#blue haze event

[saekkas]

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐄; CLOSED!

as a gift from me for all of your love and support, i'll be holding a little event! i don't know how many of you are interested in joining but i hope you'll enjoy this <3

— event masterlist

❥ prompt games: send an ask containing a character + 1-2 prompts of your choice, and i'll write it for you (think: blurb/drabble/fic/hc, depending on how much the prompt(s) inspires me)

❥ rules:

i currently only write for blue lock

the characters i write for include: isagi, kaiser, sae, rin

you're free to send in prompts with other characters but i might butcher their characterization :<

feel free to send in some of your own prompts!

i only write sfw and suggestive, so no sending in nsfw ones

❥ you can find the prompt list here

©𝐒𝐀𝐄𝐊𝐊𝐀𝐒; do not plagiarize, redistribute, reword, or re-publish my work on here or to any other websites.

[triskhellion]

Irie

Rated: Explicit (4.4k)

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Original Characters

Tags: POV Stiles, Getting Together, Jamaica, Gratuitous Nyammin' & Jammin', Patois/Patwah, Explicit Sexual Content, Hickeys, Song Lyrics

Summary: The one where Stiles and Derek go on an errand for Deaton and have some time to kill in Jamaica. They thoroughly enjoy themselves eating, swimming, relaxing, and exploring the island…and then each other.

Soundtrack

Super Blue Moon prompts: Joy, Grain, Red Haze & Summer (Mead Moons prompts: Aphrodisiacs, Claiming, Herbs, Hot & Revelry)

TW Anchor Down (Full Moon Round) prompts: Word - Unstoppable, Phrase - “Grab the bull by its horns," Song - "Feel Good Inc.," Trope - Roommates, Picture - Cove @tw-anchor-down

Usually when Stiles got a message from Deaton about some errand or another it ended up with him and Derek searching for an artifact buried in Back of Everywhere, North Dakota during the dead of winter or rifling through a dusty pile of old papers in a dank, foreboding basement in Romania while being stalked by a cāpcāun or something.

But not this time. For once it appeared they were being sent somewhere warm and sunny in service of the supernatural. They were headed to the Caribbean to fetch half a dozen varieties of rare and apparently invaluable live plants for the druid that needed to be transported carefully under specific conditions once the specimens were ready.

What’s more, because they were on their way back from visiting Cora in Ecuador instead of trekking all the way back to Beacon Hills and then turning around to fly south again at most a week later they were just going straight to Jamaica and would have some time to kill. 

Beverly, an Obeahwoman whose network of multidisciplinary magic practitioners they’d gotten to know during their frequent trips to the Bay Area, lit up with excitement during their video call when she heard they’d be going to the country of her birth. She not only had recommendations for them, but tips and resources as well.

“Look, the big all-inclusive hotels and the curated activities are fun, not gonna lie, but there’s a lot more to the island than what you can find in those expensive, insular spaces if you’re interested in a bit of adventure or some actual peace and quiet,” she told them, dark eyes sparkling.

He and Derek had looked at each other and grinned. On one hand, there was something to be said for lounging around and having a parade of colorful cocktails pass by — he was a year past the drinking age of 18, of course he checked — but on the other, an adventure that didn’t involve something trying to kill them for once or some secluded relaxation would be nice. Plus, he was sure there were lots of other places a bit off the beaten path where he could chill on the beach with a beverage.

And so here they were careening on some winding mountain highway in a van driven by a sprightly 30-something guy sporting sponge twists in a fade named Desmond, or Dezzy, who was apparently a cousin of Bev’s.

“More like ‘Dizzy’,” he whispered to Derek when the way too calm driver, who was currently humming along to “Getaway” by Earth, Wind and Fire, overtook a car on a longer stretch and cheerfully honked the horn, swerving back into the left lane before they could be smashed or knocked off the mountain by an oncoming semi truck. The tires hugged the edge of the road around the next curve and they all leaned to the side.

They’d flown into Montego Bay a couple days before, leaving in the wee hours and arriving in the late morning. They shared a room with two beds as usual while on a job at the guest house Bev hooked them up with. It was in Runaway Bay about a 20 minute walk to beach, which they visited as soon as they’d settled in and got their bearings. If Stiles had his way he’d be wearing one of his two pairs of swim trunks the entire trip.

The owner, Tish, sent them off with a tote bag of sandwiches made from slices of a sweet and spiced brown bread and some salty, tangy, cheddar-based cheese that apparently came from a can. There were also a couple bottles each of grapefruit Ting and D&G kola champagne. They took their bounty and beach supplies down to the white sands and ate in the shade of an almond tree, the gentle, bright blue waves beckoning them. 

Derek didn’t need sunscreen like Stiles did, but he said he found the low level burn before his body healed annoying, so they both applied the SPF 50 lotion afterward, helping with each other’s backs when done with rest of themselves. Stiles tried to distract himself from the expanse of skin and muscle underneath his roaming palms, blushing when he found himself absentmindedly tracing the triskelion between the werewolf’s shoulder blades. He then had to fight to keep from making any noises when it was his turn, deft fingers spreading the goopy substance over him. 

As soon as those warm, massaging hands were removed from his hyper aware body — his, uh, starting to react body — Stiles took off running toward the clear water in an attempt to both hide and dampen the state he was in. Derek was soon chasing after him and he felt a thrill of excitement as he crashed through the warm liquid before being tackled. He came up sputtering and shaking his head, retaliating as soon as he wiped his stinging eyes by kicking water at the smug wolf and getting into an all out splash battle until he tired out.

They floated and swam, goofed around trying to knock each other over, and just hung out semi-crouched in the sea for a while before returning to land, spreading out towels to sit or lie on and air dry in the hot sun. Stiles looked over to see Derek resting prone with his head on his forearms, eyes closed and smiling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the Alpha so at ease and watched him fondly before turning to gaze out at the ships dotting the horizon, fingers trailing through the sand. 

We’ll run away together. We’ll spend some time forever. We’ll never feel bad anymore, flashed through his mind, a relic of summers past.

Heh, if only. Him and Derek? Maybe in another lifetime. Sighing, he pushed the thought away and stretched out on his back, gazing up at the clouds dotting the late afternoon sky.

Stiles was liable to fall asleep right there, but didn’t want to wake up a lobster once the sunscreen stopped being effective, so before he nodded off he poked Derek in the shoulder and suggested either moving back into the shade or heading back to their accommodations. Their hours in the water had worked up an appetite because before the wolf could answer his stomach growled and they both burst out laughing.

Shortly after returning they saw Tish in the side yard picking what looked like bumpy green pinecones from one of the fruit trees. She handed them one to try, a curious fruit with many names. Sweetsop, sugar apple, custard apple, and more. Derek broke it open and the creamy segments of flesh covering black seeds inside were indeed sweet and reminiscent of custard. 

Seeing that they liked it she gave them a couple more and they thanked her, finishing the first one and part of another back in their room.

It was almost dinner time, so they both used the wait to make some phone calls, Stiles to his father and then to Scott in San Diego and Derek to Isaac and Malia to check-in on the pack. If he recalled correctly international calls were around $0.30 cents a minute with his phone plan so he kept each conversation to around 15 minutes knowing he’d probably talk to at least his dad another couple of times. Derek, laconic as usual, had been done with his in a fraction of the time and was reading a novel in Spanish that he picked up in Ecuador by the time he finished.

That evening’s meal was savory brown stew chicken with rice & gungo peas cooked with coconut milk, thyme, and some flavors he enjoyed, but couldn’t quite place. They ended up chatting with Jacob, the cook, when they sat in the courtyard outside the kitchen afterward and he was happy to talk about the food that he and the other staff members prepared. Stiles found that he could mostly understand Patois, or Patwah, at least if he was paying attention and it wasn’t too fast. 

“Dere x-amount ah spice an ‘erb dem, but eff yuh haffi pick tree dat gi yuh dat tayse ah Jamaica? Den mi seh tyme, pimento — wah yuh call allspice — an scotch bonnet peppa a most important. Eff yuh waan mek it four, den skallion fah chuu,” Jacob said, holding up what seemed a cross between a spring and red onion.

That night they turned in early tired out from the long hours of travel and activity and he fell asleep replaying the happiest day he’d had in a long time.

The second morning started with a hearty breakfast of escovitch fish — whole red snapper fried until the skin was crispy and then topped with a vinegary mix of sliced onion, carrot, bell pepper, that ever present fruity and fiery scotch bonnet pepper, and spices — with boiled green banana and circular pieces of a cassava flatbread called bammy. Then it was off to see the sights in Discovery Bay and Ocho Rios. (“Yeah, I’m sending you to some busy tourist destinations tomorrow but they’re popular for a reason,” Bev told them yesterday.)

They explored the Green Grotto Caves first, entertained by the guide explaining its history and about the animals that lived there. The underground lake was really cool and swimming was allowed up above so of course they took a dip in the brilliant aquamarine water. Next came a scenic drive through Fern Gully and then they arrived at Dunn’s River Falls. 

Derek had no problem climbing up the tiers of limestone barefoot, saving Stiles from injury on multiple occasions despite him wearing the silly water shoes. Indignity and near-braining aside, it was fun and the view beautiful. Every so often they would stop to wade or sit in one of the pools, the cold water from the mountains feeling good after the exertion on the sweltering day. After reaching the top and walking down the hill they hung out on the beach where the river emptied into the warm Atlantic. 

We ready for the road!

Now it was their third day on the island and they were on the way to Portland Parish. After a couple hours the van stopped by one of the ubiquitous stands by the road with grills made from halved oil barrels. They climbed out to stretch their legs and he watched as Derek closed his eyes and inhaled the intriguing scents carried by the smoke. 

“Time fi nyam pon jerk, mi yutes,” Dezzy said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. 

He ordered for the three of them and Derek insisted on paying. A platter of jerk chicken and pork and one with long, fried cornmeal dumplings and thick slices of dense bread were soon placed on their table along with 3 chilled green coconuts with straws poking out from the chopped open tops. Each of them were lost in their own little worlds as the combinations of flavors exploding on their tongues, the doubly hot, spiced meats cut with the lightly sweet carbs and washed down with the refreshing coconut water. Dezzy recommended saving the drained fruit for scooping out later.

Then they were back on the road again, the two of them dropped off at another guest house around an hour later, this one right off a beach near Fairy Hill. It belonged to another acquaintance of Bev’s, a friend of a friend or a friend of a cousin or something. Dezzy was staying with relatives nearby and told them to give him a call when they wanted a ride somewhere. They checked in at the reception area and were shown to a cozy, standalone single room dwelling.

Once again they went swimming right away and then ended up joining an impromptu volleyball match and tossing a frisbee around with a group of local and American youths that were staying there with their folks ahead of attending a big family reunion. Afterward they went for a walk to check out the neighborhood, stopping in at an outdoor bar and restaurant called Spinnaz. 

“Siddung likkle bit, nuh,” called a server mixing up a fruit filled concoction while they were standing back reading the menu board. She gestured at a couple empty seats and they sat down at the bar to finish deciding what to try.

Bottles of Red Stripe beer in hand a few minutes later, they leaned back and watched the other patrons socialize and dance, enjoying the light breeze. A fast tempoed number backed by a drum machine and horns came on and got most of the guests on their feet, hips swinging left, right, backward and forward increasingly fast with the lyrics.

Cent, five cent, ten cent, dollar. 

When it came time for the “big money wine” the crowd went wild shaking and gyrating. 

Stiles was itching to move, but he felt too self-conscious/sober to join in, so he just worked his shoulders in his seat, swaying and tapping his fingers on the counter behind him and his feet on the footrest of the high-backed swivel stool. 

Several tracks later a distinctive cackling marked the beginning of “Feel Good, Inc.” as Derek ordered another round of drinks, this time house made ginger beer with glasses of amber Appleton Estate rum on the side. He was nodding along with the beat when a platter of garlic butter shrimp and lobster with more of those fried cornmeal dumplings, festival,  arrived for them to share.

Afterward they ambled around some more, passing by various shops and vendors. Stiles bought a green shirt shirt that said “Who cyaan ‘ear, muss feel” in white letters with a stylized donkey on it and Derek got a gorgeous mahogany leather wallet engraved on the front with an anchor in the center and ferns and hibiscus flowers around the edges. Lastly, on the way back they stopped where a man was selling cut and peeled pieces of sugar cane on the side of the road. 

“Of course you would buy a cup of straight sugar,” Derek teased as they continued on.

“Hey, it’s bi sugar because I’m eating it,” he replied, taking the stick he’d been chewing on out of his mouth. “And anyway, this is unrefined from a plant. Plants are healthy, I don’t make the rules.” 

Derek snorted and shook his head, but grabbed one of the sticks himself. 

Huh, maybe the werewolf wasn’t as immune to the sun as he thought. He looked a little red.

Back in their room he set the rest on the table for later and then flopped onto his bed, turning on the satellite tv and flipping through channels as Derek sat up on his and found where he left off in his book. They went out again in time to watch the sun start its descent over the ocean. 

A couple colorful boots were now pulled up a ways down the beach and they walked over when a person standing next to one of them called out and appeared to wave at them. There were three men who looked to be in their early 40s, two with close-cropped hair — a short, stocky guy named Joseph and a taller, leaner man called Leslie — and another tall guy, slender with fine, tied back shoulder length braids who introduced himself as Malcolm and asked if he and Derek were interested in buying dinner. They were.

The fishermen had an ancient boombox going and Leslie was tending a makeshift grill as Malcolm scaled a variety of freshly caught fish and handed them to Joseph to clean. Closer up Stiles could see the boats were held in the shallows with anchors that were hunks of metal which looked like wheels with extended spokes. He shuddered at the thought of accidentally running into one of those.

In no time at all the prepared fish were on a piece of wire fencing over the small wood fire, a pot of mysterious contents bubbling on top of stones off to one side as well. Leslie explained that this type of grilled fish was called “bun finga” because digging into it shortly after it was done as people were wont to do would indeed burn your fingers and they laughed. 

Unlike most dishes which were generously seasoned this had only the salt of the sea and the smoke and char from the fire along with the oil of the skin itself for flavor, but that alone was enough to make it taste amazing and he experienced the accuracy of the name himself. Stiles soon noticed that the men were eating something else from the pot for their own meal and inquired about it.

“Mannish Waata soup,” replied Leslie.

“Yuh waan try?” asked Joseph with raised eyebrows. A sucking, kissing sound came from the right. 

“Mi tink him cyaan handle,” Malcolm said with a mischievous grin.

Stiles huffed and grinned back, not one to back down from a challenge.  

“Yeah, I’ll try it.”

Joseph filled up a cup and then offered one to Derek as well with plastic spoons.

“How much do we owe you for these?” the curious werewolf asked, sniffing the contents.

“Nuttin,” answered Malcolm. 

“Dis wan pon wi,” added Leslie watching Stiles with anticipatory amusement.

Cautiously, he blew on a spoonful and then tasted it, his eyes widening. He took a few more bites, trying to discern what type of meat was in it. Definitely not fish or chicken or pork, but he didn’t think it was beef either. The flavors were strong and there were some odd chewy bits, but it was pretty good, the spice making him break out in a sweat. There were chunks of various root vegetables, dumplings, and what turned out to be slices of green banana with the skin on as well. 

Near the bottom he bit into a piece of hot pepper and started coughing, flapping a hand uselessly and trying to wash it down with the rest of the warm broth. Joseph handed him a cold bottle of water from a cooler and he all but ripped it open, gulping down over half the contents in seconds.

“Thanks” he croaked as Derek and the fishermen laughed.

He wasn’t the only one feeling the burn though because after finishing his portion the werewolf stripped off his shirt and dashed into the water to cool down. Stiles was content to stay on the beach with another bottle of water, enjoying listening to the men razzing each other as they started gathering up their things and also the music coming from the crackling radio. As Derek stood up and started walking out of the waves a woman’s voice sang “Laaawwwd, ‘av is mercy!” and Stiles had to agree because goddamn. 

Realizing his eyes were lingering on the Alpha’s swoon worthy form he quickly looked away and started getting their leftovers and towels together. They said goodbye to Leslie, Joseph, and Malcolm and walked back toward the guest house looking around at the red haze now making the whole sky seem to glow. Stiles suggested a detour around the property before returning to their little studio to check out some of the other buildings. They passed by a shaded lounge area with hammocks that he made a mental note to revisit another time.

Over a dozen people were in the dining room when they peeked inside, background music flowing from the speakers on stands on either side.

I’m trying to change the rules, you deserve something good in your life. We’ve waited for far too long, so come get your blessing tonight, baby.

They strolled through a tropical garden with a little bridge over a koi pond and then circled back around toward the rooms and apartments. 

Still feeling peckish they set upon their leftovers after a short blast in the microwave and washed it down with glass bottles of pineapple soda from the mini fridge. He watched Derek demolish his portion making little growly noises that managed to be adorable while also seriously turning him on.  

Stiles tried to put the kibosh on that train of thought and turned his attention back to his own food, pulling apart the savory morsels and licking his fingers clean. When he glanced up again Derek was staring at him, his eyes glowing red. Stiles swallowed and the wolf’s gaze dropped to his throat and then up again when he deliberately brought his fingers back to his mouth, maintaining eye contact. The moment stretched and grew taut. 

Feeling brave he tipped his head up and bared his throat in invitation and Derek sprang up from the other bed and stalked over. A hand burrowed into his hair as the werewolf leaned down to claim his mouth, the kiss flavored salty and sweet. It took a long time to get here, but now that the dam had broken the desire thrumming between them felt unstoppable.

When they broke apart, Stiles knew exactly what he wanted and just needed a few moments to work up the courage. It was time to grab the bull by its horns, or rather the wolf by the hips. 

With his fingers gripping the waistbands of Derek’s trunks he looked up for permission. At the sharp nod of his head Stiles tugged them down and was met with the Alpha’s swiftly rising and hardening cock. 

He’d seen Derek naked before, but this was the first time seeing him with an erection and it was both tantalizing and intimidating. A chuckle snapped him out of his mesmerized state and he grasped the thick shaft after spitting in his palm. Stiles kissed the head, licking over the slit, and then drew him into his mouth. He worked his hand at the base while he bobbed and sucked, lips straining around the hard member as Derek caressed his head and alternated between murmured words of filth and praise.

He did his best to swallow when the Alpha came, spurting copious amounts of cum onto his tongue and then pulling out to mark his face and throat as well. It was hotter than it had any right to be, even better than he’d imagined, and he felt proud to have brought the not-so-unattainable-after-all wolf off. Derek grasped Stiles by the chin and swiped his thumb across a messy cheek, sliding the coated digit past friction plumped lips for him to suck. 

“So perfect for me,” he growled. Stiles went to touch himself, but the now sharp-fanged werewolf caught his hand. “Let me.” 

At Derek’s urging, Stiles crawled backwards further up the bed and then turned over onto his stomach, all but vibrating with want. His shorts were pulled off and he felt those strong, warm hands on him again, this time palming his ass and then spreading him open for the Alpha’s viewing pleasure. 

Blushing, he looked over his shoulder to see Derek breathing heavily and staring red eyed like he couldn’t wait to devour him.

“Please…anything,” he whispered. The next thing he knew a tongue was licking over and pressing against his hole and he gripped the comforter below him, crying out . Soon he was rubbing himself on the bed and then pushing back wantonly, eliciting a pleased rumble from the wolf.

Stiles whined when Derek pulled away a minute later, but then he was being flipped onto his back, the complementary bottle of cocoa butter lotion tossed down beside him. Crawling onto the bed and taking hold of his cock, Derek mouthed at the tip before sinking down on him, tonguing the underside of his shaft on the upstroke. In between his own babbling moans Stiles heard a cap being flicked open and then cool, viscous liquid was being squeezed onto his thigh.

Derek ran his hand through the fragrant dollop and then a slippery finger began teasing his entrance. Slowly, it pressed in and starting pumping to target his prostate, joined by a second one once he relaxed at the intrusion. He’d done it himself occasionally, but it was definitely better when it was someone else, holy fuck. The twin pleasures of hand and mouth reduced him to a mewling mess and he orgasmed faster than he would’ve liked gasping Derek’s name. 

The wolf had no complaints though it seemed, cleaning his sensitive cock and then nuzzling into his belly and trailing kisses down his inner thighs. Stiles made grabby hands at him, but Derek evaded them, skipping away with a laugh. He returned a couple minutes later with warm, damp cloths and gently wiped over his face and between his legs before climbing beside him and pulling him close.

Of course Stiles couldn’t stay quiet for long.

“Sooo…that just happened.” 

The expression on Derek’s face said “No shit, Sherlock,” his eyebrows raised and scrunched together. Stiles fidgeted and looked back at him again. 

“And, um, it’s a thing we do now?” he asked hopefully.

“Mmm…yes,” Derek replied, reaching down to pinch his ass with a smirk. He did not squeak, dammit!

“Cool.” Looking away and taking a long, slow breath he attempted to quell his internal flailing. Act normal! “So, just for funsies or—“ 

“No.” 

Stiles found himself being thoroughly kissed and then manhandled until he was facing away from the Alpha, but wrapped firmly in his embrace. He’d been little spoon’d! 

Before he could lodge a formal complaint with Boyfriend Services (omg, were they boyfriends?!) a hand covered his opening mouth. 

“Go to sleep,” Derek ordered. Stiles stubbornly dropped his jaw and caught his pinky finger, sucking it and rubbing back against the other man’s crotch. A low rumbling vibrated against his back and the arms around him tightened. Warm breath tickled his ear lobe before it was nipped. “The sooner we sleep, the sooner I’ll wake up and fuck you,” Derek promised huskily. 

Stiles made a frankly ridiculous high-pitched sound. He would be more embarrassed, but apparently Derek liked his weird noises if the way the werewolf was now doing a convincing lamprey impression on his neck was any sign, so that was okay. He closed his eyes and focused on the thrilling sensation, sighing when Derek released his tender skin. 

Everything was okay. Way better than okay. 

Irie.

[sterek-and-stuff-events]

Super Blue Moon event

Starting August 25th!

2023 has 13 full moons and the next one is the Super Blue Moon on August 30th, reaching its peak at 6:35pm PDT (August 31st at 1:35am UTC.) The last Super Blue Moon was in December 2009 and the next one won't be until August 2032, so it's pretty special!

It's also the third of four supermoons in a row this year and the last full moon of summer.

This is a Mini event officially from August 25th to August 31st.

There are 3 ways to participate: writing, art, and/or playlists using 2 or more of the following prompts:

13

Black Cherry

Blue Moon

Dispute

Grain

Joy

Lynx

Red Haze

Special

Sturgeon

Summer

Woman

Unravel

--Details below--

Writers:

1,500 words minimum using 2 or more prompts. This can be one fic or multiple works of at least 750 words each.

Combo writers: If you're doing an art post or a standalone mix too then only the single work minimum is required (750 words.)

Artists:

Use 2 or more prompts. to create visuals (drawings, gifsets, manips, vids/edits, moodboards, etc.) Can be one work or multiple.

Combo artists: If you're doing a standalone mix too then only 1 prompt is required for art.

