I love you too, Kazuha."

You had been a part of Beidou's crew for just over a year now, after meeting her in the wharf of Liyue harbor after finally finding the courage to leave your abusive and toxic partner. You didn't have a place to stay and you were clearly distraught, so when she asked if you were okay and you immediately began to cry, she offered you to come on her ship. You trusted her, since she was the well-known captain of the Crux. After you had explained your situation, she offered you to join her crew. You agreed, and began dating her about six months after joining the Crux.

Because you had been aboard the Alcor for a year, you knew the crew was loud and prone to get drunk. You had never liked to drink, preferring to quietly sip a small glass of dandelion wine while sitting next to Beidou while she drank a few beers and talked with her crew.

It was now the one year anniversary of when you had left Liyue Harbor, and conveniently, the Alcor was anchored there for a bit for a supplies run, imports drop off, and exports pickup. While out and about with Beidou, you had seen your ex in the wharf. They were about to come and talk to you, when you had pointed them out to Beidou. Beidou had slipped her arm around your waist, glaring at your ex, who glared back and turned heel to walk away.

Now, you sipped your wine beside Beidou, deep in thought. The loud atmosphere wasn't helping your anxieties, and you couldn't get your ex's glare out of your head. You didn't even realize you were completely zoned out until Beidou raised her arm to sling it around your shoulders, after she noticed you were zoned out.

Your arms flew up to shield yourself, and you spilt wine all over the both of you. The cup clattered to the floor, but luckily no one else noticed what just happened.

Beidou's face dropped and she quickly picked up the cup, setting it back down on the table.

"Men!" she called out. "Y/n and I are turning in early tonight! Make sure you scallywags have this cleaned up by the morning!"

The crew cheered their goodnights, raising their beers to their captain and her first mate. Beidou smiled, slipped an arm around your waist, and led you back to your guys' shared quarters.

"Alright doll, what happened just now?"

She closed the door behind her and sat on the bed next to you, looking at you with a certain softness that made you melt.

"I'm.. I'm sorry, I was just thinking of my ex, and how we saw them earlier, and I couldn't get their glare out of my head.. and I left them exactly a year ago.. I don't know why I flinched away from yo-"

Beidou cut you off by taking both of your hands into hers.

"Y/n, don't say sorry! You know, your ex wouldn't stand a chance against even my weakest crew member. They will never hurt you again."

"I don't doubt that for a second," you said, a small smile growing on your face, "Thank you for taking me in, Beidou."

"No, the pleasure is all mine. I couldn't ask for a better first mate. You're safe now, okay?" she smiled, squeezing your hands.

You looked into her eyes for a moment before throwing your arms around her. She squeezed you back, kissing your head.

"C'mon, let's shower and get this wine off of us." she giggled.

You laughed. "Yeah, let's."

Kaeya had told you his backstory, but you never mentioned yours. You just weren't ready to talk about it. Your parents had never been great, you always walked on eggshells around everyone, and everyone was all too rough with you, emotionally and physically.

You had met Kaeya in the tavern one night, while trying to drink away what you were feeling. Kaeya had noticed how obliterated you were and let Diluc know he was taking you to stay at the Knights Headquarters, and would keep an eye on you. The rest was history, and now you and Kaeya had been dating for a little over a year.

Kaeya had told you his backstory on Monday. That same day later on, you had a run in with your parents at Blanche's, where they had yelled at you for deciding to become a Knight, and proceeded to pick you apart from your very core.

In turn, you had been drinking a little more than usual for the entire week. You seemed more withdrawn and just not fully there. And it all came to a head when you were laying in bed next to Kaeya.

He went to put his arm over you, a loving gesture, but your arms came up on instinct to shield yourself. He sighed loudly.

"You're scared of me."

"Oh Archons- I didn't mean to- no, I swear it isn't-"

"You've been acting all angry and cold ever since I told you about my roots. I thought you would be the one who didn't leave me after I told them."

"No, Kaeya- please, just let me explain!"

"I'm listening."

You began to hesitantly tell him about your parents. His face grew angrier and angrier every time you told him another thing your parents had done to you.

"I'll kill them. I had no idea that that happened though. I'm sorry for assuming."

"It's alright, Kaeya. I didn't even consider that you might think I was acting weird because of where your confession."

"I swear they'll never get near you again, alright? You're safe now. It's alright."

He pulled you into him, wrapping you up in his strong arms and putting his legs over yours, making you feel protected and safe.

"No one will hurt you, not on my watch. I love you, Y/n."

"I love you too, Kaeya. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"No need for apologies, you were gonna tell me when you were ready. Now let's get some sleep, that dandelion wine I downed earlier is starting to get to me."

You giggled, burying your head further into his chest.

"Alright. Goodnight, Kaeya."

"Night, prince/ess."

You and Diluc had been dating for a few months now, you had met when he had needed to hire a new bartender, and you volunteered your mixing skills to the Angel's Share. You had caught his eye immediately, and he had asked you out on a date soon after you began your work there.