Mixers:

There are 2 options for standalone fanmixes:

Use 2 or more prompts to make a 13 track playlist. Arrange them however you like: grouped together in segments, whatever flows best, randomly, etc.

Make a playlist using 1 song for every prompt in any order.

If you’re attaching a playlist to a fanfic or art post:

Do whatever you want! But you get extra cool points for using 13 tracks and either including 1 or more songs for every prompt that you use or 3 songs for at least 1 prompt. (Or both!)

Put your playlists on Spotify, YouTube or both so I can listen to them. 😉

Click here for content and posting info.

Super Blue Moon collections on Ao3 here. See tags on this post for the prompt tags.

[retroaria]

hello! if you're not busy, then may i please request an interviewer!reader x the blue lock boys? in which they become enamored with their interviewers charm. a few specific characters i want are: sae, rin, nagi and kaiser. but feel free to add or remove characters as you'd like! you can do this in your free time, no pressure. thank you, and take care!

a/n: thank you for requesting!! i’m so sorry please don’t hate me for how long this took i am NOT a professional :x

⋆˙⟡ interviewer!reader x - rin - nagi - kaiser - ⋆˙⟡

• | BLUE LOCK M.LIST | •

nagi seishiro ᯓᡣ𐭩

*totally lovestruck*

nagi has always struck me as someone who considers himself to be “out of the league” for most people he finds attractive, so he doesn’t put himself out there and doesn’t really know how. if he was in a situation where he had to interact with someone he genuinely was enamored by, he’d be a mess.

and so he stands there, dopy, clueless, not even looking correctly in the camera and seemingly staring at…you? No, he’s definitely staring at you. his eyes are dull and dim, but they seem to be a little hazed, glossed over with a sheen of fascination. he shakes his head and nods and mumbles, unbeknownst to whatever it is you’ve actually been asking him.

this is not the look nagi ever intended to have when speaking to someone he finds this attractive, but he truly can’t help it. his minds gone blank and he isn’t sure if you’re standing perfectly under a spotlight or if you’re an angel naturally glowing in his presence. his internal dialogue is stuck between cringing at himself and taking mental note of every single feature he can gather with his eyes on you - all over you, i should say.

nagi would be way too excited to actually ask you out (also definitely not after staring you down like a creep), he’d be too afraid of losing his cool. but he would absolutely remember your name and ask around when he has the chance - would ask reo for help with this lol. through some industry path of team managers to stadium staff to news reporters, he eventually finds you again. would 100% stalk you on social media and follow you just to see where that goes .

just like rin, he’d try to be in the right place at the right time and do the right things to get you to strike some sort of non formal conversation with him in the hopes that’ll it’ll create an opening for him to ask you out :x

rin itoshi ᯓᡣ𐭩

*blushes and looks away…*

rin hates interviews. he doesn’t like open ended questions and he hates having a camera shoved in his face. most of the reporters that run up to him on the edge of the field just holler questions and statements at him that can often feel degrading and presumptuous.

when he was stopped just outside the stadium by you and your small crew, you spoke to him with a lack of crassness that he hasn’t been on the receiving end of in ages - so he agrees. his answers remain cold and striking, as they always are, but his demeanor is more loose than usual.

rin initially doesn’t feel anything for you other than respect and gratitude for treating him like a human unlike the other reporters he’s encountered. he was sure to get your name and properly thank you. he’s the type to think about you and hope that you’ll cross paths again. wouldn’t go out of his way to find you, but at every game and every event he scans the crowds in search of your smile that had welcomed him so tenderly before. not to mention your face has popped into his head almost everyday since he first met you and it’s freaking him the fuck out.

when he does see you again he accepts your interview request immediately, bullshits through all the questions, and sticks around a little longer to talk to you. he’s painfully awkward and even more painfully unaware of it, but once you notice the slight blush on his face you can steer him in the right direction lol

michael kaiser ᯓᡣ𐭩

*prince charming*

when you introduced yourself to kaiser in hopes of getting an interview you certainly did not expect the offer to be accepted so enthusiastically. kaiser isn’t necessarily bothered by interviews, but he hates having to think of answers on the spot.

he’d throw out some cheeky lines like “If I smile at the camera can I get a date?” and a classic for him, “Whatever you say, beautiful.”

you’re asking him questions he surely has been asked before, questions he’s probably been trained to answer, but his answers are boastfully and flirtatiously directed at you and you alone. your camera man leaned over and asked if he should just cut all the footage. you entertain him a little more, trying to see if you can get him to break his prince charming act and actually talk about the game he just played.

eventually he lets up and you get the interview done. as you and your crew are about to leave the stadium, he grabs your hand and lifts it up, planting a soft kiss to your knuckles (you think maybe this could be considered assault, but you’ll let it slide for him this one time).

unlike the other two, kaiser doesn’t have a bashful bone in his body in this situation. i’ve always felt that he isn’t as much of a manwhore as everyone thinks he is, which i still stand by!!! but if he sees you and is truly enamored by you he knows how to make his feeling apparent.

[babyjakes]

you all over me.

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event | kinkmas 2023

prompt | double penetration

pairing | soft!dark!daddies!steve rogers and ari levinson x little!reader

warnings | dark ddlg dynamic (soft!dark!daddies of captive!little!reader.) dub/non-con. size kink. reader is held down and fucked. stretching. loss of anal virginity. unprotected double penetration (vaginal and anal.) mentions of anal training/stretching/fingering. clit rubbing. crying kink. praise and encouragement. mocking/humiliation. forced orgasm (with implied previous forced orgasms.) overstimulation. they come in her. little bit of aftercare.

word count | 1,386

an | this is written in the same au as clear blue water, with captive!reader and her soft!dark!daddies.

Tears poured down your damp cheeks as your face was tucked into the warm crook of Steve's neck. Arms reaching up weakly, you almost wanted to cling to the safety of his broad form as he lay beneath you, heavy breaths harmonizing with your own.

But that wouldn't do for your daddies- not for either of them. "Come on, babydoll. Where's that pretty face," the blonde crooned as his hips thrust upward over and over, rocking your own. His hands were on your waist, Ari's just above them as both the men worked to keep you upright and in place, their massive lengths pounding into you with steady rhythm.

They had been fucking you like this for what felt like hours, but the sensations of fullness and overstimulation you were experiencing were still just as overwhelming and horrible as when they had first pushed into you. Steve had gone first, both of the men knowing you would tolerate his part better. They were a bit concerned when you were in tears from the vaginal penetration alone, but as usual, they wouldn't be discouraged. As difficult as it was, and as pitiful as you were to watch as you were held down and split open, Ari was eventually able to work himself into you as well.

As they kept their four strong hands on you, working you up and down over their throbbing cocks like nothing more than a fleshlight with a pulse, you honestly couldn't tell which forceful insertion felt worse. It was all blurring together, the world nothing more than a streaky haze through your steady tears. The men shared a sympathetic glance with each other before Steve refocused his attention back on you. "Poor girl," he murmured lowly, bringing a hand up to brush away your tears with his thumb. "Know it's so hard, little one. So hard to take both your daddies' cocks at the same time, isn't it?"

"So full, aren't you, baby?" Ari nodded in agreement, his oversized member stretching your poor little bottom to its absolute limit. Despite the generous amount of lube they'd used and the time they'd spent patiently coaxing your tiny hole open with their greedy fingers, nothing could ease the horrible burning feeling that bloomed through your lower half as you were taken in the ass for the very first time.

"Look so pretty like this, all stretched out stuffed full of us," Steve groaned, his cock twitching so hard within your aching walls that you could feel it, your poor tummy spasming in response. To the man lying comfortably on his back, there had never been a sight quite as beautiful as this: watching from the front as your tiny holes were so helplessly violated, large hands holding you in place and giving you no choice but to sit there and take it, your perky tits bobbing perfectly as your figure was worked at a steady, punishing pace.

And though he couldn't see your chest as well, or the pretty little faces you were making as your body was used and abused so sinfully, Ari's view from behind you wasn't anything to turn his nose up at, either. He loved the way your back arched up as their dicks kept you angled forward towards Steve, your adorable ass bouncing in rhythm as his cock tore into your throbbing, achy hole. He could easily keep you going with just his hands alone; with both him and Steve being so much larger and stronger than you, it wasn't difficult for either one of them to overpower you and allow the other to make better use of a second pair of hands.

Which is just what Steve did as his partner held you up and in place, giving him the signal of a nod. "Go ahead, Stevie. Let's give some attention to that pretty little clit of hers," Ari suggested. Steve spit on his thumb, bringing the other hand down to pull back its protective hood as he smeared the clear wetness all over your poor little bundle of nerves. Your body jerked harshly at the stimulation, but you couldn't do anything to stop them or squirm away; you were completely helpless, having no choice but to let the blonde rub your exposed little nub in quick, harsh circles.

"Please, p-please... n-no!" you choked through your tears as your whole body began to shake with sobs.

"C'mon doll, doesn't that feel good? Know you like it when we pull back the hood and rub you right there, right on your cute little button," Steve frowned and faked worry at your cries, though he and Ari both knew perfectly well the way their actions and words were tormenting you.

"That's right," Ari mused from behind you as he kept your trembling body moving across their stiff lengths, "our pretty girl loves having her sweet little clit rubbed. Makes her come so hard, doesn't it Stevie? Poor baby can't help it when her daddies play with her clit, but it sure is cute to watch her try and fight it."

"So cute," Steve hummed in agreement, watching intently as your breaths began staggering, your little feet kicking weakly as your knees shook and struggled on either side of him. "Oh? Looks like she's getting close here," the blonde sang as he continued his skillful work over your slick, sticky nub. "Can feel her little pussy fluttering- what do you think, babydoll? You gonna be a good girl and come for your daddies?"

Watching as your buildup continued, Ari and Steve shared a knowing nod, both increasing the speed of their respective roles as their cocks pumped more vigorously inside you. This is the moment they had been waiting for; of course they were hoping to come as you did. A few orgasms had been forced from your trembling form earlier as you were held down by one and stretched out on the other's fingers, but this was meant to be the grand finale, the climax you would all share, whether you were willing or not.

"Can feel her squeezing us- she's getting close," Ari grunted as their dicks clapped lewdly into your dripping holes. "That's it, sweetheart. Come on, almost there..."

Your resistance was a losing game. As much as you fought and defied them each time, a sense of helplessness was never absent from within you; you knew you'd be forced to come. And with both of them thrusting into you at an almost immeasurable speed, and Steve's torturous hands working your clit the way he knew best, there was nothing for you to do but let them have their way with you. Eyes squeezing shut as your tummy tightened, your little toes curled as your orgasm was ripped from your faltering grasp. You came long and hard, Steve and Ari's triumphant words of praise merely echoes as heat and shocks of ecstasy overcame your exhausted body.

Warmth burst in your core as you were pumped full of both the men's come, Ari's fingers digging in almost painfully around your waist as their cocks swelled and sputtered within you. When you were finally coming down from your impressively long high, you let out a soft, broken cry as Steve finally eased your body down to rest limply against his front. "Shhh," you could hear him humming soothingly, someone's hand rubbing your back as you sniffled and sobbed into your captor's chest. "Easy pulling out of her," he was murmuring to Ari as the world seemed to slow around you.

"You're okay, baby. You were so good for us," the brunette was praising you softly from behind as he shifted a bit inside you, trying to measure how careful he needed to be as he and his partner now shifted their focus towards damage control.

"Don't cry, little one. Daddy's here, Daddy's got you," Steve kissed the top of your head as he cooed at you, his broad arms cradling you lovingly as you clung to him. You were desperate for any comfort and tenderness you could get at this point, even if it was straight from the hands of your abusers. This is usually how you wound up at the end of the day, a weeping mess in your daddies' arms, and they wouldn't have it any other way.

[amazinglyashy]

I Think You'll Be Okay

Read on Ao3 Pairings: Rafayel x Reader Summary: You find yourself face to face with an old flame. Your heart pounding loud enough for you to hear it, but your feet refusing to move, refusing to get you to safety. That's alright though. Safety comes to you. Or You meet up with your abusive ex-boyfriend again when waiting for the train. Luckily for you, someone else decided to take the train today. Tags: Past Domestic Violence, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Protectiveness, Rescue, Hurt/Comfort Wordcount: 6,107

You fiddled in your pocket, trying to dig out your phone. You had shoved it there earlier when you had left work, on your way out in a rush, trying to leave before any more was put on you. That is, on top of what had already been dumped on you today, forcing you into overtime when you really just wanted to go home. You really didn’t want to be heading home any later than right now, with all of the creeps coming out soon to prey on young highschoolers hanging out in the city after classes, or single women like yourself getting off of work late. The time was already squarely at sundown, which meant you were making it out just in time.

The sun was setting to the left of the platform already, the golden haze casting an orange glow over everything it touched. It was a nice change, you admitted to yourself. Usually when you were leaving, the sky was still a misty shade of blue, the evening only just barely peppering the surroundings with its presence. The platform was also so much busier at that time, with crowds of people trying to shove themselves onto the train, filling every gap they could to shave just a few extra minutes off of their travel time rather than wait for one of the other coming trains. Last you had checked, you were one of very few standing on the platform- the only others being a small group of highschoolers chatting with each other a ways down to your right, and an elderly man dozing off on a bench near the stairs, leaning against his cane as he snored quietly. He didn’t seem like he was waiting for a train though, there being benches much closer to the boarding area that he wasn’t anywhere near, so you had decided to leave him be after you had noticed him initially. 

I’ll leave the waking him up to whoever he’s waiting on. You muse to yourself as you pull your phone from your pocket, unlocking it and giving your missed notifications a scroll. 

There were a few texts from Tara, asking about this coming weekend. She hadn’t sent too many, having seen the pile of work still sitting on your desk by the time of her own clocking out. You felt bad. You were working the next weekend, again, and you felt bad turning her down so often. You didn’t want her to feel as if you were avoiding her, or that you didn’t want to continue being friends, but you were just… busy. You sighed to yourself, deciding to shoot her a call later on tonight. You figured it would be easier to avoid her taking anything to heart if you spoke to her directly. 

You thumbed over the rest of your notifications, swiping away most. A few advertisements, some updates from your mobile games, some social media follows and suggestions, an email or two- nothing particularly eventful. It was almost like magic, though, as you were mulling over one of the emails you had gotten, a name with a heart next to it popped into your dropdown menu. Instinctively, you clicked it without even pausing to read the sample text. 

You couldn’t help it, as the messenger loaded. It was automatic at this point. Or at least, it felt automat-

“Oh hey! I know you-!”

Your head snapped up from your phone at the sound of a familiar voice, the hairs on the back of your neck standing boldly, a scatter of goosebumps forming across your skin. The elderly man hadn’t woken up, no one had come to meet him yet either. The highschoolers were still deep in conversation at the other end of the platform. None of them had spoken to you, and none of them had seemed anywhere near as recognizable as that voice was. 

You glanced over to your left, where your eyes fell on a man who was waving, his hand comically high in the air, as he quickly made his way directly towards you. 

Your feet turned to stone. 

The breath in your throat hitched, and you didn’t even realize you weren’t breathing anymore. 

Why?

Why was he here?

Why was he in front of you?

Why was he approaching you?

How had he found you?

Why was he-

He had closed the distance between you before you had even processed him approaching you fully, you freezing up making it easy for him to pull you into a hug that made you feel like a thousand ants were crawling across your skin. Your shock and disbelief had taken over, overriding any thought in your mind that was telling you to run . You weren’t even sure you would have been able to listen to it even if your feet weren’t frozen. The pounding of your heart had become loud enough to drown out any coherent thought you could have come up with.

He squeezed you, and you wanted to slip down into the ground so desperately. 

You were in danger. You were in danger. You were in danger. 

You were a Hunter, you were proficient in hand to hand combat, a decent marksman, and pretty good swordsman. You’d killed countless Wanderers, and come and gone from the N109 zone with barely a scratch on you after your countless visits. You were fully capable of protecting yourself from anyone and anything, and if you didn’t seem like you could, you would manage. 

But you couldn’t protect yourself from him. 

You couldn’t take back what he had taken from you. You couldn’t stop as your mind was slowly regressing backwards, back to where it had been.

Back to the memories. 

He pulled away, but the respite was shorter than a breath, as the train approached the platform. It felt like time was moving in slow motion. His smile, the people deboarding, the lack of people entering the car that he was pulling you into- Something about going the same way? - his hand gripping the upper part of your arm. But it wasn’t gentle. It never was. It never was. It never was. 

“What have you been up to? Is that a name card from the Hunter’s Association?” He asked, his tone cheerful as you felt your heart dropping through the very rails the train was sitting on. He sounded so friendly, but you knew he wasn’t being friendly. He wasn’t asking you a question, he was making a statement. 

He was saying ‘ I found you~ ♪ ’.

“I-...” You take a small gasp of air, finally processing how little you had been breathing up until the point. He flashed you a little smirk, his hair falling across his eye as he tilted his head at you. Had his hair always looked like that? You didn’t know. You didn’t care. You couldn’t-... remember. 

God, you couldn’t remember a lot of back then. 

It was horrible.

It was scary.

Why was he still gripping your arm…?

It hurt. 

It made other spots hurt, echoing with pain you had forgotten- no, not forgotten about. Pushed away. Tried to not remember. But still, ghost feelings that would sneak into your mind whenever something made you flinch, whenever someone tried to give you an over-enthusiastic high five, whenever you were trying to please yourself alone in bed, whenever someone raised their voice- be it out of happiness or anger, it really didn’t matter. The anxiety would pound into your chest like breaking a door down, like breaking you down until you were tiny little pieces strewn out across the floor, sobbing alone to yourself because no one else could help you. You were alone. This was your cross to bear. You had gotten yourself into this mess, it was up to you to get through this. It was up to you to get yourself out of this. 

“Wipe that shitty fucking expression off your face, you’re making people think I’m doing something wrong.” 

His voice was dangerously low, and sinisterly similar to how he used to speak to you. It was nice to see that nothing had changed, so much longer later. That the same circumstances that led to the bloodied sheets strewn out across the bed and floor were happening again. That the same knuckles that had made forceful contact with the high of your cheekbone were gripping so tightly, they were turning white across the top of your upper arm. You pressed your lips into a thin line, trying to appear as neutral as possible, as the only other patron in the train car with the two of you- tucked back in the corner but raising an eyebrow at the situation, nonetheless- watched. 

He gave you a small shake, and you let the corners of your mouth turn upward in a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. You were just two old flames meeting again, goofing around. Reignited that old flame once more. 

But to you, that flame was a bomb. And it was going to go off the second you were alone with him. 

There hadn’t been any closure when you had left, there couldn’t have been. You could have left with bags secretly packed without so much as a goodbye thrown into his messages while he was at work, or you could have spent three hours talking to him trying to get through to him one final time. But it wouldn’t have mattered. Men like him, were men like him for a reason. They didn’t change, they didn’t find what they were doing as something wrong , and they never would. At least, that’s what everyone had told you. That’s what you had learned at the end. But standing here as the train rocketed towards another new location for him to find out about, you were finding it harder and harder to remember everything you had taught yourself just to get away from him. 

“Are you going to be ungrateful again? Going to run away because you think for some reason you can get better, despite being some fucking whore who runs her mouth? With a bodycount?” He practically spat the words at your face, turning to face you and keeping his back towards the other patron, who had closed their eyes with their head resting back against the seat, waiting for their stop and avoiding getting involved. 

“After everything I’ve done for you, you can’t offer me even the littlest bit of appreciation that you didn’t want to show me back then? I thought you had changed. That you were different.” 

You let out a deep breath, trying to keep your mind steady, but it was hard. You’d gotten used to the word disassociate ever since you’d learned about it. You’d slip into dissociation even on your best days, at random. Talking to Tara, riding your bike, fighting Wanderers, avoiding Luke and Kieran’s pranks- it didn’t matter. It just… happened. And it came on worse when you were reminded of things that had traumatized you. Or were faced with the very things that had caused that trauma- as you were finding out right now. 

He reached up, grabbing your other arm into his other hand, the grip matching the vice-like pressure of the first one that still held you. “You listen to me, you little bitch. I still fucking own you. I don’t give a shit if you’re living in some fantasy land where you think you’re moving on, but you will never find anything as good as me.” He hissed. “Not for what you’re worth. I treated you so well, and you think you can keep treating me and people like shit? Fuck off.” 

He gave your arms a yank to emphasize his words. You just stared straight at his chest, stumbling slightly as the train stopped at the next station, but his grip kept you relatively upright. The time between now and the last stop wasn’t anything you could remember clearly, and you could already feel your mind slipping from your body slowly. You couldn’t stop it. You didn’t want to. It was something you couldn’t explain, but it acted like a muffled fast-forward button on situations like this. You couldn’t say you liked it, but you liked it more than being present for what your ex had to say.

But it was horrible, because no sooner did you start to slip away, did the doors to the train open, and the only bystander that had been seated in the corner left. Whether this was their stop, or they wanted to avoid the situation, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. In your heart though, you knew that was just how it went. You’d be lucky if they called the police, but wouldn’t do anything. There was no proof of anything happening. You didn’t have any. 

You knew he was right.

But then why did it feel like electricity when someone boarded the train? You knew the footsteps without being able to place a name, and the sheer presence was something you sensed without knowing what form it took. 

“Cobalt blue, but maybe phthalo… Oh, Miss Bodyguard. Didn’t think I’d see you tod- Mm?” 

Your heart dropped further than it had at the station when you had first gotten approached.  

No.

Why was Rafayel here?

His comment was cut short, ending in a small hum as he came into your view. You could see a cloud cross his expression as he took in the situation in front of him. You were still doing your best to seem relaxed, and had tried to add a smile as soon as you had realized Rafayel was here, but it didn’t seem like it was working. You wanted so badly to be sick to your stomach, but you also knew if you were, it would only make your ex lose his mind completely. 

“H-Hey, Rafayel, how are you?”

“Do you know him?”

The question was asked by two separate men at the exact same time. One was nearly whispered, the tone borderline violent. The other was gentle, devoid of its usual bratty aftercomment. You just paused, before nodding your head as slowly as you could. 

Fuck, it was so easy to keep your ex under control when it was just you. You hadn’t managed him in front of others in forever, and you had forgotten how to make other people let you handle things. Usually it was as simple as a look. No one wanted to get caught up in the middle of a lover’s quarrel, and were quick to leave. But the doors had already closed behind Rafayel, and his expression was telling you that he was already planning on getting more than involved. 

“Yes!- Yes. Yes, I know him…” You stammered, looking between the two of them, your ex robotically releasing his grip in favor of moving to put his arm across your shoulders. You had to swallow the bile in your throat, but you didn’t move away from him, his expression stormy, while Rafayel’s remained concerned, but fairly unaffected. 

“Rafayel’s an… employer of mine.” You continued, gesturing towards him as he gave the two of you a nod, a small smile flashing in addition. “And Rafayel, this is my-” 

“Boyfriend.” 

You swallowed. 

Rafayel’s eyes narrowed, but he kept smiling. 