Your ex wasn't a kind person, to say the least, so you had been hesitant to say yes. You assured Diluc that this was just because your ex was unkind to you, but you had never mentioned physical harm. You hadn't wanted to worry him.

You were sitting on the couch with Diluc, his arm slung over your shoulders while you stared into the crackling flames of the fire burning before you. Diluc wasn't paying attention, as he was reading a book in his free hand.

He raised his arm up, attempting to adjust to a more comfortable position, but you misread this. Your arms were shielding your face in an instant, and Diluc was looking at you with a shocked and concerned face that quickly morphed to anger.

"I'm going to kill him." he growled/

You lowered your arms and looked down, avoiding looking him in the eye.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"Did he hit you??"

"I, um, didn't want to worry you."

"Barbatos.. and this domestic abuser is just, what, roaming around Mondstat? No punishment for the pain he put you through?"

"I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want him to come and hurt me. I also didn't want to cause any trouble."

Diluc rubbed a hand over his face, before wrapping you in a hug.

"You're safe here, alright? I will never lay a hand on you to hurt you. I won't let anyone else hurt you either, okay?"

"Thank you.." your eyes welled up with tears, "I thought you would be upset that I didn't tell you."

"No, never. It's a hard thing to talk about. If you'd like, I have connections. We can have him arrested."

"I don't want to cause trouble.."

"You won't. He won't be able to hurt anyone else this way. But we can discuss this later. Would you care for a cup of tea?"

"That'd be nice. Thanks, Diluc."

"You're welcome, angel. Tell me if anyone hurts you again, alright? I'll protect you."

"Will do. I love you."

"I love you too."

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its-deputy-caleb · 4 years ago

Note

If requests are still open, could I request a gender neutral teenage reader (around 16) who is a lord. They are the kindest and most passive of the lords but they are also the only lord that every other lord likes.

Heyy, so I loved writing these they were super adorable and i did it a little differently where there’s some general head cannons for everyone and then there’s also some for each specific character! Also the reader is 18 because I just think it’s easier for me to handle, I hope that’s okay. These are gender neutral so enjoy! and sorry for the delay!

General HC’s

Being the fifth Lord certainly didn’t mean that you were at the back of the group.

Although you were younger than most of the lords, having been the last to have the Cadou implanted, you were the favourite in the eyes of not just the other Lords but Mother Miranda adored you, even the villagers love you.

Unlike the rest of the Lords, who’s Cadou allowed them to harm and take life, your Cadou allowed you to grow greenery and plant life everywhere.

You had the ability to restore old forests, letting flowers grow from you palm and giving them to the children in the village.

Amongst the village, you’re by far the most beloved of the Lords. Each week you bring down foods that you’ve grown so that there’s food for everyone, using the roots of the trees to grow tall and protect them from Lycans that may want to enter at night.

Everyone can tell where you’ve been because you’ll leave a trail of grass under your feet with little flowers appearing when you walk with bare feet.

The village hosts a week long feast for you where all the Lords celebrate with you. There’s lots of gifts, dancing and offerings. It’s the only joyful time of the year and even the Lords who seem sour like Heisenberg, Alcina and even Miranda seem to tolerate each other to celebrate with you.

Your domain is surrounded by forests and streams which have all been restored, wildlife now dwelling amongst the canopy.

Your house is in the centre of it all, the heart of the forest in a large oak tree which is hollow and now where you call home.

You’re a literal ray of sunshine in this ever gloomy world and no matter who or what you encounter; they adore you instantly

Alcina Dimitrescu

Alcina certainly wasn’t happy that the newest Lord was befriending villagers and protecting them as they were her source of food, but that all came crumbling down when she got to know you.

You couldn’t explain it but your beautiful and bubbly energy transferred to people and everyone noticed that Alcina had become warmer towards everyone else.

She saw you as one of her daughters, so sweet and innocent that she felt that motherly instinct to protect you from all the bad in the world.

She loves to braid your hair, watching as flowers grow between the weaves as she pulls it back gently with her long fingers.

Alcina never complains when moss grows on the walls of her castle as she could never be mad at you. She just gets the maidens to clean it off later.

She hates that she often has to stay in the castle with her daughters so you make sure flowers are growing in all her vases and the courtyard is lit up with bright greens for her daughters to gaze out onto.

Everyone at the castle loves you, the maidens, her daughters and especially the Lady of the House as you instantly make the room brighter.

Donna Beneviento

Donna is in absolute awe of you.

She is always so excited to spend time with you and you make her feel loved and happier.

You’re like the younger sibling she never had and she can’t stop smiling when you visit her manor.

Sometimes when you come over for lunch or spend a lazy afternoon over at her house, you open your palm and let a little white flower grow from your palm. You always tuck it behind her ear with a strand of her hair and then grow a smaller one for Angie and place it on her veil.

Donna has a tendency to close herself off from people and often feels lonely but you’re the only one who makes her feel loved.