“That’s really funny, she’s told me she’s single. Several times actually, whenever I've bugged her about it.” 

You can feel the blood in your veins freeze over. 

No.

You can’t even bring yourself to look up at your ex. You knew what disagreeing with him did, and you knew what blatantly calling out his lies did. You’d experienced the consequences of doing either towards the earlier days of your relationship, before you had learned to follow everything he said. To do everything how he said it. 

And yet it was still not enough, most of the time. 

Rafayel smirked coldly. 

“So, buddy. Do you want to take your hands off of her?” He tilted his head slightly. “Or do I really need to help you?”

The arm across your shoulders felt heavier, until you could feel the pressure disappear. You want to breathe a sigh of relief, but the air gets caught in your lungs as a hand comes down between your shoulder blades at the top of your spine. You’re lurched forward, and Rafayel catches you as you stumble into his chest. “I don’t deal in bitches that can’t treat people with respect or kindness. You can have her.” Your ex spat, knowing that for whatever reason, this man before him wasn't going to fall for his usual tricks. Tricks? No, you thought as you stumbled. He thinks everything out of his own mouth is true, and anyone who disagrees is insane. 

You hadn’t even pulled back away from Rafayel before he had moved you quickly, but gently and carefully to the side, stepping forward as your stomach turned over. You spun around to grab at him, only succeeding in latching onto his arm. 

“Rafayel, stop. You’ll only make things worse.” You stammered as you gripped his arm. He pulled away quickly- but gently, despite his anger. 

“Worse how? Geez, you don’t know this man anymore. You shouldn’t be bothered by strangers on a train platform, and they should know not to approach single women.” 

He emphasized, staring straight at the other man as he did. As if warning him, with his usual snark still backing up his comments. Your ex glared at him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but I’ll bet you I’ve known her longer than you have. I know all her tricks.” 

“Time is relative.” Rafayel retorted back, taking another step towards him, which your ex matched. Your anxiety was pounding through the roof, and you were desperate to think of anything that could diffuse the situation as they both shot daggers at each other with their eyes. Your ex let out a small chuckle, the kind he would whenever things were about to hurt. The air was leaving your lungs again, but you felt Rafayel shift next to you, and you could feel the predatory behavior like static crossing the side of his arm through the thin linen of his shirt. He had moved, shifted just a step towards your ex, and spoke before you could process what he was doing.

“I’ve done this dance a million times with a million people like you, for less, don’t try me.” Rafayel’s voice was so low, it could barely be described as more than a whisper. It sent a surge of ice through your blood, despite it not being directed towards you. You slowly turned your head, raising it to look at him carefully. You could only see the side of his head, his height also blocking his full expression from you, but you could see just enough of his eyes to feel the cruelty in his gaze.

He wasn’t joking. 

This wasn’t like him.

What was going on?

You reached out to brush against his arm again, but you didn’t know what to do. 

The train lurched as Rafayel reached forward, towards your ex.  

No.

You couldn’t let this happen.

Not here. 

Not towards him.

Not from him .

Your body moved on its own, as you turned your body, the same time the train started to hit its brakes for the next stop. You lost your footing, but you couldn’t let that stop you. You couldn’t let that stop you from stopping Rafayel. The worst of it was the only thing stopping you from falling was the weight of your ex’s torso, the feeling of chills returning the second your body made contact with his again. 

“I-I-” You stuttered, your mouth feeling like it was full of cotton as you stumbled backward into your ex’s body. “No, please. I don’t- no.” 

Rafayel stared at you, his expression blank, before flashing through several different emotions you couldn’t quite make out. Surprise? Absolute fury? Betrayal? Whatever he cycled through, he landed on one you didn’t recognize.

You are now at East Garden station. Next station- West Garden. 

The doors slid open behind you, and a few people filed on as you broke your gaze with Rafayel and glanced over at them. At least there were witnesses. You knew your ex wouldn’t act out too badly in front of so many strangers, and Rafayel, while a little bit feral when it came to columnists and fans that would go too far, you had a pretty good idea that he would remain a lot more calm in the presence of people as well. You let out the breath you had been holding unwittingly. 

“Go.” 

He gave you a slight shove, and you almost tripped onto the platform. As you regained your balance, you processed two things at the same time. 

Rafayel wasn’t behind you. And- 

You could hear him still, his words seething with a poison you had never heard come from his mouth, from any action he had ever committed. 

“If I ever see you in her general vicinity ever again, I will destroy you until there is nothing, nothing , left.” He seethed. “I care about her. Whatever we are after that doesn’t matter. You won’t come back and destroy her peace ever again. You won’t have the chance to. Do I make myself clear ?” 

As you move to turn, to see what would happen next or to hear your ex’s response, you spin face first into Rafayel’s chest, his hands reaching up, placed firmly on your shoulders to turn you back around and continue forward. You try to keep up with his pace, but it’s hard. Despite your stumbling, he doesn’t stop. Not until the two of you are off of the platform and out on the vast sidewalk in the middle of the city. 

You blink, trying to garner your surroundings as some means of grounding yourself, as Rafayel pulls out his phone. His fingers fly, sending a text to someone. The golden hour had passed, and it was twilight out now. The next train wasn’t going to be for another twenty minutes, and the ride itself was more time on top of that. It looked like you weren’t going to be accomplishing your initial goal of getting home before the dark hit. That was too bad. 

It was really cold outside.

Maybe that was just you. 

You swallowed hard, trying to force a deep breath just as Rafayel looked up from his phone. He pocketed the device and moved to step towards you, but his movements were… awkward. Hesitant. He paused a step away from you, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. 

“I… I’m sorry. I-” He let his hand drop, both hanging loosely at his sides as he looked like he wanted to look anywhere except at you. He didn’t let it break his gaze, despite it. “...Geez, I’ve never experienced anything like that before. I didn’t know what to do, what I should do. What I-”

He stopped himself. Tilting his head, his expression shifting into one of concern. 

“More importantly, how are you?”

“I- what?”

“How are you feeling, seashell? What do you need?”

You blinked, and you tried to open your mouth to respond, but your breath hitched in your throat, the sound caught on the lump that had appeared in your throat as your eyes began to burn. Fuck, what? What was going on with you today? First, you’d gone back to everything you had ever been back with your ex, forgetting all of your progress- all of your healthy habits in favor of how he had always made you feel under his touch. Then, you’d been unable to keep Rafayel calm and relaxed despite your ex trying to start shit all over again. And even still, you hadn’t even gotten to go home on time, hell you didn’t even feel safe enough to go home anymore. 

“He-” You choked. Your voice was squeaking, why was your voice breaking so badly? “H-He… He knows- knows where I work now.”

Rafayel stared at you, but his expression was oh so gentle , and seeing that look in his eyes did something to you that made you feel so ugly . It was like the final crack in an old dam as you began to wail. You tried to muffle your sobs, reaching up to cover your face in your hands as the initial shock had finally started to wear away from the meeting, finally started to let the emotions pour in. And all the emotions were fear, fear, fear . 

You couldn’t do anything to stop it as the tears just kept coming, as the choked sounds from your throat as you needed to get the crying out, but find air in between at the same time. Your shoulders wracked with pain from the after effects of the grip your ex had had on you, surely purple and yellow bruises forming where his knuckles had turned white with power just moments ago. It was just going to be another grim reminder of your world coming down, all because of a stupid train ride. 

“Seashell.”

You tried as hard as possible to quiet down, to stop and listen to Rafayel to avoid making him angry. You felt like a kid. You wanted him to help you get to your home, or a hotel, or somewhere your ex didn’t know about. But if he was angry, that would be impossible. That would mean you would be left standing here on the sidewalk bawling like a child, until you managed to pull the effort together to handle it yourself, like you always had don-

“Tell me if you don’t like it, and I swear I’ll stop, but I’m going to hug you now.”

“Wh-”

The word had barely even formed in your mouth, your hands only managing to hover over your eyes as you tried to pull them away at his words, before strong arms had wrapped around you so suddenly. One hand was resting at the nape of your neck, pressing your head so delicately against his shoulder as he leaned down for you- as he leaned down into you. The other was wrapped around your waist, squeezing you against his body like it was everything to him just to have the chance to pull your pieces back together. And somehow, it was so much worse. It was everything, as you began to wail all over again. It was everything and so much more. His actions on the train, his expression when you had stopped him and protected your ex- none of that, none of your worries meant anything in the tightness of his embrace. 

It was like he was telling you everything without speaking, he was telling you it’s okay, it’s all going to be okay . Like he didn’t harbor any ill feelings towards you, that he didn’t hate you like you were hating yourself every single second leading up until this moment. And coming from Rafayel, that was everything, everything, everything. 

“Geez.” He breathed against your hair, his breath labored as he tried to keep his own emotions in check for your sake. “I wish I had found you so much sooner. None of that would have ever happened to you.”

And you knew he wasn’t talking about the train- getting on sooner. Finding you before your ex did, but you didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. But you knew he meant he wished he had found you so much sooner than that first meeting at the fountain with all of the fish, his brochure hanging lazily in hand. Found you long before that man had ever laid his hands on you, had ever wrecked you to the point you were at now. 

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” He breathed the words against you, his hold tightening just slightly. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I-” You held back a sob, trying to compose yourself as best as you could. “I’m so ruined, I’m so sorry I’m such a mess.” 

“You’re not a mess, I promise you, you’re not a mess.” And the way he spoke, you almost believed it immediately. He sounded… tired. “None of it, not any of it, was your fault. You have to know that.” 

You didn’t. You wouldn’t, not for a long time. But the way he had been on the train, no matter how brief of a moment it was- how he was right now, clutching you so tightly in his arms as if you would shatter if he let go for even a second- You had a pretty good feeling that you would someday. Someday, as long as he was around. But for now you settled for feeling everything you were feeling in his embrace, just thankful that for whatever his reasoning, he didn’t hate you for what you had done, for what you felt. 

After a while, you nuzzled your face against the crook of his neck, before gently trying to pull back, signaling to him that you were alright enough to break the hug. He let go of you, but his hands lingered on you just a moment longer than they should have. You stared at the ground as you fiddled with your hands, trying to figure out what was supposed to come next. What you were supposed to do or say next. 

“What do you mean, you didn’t know what you were supposed to do?” You asked quietly. You already knew the answer. Honestly, how often was it that someone would witness what he did happening to someone close to themselves, especially when the person it was happening to was supposedly so strong? So capable of protecting yourself from even the worst of the Wanderers that traversed the city? 

He let out a breath, thinking for a moment, before he opened his mouth to answer your question. 

“Really, the only thing I know is to make sure you’re safe.” He shrugged, crossing his arms as he avoided your gaze. “If I wasn’t confident I’d be able to protect you from the whole thing, and even afterward, with whatever crazy he may try to do, I would have played along with you and not been so aggressive. But besides that, I really don’t know how someone is supposed to handle a situation like that.” 

You blinked. 

“What?”

“What-what? I don’t exactly want you getting hurt, I just wasn’t sure the best way to accomplish that. I wasn’t going to fail, though. I’m not some idiot.” 

You could feel your eyes starting to burn. “Yes, but you wanted to protect me?”

He looked at you abruptly, confused. “Wanted? Bodyguard, it’s not past tense. I don’t care what I call you, pay you for, what we are to each other- Believe it or not, I... don’t want you hurt.”

He flinched a little, watching the tears start to stream from your eyes again, but he just shook his head. “No, no. Geez, what are you doing?” He uncrossed his arms and reached out towards you slowly, gingerly brushing your cheek with his thumb. “No, why is this your reaction? Why are you crying over me caring about you?”

He knew why. He had just seen why. And that was just the tip of the iceberg on what your past had been.

“But-”

“I really don't want to hear it. It’s just going to be you saying bad things about yourself again.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and you couldn’t think of any denial or lie that he would believe. “You really need to learn to trust me, seashell. If you don’t want to go home or to work, I get it. But you’ve got to believe me when I say it. When I say nothing is going to happen to you.”

You reached up to dry your eyes again, all but running out of tears by now after the heavy cry session you had just had wrapped up in Rafayel’s arms. You let out a small hiccup, before offering him a small nod. It didn’t really matter if you believed him, but honestly- it was so much better than anything before. So much more comforting than any of the times before. Any of the times where you sat in your bedroom alone, praying that you could get one more extra day squeezed out of the week, out of going back to the university, to avoid seeing the man who had ruined your entire life as he ‘explored’ the ‘public’ campus like some sort of shark circling your bleeding body. 

Rafayel watched you as you slowly composed yourself, reaching out a hand to rest on your shoulder, tenderly. His kindness radiating from the contact. “Now, is it okay if we go somewhere? I think it would be better for you if you could go somewhere you can relax for a little while. I invited you to my studio, maybe we can go there.”

You blinked at him. When had he invited you?

He watched your expression, processing that you were confused on the ask. “Did you get the text I sent you? Or were you already in trouble then?”

“Text-” You pause, then you remember the notification that had popped up just before your ex had seen you. You shook your head. “It had just come through as he-... approached… me. I didn’t see what it said.”

He flashed you a small smile, one that would win every prize in your book. 

“It was asking you if you were already off work, and if not, would you want to meet me at the station, so that we could head to my studio and finish up some work I need to get done.” 

You stared at him for a moment, your mouth slightly agape, before you smiled back at him. It was timid, and you were still nervous. But with his hand against your shoulder as the two of you walked through the edges of Linkon City back towards one of his studios, you couldn’t help but feel just a little bit better. 

Just a little bit more at ease. 

—

And a week later, you were back at work. You had been for the last few days. You’d gone on a few missions, taken down a dozen Wanderers, and saved a few civilians in that time. But nowhere had you seen your ex- not on a street corner, not running down an alleyway, not even at the doorstep of the Hunter’s Association. 

But you’d seen Rafayel. 

One day he was sitting at the cafe across the street from the Association’s building, sketching charcoal as he invited you to come and get something to eat for lunch, to sit with him and talk about your day. Another, he was there when you got off, a light drizzle sprinkling the street as he offered to share his umbrella with you and walk you home. On your day off, he ended up at your door, huffing about his next exhibition, and whether or not you wanted to come with him to stave off the boredom he was surely going to be drowning in. You weren’t stupid, you knew what he was doing. But there was also no pattern to his appearances- sometimes you wouldn’t see him all day, only speaking to him through incessant texts and phone calls. Other times, you’d see him two or three or more times throughout your day. Something about the chaotic approach made you feel even more… comfortable. Despite everything that had happened. It felt like he was always around, even when you didn’t expect it. 

It felt like he was always keeping watch for you. 

And maybe you still hadn’t gotten over what had happened on the platform, and you still felt uneasy stepping on the train, arm hooked in Rafayel’s as he complained about not being able to find the green he needed to finish a piece. Maybe you still felt worthless, for still caring about what happened to that wretched man, after everything he had done to you, after all of the pain he had caused you. 

But at least, as you stared up at the splashes of color that coated the canvas in front of you, late after work the evening before your day off, sitting in Rafayel’s studio as he dozed off over a few cups of color he had been working on while you scrolled through your phone, you had someone. 

At least you had someone who was intent on changing everything for you. 

Who was intent on making sure you were okay. No matter what.

[sasheemo]

Friday Thoughts

Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: You struggle to focus during your morning shift after a restless night, thoughts lingering on the evening before. A text arrives, set to alter the course of your weekend.

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapter Index

Read on AO3

You wake up with a start, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your heartbeat pounds in your ears. The room feels stifling, your skin is damp with sweat, and a faint shiver runs down your spine despite the warmth of your tangled sheets. 

For a moment, you lie there, disoriented, clutching at the fading fragments of a dream that slips through your grasp.

Images of Agatha flash in the haze of your half-formed memories, vivid yet blurred. You can almost see the teasing curve of her smile, the glint of her icy blue eyes catching the light, and the cascade of her dark hair falling untamed. Her voice echoes faintly, curling around you like a spell, though you can’t remember what she said. It’s maddening, this lingering sense of her, the indelible mark she seemingly left on you.

The night has been nothing short of unbearable. Each time you’d stirred awake, it was as if her presence still clung to the air around you, intangible but oppressive. You tossed and turned, trying to shake her loose, but she always crept back in. A shadow in your subconscious, drawing you deeper every time you closed your eyes.

Your bed feels heavier than usual, like it’s trying to hold you down. Your body begs for another hour of sleep, just a little more time to recover, but your brain is already awake, unkindly replaying the events of the previous night.

“Maybe, I should ask you out next time.”

Agatha’s words echo in your head and you groan, pressing your palms into your eyes in a futile attempt to block it all out, as if willing the memories away could undo the knot in your stomach.

You check the clock: 6:30 a.m. The shift at the café starts in thirty minutes. A tired chuckle escapes you—there’s no time to process anything, no time to wallow, just time to get up and keep moving.

For a brief moment, you consider calling in sick. Would it be so bad to stay in bed, avoid the world, and pretend that none of this happened? But the thought of lying there, alone with your thoughts, feels worse.

With a heavy sigh, you force yourself to sit up. The dream, the memories, the exhaustion—they’ll have to wait.

You shuffle out of bed with all the grace of a zombie, your limbs heavy and reluctant to obey. The cold floor jolts you, drawing a sharp breath as you force yourself toward the bathroom. A quick shower will have to do, there’s no time for anything more, even though what you really want is to stand under the steaming water until you feel human again.

The spray of lukewarm water stings your skin, a poor imitation of comfort, but you bear it. Shampoo, rinse, towel—everything feels mechanical. Your mind is still clouded, replaying snippets of your restless night and the weight of her voice, her presence, her gaze.

The mirror fogs over as you step out of the shower, and you stare at your reflection with a faint grimace. You look as exhausted as you feel, the bags under your eyes a testament to the chaos in your head. You wrap a towel around your hair and shuffle back to your room, pulling out the first set of clothes you can find: a pair of jeans, a hoodie, and sneakers.

Still towel-drying your hair, you glance at the clock. Shit, it’s already 6:50.

You hurl the damp towel on top of your bed as you shove your feet into your sneakers, barely tying one while the other remains stubbornly untied. Grabbing your bag, you throw it over your shoulder and head for the door.

The crisp morning air bites at your damp hair as you step outside. A chill runs through you, but you tell yourself you’ll warm up on the walk to work. Westview may be small, but it’s convenient. The café is only a few blocks away, and you almost never need your car.

Your steps quicken as you make your way through the quiet streets, the town still waking up around you. The sun barely peeks over the horizon, painting the sky in pale shades of gold and pink. Normally, you’d take a moment to admire the view, but not today. Today, you’re too focused on putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to think about how unprepared you feel—both for your shift and for the emotions swirling in your chest.

But work doesn’t care if you’re tired. Work doesn’t care if you didn’t sleep. And work definitely doesn’t care if your thoughts are consumed by someone you probably shouldn’t even be thinking about.

You push the door open and step inside, bracing yourself for the morning rush.

The café is already buzzing, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries greeting you like an old friend. You grab your apron from the hook in the back and tie it around your waist, fingers fumbling slightly as your body struggles to keep up with your mind.

“Morning!” your coworker greets, already busy steaming milk for a cappuccino.

You manage a small smile in return, mumbling something resembling a greeting before slipping behind the counter. The machine hums steadily, blending into the chatter of early risers and the clinking of mugs. You know this rhythm by heart—take the order, pour the coffee, hand it over with a polite smile. Repeat.

But today, your focus is nowhere to be found.

“Two lattes and a muffin, please.” a customer says, pulling you back to reality.

“Right, uh, coming right up.” you stammer, forcing a smile. 

Your hands move almost on autopilot, scooping grounds into the espresso machine and steaming milk. You should feel at ease here, this is muscle memory by now. But your thoughts keep slipping away, drawn back to her.

You can’t shake the image of Agatha from last night: the way she moved through every room with effortless grace, like she owned every inch of space without even trying. Her voice was a contradiction—smooth and lilting, yet sharp enough to cut through the air, through your thoughts, through you. 

And her eyes… God, her eyes. The way they always seem to linger on yours for just a heartbeat too long leaves your mind in chaos and your cheeks burning with heat just thinking about it. There’s something about her gaze that never fails to make you feel exposed, as if she sees right through the practiced smiles and careful words, unraveling every layer she can find. 

But it’s not just how she looks at you, it’s the way she always seems to know, to touch something buried deep within, something you’re not sure you want anyone to find.

You let out a quiet sigh as you finish the lattes, sliding them across the counter to the waiting customer. “Here you go, enjoy!” you mutter, though the words feel hollow.

The minutes stretch into an hour, and the café grows busier. You try to focus, really, you do. But every so often, your mind drifts back to her. And to the couple of days ahead.

Normally, you’d welcome the weekend. For the past four months, weekends have been predictable—Agatha never asks you to babysit Nicholas. Saturdays and Sundays are her time with him, and you stay out of the way. It’s been that way since the beginning, and you’ve never thought much about it. But today? Today it feels… different.

You wipe down the counter during a lull, the rag moving in slow circles as your thoughts wonder. 

The idea of not seeing her for two days feels inexplicably strange. You tell yourself it’s a good thing, that you won’t have to face her again so soon after last night, after the way she made you feel—like you were living in some wild parallel universe where Agatha would actually ask her younger babysitter out so casually. 

But there’s another part of you, a quieter, more desperate part, that hates the idea.

You picture her at home with Nicholas, probably reading or cooking something together. You’ve seen glimpses of their weekends before, little clues in the way Nicholas talks about them on Mondays. It’s their time, just the two of them. No babysitter needed.

You should feel relieved. Relieved that you won’t have to navigate the weight of her presence so soon. Relieved that you’ll have space to breathe.

But… what if you don’t want space? What if relief is the last thing you feel? What if the only thought consuming your mind is the pull of her orbit, the irresistible gravity that is drawing you back to her, no matter how much you try to resist? What then?

Your coworker’s voice breaks through your thoughts, snapping you back to reality. “You good?”

“Y-yeah…” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just tired.” 

They raise an eyebrow but don’t push it, which you’re grateful for.

Tired. That’s an understatement. But it’s easier to blame exhaustion than to face what’s really gnawing at you.

You glance at the clock, counting the hours until your shift ends. Until you can go home, close your eyes, and maybe, just maybe, find some way to keep her out of your head.

It’s nearly halfway through your shift when your phone vibrates against the counter. You glance at it, expecting a spam notification or a weather update, but your stomach drops when you see the name on the screen.

For a moment, you just stare at the notification, frozen in place. 

Agatha never messages you outside of scheduling changes, and even then, it’s rare. You wipe your hands on your apron before picking up the phone, your thumb hovering over the screen for a second longer than necessary before you unlock it.

Her message is brief and straight to the point, as always, but it’s enough to send your mind spiraling.

-Morning, hon. I’ve got some work to catch up on this weekend. Think you could keep Nicholas company for a few hours this afternoon? Let me know.

Your heart skips a beat as you read it, then reread it, and then—just for good measure—read it again. She’s never asked you to babysit on a weekend before. Weekends are her time with Nicholas, untouchable and sacred. Why now? Why today?