You show her parts of your forest, places she’s never explored and if she’s scared you simply hold her hand tightly in reassurance.

Once when you were walking through the path leading from your home a deer had stopped in front of you.

Donna was instantly scared of the creature having never seen one before but you gently took her over to it and got her to hold out her hand.

It smelt her hand, it’s doe eyes looking at her before it ran off again and she’d never felt happier since you were there the whole time with her.

She loved getting to explore the woodlands with you, bringing Angie along of course. She felt safe and comfortable with you and she trusted you enough to show her your world which she was captured by instantly.

You make her happy and always manage to lift her spirits up with your powers and you friendship.

Salvatore Moreau

Salvatore loves your powers so much. He’s captured by them immediately and is always so excited to see you grow new things.

He can’t believe that you’d ever want to spend time with him so you always try to cheer him up with homemade meals from things you’ve grown or gifts woven out of wood for him to decorate his home with.

You’ll never forget the way his eyes lit up when you used your powers to restore the windmill that had broken. Using tree branches to make the wind turbine and watching the walls grow green.

The reservoir is no longer gloomy like it used to be but instead there is life all around his land.

The snow melts away to reveal lush green fields which reflect the water beautifully and the petals of trees fall into the water, floating on the light.

He loves to see you and always gets giddy when you visit him, watching as he jumps for joy when he sees you at the front gate.

Karl Heisenberg

Karl will NOT admit it, but you’re the literal ray of sunshine in his life, getting excited when he sees you walk through the gates of his factory.

Hes always smiling to himself when he sees moss, flowers and vines throughout the metal benches and grates of his factory but will deny it if anyone asks.

Sometimes when he’s welding away at metal he won’t hear you come in, and only realises it when he takes a break and sees you curled on the floor with three lycan puppies in your arms as you create sticks from your hands to play fetch with.

Karl is very protective over you and hates when you’re at family meetings because Miranda wants to use your gifts of growth and healing to experiment on you further. Wanting to see if you could potentially grow new limbs or heal others not just the natural world.

One time he walked into experimenting rooms ready for another trial on a potential solider when he notices the Soldat had green leaves coming from his wounds and his torso was wrapped in vines. He couldn’t help but smile at your little additions and made a note in his designs to make all his Soldat’s with your touches to them, deciding that they looked better with them anyway.

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #salvatore moreau #salvatore moreau x reader #resident evil headcanons #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil #RE8 #asks #prompt

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from-a-reckless-writer · 4 years ago

Text

dove down my rabbit hole of wips and one of my wips isnt a wip anymore! so here, have some gay shit....

“Kelly wants to get married in the woods, I want to get married in Midvale. So, apparently, our wedding will just happen via Zoom. Her in the woods, me at the beach. Ain’t that just fucking grand?”

Alex comes through the door like a hurricane covered in leather. Her helmet lands on Kara’s counter loudly. Her keys haphazardly thrown somewhere in the general direction of the bowl by the door.

“Then have two weddings.”

Alex follows the voice and her eyes zero in on her sister’s best friend.

Lena is sitting on the floor of Kara’s apartment, wearing an oversized sweater. Her dark hair spilling down her shoulders softly. A hand wrapping around a wine glass, the other typing on her laptop, not even jumping in the slightest at the commotion that is Alex’s entrance.

Alex plops down on the couch sighing loudly, not even batting an eye at this utterly domestic scene that is her sister washing the dishes with Lena Luthor on the floor of her apartment.

Lena doesn’t comment at the Danvers’ Sisters antics and Alex doesn’t call them out on the ridiculousness that Lena and Kara are still keen on keeping up.

The three of them already well desensitized to one another’s preferred brand of bullshitery.

“You know, sometimes I forget you're a rich-ass bitch and then you say shit like that and suddenly, I remember,” Alex says, smoothly snatching the wine from Lena’s hand.

She finishes the entire glass in one gulp and Lena rolls her eyes. Alex had finally proposed to Kelly the other week and well, that meant this week all of them had fallen victim to the Olsen-Danvers wedding debacle. It seems today isn’t the day that that whole dilemma is going to stop.

The wedding, of course, was still a few months away, but both parties were stressing about it as if it was going to happen immediately the next day.

Kara swoops in then, mussing up Alex’s hair, earning her an annoyed Hey stop it! before putting down another wine glass and pouring for Lena. Her arms are still wet from washing the dishes.

Lena murmurs her thanks and continues what she was saying, “Well, since you’ve finally remembered that I’m a billionaire. Let me pay for two weddings.”

Alex chokes on the wine.

“What? You’re kidding me, right?”

Lena continues typing, ignoring Alex’s shock, you’d think she didn’t just offer to pay for a wedding.

“Well, I mean, I’m never gonna get married,” Lena explains, “but if you let me do this, I can brag around that I’ve paid for two weddings. Not to mention I’m gonna make two brides very, very happy.”

“Or,” Kara interjects, lowering herself on the opposite side of the couch, perfect for Lena to lean back between Kara’s legs and lay her head on the side of her thigh. “You can just wait for Kelly to get here,” Kara says, pointedly. “Talk it out like normal adults and reach a compromise.”

Kara’s hands start to snake their way from Lena’s hair to Lena’s shoulders, massaging, all too aware that Lena won’t stop whatever it is she’s working on on her laptop till everybody gets here.

Lena lets herself melt and closes her eyes, sighing as Kara’s fingers dip at the junction of her neck and shoulder with just the right amount of pressure.

“I don’t wanna get married in the woods, Kara.”

Lena opens one eye to take a peek at Alex, who looks exasperated, her eyes pleading, gulping down another glass of wine.

“Don’t tell me,” Kara replies. “Tell Kelly.”

“The bugs, Kara,” Alex moans. “Imagine the bugs, and the moss and the ughhh.”

She dramatically thumps the back of her head on the couch.

“Imagine the soil. Clumpy wet soil. Eurgh. Ew. What if I fall face first in that? What if I trip over a stupid tree root in my heels? In my wedding dress?!”

“Alex, you don’t even have a dress yet,” Kara deadpans.

“I thought you were gonna wear a suit,” Lena adds.

“You two suck.” Alex pouts.

****

The rest of their friends arrive and Kara finally succeeds in prying Lena’s work laptop away from her. Alex was already teasing the line from tipsy to drunk by the time Kelly comes through the door.

“Let’s get married in Vegas!!!!” Is how Alex decides to greet her fiance.

Kelly laughs, gives her a peck then answers, “As much as that sounds like a very convenient wedding, I don’t think Eliza would appreciate that, baby.”

Alex frowns at being rejected, sags against the couch and crosses her arms. Why does Kelly always have to be right?

“How much has she had to drink?” Kelly turns to Kara.

“Uhh ask Lena. She made her switch to whiskey.”

Lena—who Kelly thinks was way too busy nuzzling against Kara’s neck to even answer her question—mumbles something that sounds like “S’was just two glasses.”

Kelly just shakes her head, makes Alex drink a glass of water. Her ring making a clink against the glass.

“Alright, what if,” Nia sing-songs, eyes sparkling with mischief, “we just settle this whole wedding thing with Charades?”

Nia claps her hands together like some gameshow host and Kelly takes a deep breath through the nose.

She’s been to enough Game Nights to know where this is headed.

Everybody else was intoxicated enough to accept the suggestion as a grand idea, not at all even thinking that: Hey, isn’t this something we should all take seriously?? Maybe ask the brides what they want, maybe???

Kara nods enthusiastically, agreeing immediately, “Oh!! That’s a great idea! Fun and fair at the same time!”

“Olsen vs. Danvers. Brides get to pick their teams.”

Nia pulls a white board out of nowhere, uncaps a marker and writes “Team Danvers”, “Team Olsen” separated by a neat line in the middle.

“Are we really letting Nia take charge of our wedding venue?" She hears Alex whisper from where she has her tucked at the crook of her neck.

Kelly sneaks a glance at the chaos happening before their eyes; Brainy already claiming to be on Kelly’s team, J’onn shaking his head opting to be the game scorer instead and refusing to participate, somebody’s shouting about: NIA, DREAM PROJECTIONS AT CHARADES IS CHEATING!!!!

Guess this is their life now.

Kelly smirks, boops Alex on the nose and says, “Scared you’ll lose, Danvers?”

****

Alex loses by three points.

“How was I supposed to know you were gesturing 'Transformers'!?!” She barks at Kara, throwing her hands in exasperation.

“I pointed at Nia!” Kara huffs, incredulous at the fact that her sister is blaming her.

Nia lost them a point too!

“What does Nia even have to do with it???” Alex’s voice grows higher in pitch. Her brows furrow in a mix of confusion and frustration.

“Trans, Alex. Trans.”

“Oh my God,” Alex groans. “How are you this dumb?”

And that was the story of how Kelly got her dream wedding.

****

The frenzy finally dies down, some time between Nia making up another drinking game and J’onn making her sit back down. A movie that none of them were watching provides a background noise to the almost lazy atmosphere. Kelly and Alex were pressed close on the far end of the couch, enjoying the temporary quiet.

“Guess we’re getting married in the woods, huh?” Alex murmurs.

“I guess we are,” Kelly whispers back. Alex beams at her, grinning dopily at the thought of finally getting the ending they deserve. It would be the perfect day, she has no doubt about that. No matter where they are. It would be perfect because they got there together.

Alex can’t wait.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing.”

Alex continues to smile stupidly, nudges her nose to Kelly’s.

“Just— I don’t really care where we get married, I guess.”

“Oh yeah?” Kelly raises an amused brow at her.

“Mm-hm. So long as you’re the one walking down the aisle.”

Alex presses their lips together, breathes Kelly in deep and for the first time that night, she feels that the future isn’t so scary, even though there is still a very large possibility that she might trip over a tree root on her wedding day.

Somebody interrupts their kiss.

“She’s only saying that ‘cos she lost.”