The rational part of your brain tries to take control, telling you it’s probably nothing. Maybe she’s really just busy, or maybe Nicholas asked for you. But the other part of you, the part that’s been living rent-free in your head since last night, is already racing ahead, imagining every possible subtext and intention behind her words.

You glance at the clock. Five minutes have passed since the message arrived, and you haven’t responded yet. She’s probably expecting an answer.

Quickly, you type back, your fingers fumbling over the keys.

-Of course, just let me know the time.

You hit send and immediately regret the phrasing. Does it sound too eager? Too formal? You shake your head, trying to push the doubts away.

Her reply comes almost instantly.

-Perfect. 4 PM?

The casual ease of her response does nothing to calm you. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks as you quickly type your reply.

-Sure, see you later.

You slide your phone back into your pocket, trying to focus on the tasks at hand. But it’s no use. Your thoughts are already drifting to the afternoon, to her house, to her.

You spend the rest of your shift caught in a whirlwind of emotions, memories and anticipation creating a deadly mix that throws your usual rhythm at the café completely off balance. Every time the bell above the door chimes, signaling a new customer, your heart jumps, half expecting to see her walk in, though you know she won’t.

You try to focus on the tasks at hand, but your thoughts keep pulling you back. You catch yourself biting your lip as you replay the messages in your head for the tenth time. It’s nothing, you tell yourself. She just needs a little help. But a tiny, most definitely delusional, part of you refuses to believe it’s as simple as that.

By the time the shift ends, you’ve convinced yourself that you’re overthinking it. It’s just a normal day, just a normal message. And yet, as you clock out and head home, the weight of anticipation settles heavier in your chest. 

The walk home doesn’t do much to clear your head. If anything, the crisp air only sharpens the edges of your thoughts, making it impossible to push them aside.

Once inside, you toss your bag onto the couch and collapse beside it, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. The message from Agatha keeps playing in your mind, looping endlessly, until it’s almost like you can hear her voice saying the words instead of you reading them.

You tell yourself to relax, to just sit down, maybe eat something, and stop overthinking. It’s just babysitting. Just Nicholas.

You try scrolling through your phone, but the screen blurs as your thoughts drift. You grab a book from the coffee table, but the words don’t stick. After twenty minutes of pacing the living room, you give up entirely and head to your bedroom, determined to at least figure out what to wear.

It should be easy, you’ve done this many times before—picking comfortable, practical clothes you can move around in while keeping up with an energetic eight-year-old.

You pull a few options from your closet, laying them out on the bed as you stare at them like they hold the answer to some unspoken question. A hoodie and jeans? Too casual. A sweater? Maybe, but which one? You catch sight of a blouse tucked in the back of the closet and hesitate. Too much?

You shake your head, frustrated with yourself for even thinking about it. Agatha’s not going to care what you wear. She’s probably too busy with her work to even notice.

But then again…

Your fingers brush over the fabric of the blouse, and for a brief moment, you imagine the way she might look at you. Would she say something? Would she even notice?

You groan, tossing the blouse back onto the bed and grabbing your favorite sweater instead. The soft, worn, deep purple fabric feels like a quiet reassurance as you pull it over your head. It’s familiar, it’s reliable, comfortable without making a statement. It’s a safe choice. Just what you need.

By the time you’re ready to leave, your stomach is in knots, twisting in ways you didn’t think were physically possible. When you woke up this morning, you’d told yourself nothing could feel worse than how you felt then. Turns out, the day had other plans, and it’s really outdoing itself.

The house looms ahead as you walk up the path, your heartbeat quickening with every step. You tell yourself it’s just the cold air or the anticipation of dealing with Nicholas’ boundless energy, but deep down, you know better.

When you reach the door, you hesitate for just a second before knocking. It’s a firm, polite knock, nothing too eager. You shift your weight, staring at the faint glow from the windows as you wait.

The door opens a moment later, and there she is.

Agatha is on the phone, her gaze flicking to yours briefly as she raises a finger, gesturing toward the device by her ear to signal it’s a work call. Without missing a beat in her conversation, she steps aside to let you in, her tone clipped yet composed as she discusses deadlines and budgets.

She gives you a small nod, gesturing toward the living room, before closing the door behind you and disappearing up the stairs, her heels clicking softly against the steps.

You can’t help but marvel, briefly and absurdly, at the fact that she’s wearing heels. At home. While working. For no one but herself. Who does that? Then again, it’s Agatha. Of course she’d find a way to make “business casual at home” look not just effortless, but devastatingly good.

You stand there, the faint echo of her voice drifting down from the second floor as you awkwardly toe off your shoes. It’s not the first time you’ve been greeted by her while she’s on the phone, but today it feels… disappointing.

For a moment, you linger in the entryway, half expecting her to finish the call and come back down. But minutes pass, and the only sound is her voice murmuring faintly in the distance.

Nicholas barrels into the room, breaking the silence. “You’re here!” he says, his face lighting up as he grabs your hand, already tugging you toward the couch. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you!”

His enthusiasm is a welcome distraction, and you let him pull you along, trying to focus on his chatter instead of the constant awareness of Agatha somewhere above you.

But even as you sit down and try to focus on the toy he’s enthusiastically explaining, her presence clings to the edges of your mind, refusing to let go. Her voice seeps through the ceiling like an uninvited melody, pulling your thoughts upward when they should be grounded here, with Nicholas.

You’re here for him, after all. And yet, no matter how much you try, you can’t seem to fully tune into his chatter. A pang of guilt settles in your chest as you realize how distracted you are today, how unfair it feels to him. He deserves your full attention, and instead, all you can think about is the woman upstairs. His mother nonetheless.

Nicholas doesn’t seem to notice how distracted you are—at least, not at first. He’s too busy running circles around the living room, bouncing between a pile of toys on the carpet and his favorite spot on the couch.

“Look at this!” he says for the fifth time in ten minutes, holding up a plastic spaceship with a proud grin.

You smile and nod, mustering a “Wow, that’s so cool!” reaction that you hope sounds convincing. But even to your own ears, it feels off, like the words don’t quite land the way they should.

It’s not his fault. Nicholas is as bright and full of energy as ever, his enthusiasm spilling into every corner of the room. But your mind keeps slipping. Every time he holds something up for you to see, you catch yourself glancing toward the ceiling, half-listening for the faint sound of footsteps or the low murmur of a voice that isn’t his.

Nicholas plops down beside you, tugging at your sleeve. “You’re really distracted today.” he says, his tone more observant than accusing, though it still hits like a punch.

“Am I?” you ask, trying to sound casual, though the knot of guilt in your chest tells you he’s right.

He tilts his head at you like he’s trying to figure something out. “Yeah. Usually, you’re way more fun.”

You let out a soft laugh, ruffling his hair to hide the fact that the comment stings more than it should. 

“I’m sorry, buddy. I guess I didn’t sleep great last night.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either.

Nicholas doesn’t press the issue, already leaping to his feet to grab another toy. He’s resilient like that, bouncing back faster than you feel like you deserve.

For a while, you try to lose yourself in his energy, letting him pull you into his games and stories. He shows you his drawings—one of which features the two of you as stick figures, standing side by side under a cartoonishly bright sun.

“See? That’s you!” he says proudly, pointing to the taller figure with messy hair.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t think I’ve ever looked better.”

His giggle is infectious, and for a fleeting moment, the weight in your chest seems to loosen.

By the time you hear the soft rhythm of footsteps on the stairs, a couple of hours have slipped by. Nicholas has kept you busy, his enthusiasm boundless as always, but your focus has been flickering on and off, caught somewhere between him and the occasional echo of Agatha’s voice from upstairs.

Agatha appears with an effortless grace that borders on unfair, one hand resting lightly on the railing as if she doesn’t actually need it. Her dark hair shifts with each step, a wild, natural wave that catches the light briefly before falling back into place. The heels she’s wearing—a sleek, elegant pair that look more suited for a runway than a staircase—click steadily against the wood. You can’t help but think about how you’d probably twist an ankle just trying to stand in them, let alone descend a flight of stairs with such poise.

Her face, illuminated by the warm glow of the overhead lights, carries a quiet fatigue. There’s no irritation, no sharp edge to her expression, only a subdued calm, like someone who has carried the weight of a long day and has decided not to let it show. It’s Saturday, and you know she’s been working, but somehow, she looks composed, refined, and entirely unbothered, as if the very concept of exhaustion has learned to negotiate with her.

You try to busy yourself with the blocks Nicholas has scattered across the carpet, but it’s impossible not to steal another glance as she steps into the room.

Her gaze sweeps over the scattered blocks, the half-built castle, and finally settles on Nicholas, who is still enthusiastically adding to his masterpiece. 

“Everything alright down here?” she asks, her tone smooth and even, though there’s a touch of warmth in the way she looks at her son.

“Mom, look at my castle!” Nicholas exclaims, waving toward his creation without missing a beat.

Her lips curve into the faintest smile as she nods. 

“Impressive.” she says, the word carrying a weight that makes Nicholas beam. Then, her attention shifts to you, her smile curving just slightly deeper, with an edge of amusement that feels as though it’s meant just for you.

“And you?” she asks, her head tilting slightly. “Are you surviving?”

You clear your throat, trying to ignore the way her gaze makes your pulse stutter. 

“Yeah, I think so.” you manage, a warm smile forming on your lips as you glance affectionately at a very busy Nicholas, though your voice feels too small for the space.

She hums softly, the sound thoughtful as it drifts through the room, before turning and heading toward the kitchen. You take it as your cue. Standing, you brush your hands against your sweater.

“If you’re done for the day, I can head out now.” you say, keeping your tone polite, casual. “Give you two some time to catch up.”

Agatha stops mid-step, turning her head just enough to glance at you over her shoulder. 

“Head out?” she repeats, her voice carrying a note of surprise, as though the thought hadn’t even occurred to her.

“I just thought…” you falter under her gaze, your words tangling. “Since you’re done working, you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

She turns fully now, leaning against the counter, her movements as composed as her expression, her eyes scanning you like she’s trying to read between the lines of what you’re not saying.

“It’s getting late.” Agatha says, her tone deceptively casual as she ignores your reasoning entirely. “You probably have plans for the evening. A date, maybe? It is Saturday night after all.”

The question rolls off her tongue with practiced ease, airy and playful, but her gaze fixes on yours with unsettling intensity, as though she’s already unraveling your reaction before you can form it.

“No!” the word bursts out of you, too loud, too fast, and you immediately feel the heat rush to your face. 

“I mean- no, I don’t. I wasn’t- there’s no date.” You’re rambling now, tripping over your own words, each one more unnecessary than the last. “No plans. Just me. Alone. Tonight. At home.”

Oh my god. Please, stop talking! Your brain is screaming now, waving an emergency shutdown flag you’re clearly ignoring. Forget a facepalm, you’re ready to dig a hole in the floor and disappear forever.

Her lips curve into a satisfied smile, the kind that makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t entirely understand. She tilts her head slightly, her voice dipping into something almost indulgent. 

“Well, then.” she says, her tone steady, laced with a quiet finality that makes her next words feel inevitable. “Stay for dinner. It’s only fair after pulling you away on a Saturday.”

It’s not a question—it’s a statement, smooth and effortless, like the decision has already been made for you. And before you can find a way to respond, she turns back toward the counter, pulling open a cabinet to retrieve a bottle of wine.

You’re left standing there, frozen in place as your mind races to catch up. She’s never invited you to dinner before—or any meal, for that matter. Sure, she’s a human being and eating is, obviously, a basic necessity, but the thought of Agatha Harkness doing something as casual as sharing a meal feels almost surreal.

Your plans for the evening are rewritten in an instant. You weren’t planning on doing much, just collapsing on your couch and replaying the last twenty-four hours in your head. But this… this is something else entirely.

You glance at the clock, as if grounding yourself in the reality of the moment, and then back at Agatha. She moves through the kitchen with her usual grace, completely unfazed, her movements as fluid and intentional as her words.

It feels like a door you didn’t even know existed has been cracked open, and you’re standing on the threshold, unsure of what’s waiting on the other side.

[perlelune]

Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | vi.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

The clinging of metal resonates in your ears as Coriolanus fumbles with your keys. You lean against him, half-asleep and barely able to hold yourself upright. 

Coriolanus opens the door, his arm still around your waist. 

You get a blurry glimpse of Walter’s bright eyes in the darkness. He meows when he sees you. You hear the faint pitter-patter of his paws, the sound of him circling you the way he always does when you come home. 

You stagger forward, arms open to pick him up. Your feet tangle in your hastiness. Coriolanus catches you before you can trip and fall flat onto your face. 

“I’ve got you,” he mumbles. You clutch the lapels of his crisp white shirt.  The fabric wrinkles in your tight grip. You stare at his buttons, one undone revealing a hint of his bare chest and defined collarbone. Faintly, you ponder the fact that he’s always dressed so impeccably, not a hair out of place, not in a crinkle in his clothes. You hate that you’re messing up his nice outfit. Fingers sneak below your chin, angling your face skywards. The angular lines of Coriolanus’ handsome face twist and triple in your vision, his intense blue eyes shimmering like sapphires. He heaves out a deep sigh before lifting you from the floor. “I don’t think you can be trusted to walk on your own, angel.” He casts an inquisitive glance about the place. “Your mom isn’t here?”

You rest your head against his chest. 

“She’s never here. By myself. Always by myself.”

His warm breath tickles your scalp, his deep, silky baritone caressing your eardrums. “Hey, you aren’t by yourself now. I’m here.”

You relax in his arms, his soothing words engulfing you in a blanket of comfort. It’s true. For once, you aren’t alone tonight. 

He carries you across the room until reaching another door. He releases your limp frame over something soft and warm. Something familiar. 

You weakly pat around yourself and realize you’re on your bed. 

A weary whine escapes your mouth.

“Feed Walter…”

When you try to get up, the blonde shoves you back down. He meets no resistance from you, your body completely bereft of energy to protest. You slump against the sheets. 

“The cat, right?” he asks, cupping your cheek. You respond with a feeble nod. “I’ll do it. Just sleep, okay?” He bends and brushes his lips over your forehead. Relief fills you at this small assurance. You weren’t supposed to be gone the entire day. He must be starving. Your head sinks into the pillows. Your eyes rise to the ceiling as you recount the events of the night. A surge of embarrassment pierces through your drunken haze. Tonight was such a disaster. You made a fool of yourself. You couldn’t blend with the others. You left early.

Hell, you couldn’t even stand up to walk yourself back home.

As every moment replays inside your mind, tears gather in your eyes. The thin lid you placed over your emotions crumbles. 

You cross your arms over your face, loud, ugly sobs wracking your frame.

“What’s wrong?”

You gasp at the suddenness of Coriolanus’ presence. You peer up at him. His broad, lanky frame is looming over you, his weight making the mattress dip. His brow is knitted in concern. Stray platinum locks hang over his forehead.

Chest heaving, you swallow your tears.

“I’m sorry,” you say, sniffling.

His large hands wrap around your cheeks, his thumb tracing the damp, hot trails beneath your eyes.

“Don’t apologize. Just talk to me,” he whispers.

His gentle tone paired with your alcohol-induced daze pluck confessions from your tongue.

“I’m nineteen and I haven’t done anything,” you bashfully admit. A strangled sob leaps from your throat. “I’m a loser.”

He wipes the fresh tears that spill down your cheeks. 

“You’re not a loser.”

“Yes, I am.”

He scrutinizes you. Your heart skips a beat as his heated focus scatters goosebumps on your flesh. He leans closer. The smell of roses mixed with something spicier coats your senses. As his lids sink to half-mast, his face inching terrifyingly close, you note how long and thick his lashes are. 

You’re still outlining each of them when his soft lips collide with yours. A tentative brush at first. A gentle press; a silent question. One whose answer never comes, shock melting the words sizzling your throat. He deepens the kiss, humming against your tongue. Your head spins. Your skin tingles. For long minutes, he explores your mouth as you lie beneath him, too stunned to do anything but remain still.

You sink in disbelief. 

A boy is kissing you. No…a man.

And that man is Coriolanus Snow.

The information struggles to break past the muddied veil around your thoughts. 

It’s something you pondered about for so many years. How it felt like to be kissed. To be held. To be desired.

Yet none of it feels like you imagined. 

In your vivid daydreams or the romance books you’re so fond of, there never was this cold, overwhelming surge of dread coursing through you. 

This peculiar feeling of wrong you can’t shake.

When he frees your lips, you gawk up at him, wide-eyed and breathless.

A haughty smirk decorates his plump mouth as he cups your cheek.

“Here, now you’ve kissed someone,” he rasps.

He astonishes you by planting another kiss on your lips. This one’s rougher, hungrier. His hands travel lower. He fondles your soft flesh, groaning against your mouth. His mouth wanders to your jaw, trailing passionate pecks all the way down to your neck. You writhe against the sheets, a strange warmth blooming in your core.

He pushes up your dress slowly until it bunches around your waist. Cool air bounces across your skin and you shiver. His hands sweep over your trembling flesh. You hold your breath as he drops more kisses across your navel, getting closer and closer to your center.

His fingers hook in the flimsy fabric of your panties, shoving them down your legs. 

A flash of awareness crosses your mind.

“Coriolanus, what are you…” Ignoring your slurred pleas, he buries his head between your thighs. You stiffen as his mouth latches to your core. He flicks his tongue over your folds. Your chest seizes at the cold feeling.  Your back curves as he suckles your soft bud, his hands clutching your thighs tightly. He draws sluggish circles with his tongue, his blue eyes glued to your face the entire time. “Don’t,” you whimper. Your breathless pleas only seem to make things worse. He devours your cunt with even more fervor, bruises forming beneath his steely grip. Broken moans spill from your tongue. Your stomach coils, tension building in your lower belly. You peer down at the blond head bobbing between your legs. Your chest tightens, hot puffs of air rushing from your mouth. You grab fistfuls of his golden mane, feebly pushing his head, wrestling the mounting waves of heat sweeping through your body. 

You chew on your lip as the room sways around you. 

“You have such a pretty little cunt, angel,” he praises. Your cheeks heat at the lewd praise. He moves his tongue over your sensitive tangle of nerves, slow and greedy, collecting every drop of your arousal. 

You jolt and toss your head back as the pleasure hits its peak. Your hips cant on their own to meet Coriolanus’ ravenous lips. He unleashes a throaty moan when you come against him, your nectar dripping on his mouth and chin. 

You’re still catching your breath as you see him loom over you through your hazy vision. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he lauds, reaching between your bodies to unbutton his dress pants. He’s quick to do it, revealing his erect length, already red and leaking at the tip.

A lump forms in your throat. 

“Wait, Coriolanus-”

Your words are stifled by the firm, torrid press of his lips against yours. You taste your own essence and your forehead creases. You turn your head but his fingers frame your jaw, pulling you in for another rough, bruising kiss. His tip prods at your dripping entrance. Your heart leaps. Your eyes snap open. Your hands spread over his chest, attempting to shove him with every bit of strength left in you. 

He doesn’t budge. Your stomach sinks. 

You gasp as he grabs your wrists and slams them besides your head. His thick head pierces your walls, spreading your tender lips apart. A sharp cry tumbles from your tongue. It already feels like too much, like you’ll tear at the center if he keeps going. Your chest heaves, tears swimming under your lashes. He grunts as he drives his cock further inside you, the agonizing stretch drawing a ragged moan from you. Your nails bury in the skin of your palm. 

“I’m scared,” you stammer between disjointed exhales, your mouth quaking.

He shushes you, dropping soft pecks along your neck. He fills you to the brim, impaling you on his cock. You choke on your air, your vision flickering.

Strangled whimpers leave you as he drags out of you slowly before burying himself balls deep inside you again. Your lashes bat rapidly, your chest lifting. 

His lanky frame pins you to the mattress, his scorching breath seeping through the thin material of the dress. 

The bed rattles when he begins to move inside you at a steady pace. Every single snap of his hips into yours is slow and deep, making your toes curl and clouding your sight. 

The two of you become a mess of tangled limbs over the damp sheets.

“It hurts,” you sob, nearly passing out when you glance down and catch a glimpse of blood over his glistening length before it disappears between your slick walls.

“Oh angel, you fit so perfectly around me,” he whispers lewdly, kissing away your tears. He briefly releases your wrist to unbutton his vest and the top buttons of his shirt, exposing more of his chiseled chest. 

His breaths grow labored, matching yours. 

He ruts into you, his muscles straining beneath his clothes and sweat pearling on his forehead.

The air around you is sweltering as you suffocate under his body.

Tears skip down your cheeks, your core burning with the sudden, repeated intrusion. 

Your hot exhales mingle with his, his chest brushing against yours as you feel every vein and ridge of his thick cock with every sharp thrust. 

“Too much…” you mumble, a tide of helplessness flooding your insides. 

He grips under your thigh, finding a different angle that has your eyes rolling back. A lopsided smile blooms on his lips as you shiver beneath him.

“But you’re taking it so well,” he says, his hoarse baritone bleeding lust. He bends to plant a soft kiss in the crook of your neck. “So just lay down and be my good girl. Okay, angel?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, quickening his cadence and shoving your body into the mattress. His pupils are inflated with desire, swallowing most of the blue in his eyes. His dark gaze clings to your panting frame, soaking every second of twisted pleasure coalescing with sinful agony. 

The wet, lewd echo of skin along skin swells in the room. 

Your attention strays to the door, your head twisting. You blink, befuddled by the muffled sounds reaching your ears. 

Persistent scratching and screeching erupt on the other side of the door. It takes you a while to understand what you’re hearing. 

Walter. He’s making a ruckus that could wake the dead outside of your bedroom. 

A fresh surge of tears spill down your cheeks. Coriolanus draws your focus back to him, his fingers firmly corralling your jaw. 

You swallow thickly, taken aback when your gaze lifts and you hardly recognize him. His blue eyes shimmer in the darkness, alight with lust and a hint of something you can’t place. The blood in your veins curdles, your insides lurching. 

“Fuck…the way you squeeze my cock,” he purrs. He bends to sweep his lips over your bruised cheek. “I don’t think I can stop, not when you feel like this around me, angel.”

Your lip wobbles as you blink away tears, a shaky sob pouring from your mouth. 

For what seems like hours, the blond is unrelenting. Fear seizes your chest as you bear through it in the cage of his embrace. 

Eventually, his body stiffens against yours, his hips stuttering. He unleashes a deep breath and releases himself inside you. Warmth fills you, his spent overflowing your cunt and leaking down your inner thigh. 

He collapses on top of you, cradling your body against his. His soft cock rests against your belly as he nuzzles your neck. You look up at the ceiling, focusing on the patterns of the wallpaper as a wave of ice settles in your veins. 

Coriolanus drifts to sleep quickly, pulling you against him as he shifts onto his side. 

Meanwhile, you lie awake, your body still pulsing with pain, your muscles still knotted with fear. Your tears have dried out. No feeling lingers in your body.

You’re numb, empty. After a while, sleep claims you too. Your eyes shut as you surrender to Coriolanus’ tight embrace. 

You awake to the sunlight’s crude assault on your senses, warmth blistering your bare skin and a bright glow searing your eyes. 

Though you feel his arms around you, you don’t find the nerve to look back. Your breaths are quiet and slow as you will yourself not to move. 

You steal a glance at your disheveled appearance in the floor length mirror on the other side of the room. Your chest clenches. Your dress is still hiked up, exposing the darkening bruises on your lower body. Your blood turns to ice as you find the dried up evidence of what Coriolanus did on your thighs. Your hair is a mess, the elegant updo from last night completely destroyed. 

Despite your stillness, you feel him stir against you. You bristle.

“Good morning, angel,” he rasps, his lips pressing into your shoulder.

When you pry his arms off you and sit up, your face scrunches in discomfort. Your limbs ache in protest. You lean back against the headboard and pull down the dress.

You take a second to collect a quivering gulp of air. You then start climbing off the bed. Coriolanus’ hand clasps around your arm before you can stand. Your mouth parts in shock. He yanks you back on the bed and places a hand on each side of you, effectively preventing any escape.

“Is something wrong?” he asks

“Why would anything be wrong?” you mumble.

His fingers creep under your chin, angling your face in a way that forces your gazes to meet. 

“You’re not looking at me.”

You swallow the lump in your throat.

“You’re almost naked.”

He smirks, half-lidded gaze swinging to your chest, where the dress has slid to expose your bare upper body. “So are you.”

The sly remark has a well of shame pool inside you. You tug on the sleeve of the dress to cover more of yourself and clear your throat.

“Last night…”

“Yeah, things got a little intense, didn’t they?”

You bring your knees to your chest, shying away when his fingers skim over your arm.

“That’s one way to put it…”

You stare at the rumpled sheets, the tiny blood stain on them beckoning your focus. 

The day before you hadn’t even kissed a boy. Now you’ve done…way more than that. The thought alone makes your head throb, tossing your mind into disarray. All of it happened so quickly. Most of it is still a blur. 

Confusion cocoons your thoughts. An errant one however slips through. A certainty amidst the haze.

“Coriolanus,” you call.

“Yes?”

“I wasn’t really…ready for that.”

He casts you a puzzled look, a slight frown on his face.

“I didn’t hear a ‘no’” He heaves out a long sigh as he soaks in your conflicted expression, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “I’m sorry for getting carried away.”  His voice mellows, soft as honey. “Did I hurt you?”

You melt at his tone, a bit floored by the concern etched on his face.

“A little.” A lot, your mind loudly whispers though you don’t utter the words. “I just never…”

He bends to plant a feathery kiss on your forehead. His eyes dive into yours. You note how dizzyingly beautiful they look in the morning. Though you’ve never laid eyes on the ocean, you imagine it must be as blue and bottomless as Coriolanus Snow’s eyes.

He seizes your hand and brushes his lips against the back of it. 

“I know, angel. I’ll be more gentle next time. I’ve just been holding back for so long and you were a vision last night.” He beams at you. His fingertips roam over your ankle before he softly suggests, “How about we go have breakfast, you and I, spend the day together?”

“Spend the day together?” you muse aloud.

He pivots your head towards the window which offers you a view of the vibrant city, already awake and bustling with activity.

“Come on. A day like this is too beautiful to waste.”

Your attention returns to Coriolanus. His expression is bright and hopeful. A contrast to the hollowness inside your chest. The longer you look at him, the less you wish to disappoint him. 

Belated words roll off your tongue in a wobbly string. 

“I-I need to take a shower first.”

He fondles your cheek.

“Then go on. I’ll wait for you here,” he says cheerfully.

[urfavfrenchgrl]

winter holidays part two

Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader ᥫ᭡ words: 3k ᥫ᭡ summary: your brother's best friend is spending the winter holidays at your family manor. A group snowball fight between Theo, Mattheo, Draco, Blaise and you turns competitive. But you only have your eyes on him. ᥫ᭡ Notes: F!Reader and Theodore Nott's sister.

part one

The morning came far too soon, pulling you from the restless haze of a night spent chasing thoughts you couldn’t seem to quiet. Sleep had been elusive, slipping through your fingers each time you closed your eyes. Your mind returned, over and over, to the scene from the night before: the swing creaking gently beneath you two, the cold bite of winter softened by Mattheo’s warm presence against you.

It wasn’t the chill of the night that had kept you awake, but the memory of his gaze—heavy, searching, and impossibly close. The way snowflakes had caught in his dark curls, the silver light turning them almost ethereal. You could still feel the weight of his jacket on your shoulders, the warmth of his hands brushing against your skin as he pulled you closer. And then there was the moment before you closed the door to your room: the unspoken tension, the way his eyes lingered as though he were memorizing you.

What would have happened if you hadn’t stepped away? If you had leaned in and kissed him instead of retreating? The thought left a strange ache in your chest, one you didn’t quite know how to name. But you would never know. You told yourself that much as you wrapped your robe around you and made your way downstairs, drawn by the faint sounds of voices and the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

The warmth of the dining room was a sharp contrast to the frosty stillness outside. Theo and Mattheo were already seated at the long wooden table, the remnants of breakfast spread before them. Theo looked up as you entered, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly.

“Well, good morning,” he said, his tone light but with an edge of suspicion. “You sleep in or something?”

“Something like that,” you replied with a small smile, making your way to the pot of coffee.

“The snow’s relentless,” Theo continued, motioning toward the window. “It must’ve dumped half a meter last night. We’re practically buried.”

Your hands froze for the briefest moment, the coffee pot halfway to your cup. “Oh,” you said lightly, forcing your voice to remain steady as you poured. “I hadn’t noticed.”

But you had. You could still see the way the snow fell softly around Mattheo, dusting his shoulders as he stood in the faint moonlight, his curls catching the white like a canvas. You hadn’t forgotten, not for a second.

“You were probably too busy dreaming of who-knows-what,” Theo teased, turning his attention back to his plate.

Mattheo, silent until now, glanced at you from across the table. His dark eyes met yours briefly, unreadable as ever, before he returned to his cup. Yet even that fleeting look sent a spark of warmth through you, one that you tried and failed to ignore.

You took your seat, the memory of last night pressing against the edges of your thoughts, and the snow outside continued to fall as if the world had paused just for you.

Theo leaned back in his chair, his coffee cup in hand, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “By the way,” he said casually, as though it were an afterthought, “I invited Draco and Blaise over. They should be here soon.”

You looked up, momentarily startled. “Draco and Blaise?”

He nodded, his smirk widening. “Yeah. Thought it’d be fun to have a snowball fight. You know how Draco gets—he’s convinced he’s unbeatable.”

The corners of your mouth twitched in what might have been amusement on another day, but the tension in your chest made it impossible to muster more than a faint smile. You did know Draco and Blaise well. Not as well as Mattheo, of course, but they had always been fixtures in Theo’s life—his closest friends from his first year at Hogwarts, present at every tedious pure-blood event you’d been forced to attend, their polished airs and practiced grins as much a part of those events as the crystal chandeliers and endless glasses of elf-made wine.

Normally, the thought of a snowball fight would have made you light up. You loved the snow, loved the way it softened the edges of the world, muffling sounds and blanketing everything in quiet beauty. But this morning, the excitement refused to come. The memory of last night hung heavy over you, a weight you couldn’t quite shake, and you knew Mattheo was at the heart of it.

“Not going to jump at the chance to pelt us all with snowballs, princess?” Mattheo’s voice broke into your thoughts, a teasing lilt to his tone. He rested his elbows on the table, his sharp eyes watching you like he could see right through you.

You shrugged, forcing a neutral expression. “Maybe I’ll just watch from the sidelines. Wouldn’t want to embarrass all of you.”

Theo snorted. “Please. You? Embarrass us? Stick to your books, Y/N. This is real competition.”

Mattheo’s smirk deepened, a flicker of something playful and dangerous in his expression. “Oh, come on, Theo. Don’t be too hard on her. Maybe she’s just afraid of getting her hair messed up. Can’t have our little princess looking anything less than perfect, can we?”

Your chest tightened at the nickname. He was doing it on purpose—you knew he was. Pushing just enough to see if he could make you squirm, to see if you’d break. It wasn’t unlike him to provoke you, but today, it felt sharper, more deliberate.

“I think I’ll be fine,” you said evenly, refusing to let him get under your skin. “Besides, you seem to spend more time on your hair than I do. Wouldn’t want to ruin that.”

Theo barked out a laugh, and Mattheo raised an eyebrow, his smirk never faltering. “Touché,” he said, his voice low and amused. “Guess we’ll just have to see if you’re as quick on your feet in the snow as you are with your mouth.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was pounding harder now, the tension between you crackling like electricity in the air. Mattheo leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself, and Theo—oblivious as ever—stood and stretched, effectively breaking the moment.

“They’ll be here any minute,” he said, heading toward the door. “Better get ready, Y/N. Unless you really do plan on sitting this one out.”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around your coffee mug. You didn’t trust yourself around Mattheo—not after last night, not with the way he was looking at you now. But the last thing you wanted was to give Theo any reason to suspect that something was amiss.

“I’ll join,” you said finally, your voice steadier than you felt. “But don’t cry when I beat you all.”

Theo laughed, disappearing into the hall to prepare, leaving you alone with Mattheo. He watched you for a moment longer, his smirk fading slightly, his expression turning more serious.

“You sure you’re up for it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost challenging.

You looked up at him, your jaw tightening. “I’m sure.”

His eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place, and for a moment, you thought he might say something else. But then he leaned back, the smirk returning. “Good. Wouldn’t want you to miss the chance to prove me wrong.”

And with that, he stood, leaving you alone with the memory of his teasing tone and the way his gaze lingered just a second too long. The snow outside glittered in the morning sun, beautiful and blinding, and you couldn’t help but wonder how you were going to survive the day.

You changed into your warmest clothes, layering a heavy knit sweater under your winter coat and wrapping a scarf snugly around your neck. The manor’s cold halls seemed to press in around you as you made your way toward the door, boots crunching lightly against the old wooden floors. From outside, you could already hear the voices of the boys, their laughter and taunts carrying through the frosty air.

As you stepped out into the bright, snow-covered grounds, the cold bit at your cheeks, and you pulled your gloves tighter over your fingers. Theo spotted you first, a wide grin spreading across his face as he waved you over. Blaise stood beside him, already armed with a snowball, his sharp features lit with mischief.

“About time,” Theo called out. “I was beginning to think you’d chickened out.”

You rolled your eyes, trudging through the snow to join them. “I had to mentally prepare myself to carry this team.”

Blaise let out a bark of laughter. “Bold words for someone who hasn’t even thrown a snowball yet.”

On the other side of the field, Mattheo and Draco stood huddled together, the latter’s pale blonde hair catching the sunlight like a beacon. They were already strategizing, Draco gesturing animatedly while Mattheo stood with his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, watching you approach with a look that sent a shiver down your spine—one that had nothing to do with the cold.

Draco’s voice cut through the air, crisp and teasing. “You sure you can handle this, Nott? Or are you just here to cheer for your brother?”

You shot him a glare, already crouching to gather a handful of snow. “Don’t worry about me, Malfoy. Worry about yourself.”

Mattheo smirked, stepping closer to Draco as he sized you up. “Careful, princess. Wouldn’t want you to break a nail.”

Your grip on the snowball tightened, heat rising to your cheeks that you prayed looked like nothing more than the chill of the winter air. “I’ll break something, alright,” you muttered under your breath, earning a chuckle from Theo.

“Alright, alright,” Theo called out, waving his arms to signal a start. “Three against two. That means no crying when we win, Malfoy.”

“Not likely,” Draco scoffed, his grin sharp and challenging. “You’re about to learn what real strategy looks like.”

Mattheo stayed quiet, his smirk never fading as his dark eyes remained fixed on you. He crouched to gather a snowball, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he already knew this was less about the game and more about whatever invisible line the two of you kept dancing around.

The first few minutes were chaos. Snow flew through the air in every direction, shouts and laughter mingling with the crisp crackle of boots crushing snow. Blaise turned out to be a surprisingly skilled shot, his snowballs landing with precision and force, while Theo charged ahead like a bull, more focused on brute strength than aim.

You tried to keep your focus, but it was impossible not to notice Mattheo. He moved with a kind of easy confidence, dodging and throwing with an almost lazy precision that made it seem like he wasn’t even trying. And every so often, his gaze would find yours, a flicker of challenge in his eyes that sent your heart racing.

You barely had time to register your next move before Mattheo hurled a snowball straight at you, the impact hitting your shoulder with surprising precision. “That’s one!” he shouted smugly. “Better keep up, princess!”

“Don’t let him get to you!” Blaise yelled, already running to flank Draco.

But Mattheo wasn’t letting up. Every time you moved, it was as though he anticipated your steps, his snowballs striking closer and closer. His smirk only grew as you dodged one, then another, his taunts cutting through the air.

“Still think you can handle this?” he called, his tone maddeningly confident.

You bit your lip, a mix of frustration and determination coursing through you. Without thinking, you scooped up a handful of snow, taking aim.

“Watch and learn,” you muttered, letting the snowball fly.

The snowball struck Mattheo square in the face, the impact sending a puff of white powder into the air. His cocky smirk vanished as he stumbled back, momentarily stunned. For a moment, there was complete silence. Then, Blaise let out a whoop of laughter, clapping his gloved hands together.

“Did you see that?” Blaise crowed, pointing at Mattheo. “Perfect shot!”

Theo grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders, his chest puffed out in mock pride. “That’s my sister,” he declared loudly, as if your victory was his own.

Mattheo, however, was far from amused. He brushed the snow from his face, his dark eyes narrowing as a slow, dangerous smirk replaced his earlier expression. “Alright, Y/N,” he said, his tone low and taunting. “You’re dead.”

Before you could react, Mattheo lunged, scooping up another handful of snow as he sprinted toward you.

“Oh, no, no, no!” you cried, laughing as you turned and bolted, your boots crunching through the snow.

“You better run!” Mattheo called after you, his voice laced with playful menace.

The others’ laughter faded into the background as you ran, your heart pounding in time with your footsteps. You glanced over your shoulder, catching sight of Mattheo hot on your heels, his curls bouncing as he pursued you.

“Is that the best you’ve got, Riddle?” you taunted breathlessly, your voice carried by the cold winter air. “Too slow!”

Mattheo let out a bark of laughter, his pace quickening. “Oh, you’re going to regret that, little brat.”

Your boots skidded slightly as you darted toward the edge of the forest, the thick trees looming ahead. The snow was deeper here, slowing your steps as you wove between the trunks, your laughter mingling with the sound of Mattheo’s footsteps close behind.

“You can’t run forever, Y/N!” he called, his voice teasing but edged with determination.

“Maybe I can,” you shot back, glancing over your shoulder just as your foot caught on a hidden root, sending you tumbling forward into the snow.

You barely had time to react before Mattheo was on you, his weight pressing you into the ground as he pinned you beneath him.

“Gotcha,” he panted, his breath visible in the icy air.

You squirmed beneath him, the cold snow soaking through your coat, but his grip on your wrists was firm. His body hovered just above yours, his knees bracketing your hips, his face inches from yours as he caught his breath.

“You—” you started, your voice breathless, “—are insufferable.”

“And you,” he countered, his dark eyes glittering with amusement, “are terrible at running away.”

His lips twitched into a smirk, but the playfulness in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something heavier. His gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there for a moment before snapping back to your eyes. “Do you always have to be so difficult?”

“Do you always have to be so arrogant?” you shot back, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

You tried to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks, but it was impossible with the weight of his body pressing against yours, the snow beneath you doing little to cool the fire building between you. The world seemed to shrink, the towering trees and falling snow fading into the background as you became hyper-aware of every point of contact—the way his fingers wrapped around your wrists, the way his breath ghosted across your skin.

The corners of his mouth tugged upward, his smirk softening. “Maybe.” For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension crackling like electricity in the icy air. His eyes dropped to your lips briefly, and your heart stuttered in your chest. The snowflakes that clung to his dark curls only made him look more unreal, and you cursed yourself for how badly you wanted to close the distance.

His head dipped slightly, his breath warm against your cold skin. Your chest tightened, every nerve in your body on high alert as his lips hovered inches from yours. You also wanted to push him away, to say something that would break the spell, but you couldn’t move.

“Mattheo,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “We can’t. Theo—”

“Do you always let your brother dictate your life,” he interrupted, his voice low and rough, “or is it just when it comes to me?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken for far too long. And then, before you could second-guess yourself, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was hesitant at first, as though testing the boundaries of what you would allow. But when you didn’t pull away, his hand cupped the side of your face, and the kiss deepened. It was electric—messy and hurried, but so full of unspoken desire that it left you breathless.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes were dark, his breath coming in soft puffs of white in the cold air. “Can we try that again?” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost pleading.

You nodded, and he didn’t hesitate this time. His lips captured yours with an intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. This wasn’t a tentative brush or a cautious test—it was raw and unapologetic, fueled by the unspoken tension that had simmered between you for far too long. His hand slid into your hair, tangling in the strands, as he tilted your head to deepen the angle.

His tongue traced the seam of your lips, a silent plea for entrance, and without thinking, you parted them for him. The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your knees weak, even as you were pinned beneath him. It was intoxicating, his taste—warm and heady, like something you could drown in if you weren’t careful.

His other hand gripped your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, as though he needed to feel every inch of you against him. The snow beneath you was cold, biting against your skin, but his kiss was fire—a scorching contrast that left you dizzy and grasping for more.

Each movement of his lips against yours, every deliberate stroke of his tongue, felt like a claim, as though he were staking a silent but undeniable ownership over the moment—and over you.

But the sharp sound of Theo’s voice echoed through the forest, shattering the moment like glass.

“Y/N! Mattheo! Where the hell are you?”

You broke apart instantly, your breaths ragged as you stared at each other, the reality of what had just happened crashing over you. Mattheo’s jaw clenched, his frustration visible, but he pushed himself up, extending a hand to help you to your feet.

As you brushed the snow from your clothes, you avoided his gaze, your cheeks burning despite the cold. Theo’s voice called out again, closer this time, and Mattheo swore under his breath.

“This isn’t over,” he said quietly, his tone firm but laced with something softer.

You didn’t trust yourself to respond, so you simply nodded, your heart still pounding as you started back toward the clearing together.

You weren’t sure what had just happened, or how you were going to face Theo—or Mattheo—after this. But one thing was certain: the line you’d both been so careful not to cross had been obliterated, and there was no going back.

[heavenbloom]

🇵🇸🇱🇧 BEFORE YOU READ: DONATE TO PALESTINIAN FAMILIES • EMERGENCY FUND FOR MARGINALISED WORKERS IN LEBANON • BOYCOTT TLOU

𓊝 — 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚 | 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐫!𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐱 𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

song: golden hair — slowdive

summary: the ocean is a trepidatious force. abby has never felt its power until she falls into the hands of a siren, a dark and ruinous mistress of the sea.

warnings: mdni 18+, smut, fingering (r!receiving), hair pulling (a!receiving), mentions of death, mentions of religion, profanities, afab reader, reader is a mythical creature and comes off as cold and detached from humanity, set in an unspecified time in the past, a bit of hatred between the two, toxic dynamics, abby is down bad, not proofread

a/n: this is a semi rewrite of a fic i posted on my old blog last year! i don’t have time to write new things at the moment so please accept this even though it’s not my best 🧍

The ground beneath Abby was rough, cold in a way that immediately told her that she was not in the stuffy warmth of the sailor's quarters. Her eyes were screwed shut, her head blaring for relief and her body soaked to the bone. She was not where she was meant to be.

She took a moment, a breath, to regain her bearings, eyes opening to slits. A void met her, nothing visible in the pitch black.

She let no panic inflate her chest or scratch at her already dry throat. To survive the sea for so long was a miracle, and those who rode its waves knew that being fearful was useless, since besting such a beast was impossible. The sea chose her victims indiscriminately, and it seemed that Abby was not one of them. Not in this moment, at least.

She instead shifted focus to her other senses to understand where she was. She reached her arms out on either side, feeling the jaggedness of the moist ground. Her ears picked up a consistent drip, drip, drip and the sound of distant crashing water. The briny taste of the ocean was still sharp on her tongue... she was still near the sea. Good.

As she laid there, her brain strayed to the events leading up to her predicament. She was unaware of how she got here, but she recalled the crashing of the hull against wrathful waves, her fellow sailors staggering back and forth on deck as salty tendrils whipped the ship about. There was frenzy as the crew’s prayers to gods and pantheons from all over filled the air, to either rescue them or welcome them into the afterlife with open arms.

Abby had stayed silent, jaw clenched. There was no deity that she believed in, no soothing prayer that could save her from a sinking, air-absent demise. All that encompassed her mind was, it is fitting that I die here. A frothy headstone to mark her vast grave, a silence settling into her bones.

She remembered her acceptance being cut short by a stillness that came about so suddenly, a golden haze. Then, the first gentle notes of a beautiful hymn...

It was something otherworldly, she was aware of that much. But why did the recollection of it elude her?

As she tried to remember the notes of it, she stilled at a gentle tone caressing her ears. The same song.

Abby's eyes shot open at the intrusion of noise, blue eyes boring into nothingness. It was lilting and lullaby-soft, the loveliest voice she had ever heard, perhaps. But its foreign, silky words and the power gently thrumming beneath its cadence made her spine tremble.

There were many cruel, monstrous things beneath the sea's depths, but there was only one described as so beautiful. Sweet death, they nicknamed the thing. There were only ever stories about them though, for they were as good as legend. Nobody had ever lived to tell the tale of the real thing, these stories made clear. Their victims' long-forgotten bones rested on sandy ocean beds, now used to pick the teeth of these fearsome creatures.

The fear that she had such good grasp on began to bleed into the corners of her passiveness, an inkling of dread. A shipwreck she could handle. A shipwreck caused by one of the most indomitable predators of the seven seas was another thing entirely.

"Sea witch," Abby hissed through gritted teeth, voice pained and hazy. Concentration was a task when all she wanted to do was melt into the gentle arms of your song. But she was no man, no simple sailor. It would take a lot more than this to subdue her.

You stopped singing, only to laugh at her in the near-off distance, still shrouded by darkness. It rang through the space like the distant sound of church bells in a steeple.

"I am no witch, mortal," you spoke perfectly, to her surprise. It was a voice dripping with strength, lightning crackling along the surface of a still lake. “You are all the same. We use your own desires against you and you claim it to be magic… pitiful.”

Abby did not want to care about the implications of your words. You knew nothing about her or her desires. How could one ever want this?

There was a bite to her voice now. "I am uninterested in your games, siren." Even so…

Against all her loathing, her breath quickened as she strained to find you in the darkness. She thought that, as a woman, she would be immune to a siren's charms if they ever did prove to be real, but it seemed not to be the case. Your voice alone was a thing swathed in ethereality, and she needed to see what such a being looked like.

There was dead quiet before the space began to fill with a deep blue light, radiating off of where water seeped in. She sat herself up now despite the throbbing ache in her body, mesmerised as the light pulsed throughout what she now realised was an enclosed cave. Beautiful was the first word that floated to her head. Then a scathing, correctional, unnatural.