“Shut up, Luthor.”

****

“Text me when you get home!”

Lena hears Kara call loudly after her sister, before closing the door. Game Night has officially ended and as usual she’s still here. She’ll always be here, she thinks for a brief moment. The thought holding more depth than it should.

Kara didn’t even question her when everybody began filing out and Lena just started picking up the discarded dirty plates and walking them to the sink. They’re well past the point of asking each other if the other would stay over.

It was already some unspoken rule.

Already well past the point of Lena wanting to ask Kara what the hell it is they’re doing.

She’s bent over the sink, scrubbing—Kara doesn’t own a dishwasher for the sole reason that she finds doing the dishes therapeutic—when Lena takes a glance over her shoulder.

Kara is sitting on a high stool near the counter, casually flicking through her phone. It was Lena’s turn to do the dishes tonight. Once upon a time her doing the dishes would have resulted in a fight. “I can superspeed the dishes. Why would you even want to do them?” A statement that would be met with an eye roll.

Kara has learned not to fight her on it again, after around the 7th time that Lena had stubbornly insisted and Supergirl got doused with dishwashing liquid.

And now, it’s become some sort of routine, Kara does the dishes after lunch and Lena does the dishes after dinner. Oh, how the paparazzi would kill for this—Lena Luthor Knows What A Sponge Is?

“Is it true when you told Alex you’re never going to get married?”

Kara decides to break their quiet.

“Yeah, pretty certain about that one, why?” Lena turns around, cocks a curious brow. If she’s being honest she’s beyond certain that she’s not going to get married. She always jokes about how she’s married to L-Corp but it isn’t till now that she realizes how true that is, and...how lonely.

“I don’t know,” Kara murmurs, not meeting Lena’s eyes. “I just like the idea of you getting married, I guess.”

“What?” Lena chuckles at that; genuinely confused but still curious.

“Well, I mean—” Kara wobbles through her words.

“I guess, I just— I like the idea of you walking down the aisle...in a white dress,” Kara muses.

Then, “Or a suit!!” she quickly amends. “If you wanna wear a suit, that is. That can totally be arranged, you know?” Kara waves her hand around and it’s like now that she’s started, she can’t stop.

And Lena’s just standing there, water still dripping from her elbow, unsure of how to feel about Kara imagining her getting married. Quite an incredulous scene isn’t it? Her getting married? What a crazy thing to say, an even crazier scenario to imagine!

She snaps out of it, realizing Kara’s still rambling.

“I have no objections whatsoever with that, if you wanna wear a suit. And yeah, you know? I just— I like that idea. I like the idea of you dancing to your wedding song. The idea of you exchanging your vows, the idea of you-”

“Kara,” Lena decides to put a stop to it, since it’s clearly evident Kara won’t be stopping any time soon. And Lena's feeling way too many things that she doesn’t want to feel at the moment. She’s sure that she’s going to feel more, if she doesn’t put a stop to it herself.

“I’m well aware that it’s the best friend’s job to help with the bride’s wedding,” She says, “but, darling don’t you think you’re putting just a bit too much effort into this? Certainly seems like you’ve thought about it a lot.”

At that, Kara’s cheeks turn a light pink, squirming sheepishly under Lena’s questioning gaze.

Shouldn’t Kara be thinking about her own wedding? How beautiful she would look walking down the aisle. How her blonde hair would look so nicely with her dress. How happy she would finally be after finding someone she could share her life with. Not that Lena's been thinking about those kinds of things. No, of course not. That’d be hypocritical of her at this point. Why would she even— Why were they even talking about this again???

Lena tries to rein in it, tries to focus on Kara again; hands finally finding a dry towel, hesitantly walking into Kara’s space to hear the blonde more clearly.

“Well, I mean- Like I said, I do really like the idea of you getting married,” Kara repeats herself slowly.

And before Lena can come any closer, “Like the idea of you getting married…to me. More specifically,” Kara adds more quietly.

“What?”

Lena stands frozen.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard y- Kara, did you just?”

Lena’s heart is pounding away in her chest. Did she hear her right? Did Kara really just—

Lena’s a step away from her and Kara uses this to her advantage. She pulls Lena closer, tugging at her wrist, the towel dropping from Lena’s hands. Kara summons enough willpower to stare into Lena’s eyes.

“I like the idea of you getting married to me, Lena Luthor.”

“Kara, I’m sorry- What?” Lena jerks away from her, the words finally landing.

“Is that a no?”

Kara lets her go. She can’t focus on Lena’s heartbeat to assess the situation more. Kara’s own heart is betraying her, drumming so loudly in her ears.

“Uh- no, that's definitely not a no?” says Lena hesitantly, eyes wide, breathing nervously. She turns away from Kara for a minute to take a breath, hands fidgeting about.

She whirls around again to face, mutters, “You do realize marriages are for people who are—”

She pauses.