After a moment of distraction, she searched for you again, but you were nowhere to be seen. Disappointment dropped in her gut like a pin, but it was enough to ignore the prickle of curiosity that slid up her neck and reddened her cheeks.

"I have said it once already. Your games are of no interest to me, sea witch," she yelled into the cold cavern as evenly as she could muster. "Come on then, enjoy your damn feast."

Perhaps it was foolish to mock something immortal. A beat of silence passed, then another. A soft thud hit the jutting ground of the cave, barely audible amongst the sound of lapping water and Abby’s own chattering teeth.

"I do not care much for feasting on women"," you whispered, mere inches behind her. The hairs on her neck stood on end, alert to your presence. “Not many are led astray… and the ones that are? Well…”

She felt that same dizzying urge to gaze upon you. She turned in the direction of your voice, and this time you made no effort to conceal yourself.

Your bare body was adorned in pearlescent scales, shimmering and reflecting the rich light that danced around the cave. Your hair was damp and it stuck your cheeks in wispy swirls. But it was your eyes, gods, your eyes that she lingered on the most. Alluring and deep, they demanded every morsel of her attention.

What most enchanted Abby was the way you looked so human despite everything, the softness of your being comparable to a maiden onshore. Whenever Abby thought of a siren, she imagined jutting scales from spine, sharp teeth that could put a blade to shame, talons built to rip stocky men to shreds, eyes the off-white of drops of sour milk. The only unsettling thing about you were the slits on your neck, like that of a shark.

Her gaze lingered on your captivating person, drawn to it like moth to a flame. She supposed your appearance made more sense now. Beauty would always strike a person dead before terror ever could. As her heart hammered in her chest, she began to wonder whether the two were intertwined.

"Then... then why, pray tell, did you not let me drown?"

Your surprisingly soft hands came to her chin. Fingers traced her strong jawline, drew a line to her collarbone before softly grazing them over one clothed shoulder. She shivered beneath your touch but did not dare to move away, did not want to. Your hands were the coldness of the deep undersea, as if they had never witnessed the sun before. She wanted to grab them, breathe warmth and life into your inhuman palms… had the sea water left her brain addled?

Your eyes flicked from her arm, where the linen of her undershirt clung to a muscled bicep, back to blue eyes that appeared black in the deep light.

"You were lured by me. I believed you to be a man. I only had a glimpse of your silhouette before you were in my arms, fighting for air, and then I realised. I suppose you could say... your strength as a woman is one I have not yet witnessed."

You gave her shoulder a gentle, intrigued squeeze.

"That is why I saved you, human. Nothing more and nothing less.”

The shivers that racked her body quieted. You expected her to either shy away or move closer, but she did neither. She remained unmoving, staring at you with an expression that warped back and forth between contempt and desire.

“Will you eat me now that your curiosity has been satisfied? Or will you keep me here as a little pet to ogle at whenever you grow bored?” It was a question with teeth, directed to mock your intentions. Her eyes shone with repulsion but also anticipation as she waited for your answer. Did she want to stay shackled to you until she wasted away or you finally decided on what to do with her? Is that what she wanted?

Such a foolish woman she was to question your motivations, but all that rose within you was a light amusement, like that of an onlooker watching a butterfly flit about in a glass case. You had the upper hand. It was you, after all, who lured her into the raging tides to begin with. And it continued to be you who kept her fate clutched in your grasp, still undecided on whether you should squash or embrace her. You cared for none of the furious emotions that roiled in her little, mortal heart,. But entertainment? That could be found in toying with her, just a little.

You moved closer to her once again, humming softly as your hand met her damp and matted braid. Your fingers found the piece of leather knotted around it and you slid it undone. Your fingers raked through the tangled mass gently, with the sweet slowness of a lover. She could almost believe that were the case when her mind started to fog, if not for the chorus of voices screaming within her through the haze. This is wrong, this is wrong.

Each movement of yours set your body alight. Abby had seen a myriad of the night's constellations, but they did not hold a candle to your ethereality. She felt the reigns she held on her convictions slipping. How could this be immoral when this proximity felt like a thing of fate, a thing meant to be?

Your voice was the purest of sugar, sweet and addictive.

"I believe you," your hands found their way out of her hair and to her chest, palms resting flat, "are the one that has been captivated." Your mouth was close, a finger-span distance away from hers. You could feel the way her body tensed, a sharp intake of breath without the release.

"You hate it, do you not?” you continued, tilting your head. That I am the only thing about the sea that can make you feel vulnerable? Admit it... I frighten you."

The blonde woman did not trust her mouth to form coherent words, not when you smelled so familiar, like salt and windswept sea foam. This wasn’t fear, it was something else, itching just beneath the skin and begging to break through. You were too close.

Damn it all.

There was a hesitance in her movements before her mouth descended upon yours abruptly. There was no rhythm to the way her lips pushed against yours, beastly in an overuse of teeth and tongue. You responded almost instantaneously, your mouth dancing against hers with the perfection centuries of seducing countless others sculpted. There was a dim recognition of this as she pressed herself against you and lowered you to the rough ground. She wanted to be the last one you tasted like this. The last one you harboured any kind of mercy for.

She had not prayed on that ship before the wreck, but as she relished in your lips she knew that she had been a fool to shun the notion of holiness. This was divinity. This body, cold and devoid of life. These lips, experienced and deliciously deceitful and tasting oh-so-familiar.

You were the celestial force in which she never believed. She had no altar to pray at yet, but she would carve one out right here, in the depths of your iridescent body. Her kisses would be her offerings. Her heavy, desperate breaths would be the choir.

She pulled back slightly to gaze at your face. Your eyes, glinting with challenge, compelled her to go further. Your icy arms engulfed her shoulders, pulling the brawn of her body, that pulsing human warmth, closer. You could feel her hummingbird heartbeat against your collarbone, could hear the blood pumping through her system again and again, a song all on its own.

Heat pooled in your core, the feeling almost foreign to you after years of its dormancy. There was something so delectable about letting a being inferior to you in, to taste and touch and fuck something that could eat her alive.

Her brows were knitted together, eyes wide pits of blazing blue lust. She was waiting for it, a silent plea in the drag of her teeth against her plump bottom lip and the phantom feel of her palms over your scaled skin. Who were you to deny such muted acts of devotion?

With a honeyed smile, you took one of her large hands in yours, and rested it against your sternum. Searing heat bloomed through your chest and downwards as you guided her wind-chafed palm. The ribcage, the belly button, the divot where stomach gives way to sensitive flesh.

Her breath hitched, eyes droopy as she rocked back onto her haunches. Your legs were sprawled so prettily, iridescent thighs gleaming in the little light there was. She watched as the hand latched around her wrist led her to your folds. Beneath her fingertips, your cunt felt like unspooled silk. It was impossible to suppress the tremor that passed through her.

“Well?” Your voice penetrated the fervoured veil that threatened to swallow her whole. “Cease your gawking, human.” A command. An invitation.

Abby traced her fingers down your slit gently, then parted them. Her lips opened at the feeling of just how soaked you were, breath coming ragged and cheeks painted red at the dewiness of your cunt.

She slipped one finger in with ease, a sigh floating out of her mouth as her middle finger followed suit. Pure velvet, it was heaven wrapped around them. Her wrist trembled, body temperature reaching a feverish pitch as she pumped and curled them within your snug cunt. She watched as your body arched, that same saccharine voice echoing through the cave in a chorus of loud breaths and rhapsodic moans.

She admired the way your body had become an instrument beneath her touch. It was like plucking a harp string, hearing its divine tune ring out and watching as it wobbles and wavers from the force.

She pressed her weight to you, the way the sea and the earth meet on shorelines. Shallow puffs of air were hot against your cheek as she continued her ministrations, face one deep pool of lust as she lifted you higher, molten pleasure building within your gut so rapidly that all you could do to buoy yourself was pull at the knotted mass of her golden hair.

She pressed sloppy, open mouthed kisses to your jaw, to the neck that reminded her over and over that you were not hers, but a vicious thing of the sea. Even then, that could not fizzle the blaze burning within her with each buck against her thigh, each drawled out praise spoken against her lips like dove-soft prayers. She was well aware of what you were, and yet you were heady all the same, like too much ale on a star-riddled night.

For the second time perhaps in her life as a sailor, her mind pulsed with a rare revelation. Sweet was its honesty now, she would be content if it were to be so;

It is fitting that I die here.

[syrma-sensei]

→ Bad Mouth.

gif credit.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Fem!reader.

Rating: Explicit, pure filth.

Warnings: domestic ben, non-canon compliant, drug use, cockwarming, daddy kink, brat!reader, choking on huge dick, piv, pet names, minimum plot...

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Ben wants to netflix and chill with you but on his way.

Taglist: @zepskies

You and Ben just finished having dinner together. Ben's cleaning the table while you take care of the dishes. You glance over your shoulder at him with pride. Ben is adapting to modern life. Even though it's an excruciatingly slow process, it's still a progress, and you couldn't be prouder. In spite of that, Ben doesn't seem to be so pleased with the drastic changes that happened to the world during his sleep, and it causes him great frustration most of the time. But you're here to help him find his place in the new world. He insists he can handle everything by his own, but the man can't do a thing without screwing everything up, especially that loose tongue of his.

You proceed with your work in the kitchen; putting dry dishes in the cupboard, mopping the floor, and sorting the leftovers from dinner. Ben is now sitting in the living room watching something on TV. You need not to worry about that because you already taught him how to shuffle through networks and pick something up to watch. You've come to notice that unlimited access to media is something he appreciates and even enjoys. He'd sit and absorb the contents for learning purposes, making comments on how cinema quality is fucked up nowadays compared to the glorious days back in his time. You'd giggle at his words, reminding you of your grumpy grandpa. He still watches what now-shitty-Hollywood produces, nevertheless.

You emerge from the kitchen, drying up your wet hands with a towel. Your gaze catches his before he says, “C'mere, sweetheart, want you to sit on my lap.”

You smile, strolling down to the sofa where he's sitting. He cranes his head to look up at you before he adjusts his position for you. You slide up deftly to straddle his strong thighs, coming face to face with his handsome visage. Beautiful green eyes ravishing you with hunger. He flashes you a mischievous grin. “Not what I meant, baby.”

“Oh,” You raise a brow, flashing him a wicked smile of your own, “If that's what you want, Daddy.” You wink.

“Atta girl.”

He helps you to stand up again, shoving his blue sweatpants and underwear down to his mid thighs as you take your panties off; you weren't wearing anything but a hoodie and a thin pair of panties, which is laying on the floor now. He's not hard but not soft either. You moan slightly as you sink on his length, his chest pressing to your back, a strong arm holding you by your waist close to his warm body. He's so well-endowed and thick, you can feel him fill every inch of you; you shiver.

From the side of the couch, Ben fetches his blunt from the small table and lights it up.

You try to distract yourself from the overwhelming sensations that course through your body from the feeling of utter fullness. Eyes glued on the screen, you notice that Ben is watching Narcos: Mexico on Netflix. The events take place in the late seventies and the early eighties, close to his time of claimed death.

Smoke begins to fog up around you, hazing your head and making it lighter. That shit is strong. Minutes elapse, and the whiffs of high is making you naughty. You glimpse at him from the corners of your eyes to find him too focused on the show. You grin giddily and slowly roll your hips on his dick. You earn a low grumble from behind but nothing more. Your faint high is making you braver so you take another shot, snapping your hips again, but more aggressive this time

“Whoa,” He says, “Easy, baby doll—”

You buck your hips again with a giggle, feeling his cock nourishing inside of you. “Hold still, woman,” He growls in a low voice, “Last warning.” Your hips carry on until he snaps impatiently, lifting you up his cock effortlessly and turning you to face him. “Not gonna let Daddy finish the goddamn season with your pretty cunt warming up his cock?”

You giggle playfully, raising a challenging brow, “No,” You emphasise with another snap of your hips. He twitches inside of you, “Come on, don't you wanna fuck me, Daddy? Or you want me to do all the work for your old-ass?”

He furrows his brows at you, but before you receive an answer, you climb down his thighs swiftly and rush towards your bedroom, you grin proudly when you hear his hasty footsteps behind you. You yelp when you find yourself being flung to the bed, your grin widens and you giggle again when you find him above you. You feel his weight on your body, and his cock nudging your opening. With a vigorous thrust he's inside you and between your legs.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” You cry, “Please, give me your cock, Daddy!”

You kick your legs playfully as he teases you with his massive cock; slow and deep drags in and out of your dripping cunt.

“Oh, now it's 'Please Daddy', hmm?” He chuckles cruelly, “What happened to the bratty bitch who wouldn't stop rocking her fucking hips on my dick? You fucking cock tease.”

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Daddy!” A thrilled cry tears out of your throat as you look at him with teary eyes. He stops and slides his cock out of you, and you whimper. You try to buck your hips to his cock but he has a steel grip on your wrists above my head. You couldn't move much. You curse his supe strength.

“You're sorry?” Ben sneers, raising a brow, “Sorry won't get you anywhere, sweetheart.” His face slants down so his mouth is nearly brushing yours, “If you want my cock buried in that slutty pussy of yours, you must show me how sorry you are.”

“Please,” You say breathlessly, gulping down while nodding, “Let me show you I can be a good girl, your good girl.”

“Now you wanna be my good girl?” He snickers, “Should've warmed my cock while I smoked that reefer like I told you to instead of pissing me off with your hips.”

You giggle, tilting your head to the side coquettishly, “But Daddy! I love your cock so much; can't help myself when you're inside of me.”

Ben's hands loosen from your wrists and you can move again. He quirks a playful eyebrow at you, a grin slipping into his lips. “You love how my cock fills you up, Princess?”

“Yes!” You gush, sitting up on your thighs and Ben leans back, his face still in yours. “I love it so much, Daddy. I love the feeling of you.” You slip onto the ground between his thighs. His cock is long and thick, hardened and curved up towards his lower torso. Pre-cum is glimmering on the slit of its tip. The sight makes your mouth water. Your tongue takes a long drag on the shaft and Ben growls, his hand is harsh in your hair, yanking your head backwards. You hiss in pain, but tingles of delight sweep over your spine. You like how he manhandles you. He leans down to your face and chuckles, “You want it so bad, don't you?” He drawls, mance swirling in his eyes, “Then take it.”

Ben's grip tightens on your hair, his dick is shoved all the way down your throat. You gag at the sudden fullness in your mouth. You try to lift yourself up to adjust your position, but he doesn't let you. The fucking bastard. He wants you to choke on him.

“Let's put that bad mouth of yours into some good use.”

Drool seeps through the corners of your mouth down to your chin, and tears start to prick your eyes. You hold into his thighs and try to ease your breath through your nose. You taste his pre-cum and salt of his skin. In another circumstance, you'd suck him empty.

“Ah, just like that,” His voice is thick and content, you can hear the smirk in his voice, “Move an inch and you're not allowed to cum for the rest of the week.”

Your eyes fly wide when you comprehend what's going to happen. He's going to fucking smoke again while you warm his cock with your mouth. The asshole. What a fucking dick. But his dominating, deep voice shoots directly to your pussy, making it squeeze around nothing.

You hear him flicking the lighter on and a few moments later you hear him exhale a small cloud of smoke. You whimper in discomfort and your legs shift a bit. His hand pats your hair gently and you look up at him through your bangs.

“You can be such a fucking brat sometimes,” He says after taking a long drag, his hand continues to fondle your hair tenderly. You grumble around his length and he lets out an amused chortle, “What is it, baby doll?” He strokes your scalp again. God, his smirk is so annoying but utterly beautiful, “Too busy to come up with a nasty sass?”

He wants to play dirty? You can play dirty. You flick your tongue on the underside on his shaft and it twitches in response. “Behave,” Ben warns in a grumble, hand tugging your hair. Again, your cunt clenches around nothing. You stop; you don't want him to execute his threat. Because he'd fucking do it. Last time you pushed your limits he denied you your orgasm for a night as a punishment. True, he compensated you the following morning, but it drove you crazy the entire night. Long story short, you don't want to experience that obnoxious feeling of reaching the rim of your high but never get it. Your throat clenches around his cock when you attempt to swallow your saliva.

Minutes elapsed then he muffled his reefer in the ashtray on the bedside table. His grip slides your head gently off his dick and you take a deep breath before gazing up at him. His cock is slickened wet by your spit and his pre-cum.

“Good girl,” He remarks, whipping your face dry with a tissue. When he's finished, he pats the spot next to him, “On bed, all fours.”

Thrill sweeps over your body again as you climb up on the bed again, settling on your hands and knees as he ordered after you took off your hoodie. You hear shuffling behind you; he's taking his clothes off too. You yelp in surprise when his hand smacks your right butt cheek playfully then you giggle. His hand trails down your ass crack, his fingertips teasing the rim of your butt hole and you shiver. “Can't wait to fuck this hole someday.” He comments and you chew your lower lip, “But let us focus on that honeyed pussy now, shall we?”

His blunt nails press to your clit and you moan, “Fucking Christ, you're practically drenched down here, Princess.” He circles the bundle of nerves and your hands grip the sheets beneath you. You mewl when two of his fingers are deep-knuckle inside of you.

“Please Daddy, please,” You groan, rubbing yourself against his hand when doesn't move.

“Wanna cum, baby girl? Fuck yourself on my fingers just like that.” You whimper in frustration but you do it nevertheless.

His other hand reaches out to your breasts, his fingers finding your erect nipples. Ben plays with them as his thumb presses in circles to your clit. He's driving you crazy. He's all over you. His hands toying with you, his firm chest is against your back, his mouth next to your temple whispering the filthiest words into your ears. Overwhelm sweeps over your body, and you squeeze around his fingers. You groan and rub yourself faster. Your knees are growing weak. “Daddy, Daddy! I'm gonna cum. Can I cum, please?”

He growls, “Cum to me, princess, cum to me.”

To ruin you even more, Ben pumps his fingers expertly against your g-spot and as if on cue you crash on his relentless digits. Tears run down your cheeks as the orgasm hits you like a hurricane. Ben doesn't wait, he flips you on your back and plunges himself through your pulsing cunt. He grunts at the wringing and curses under his breath. “Fuck,”

You claw at his back when his cock fills you up and you sigh in pleasure, “I love you, Daddy. I love your cock so much.”

He grins down at you then kisses you briefly, murmuring, “You have no idea how much my cock loves your pussy, doll.”

Ben snaps his hips against yours and you see the stars. He's so huge, so fucking huge. And with every drag of his dick you feel each inch of its skin and every vein friction against your sensitive walls. He fills you up completely. His mouth leaves love bites on your neck, and his tongue leaves a wet stripe on your chin before he kisses you again.

His vigour brings you to my high again and it snaps around him harshly. You scream his name and cry, digging your nails into his skin. He cums hard inside of you, you feel his hot seed painting your walls white.

His dick starts to soften inside, and he shifts to pull out, but you cling to him, looking up at his green eyes. “Stay,” you whisper.

And he does.

🦅 The Boys Masterlist

🦅 AO3

[saekkas]

STATUS: [CLOSED]

blue haze ⋆˚☽ send an ask containing a bllk character + 1-2 prompts of your choice, and i'll write it for you. you're free to send in some of your own prompts as well!

note: the skipped numbers means i've received your ask and that prompt is taken

#1. "oh, quit pouting. i like your smile better." #4. "good morning. have i told you how much i love you today?" #5. "i am yours to dream about if you wish." #7. "are we fighting? is this what couples do when they fight?" #8. "my little love. i adore you." #12. "are you okay? you look like death." #18. "my grandma said that kisses make the pain go away." #19. "sit up for me, love. i can't help you if you don't." #22. "i'm doing this because i love you, goddamnit!" #23. "who hurt you?" #24. "don't you get it? you're everything to me." #29. "i'm not apologizing for keeping you safe." #34. "will you stay?" #40. "i love you. nothing will ever change that." #43. "i can't stop thinking about you." #44. "i love seeing your smile."

[triskhellion]

Sweet & Sour Summertime

Songs (prompts:)

Big Star - Thirteen (13) Abby Webster - Sturgeon Moon (Sturgeon) The Postal Service - Brand New Colony (Joy) Goldfrapp - Black Cherry (Black Cherry) Bonobo - Break Apart (Unravel) The Mavericks - Blue Moon (Blue Moon) Childish Gambino - Summertime Magic (Summer) Alien Ant Farm - Attitude (Dispute) Unwritten Law - Seein' Red (Red Haze) Placebo - Special K (Special) Wilderado - Wheat (Grain) The Troggs - Wild Thing (Lynx) Van Morrison - Days Like This (Woman)

💿 means it's a mix with a particular listening order (at least the first time) for flow or narrative reasons.

[wlntrsldler]

THE PROPHECY | LUKE CASTELLAN

synopsis: series of events between zeus!reader and luke that started the prophecy. not canon-compliant; inspired by the prophecy by taylor swift.

series masterlist | previous | next

I guess a lesser woman would've lost hope. A greater woman wouldn't beg but I looked to the sky and said "Please."

The first time you burned offerings, you had hope that your father would acknowledge you. It was the day after you got to Camp Half-Blood. You burned your entire plate of food, choosing to starve for the night, in hopes that your father would offer his condolences. Perhaps, he'd empathize with you. You both lost someone, after all, you a sister and he a child.

But nothing happened. You thought you did it wrong, that your father just didn’t hear your prayers– he wasn’t ignoring you, of course not, what parent would ignore their grieving child? You stayed up the entire night reading ancient texts, knocking on the doors of cabins to speak to head counselors for guidance. You were too naive about this life to notice the pity in their eyes then. None of them had the heart to tell you that your father wouldn't show mercy, at least not in the way you wanted him to. They never did.

You tried again the next day, only to be met with the same fate. But Luke, who had heard of your attempts, saved half of the food he was given and knocked on the door of the lonely Zeus cabin to share it with you. He'd gotten in trouble for not burning an offering that day, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to let you go to bed hungry two nights in a row. 

As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, then years, your offerings began to get smaller and smaller, until finally, prayers became more of a chore, a thing to check off on your to-do list. It stopped meaning something. It was three years of unanswered, half-hearted, prayers. 

Luke stumbled into Camp Half-Blood midday. A large gash was across his face, blood staining his skin. He was clutching his side, shirt nearly ripped to shreds, similar to how his skin was raw and frayed under his clothes. He'd used all his strength to carry himself into camp before falling to his knees when his eyes finally found you in the chaos of it all. 

He said your name once, voice hoarse and scratchy like Ladon clawed his way inside Luke, ripping out his vocal cords, not sparing a part of him from destruction. When he finally collapsed, you ran to him, smearing the red of his blood all over your own clothes, as the Apollo kids pried you away from him.

For the first time in three years, you were going to bed hungry again. The charred remnants of what would've been your dinner created a foul scent in the air. Luke’s blood was still lodged beneath your fingertips, staining your hands even after you’ve rubbed them raw. It made you sick. 

"Dad," You pleaded, watching the smoke fade into the night sky. Your tears were flowing down your face, chest heaving as you ignored the distant sounds of the campers you were meant to be looking after. "I haven't asked you for anything in years, but now I'm asking you this. They can't take him. Please, not Luke." 