How do you exactly phrase that wedding proposals are for people who are actually in some kind of romantic relationship? And not for people who casually stay over every goddamn Thursday without fail?And okay, maybe sometimes, in a much different reality, would willingly commit fratricide to save the other? And in an also much different reality, willingly expose a secret identity to save the other?

Lena can’t find the right words.

“Oh, I don’t know, Kara,” Lena scoffs, shaking her head disbelievingly. “Marriage is for people who are actually dating each other.”

Kara takes her sarcasm as a good sign and pulls her in again.

“Well,” Kara begins. She can hear Lena’s heart thumping erratically, now that Kara’s gotten her bearings.

“We can always have our first date after the wedding, right?”

Aren’t they well past the point of dating anyway?

She’s got Lena standing between her legs now, her hands wrapping around her waist.

“First date and honeymoon all in one. That sounds great, doesn’t it? I can fly you wherever you want, Paris, Maldives, hell I even have a Fortress in the Arctic, if you’re into that.”

Lena stares at her, blinks once, twice; shakes her head and lets out a noise between a laugh and a scoff.

“Kara Zor-El, you are one ridiculous woman,” She breathes, putting a hand on Kara’s cheek. Because what else is there to say? This whole conversation really is ridiculous. But at the same time Lena feels like she’s floating? Like this may be the best moment of her life, and of course, it’s going to be ridiculous. This is Kara she’s dealing with, after all.

She doesn’t know what she’s going to do if Kara reveals this to be just some sort of joke.

But the way her blue eyes are piercing through Lena’s, so earnest and so warm, argues otherwise.

“So, what do you say? Wanna get married?”

“Are you serious right now?” Lena asks, still unbelieving. This is beyond crazy. They’ve fought aliens and monsters and traveled through time but this? This is just beyond crazy.

“Lena, do I look like I’m joking? And besides, you’d already offered to pay for two weddings, why not pay for our two weddings, instead?”

She shakes her head again, let’s herself fall closer to Kara, lets out a laugh against her neck.

“Mm. You want a Kryptonian ceremony too?”

“Yeah.” Kara’s voice turns shy. “If that’s alright by you.”

“Of course, that’s alright by me. I’d be honored.”

Her heart feels more than full at the thought of Kara wanting to share that part of her with Lena. She’s always had some doubts whenever the topic of Kara’s Kryptonian heritage arises, always half-afraid she’s overstepped on something that isn’t hers.

But looks like there was nothing to fear all along.

“So, we’re getting married, huh?” Kara wiggles her brows, her face breaking into a wide grin.

“Yes. Mm-hm,” Lena hums against her. “I do. I’d marry you. Let’s get married.”

“Seal it with a kiss?"

****

“Hi.”

Lena blearily opens her eyes, follows the soft voice, her bare back being caressed by the sun filtering through Kara’s curtains.

“Hi,” She whispers back. All this feels much too like a fever dream. She’s half-tempted to pinch herself just to check. She’s woken up beside Kara a million times before but she’ll never get used to the sight of soft golden hair and sleepy blue eyes.

Kara gives her a soft peck and the feel of her lips sends Lena reeling.

The previous night was a whirlwind in her mind’s eye. The moment Lena murmured her 'Yes, please.', Kara kissed her passionately. Once they broke away, Kara had zipped around the apartment, Lena too dazed to even ask what it was Kara was looking for.

She watched as Kara tore off a keychain from one of her bags, curled the keyring to fit Lena’s finger and whispered, “This’ll do. For now.”

Kara had kissed her knuckles reverently, her lips making Lena’s blood sing in her veins. The feel of mangled metal fitted just for her left hand is an imprint on her soul. A promise of more to come.

They didn’t make it out of the kitchen the first time. Kara had lifted her by the waist and set her down on the kitchen counter. Which was a good thing, because Lena couldn’t feel her legs after.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom the second time either. She had tackled Kara onto the couch, pinning her wrists together, licking at the shell of Kara’s ear. “My turn now,” Lena had whispered. The way Kara shivered underneath her was enough of a reward. How long had they been waiting for this?

Flashes of last night had her hips bucking slightly unto Kara’s leg sandwiched between her own, but before it could escalate further...

“I have exciting news to share,” Kara tells her.

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” Kara hums, now nosing at Lena’s hair.

“What is it?” Lena asks.

“I’m getting married.”

“Oh you are?” Lena plays along.

“Yes. I’m getting married to my best friend,” whispers Kara, almost conspiratorially. “How cool is that?”

Kara looks giddy with excitement and Lena knows she’s mirroring that exact same expression right now.

“Mm. Very cool, darling.”

Kara giggles and they trade more lazy kisses before Lena breaks away to breathe.

“Quite a coincidence though,” Lena husks out against Kara’s lips.

“Oh really? Why?” Kara asks, tries to keep a serious neutral face despite her nose scrunching up in that cute smile that Lena can’t resist

“I’m also getting married,” Lena confides, “To my best friend," she adds, eyes flashing. "Isn’t that great?”

“Very great.” Kara nods slowly, blonde hair falling into her face, a hand running through dark tresses.

“I love you,” Lena whispers, her lips brushing Kara’s softly.

“I love you, too.” Kara kisses her harder then, her hands lazily wandering along Lena’s skin.

They lie there quietly for a few moments, basking in the morning glow and then, “Alex will kill us.”

Lena snorts, twists in the sheets and says, “I think your sister is too busy planning her wedding to even think about plotting our murder.”

read follow-up here.

#im praying we get a dansen wedding u guys #anyways yeah this is something they would totally do right?#get married on a whim #if u see a typo no u didnt #oh and also im still working on the prompts u guys sent me so there's that #thats the majority of my wips cos im one slow writer #happy supercorp sunday lovely people #supercorp ficlet of sorts #the reckless writer writes #supercorp #rcklss writes

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saturndivine · 4 years ago

Text

The Ferality of Mars

»»————-　➴　————-««»»————-　➴

Feral: "Existing in a wild or untamed state"

When I think of Mars, I think of the Greek god, Ares. I think of the heart pumping blood throughout the body to keep it alive. I think of passion, ferocity, and rawness. Mars is the planet of emotion, similarly to the moon but with a more sinister twist. Mars wants you to feel everything and create with that energy, Mars wants you to be overwhelmed with emotion, so much so it consumes and guides you. Mars wants you to feel everything. It is known as a Malefic Planet because of its inability to be tamed and controlled but Mars isn’t about having control, its about intuition and allowing yourself to be guided by the invisible force that encourages you to nuzzle into your most primal and authentic state and honor that part of you.

[Yes I will be using Hozier lyrics that represent the ferality of each sign]

Aries Mars [Mars in 1st]

When I picture Aries Mars at its most feral state, I visualize a forest fire consuming everything in its path, absorbing nature to feed as fuel. With Mars in its rulership, Aries Mars has no issue releasing, guided by their heart throughout it all to overcome whatever may stand in their way. They move quickly and harshly, striking first and questioning later. You mold life into what you want it to be so there is no need for you to even plan right? As an unstoppable force, you have to let your heart take control.

“There's no plan, there's no race to be run

The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the sun

There's no plan, there's no kingdom to come

Sit in & watch the sunlight fade, honey, enjoy its getting late

Theres no plan, theres no hand on the reign,

...As Mack explained, there will be darkness again”

Taurus Mars [Mars in 2nd]

When I picture Taurus Mars at its most feral state, I imagine a bear tearing its way through a beehive, grasping at the honeycombs and devouring it in a matter of seconds. With a venus-ruled mars or mars in detriment, you all look for the sweeter things in life and insist that you are worthy of goodness and don’t mind taking it for yourself. Conflict is stupid to you because you have your own morals and studies and firmly believe in what you desire and if anyone steps to you, you have the power to throw it right back in their face. You are the raging bull, undefeated once you’re committed. But you represent the tamer, earthy side of Mars.

“I have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me.

I have never known hunger, like these insects that feast on me.

A thousand teeth, and yours among them, I know.

Our hungers appeased, our heartbeats becoming slow.”

Gemini Mars [Mars in 3rd]

When I picture Gemini Mars at its most feral state, I picture the rebirth that spring offers. The energy of this mars sign matches the intensity of the rising sun and falling rain that causes the flowers to blossom and fill the earth with its aroma. It is quite impossible to stop a determined Gemini, they want to leave their mark on this earth and do so in many different ways as they are indestructible, powered by the combination of their mind and their heart which creates an explosion upon collision. To get in the way of this placement is to stand in the way of the changing seasons, impossible.

“Each day you'd rise with me, know that I would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty.

Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight.

Strap the wing to me, death trap clad happily, with wax melted, I’d meet the sea,

Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight.”

Cancer Mars [Mars in 4th]

When I picture Cancer Mars at its most feral state, I visualize the crumbling of the earth into itself, only to grow back in a healthier form. A resilient placement that can have the worst thrown at them and come back only more beautiful. In the introduction, I discussed how both Moon and Mars share a common goal but the Moon goes about it a different way, as Cancer Mars goes about martian energy in a different way as well. With mars in fall, Cancer takes the soft approach to ferality, embracing the harsh energy and converting it into tenderness.

“And I love too, that love soon might end,

be known in its aching, shown in the shaking,

Lately of my wasteland, baby.

Be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking,

Though quaking, though crazy

That's just wasteland, baby.”

Leo Mars [Mars in 5th]

When I picture Leo Mars at its most feral state I see a blinding white-hot light overcoming anyone and everyone in its path, forcing others to bend to its will simply by doing what it does naturally. As a fixed mars, Leos energy is continuous and bold, quite difficult to escape if a Leo Mars has you in their eye line. They are everywhere, they rule the heart so they rule ferality in a way, diving back into their lion roots and fully delving into the fact that they are the rulers of the jungle and rulers of the world.

“Be love in its disrepute, scorches the hillside and salts every root

And watches the slowing and starving of troops

And, lover, be good to me.