For a moment the world seemed to still. The clouds in the sky disappeared, specks of white faded into the midnight blue. You turned around, looking for a sign of life somewhere, anywhere. There was nothing but silence, no sounds of owls hooting in conversation, no whistles of the air, no chatter of the few kids who stayed at camp. 

When the flame in front of you extinguished with a whoosh, the darkness engulfed you, leaving nothing but the thin light illuminated by the moon. Black smoke rose from the pit as you looked up to the sky, "Please." 

A flash of light vanished as quickly as it came. There appeared a ragged line perfectly between the peaks of the mountains, bright white, leaving a haze of silver in your vision. Then a rumble of the earth, shaking the ground your knees were glued to. Lighting and thunder. A sign that Zeus had heard you. 

A high-pitched noise rang across the world, different frequencies like it was caused by more than just one thing. The noise made you cover your ears with your open palms, groaning as you fell over by the sheer power of it. Then the world resumed, like what you just witnessed, what you just experienced, was a glitch in the fabric of time. 

Your offerings were nothing but ashes now and the clouds returned to the sky, this time carrying the weight of water as droplets fell on your bare skin. You stood up, rushing to the infirmary, barely beating the relentless storm that was brewing. 

Lee Fletcher turned around at the sudden intrusion, eyes wide in shock for the second time that night. You stood at the door, trying to catch your breath. He smiled at you, as he took two steps to the left, then disappeared in the other room. Luke was propped on his bed, shoulders hunched over as he touched the bandages on his face. As if he felt your presence, he turned his head, wincing at the pain that shot up his spine when he overextended. Even with one eye taped shut, you saw his gaze soften. 

His voice came out as a whisper, barely audible, but you still heard it. "Hey, you." 

Your body seemed to have a mind of its own. If it wasn't for the sounds of your footsteps pounding against the wooden floors, if it wasn't for your hands reaching over to touch Luke's face, warmth spreading against your skin to anchor you, to show you that he's really there in front of you, you wouldn't have believed that this was real. 

The gods were cruel sometimes. They messed with your head until you were questioning your own sanity. At first, you thought this was one of their games, one of the things they did to toy with mortals for their own entertainment. Perhaps, Luke wasn’t really here; But then you felt it– his heart. Thump. Thump. Thump. Home. This was real.

"You're okay," You cried, hands grazing over every part of his body. You tried to ignore the raised flesh under the bandages, running across large expanses of his skin. The scars were still fresh, blotches of red marking the white cloth. "You're okay." 

"I'm okay," He repeated, a side smile appearing on his face. His hands gripped your waist, needing to feel you just as much as you needed to feel him. Luke wanted to tell you that all he thought of was you the whole time. Even when the sides of his vision darkened, and all he could do was drag himself through the familiar neck of the Montauk woods, it was the image of you that he kept chasing. 

You, waiting for him under the shade of Thalia’s tree. You, shaking him awake in the Hermes cabin to start your rounds around camp. You, smiling at him like there was something worth living for in this life. You. 

Luke wanted to tell you that it was the promise of spending life with you, even if he was nothing more than your best friend to you, that kept him hanging onto the thread of life. If he survived this, he swore to himself that he'd tell you how he truly felt about you. He couldn't die without you knowing.

"I shouldn't have lied to you," You said, "I should've told you to stay like I wanted to." 

Luke shook his head, "This isn't on you. I wasn't fit to go on this quest. I failed." 

"You're the strongest person I know, Luke." 

"This wasn't a test of strength," He snarled. Luke always got like this when he talked about things related to his father and the gods. Resentment dripped from his voice like honey. It wasn't a tone you were too familiar with because he never spoke to you like this. "I was right. This was a test of something else. He sent me on this quest to fail... and I fell for it." 

Luke did things with conviction. He was born to be a leader and it showed. He never cowered from a challenge. He held his head high, even when things didn't go his way. He learned from his mistakes and he made sure it would never happen again. 

But sometimes, in the rare moments where the pain of failure pierces his heart, he turns into the little boy you once met. The same one who did things for the approval of his father. The same one who defied the odds and fell into the traps of the insincerity of the gods. The same one who blamed himself for not being good enough– not good enough to save his mother from the Oracle, not good enough to save his friend, not good enough to warrant more than two sentences from his father. 

You always said that you and Luke were two sides of the same coin, both burdened by the feeling of knowing you should’ve done more, but differed in the way you went about life. Luke welcomed his responsibilities, fueled by his search for glory, while you shied away from this life as much as you could. 

Your mouth felt dry as the heavy raindrops trickled against the window pane, "I'm glad you're still here." 

"I couldn't leave you here on your own," He replied, voice dropping to a whisper. His hands tugged you closer to him. You let him wrap his arms around you, feeling his heart against your chest. "Can I tell you something?" 

"Always." 

"I–" This was it. He couldn't wait anymore, not when he faced death and all he could think of was how his heart would ache, longing for you, until your time came to join him in the afterlife. Even on the brink of his demise, all he could think of was you. He wasn’t afraid of dying, he was afraid of being in Elysium without you. Would it even be a paradise if you weren’t there?

Luke's words got caught in his throat. His confidence was at an all-time low. If you rejected him now, he doesn't think he'd be able to bear it. He didn't think he could handle the thought of facing the repercussions of this failed quest without you by his side. He cleared his throat, "I-I'm tired. Will you stay here tonight?" 

You nodded, running your hands through his hair as you gently laid him down on the bed, careful not to put pressure on his wounds. You kept your distance, afraid to cause more harm than good, but Luke was not having any of it. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his weak body. He couldn’t move much in fear that he’d tear his skin even more with any slight movement, but that was the least of his worries. In fact, he had no worries now.

He made it to Camp Half-Blood, alive, albeit a failure, but he was with you. There were no worries in the world anymore. 

“Luke?” You whispered. You turned to face him, recognizing the face you’ve grown to love even in the darkness of the cabin. The flashes of lightning illuminated his face every so often. Despite all of this, he still looked beautiful. Your Luke always did. 

“Hm?” He hummed, eye fluttering open at the sound of your voice. The noise of the storm was drowned out by your soft breaths against his cheek, warm and comforting. “What is it?” 

“You know I love you, right?” You professed, reaching up to touch the uncovered side of his face. He melted into your touch, feeling safe and seen in such a small action. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t make it.” 

“You should know by now that I’ll never leave you,” He chuckled, nudging your nose with his. “I’ll be kicking and screaming if they ever try to keep me away from you. They’ll have to send more than one dragon to keep me from you.” 

You laughed, “You’re insane, you know that?.” 

“I know,” He looked down at your lips. You’d both been in situations like this before, caught in the magnetic pull of each other, but had enough strength to pull away before either of you could do anything that would lead to regret. “For the record, I love you, too.” 

“Do you?” You breathed out, wondering if he understood your question. You said it to each other often. You both let it linger in the air, subtext and unsaid words on the tips of your tongues. “Do you love me?” 

The way you were looking at him made his heart race. Is it the right time to tell you everything? Is it too soon? Will you think that he was just saying these things because of what happened? Would you trust him if he told you that he loved you in every way that a person could ever love another? 

If he asked you if you trusted him with your life, you’d say yes with no hesitation. You’d trusted him with your life since you first met him. All his life, Luke had been taught to be wary of the people he met, but not when he met you. It was like you saw right through him. You understood him like nobody he’d ever met. 

“I love you,” He said, hoping that it was enough to show you. If he had his way, he would let you peek into his mind, his soul, and his heart, just so you’d see that all of him yearned for you. 

“Do you–” You paused, tilting your head to brush your lips against his. The storm began to calm outside. “Do you love me like this?” 

Luke’s grip on your waist tightened, hands burning against the exposed flesh on your lower back, “Yes. Always.” 

You sighed, placing your lips on his. You felt Luke shiver at the feeling. His lips moved against your own in a gentle kiss, innocent and kind. The rain ceased. You pulled away from him, continuing to trace patterns on his skin. Luke’s face relaxed as he held you in his arms, letting the tiredness in his bones win. 

When the both of you woke the next morning, the sun was shining brightly through the curtains, with no traces of last night’s storm to be seen.

[noctxj]

hanahaki disease “… in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies…”

part i / part ii / part iii / part iv

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

warm.

too warm.

a scorching heat—

this isn’t what agent imagined being dead would be like, but they guess the fires of hell weren’t called fires for nothing. 

…

no, thats not it.

the engulfing warmth slowly cleared up the haze within agents mind, finally allowing them to properly assess their physical state. 

nothing broken… nothing torn… so far so good…

… throat remains sore though…

an instinctual habit they’d adopted during their early days, particularly after a gruelling contract gone sideways or a bumpy operation with the taskforce—

they’re here. they came.

agents’ mind screeching to a halt as all of a sudden the events of the last few (?) hours flashed behind their closed eyes.

the bloodied flowers.

painpainpain—

the doctor.

savemesavemesaveme—

their initially slow and aching climb to consciousness now shattered as their inner turmoil translates to abrupt stirring of their limbs. agents’ brows furrowing in discomfort; panic and fear steadily fuelling the turbulence of their memories and emotions clashing against one another.

scheduled to carve them out of agents body—

to heal them. make them better.

so that—johnsimonjohnnykyle—would never find out—

undeservingundeservingundeserving—

agent didn’t feel the comforting warmth shift beneath—around? them, too lost in the storm brewing within their mind. slender, tanned fingers anchoring itself firmly to the back of agents’ neck, as if to gently coax them to stay in the present little love.

a gentle huff exhaled through agents’ lips, as if their body instinctually understood that command, trying to respond with an exasperated I’m trying, to only which an even more exasperated tutsounding beside—in front? of them. only for a new snap of blurred images of the taskforce spill through agents’ mind; all of them surrounding agent as they vomited out bloody flowers. the cause of their absence, the reason why agent (desperately) distanced themselves from the taskforce. agents’ secret now literally spilt out in front of them—

nononono— 

theyknowtheyknowtheyknow—

pleasedoneleavemepleasedoneleavemeplease—!!

agents’ eyelids slowly blinked open, the effects of the anaesthetic still present in their system; but not impossible for their restless panic and fear to demand control of their body. a soft gasp escaping their lips as they (thankfully) register the dimmed lights of the seemingly familiar room—bedroom? yes, their private living quarters within the clinic (and for any subsequent visits, per the doctors words). the soft hues of browns and deep greens evoking a comforting ambiance. however, agent wasn’t able to appreciate this as their senses seemed to finally catch up to their distressed minds’ demands—

agent was lying on top of someone.

ah shit.

their cheek pressed against a solid chest covered in a soft cotton shirt. the stranger—

no. not a stranger. they smell—

like comfort (home). 

earthy. a tinge of sweetness.

a brilliant smile—

kyle. 

they were lying on top of kyle of all people.

this time agent feeling a different sense of panic— an embarrassed one; their cheeks heating up. agent now forcefully trying to pump their blood through their body faster. getting ready to bolt—

strong, rough fingers gently interlocked with one of agents’ squeezed as if being able to read their train of thought now now, none of that lass.

johnny.

agents’ vision sharpening in clarity after each blink, their eyes trailing from their interlocked fingers, up a strong arm and shoulder to electric blue eyes peering into agents’ own, from a seat besides the bed they were lying upon. a soft smile stretching across johnnys face as he placed a chaste kiss upon the back of agents’ hand.

whatthefu— 

“there’s our wee little bon’, had us scared for a bit there. but now we ‘ken finally see those beautiful eyes of yers!”

always a fucking flirt—

“johnny, behave”

a gravelly, tired voice sounded out from the back wall closest to the door.

positioned like a big, scary guard dog— 

simon.

of course, the human equivalent of a (double-layered) brick wall was always prepared. focused. agent redirecting their wide eyes to simons’ intimidating mass, only to meet dark whisky pools behind a plain black balaclava already boring onto agents. johnny only humming in response as he continued to lightly brush his lips back and forth over agents’ hand.

whatthehell—

“johnny”

“soap, stop being such a shit”

“oi ‘am not bein’ a shite—“

“of course the first thing our little love is subjected to upon waking up, is you lots’ clucking like hens” a deep, smooth voice intercepts the sergeants’ bickering. johnny immediately pursing his lips in defiance, with kyle cracking an awkward, sheepish smile at the captain. meanwhile simon seemed content to continue blending into the shadow of the wall.

john.

standing in the seemingly minuscule doorway with his burly arms crossed over his chest and a bushy eyebrow arched, unimpressed. his clear azure eyes flickering between johnny and kyle, as if daring them to bite back.

agent, now definitely wide awake, rips their hand from johnny’s and immediately moves away from kyle’s comforting warmth as if burned, their legs now dangling over the side of the bed, intent to stand before the captain in their already disgraceful state. only for a wave of queasiness to slam across their body.

moved to much too fast—

was agents’ fleeting thought as their upper body lazily swayed forward, the taskforce swarming to them. kyle gently grasping one shoulder, johnny planting both hands on agents’ waist, simon’s broad palm curling against their collarbone, and john gently cradling agents’ face between his rough, calloused hands.

“shhh, hey easy now. take deep breaths for me love”

john rumbled as he ducked his head down to keep eye contact with agents’ wide, frantic eyes. the close proximity, the gentleness, washing over agents’ skin in waves.

“c-captain--“

agent finally managed to warble out from between their stinging lips, johns gaze softening further as his thumbs swept gently across agents’ cheeks.

“—why are you here? why are you all here?”

john didn’t appear phased at all with the question, seemingly content to continue rubbing soothing motions across agents’ touch-starved cheeks. only for the uncomfortable (yet familiar) drag of something sharp at the base of their throat to slowly unwind.

no—

please—

notrightnow—

“tryin’ to find you ‘f course”

agent’s brows furrowed in disbelief, as they had informed him— the captain, of their absence—

“had somethin’ important to say. all of us had’ ta’ tell ya’ somethin’— it just couldn’t wait”

they had had enough of me—

the vicious thorns continuing a slow and continuously deepening drag against the walls of their throat.

a liability to the taskforce—

luscious plumes of soft flowers causing a suffocating sensation.

notenough—

“we love you”

john— the captain of taskforce 141’s voice seemed to bounce against the walls of the room. 

what—

“all of us love you, lass” johhny crooned gently. 

lieslieslies—

“we didn’t know it in the beginnin’— buncha’ muppets we all were”

simons’ rough voice interjected agents’ twisting thoughts, his gaze so so soft as they mapped the corners of their face in reverence.

how—

“didn’t know then, but we know now—“ kyle softly continued on from simons words.

they couldn’t be—

“— that all of our love belongs to you” he murmured against the back of agents’ neck, his soft lips and warm breath feeling so right—

“our little love” john murmured, moving even closer to rest his forehead against agents own, a shudder rolling through them, “ours to always love.”

agent felt something within them break.

they could finally breathe—

a desperate sob spilling out of agent as their tears dripped down onto johns hands still cradling their cheeks, grabbing onto his wrists as if to remove them from their mess, as if in apology, only for the captain to wipe away agents’ tears with a tenderness agent didn’t even know existed.

theylovemetheylovemetheyloveme—

“i—“ they hiccup, voice interrupted by their sniffles.

itsokayitsokayitsokay—

“i love you to”

imsafeimsafeimsafe—

“I love all of you”

im home—

agent squeaking out in surprise as john connects his nose with agents, half lidded eyes unwavering from agents’ own. johnny resting his head upon their thigh, a look of pure adoration shining in his sky blue eyes as they gaze upon agents’ sweet face. simon replacing his palm resting upon their collarbone with his cheek, tucking his nose against the crook of agents’ neck. and kyle fully resting his lips against the back of agents’ neck, softly inhaling their addictive scent. 

the agonising pain of the thorn and flowers gone from agents’ body. the cuts on their lips, both fresh and old disappearing as if they hadn’t haunted agent for weeks whenever they looked into the mirror. the suffocating struggle of breathing now absent from agents’ lungs and throat. everything appearing so much clearer, brighter—

and for the first time in their life, agent felt weightless, felt warm. 

and it was all because of them that

agent feels love.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

anddd we’ve made it to the end!! thanks to everyone whose read and enjoyed this story! ᡣ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶𐭩 ♡

this is my first completed fanfic series so feel free to leave feedback and comments, i'd love to hear your thoughts (o´〰`o)♡*✲ﾟ*｡

crossposted on ao3 (same username!) 

[thewordswewrite]

Like Winter, Like Spring

Pairing | Mizu x Fem!Reader

Summary | After the events of episode five, Mizu stumbles into the forest barely clinging to life and you happen to be hunting.

Or what would happen if you found Mizu bleeding out and cared for her (in more ways than one)?

Warnings | NSFW 18+, mentions of injury/blood/killing

W/C | 7.3k

A/N | I’ve been consumed by this show and can't help but recommend it to everyone, so please if you haven't already done so, watch it. Please leave me some comments and lmk what you think!!-Smoe<33

AO3 | Link

Donations | Link  

Part Ⅰ: Winter

In the moonlit haze, a spirit roams, lost and cold, whispers of vengeance unfold, onryo's bitter gaze.

The snow soaked through your socks as you took exaggerated steps through the powder, cold seeping into your toes and numbing them. Though you had enough firewood to last until the first thaw, your food stores were beginning to dwindle. It had been a harsh winter, one your father hadn’t survived, leaving you to fend for yourself. Your day had been one of minor success; three rabbits hung from the rope tied around your waist, a haul good enough for the next few nights based on their size and you decided to head home.

Food was becoming harder to come by, and without your father, you could not venture into Mihonoseki to stock up on more dried goods. Your father had always been of more liberal views but you were still a woman and he was still your father meaning you knew where you stood in society. Due to necessity alone, your father taught you to hunt; a bow and arrow the ‘only thing suited to a woman’ your father once told you.

You pulled your scarf tighter around your head as the wind whipped around you, snow falling harder and harder as you walked. You were sure anyone else other than you caught in the storm would be utterly lost, but you knew the place like the back of your hand. As the wind howled, it carried to you the sounds of the forest and with it a distant grunt of pain, just loud enough for your keen ears to pick up on and you stilled. You would have ignored it–a lone man more often than not meaning trouble–but he was headed in the direction of your home and therefore you needed to act. With your brow set, you sank into a crouch and rifled through the snow until your unfeeling fingers grasped a rock, waiting for another sound from the man.

A hunter knew how to stalk its prey and in that moment you treated the man as nothing more. With every sound he made you got closer, using the noise from the environment to mask your own as you trailed him. In the distance, you caught sight of someone clad in navy and in the opposite direction of your home, threw the rock. You hadn’t been too worried until you heard the ‘shing’ of a katana and the crash of a tree.

A samurai.

It could be no one else with that blade or skill, and though they were meant to be honorable, you knew, they were still men. You knew every road, every tree that grew in these woods and as you were coming back up on the main trail where the samurai fled, one was struck down. Your pale hand reached out to stroke the clean-cut trunk, not yet five years old by your count and yet it had fallen. It was mindless acts of violence like this that made you distrustful of strangers.

A quick glance at the area revealed a small trail of blood, likely left by the man, and you couldn’t help but let a rueful smile grace your lips. His death would be easier than you thought. Cold, lost, and injured was a dangerous combination for anyone, but for a man in your woods? It was lethal.

You were soundless as you descended upon your prey, a respectable distance away but close enough to see his profile. He was dressed in simple pants and a shirt, though the latter looked to be soaked through with blood as one of his hands pressed against his stomach, the other grasping a blue blade, ripe for attack. It was too easy for you to nock an arrow and draw, your breath steadying as you aimed for his heart. You were preparing for the release when suddenly to your left a twig snapped and the samurai’s gaze turned to the noise, and then onto you.

The man raised his sword, removing his hand from his side to give the encounter his full attention. “Who sent you?”

You were puzzled by the question. Not only were you clearly a woman, but who was he that he thought himself important enough to have assassins sent after him? You didn’t think to voice these questions aloud but they were answered anyway when you finally caught sight of his eyes: blue. 

When he spoke again, he must have registered that you were not who he thought you were. “I am no threat to you. I am just passing through.” To prove his point he sheathed his blade and put up his hands.

You hesitated to drop your own weapon but since he was injured and still a good enough distance away, you let-down your bow and stood to your full height, noticing the man was not much taller than you. 

“Leave here!” You shouted, hands still latched to your grip and arrow, ready to fire should the need arise.

The samurai began backing up slowly, nodding to you and returning pressure to the wound at his side. When he did so, he grunted and his eyes fluttered. It all seemed to happen in a  single moment when he was suddenly face down in the snow and you were taking brisk but weary steps towards him. As you got closer, the extent of his injuries became clearer and you could see the tips of his ears and nose red from the cold. Your eyes closed in exasperation; you hadn’t intended to stumble across a half-white, dying samurai let alone bring him to your home, but seeing as you weren’t too far away and he had shown no intention of attacking you, you could not, in good conscience, leave him in the snow to die.

With a huff, you flipped the man over, grabbed him under the arms, and began to haul him toward your home, the dense snow making the task almost more difficult than you could manage. You knew he was alive based solely on the noises of discomfort he released in his sleep as you readjusted your grip and pulled harder. You were forced to stop every few feet, panting from the effort it took but when you finally were able to kick open your door and get him in front of the fireplace, you felt a sense of relief.

As you pulled up the samurai’s kimono, you got a glimpse of four deep gashes punctured into his stomach and your heart dropped. “Please stay with me.”

It was immediately apparent to you what had caused his wounds: Boss Hamata, or more accurately, his Thousand-Claw Army. That would explain why he thought someone had sent you after him and why he was covered in so much more blood than what was plausibly his own. Anxiety sent goosebumps down your arms. The thought of one of Boss Hamata’s men coming to your home and killing the both of you for whatever this samurai did entered your mind. You tried to reason with yourself; no man in his right mind would enter this storm and they must know the samurai was injured, likely only letting him go because he was sure to die. That was that you decided: he could stay until the storm passed and not a second longer. Enough time, by the looks of it, for him to heal enough to leave but not enough for anyone to come knocking at your door looking for him.

With your mind made up, you went about untying his kimono to get better access to his wound. Your still-warming fingers deftly undid the knot and moved to unwrap the samurai when suddenly a hand shot up and wrapped itself around your wrist, halting your actions.

“No.” The man’s eyes fought to open and you were once again treated to a glimpse of blue through thick black lashes. He was only able to mutter the single word before he once again fell unconscious and you stared at him a beat longer.

He didn’t have the luxury of his warning being granted, and you instead opened his shirt, only to find his chest already wrapped. Or rather her chest already wrapped. A gasp escaped you as you balked at the sight, eyes darting again to the face of the person below you and noticing not only the sharp curve of their jaw but the softness of their cheeks and decidedly feminine-looking lips. Yes, you stopped your thoughts from drifting, she was a woman, but that made your job no different.

With clinical movements, you cleaned her wound with warm water, being sure to be as gentle as possible. You retrieved a suture kit your father had gotten from town after you had cut yourself chopping wood one day and began to sterilize the needle over the fire. You ran your fingers over the inflamed skin and worried when the woman’s stomach felt warm. The stitches were quick and clean, the woman below you making no movements which worried you but did make the process easier. Once each of the four gashes was closed, you wrapped up her stomach with strips of fabric and struggled to remove her soaked shirt–though, you left her pants for the sake of her already violated modesty.