Be there and just as you stand or be like the rose that you hold in your hand

That will grow bold in a barren and desolate land

Oh, lover, be good to me.”

Virgo Mars [Mars in 6th]

When I picture Virgo Mars at its most feral state I can clearly gaze upon an open field, a deer nosing at grass only to be pounced on by a random predator, yet Virgo represents both the predator and the prey, enforcing balance and really honoring nature fully. Virgo Mars is one of the most ferocious and determined martian placement because they understand how to use the life around them to their advantage. Failure is impossible because they are always ten steps ahead of everyone else. They understand balance, both aggressiveness, and peacefulness.

“With the war of the fire, my heart moves to its feet

Like the ashes of ash, I saw eyes in the heat

Feel it soft and as pure as snow, fell in love with the fire long ago

With each love I could lose, I was never the same

Watch it still live in roofs, be consumed by the flame

I was fixed on your hand of gold, laying waste of my lovin' long ago”

Libra Mars [Mars in 7th]

When I picture Libra Mars at its most feral state, I see a person walking into a mossy lake only to never come out again. There is a slight underestimation when people first get to know the Libra Mars. This martian placement matches up with tricky Aphrodite, Libra mars has secrets they dont want unturned, they have a hidden past that they want to be kept to themselves because they are never the people they were a few moments ago. They are evolving and healing, rubbing soil on their open wounds to grow into a new version of themselves.

“I had a thought, dear, however scary about that night, the bugs and the dirt.

Why were you digging? What did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth?

I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask and neither should you.

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.”

Scorpio Mars [Mars in 8th]

When I picture Scorpio Mars at its most feral state, there is a black burning tree in the middle of the falling snow, crackling and popping and falling to the pieces onto blankets of snow only to keep burning. Mars takes a different approach in this rulership, it is calculated, ready, and sure of whatever move is to be made as if it has been practiced for quite some time. There is no defeating a Scorpio mars, only succumbing, bending to its will, and praying that they will take mercy on your soul.

“If I was born as a blackthorn tree, I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you

Fuel the pyre of your enemies.

Ain't it warming you, the world gone up in flames?

Ain't it the life you, your lighting of the blaze?

Ain't it a waste they'd watch the throwing of the shade?

Ain't you my baby, ain't you my babe?”

Sagittarius Mars [Mars in 9th]

When I picture Sagittarius Mars at its most feral state, I see the serpent in the garden of Eden sliding on its belly and offering an option of freedom, going against the grain of submissiveness. Sagittarius Mars tends to ooze this raw sex appeal that stems from their confidence & their need to question the life around them, never satisfied by what is given to them, instead they leave their own mark on the world before them by embracing individuality and moving along their own path.

“I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found.

I'd be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground.

I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around.

And I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice,

Imagine being loved by me.”

Capricorn Mars [Mars in 10th]

When I picture Capricorn Mars at its most feral state, I imagine the fall of an empire, a civilization, a society, forced to come to terms with the fact that its reign has come to an end. Mars in exalt, arguably one of the most powerful placements to have in the natal chart, there isn’t a way to prevent the energy of a Capricorn Mars, they are backed by Saturn, two malefic energies combining to create an unbeatable power and manifesting as strength in the native who claims this energy.

“It's the light, and it's the obstacle that casts it

It's the heat that drives the light, It's the fire it ignites,

It's not the waking, it's the rising.

It's not the song, it is the singing.

It's the heaven of a human spirit ringing.

It is the bringing of the line, It is the bearing of the rhyme

It's not the waking, it's the rising.”

Aquarius Mars [Mars in 11th]

When I picture Aquarius Mars at its most feral state, I visualize a group of nude women, dancing around an intense fire, the full moon shining only for them as they howl out into the wind. Aquarius Mars is a placement that understands how to honor their roots and get back in touch with themselves to move to the future. They use their past to propel them into new opportunities and to become a higher version of themselves. There is no obstructing this futuristic placement, eyes steady on the prize that remains up ahead.

“When you move, I can recall something that's gone from me

When you move honey, I'm put in awe of something so flawed and free.

So move me, baby, shake like the bough of a willow tree,

You do it naturally, move me, baby.”

Pisces Mars [Mars in 12th]

When I picture Pisces Mars at its most feral state, I envision a floating sailor, sinking in with each song that leaves the siren’s voice only to realize that it is too late as the last of air leaves their lungs and they now become one with the siren. Pisces Mars has the gift of “innocence” that people project onto them and they understand how to use it to their advantage and come out on top. Deception is a mastered tool but doesn’t negate the fact that they are simply seductive and persuasive and hold power that many are unaware of. They should continue to move carefully and use their “faults” to their benefit.

“Feeling more human and hooked on her flesh,

I lay my heart down with the rest at her feet.

Fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile

It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet.

In leash-less confusion, I'll wander the concrete,

Wonder if better now having survived.

The jarring of judgment and reason's defeat.

The sweet heat of her breath in my mouth; I'm alive.”

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