You looked at her face once again, now less troubled looking than before, and saw hints of purple peeking out from under her scarf. Much like her shirt you undid her scarf as well and were horrified to see a deep purple handprint marring her skin. With little else you could do you opened your door, the wind catching it as you did so, slamming it open in your rush to gather enough snow to compress onto the samurai’s neck.

Another gust wafted flurries into your home, chilling the room before you could close the door in time and you cursed. You wrapped the snow in the previously discarded scarf and placed it on the samurai’s neck in hopes it would ease the pain. As tightly as you could, you bundled the woman in your father’s blanket and placed your own rolled-up one under her head as support after taking her katana and placing it across the room. Just in case.

With nothing else to do to try and keep her alive, you finally got to skinning the rabbits and making yourself dinner. You decided to wait until the woman was awake until you tried to feed her and thus only made enough for yourself. The food was hearty and warm and after the exertion you surrendered to the day, you were exhausted. In lieu of having a blanket, you threw on a second kimono and huddled close to your guest and the fire and,  in an act of trust, you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to drift off to sleep.

- ⚔ -

You startled awake at the sound of someone shuffling around your home but all at once the memories of the day before come back to you.

“You’re awake,” You yawned, rubbing your eyes as you looked over at the half-clothed samurai propped up against your wall.

“You stitched my wounds. Why?” The woman’s voice was thick and gravelly but you could only focus on her eyes.

Your answer was simple and steadfast. “I could not leave you when you meant me no harm.”

The woman seemed to scan your face and must have found what she was looking for when she relaxed and coughed at the simple action. You took the lull to stand and place your kettle on the fire, intending on making sobacha tea for your guest. Her entire demeanor shifted when you moved and she realized she was without her sword. 

“Where is my katana?” The woman ground out, eyes darting around the space.

You gestured silently to where it lay on the other side of the room and went back to pouring the tea, steeping it to your liking and hoping it was to the tastes of the woman across from you. You handed a steaming cup to the woman and cleared your throat, intending to find out more about your mysterious guest. You watched as she took a sip of the tea and closed her eyes for a moment to savor the flavor or feeling you were unsure but either way were happy she approved.

“What’s your name? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The woman paused before she answered, “Mizu.”

You introduced yourself and went about using the final two rabbits you killed to make a stew as well as some rice to help fill up. The silence between you two was undemanding as Mizu simply sat with her eyes closed while you cooked. It wasn’t long before you’d finished, offering a bowl to your guest which she took while meeting your eyes.

Mizu bowed her head. “I want to thank you for your hospitality and for saving my life.”

“As I said, I had to.” You shook your head with a smile as you ate.

The woman’s face suddenly went solemn and she put down her bowl. “Yes, but now you have to keep my secret, or else I cannot allow you to keep your life.”

Your eyes darted over to where her katana was, still half a room away, and took a steadying breath. “I can promise you I will never tell another soul but I need something in return,” Mizu looked at you apprehensively, her eyebrow raised. “You must be gone by the time the storm ends. I cannot be caught sheltering you in my home or Boss Hamata will have me killed.”

Her attention drifted from you, her expression unbothered. “You needn't worry about him or his army.”

“Why? You were clearly attacked by one of his men and–” Mizu cut you off with a raise of her hand.

“I killed them all.”

You took a moment to revel in the shock of the admission, spoken as though it was nothing more than a typical day for the female samurai. In your revelation, Mizu slid her bowl over to you, the blanket covering her shifting with the action and your cheeks warmed. You go to look away but stop yourself, instead letting your eyes search over her bandages for any signs of infection or bleeding before Mizu goes to cover herself back up, shooting you an indignant look.

“Oh! No, I–” You backtracked, knowing how it must have seemed. “Your wound, I was just looking to see if I should replace the bandages and…” You gestured to the bloodied cloth, “It looks like I should.”

Mizu looked down at herself and grimaced at the sight. “Fine, but I can do it myself.”

You nodded and retrieved a bowl of water for her to clean herself with as well as a new set of cloth to rewrap herself. You watched her struggle to undo the wrapping for a total of two minutes before you couldn’t help but reach towards her in aid though as you did she jerked away, wincing at the action and your face tightened.

“Please, let me help you.”

The two of you were locked in a stare-down, neither willing to give up ground so you decided to take it, scooting yourself forward and batting away her hands. Mizu looked ready to put up a fight but instead, she relented, allowing you to reach around her torso. Your faces were close as you did so, Mizu’s warm breath wafting sharply across your cheek as you pulled on the dressing to release it.

She began moving in every which way as you passed the bandages around her body to try and help the process go by quickly but your hands must have been chilled because when you finally revealed her skin and ran a hand along the plane of her stomach Mizu shivered and you looked up to see her eyes already trained on you. Mizu kept a hard look on her face as you wiped away congealed blood from her wound though it looked to you to have already begun scabbing, causing a self-satisfied smile to grace your face. 

“It’s looking better. I think you should be okay to travel in a few days.” The labored breathing of the injured woman forced another comment from you. “Although, I think it would be beneficial for you to remove your bindings for the time being.”

Mizu gave you another long look and you figured that she must not be used to conversing with people regularly, a trait you both now shared. In retaliation, Mizu attempted to take a deep breath though before she could, her lungs stuttered out dry coughs and her face screwed up in pain at the action.

“Fine.” She ground out, once again attempting to remove the wrap on her own and failing.

You were unamused at the sight and decided to skip the dance the two of you had been playing at since you dragged her into your home and just helped her instead. It was a similar tension as when you removed her bloodied bandage but thicker by about tenfold when your eyes met again.

You couldn’t get over the sight, blue as the sky and sea but clouded by emotion. She looked to be studying you just the same, her eyes languidly making their way over your features before settling on your mouth. You couldn’t help but let your lips part, overcome with the moment and Mizu’s increasingly seductive gaze. Your cheeks burned under her but you weren't alone in your fluster, Mizu’s own face tinged pink as well, shared heat radiating between you. 

All you had to do was lean forward and–

You cleared your throat at the thought and pulled back, “I’ll let you finish on your own. I’ll leave you.”

- ⚔ -

Ethereal and pale, haunting tales of love's demise, echo through her cold blue eyes, as sorrow sets its sail.

Hunting always cleared your mind, which, at that moment, was racing with thoughts of feelings you’d never experienced before. It wasn’t the fear of attraction that bothered you, but the fear of who you’d grown such a sensitivity toward. It would be easy if Mizu was just a lone samurai, someone wandering through life, a man, but she was none of those things and you were but a woman.

You’d been stalking your prey for a few miles, a serow that looked large enough for four meals between two people. Clad in your lightest clothes, you blended into the snowy environment and stepped slowly so as to not startle the creature. A moment of pause and a softly spoken prayer was all that was in between the serow’s short life and its quick death. Your emotions peaked as you released your arrow and the animal hit the ground, its breaths stuttering wetly as blood filled its chest. The pure white snow tainted red as you kneeled and slipped your knife from where it rested in its holster before promptly goring open the beast’s neck, killing it instantly.

You sat in the snow, waiting until the serow bled out enough for you to take it back, and began to think. You had very little, living in the woods alone, but it seemed to you so did Mizu. You were unsure if she even felt that way about other women as you had just discovered it was possible yourself. Mizu had incontestable skill, having claimed to have killed the Thousand-Claw Army single-handedly and suffered only a single serious injury. To you, she meant safety, security, and companionship, but what could you offer other than a home you were unsure she even wanted to come back to?

“Give me strength,” You called out to the universe and stood, bearing the weight of your future dinner on your back.

It was a difficult hike home but you were greeted by an up-and-about Mizu when you managed to open the door and throw down the serow.

“I made tea,” She announced, gesturing lamely to the steaming pot, uneasy at your sudden entrance.

You smiled and removed your scarf, brushing snow off of you and onto the floor in the process. “I can see that. Thank you.”

She nodded at your gratitude, her eyes not quite meeting your own. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to skin and carve this, then I can get started on dinner,” You moved to begin your task but Mizu stopped you.

“I can skin it. You rest.”

Your shoulders sagged with a relief you didn’t know you would feel and you smiled at her once again. You took your time undressing down to a single kimono and looked back to see Mizu butchering the pelt of your kill.

You gasped and Mizu stopped, startled as she looked up. “What?”

“Have you ever skinned an animal before?” You accused, taking three short strides over to her.

“Yes!” She defends. “Just nothing ever this large.”

You walk behind her and place your hand over hers. “Here, like this.”

Her hands are warmer than yours, but rougher, hardened by years of training and being on the road. She was slightly taller than you, forcing you to lean your head on the side of her arm in order to see what you were guiding her to do. You feigned intense focus while skinning the animal to combat the feeling that Mizu’s stolen and frequent glances gave you. 

“Where is the man you live with?” She asked suddenly, causing you to stop your movements and remove yourself from behind her, too distracted in such close proximity.

Your heart clenched and you sighed. “Dead. My father got sick a month after the first snow.”

“My condolences.”

“I just realized you’re the first person I’ve spoken to since he died.” You laughed mournfully.

A dark look passed over Mizu’s face and she handed you the knife, gesturing for you to finish the skinning with your superior ability. “Let’s finish dinner.”

- ⚔ -

Your third meal together was nothing special, grilled meat and rice being all you had to get through the winter. The days were growing shorter and your energy with it, not to mention the strain healing took on Mizu and you as her unstudied nurse, left the both of you exhausted and ready to go to bed. Though your eyes drooped when you laid down, you couldn’t manage to find sleep, instead tossing and turning as Mizu slept soundlessly across from you.

A deep yawn tore itself from you and finally, you felt yourself relax into your slumber. Little by little your eyes closed and your breath slowed, as you were lulled by the crackle of the fire. This was until Mizu’s voice echoed throughout the room.

“I need you to know, I am on the path of revenge. There’s no place on it for friendship…or love.”

You were hazy with sleep but the admission hurt. “I understand.”

“I’m planning on leaving the day after tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

What else could you say?

The room retired to its previous silence but now you were fully awake and your heart pounded over what Mizu said truly meant to you. The little life you had constructed in your mind vanished into thin air, thoughts racing and consumed with every question you would never be able to ask her.

It was when you accepted you’d never see her again that you spoke. “I feel it's easier to talk in the dark so now I will ask: why do you dress as a man?”

Three seconds go by and Mizu fails to respond, making you assume she was either asleep or ignoring your question. When you’d all but given up hope she responded. “Because of my birth. And because it's difficult to be a woman in this world.”

“It is. After winter, I don’t know what I will do without my father. I have no chaperone to travel with and once spring comes and the roads become busy, I will have no assurance of my safety.” You curled in on yourself a bit tighter than before, your eyes welling up with tears.

“You have your bow and this house. That's more than many.” Her graveled voice sounded almost condescending and you were annoyed.

“More for a man, less for a woman.” You argued, turning to look at her.

Sensing your growing anger, you took a breath and opted not to continue the conversation instead looking angrily at the sword-wielding woman before screwing your eyes shut.

She cleared her throat and you opened your eyes once again, her pale eyes meeting yours before she spoke. “What happened to your mother?”

You sighed, decidedly finished with the conversation but Mizu didn't seem to catch on. “She died in childbirth.”

“You could always marry,” She suggested. “I was married once.”

Your brows set though the admission surprised you. “And now you’re dressed as a man in a pursuit for revenge,” Mizu gave you a look of defeat and you leveled with her. “I would be shackled to my husband and I have no desire for kids. I wish to live freely.”

Mizu’s eyes seemed to shine for a moment before she spoke. “You remind me of a princess I knew.”

- ⚔ -

Mizu had been antsy all day. Sewing up her clothes, checking and rechecking her wounds, stretching and eating her fill, all in preparation to leave you the next morning. You could assume she never stayed anywhere as long as she’d stayed in your home so you could understand why she felt that way though it didn’t help the growing pit in your stomach. You couldn’t wrap your head around it; you’d barely known her for three days and already you were, dare you say, truly sad she was leaving.

When seeing her pack became too much to bear, you used hunting as an excuse to leave, not bothering to go very far, but to a boulder you often frequented when you needed to sit in silence. The view was beautiful, overlooking a shallow valley that was currently coated in a layer of white, a calming sight while you attempted to reacclimate your mind to the reality of your solitude. Mizu was nothing more than a dream that you’d conjured up in order to live your fantasy life of freedom with. You should’ve known better.

When you got back to your house and walked in, Mizu looked you over and frowned. “Nothing today?”

You sighed, feigning defeat. “No, but I have more than enough for now,” Giving her a falsely nonchalant look you shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll need to go out again until after you leave.”

Silenced for a moment, Mizu just nodded and handed you a cup of tea. It seemed to have become a sort of ritual, her making you tea whenever you came back from a hunt. It was welcome and something you could get used to if the universe let you. Instead, you bowed your head in thanks and took a sip, pleasantly surprised to find it was made to your liking.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Mizu graced you with a small smile and your eyebrows shot up but you quickly turned to hide your quiet awe.

You moved over to your food storage and tried to come up with a meal that would be a worthy send-off of your limited time together but came up short. It would be meat and rice again though Mizu never showed any indication of being dissatisfied. Stubbornly, you rifled through your shelves and when your hand met glass and you realized it was a bottle of saké you smiled.

“Unfortunately it’ll be another meal of stew and rice but I’ve been saving this for a special occasion. Now seems as good as any.” You held up the bottle and Mizu looked dubious.

“I–I don’t drink,” She tried to deny you but you weren’t taking no for an answer.

You placed a hand on your hip and cocked it, looking at her unamused. “I think as payment for my food and hospitality you owe me this favor.” She looked conflicted but with an expectant raise of your eyebrows, she gave in. 

“I suppose one would be okay.”

Dinner was mediocre but drink after drink, you and Mizu became more comfortable with each other and much to your amazement, began sharing stories.

“So…who was your rival again?” You wondered, almost sure she had already told you.

“He’s not my rival,” She mocked, rolling her eyes. “He’s just a samurai who I defeated in battle and has been chasing me around demanding a rematch so he can regain his honor.” Mizu seemed exacerbated at the prospect and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Why don’t you just fight him again?” You deadpanned. “I’m sure he’d leave you alone once he got what he wanted.”

“Because he wants to fight to the death, it would be him or me.” Mizu sobered up at that statement and swiftly downed another cup of saké.

“But…you defeated the Thousand-Claw Army alone,” You slowly put the pieces together and began to nod. “I understand.”

“He could be a good man, he just needs to let himself.”

That reminded you of a time in your childhood when your father was still young and strong, lending you wisdom that turned you into the woman you are today. Flashes of a house on the corner of a street, and a little girl with two missing teeth shot through your mind and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“That reminds me of something my father used to say,” You smiled at the memory and continued. “When I was little and we still lived in Mihonoseki, I lost my two front teeth at the same time and this girl who lived near me kept making fun of me.”

“What does that have to do with your–” Mizu hiccupped, looking confused. “Your father?”

“If you’d let me finish! So…she kept making fun of me and I made a plan to mess with her and when my father found out he told me,” You deepened your voice, attempting to imitate the way your father spoke with utmost sternness. “‘Daughter, you may be the more honorable, you need only allow yourself to be.’”

There was a moment of pause before the two of you burst into laughter. Though Mizu’s was much quieter, you were endeared by the sound. Your grin felt as though it would split your face if it got any wider and Mizu looked at you flustered.

“I like your laugh.” You found yourself giggling and when you tried to scoot closer to Mizu, the room spun.

She caught you as you swayed but nearly toppled over herself in turn. You found yourself grasping onto Mizu and she onto you, alone in your home as a blizzard raged on outside. You stared brazenly into her eyes, at a color you didn’t think you’d ever become accustomed to.

“Mizu, I–” Your voice failed when you attempted to continue, a lump forming in your throat when her gaze traveled to your lips as you spoke.

You’d thought about it once already, stopping yourself before the thought could develop but now, when you were a little more than drunk on saké, you couldn’t help yourself. A single tick of time went by, eyes flashing from Mizu’s mouth to her eyes and back before you were pressing your lips to hers.

She inhaled sharply at the contact but you pressed on, opening your mouth to her and sliding a hand around her neck. Mizu tentatively slid her own around your waist and gave an almost experimental squeeze as she deepened the kiss, letting her tongue trace yours and forcing a moan from your throat.

When she heard the noise it was as if Mizu was spurred on, advancing on you in a way you didn't think a woman in her state was capable of. Your back was pressed into the ground as she hovered above you, a heated look on her now more delicate-looking features before she descended upon you again. Her mouth was soft in a way her grasp was not as she trailed kisses down your neck, a moan escaping her lips when she sucked on a particularly sensitive spot and you pulled at the hair on her nape, loosening her bun in the process. Your hand cupped her jaw as you brought her mouth back to your own and stole another kiss.

Reaching up, you tugged the remainder of her hair down, allowing it to cascade over you like an inky waterfall. Mizu smiled as you tucked a strand behind her ear and kissed her once more. It wasn’t until you both had your fill that your actions began to slow and you saw her lips red with desire and knew your own likely matched, not to mention the state of your neck. You lay together in front of the fire, your head on her unbound chest as she traced unconscious patterns into your shoulder where your kimono had slipped during your escapades.

You reveled in the heat of her and the tingles she left in the wake of her touch, though knew she’d be gone when you woke and decided to ask your next question on a whim of hope. “If you think of me, even once after you leave, come back to me when you’ve found your revenge.”

You felt Mizu’s head angle towards your ear as she whispered two words: “I will.”

In the realm between, past and present intertwined, where a restless soul confined, seeks justice unforeseen.

Part Ⅱ: Spring

Beneath the sapphire moon, shadows dance in shades of blue, where love once bloomed, now askew, a blue blade gleams, a fateful tune.

Spring had been bountiful for you, animals re-emerged from the frost and the warming temperatures made it easy to forage. With the changing seasons came a margin of sadness in the lack of a certain samurai’s return. The roads had picked up some traffic but all had just been harmless travelers, no bandits busting down your door to attack you which you were grateful for but never had you been so disappointed someone didn’t come knocking. With a sigh, you shook your head, having no reason to expect Mizu to come back, especially considering you had no actual details on where she was going or how long she’d be away.

You managed a few martens in the short time you’d been out and decided it was enough for a decent meal. With a soft huff, you slugged your bow over your shoulder and began the hike back home, your stomach rumbling at your lack of midday meal.

The walk was no more than thirty minutes, cherry blossoms swaying in the wind and the soft earth beneath your feet lended to the tranquil mood. Your house was looking a little worse for wear after the snow had melted: the roof needed to be repaired, and a loose step in the porch stairs somehow always managed to trip you when you went out. Skipping that board on the way up, you pushed open your door and were met with a familiar sight.

Striking blue met yours as you saw Mizu standing in the center of the room, a pot of tea and two cups resting on the table to the right of her. Before you could manage to speak, your body carried you to her, dropping everything you held in the process to take her in your arms.

A small oomph sounded from Mizu as you collided with her and her hand came up to rest on the back of your head, you having already buried it in her shoulder. The two of you stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, just reveling in the feeling of your togetherness before you pulled back, though only far enough to be able to meet her eyes. Her bangs were longer, covering her forehead and you noticed she was without her sword.

It was a silent conversation only shared between the flitting of your eyes but when Mizu’s settled her lips captured yours. You’d longed for the moment you’d once again be endowed with the plushness of her lips and at the contact tears welled up in your eyes. Your mouths danced together and one of Mizu’s hands went to cradle your face, the other holding you firmly to her as she took control of your mouth. Her touch burned, kiss after kiss marring your skin and ruining you for anyone else.

“How have you been?” She asked, her voice lighter than you remembered.

“I’ve been well,” You chuckled wetly. “And you?”

Her eyes closed momentarily and she stroked your cheek with her thumb. “Still walking the same path I have my entire life.”

This puzzled you, having not expected to see her until she’d completed her mission. “You didn’t get your revenge?” Your shoulders sagged when Mizu shook her head, and you gave her a soft peck on the lips in apology.

“I trust Ringo found you?” She looked genuinely curious and memories of a handless man coming to you with rice, beans, and a travel pass resurfaced.

“You sent him?” You smiled but were still confused. “Who is he?” The man had brought you gifts and cooked the best noodles you ever had in your life before leaving and claiming he would be back in a few month's time.

Mizu nodded, letting your face go but sliding her hand from across your back and sliding it into your own. “My apprentice. He accompanied me on my travels. Before I ventured into Edo, I gave him instructions to find you should I not return.”

“Not return? But–” 

Mizu handed you the cup of forgotten tea, effectively cutting you off and you took an annoyed sip. “You’re the only person I had to see before I leave.”

The tea lodged in your throat at the admission, sending you into a coughing fit as you tried to clear the liquid from your lungs. “Leave? Leave where?”

A haunted look passed over her eyes, darkening them. “My path diverged in Edo. I chose the sea and tomorrow…I’m headed to London.”

“London?” All of a sudden you felt the same as you did that night all those months ago.

After some much-needed discussion, Mizu explained what she had set out to do and the vow she made to her mother when she was a child. You understood, how could you not? With every chop of your knife, dinner came together and you learned more about the woman you devoted so many sleepless nights to. Four white men, a quest for revenge, and a chance to gain it across the sea. 

Mizu looked away from you when she spoke her next admission. “The shogun is dead. Edo burned.”

Your eyes shot up from your work and a sharp pain sliced through the backs of your fingers as you brought your knife down onto them. A hand reached out and Mizu was already tugging the white scarf from around her neck to wrap around your hand. She looked startled at the sight of your blood but you assumed she was used to it by now. She handled you delicately, enveloping your injury gently but snug enough that you trusted it would not come undone. Your attention was momentarily diverted before you processed what Miza had said, questions darting around your mind.

“The shogun is dead and Edo burned?”

“There was a coup, but I stopped the man in charge.” She seemed pleased by the outcome and you were in awe of the feat.

“And the city?”

Her expression dimmed and Mizu rubbed her eyes. “I started the fire…and it raged.”

A meal finally suitable for a goodbye–because that’s what this was–was ready in another fifteen minutes, most of which was filled with soft looks and stolen kisses, the pain and fear from hearing of Mizu’s narrow escape melting away with each one. You ate in companionable silence as they often came more naturally than conversation to the two of you. 

- ⚔ -

Through the veil of time dire, the pale visage lingers on, a tale of love, now gone, in shadows of a haunted pyre.

Once the meal was finished and you’d both taken the time to clean up, Mizu took your hand and led you to your spot in front of the fireplace. She did little more than let you rest against her, savoring your touch as she nuzzled into your neck, dropping small kisses onto your skin. When you tried to touch or reciprocate Mizu tenderly denied the advances, letting all her focus stay rooted on you.

“I’ll be gone before you wake,” Mizu murmured as she caressed you.

You knew as much, having been told not an hour before but the reminder stung. “I know.”

She grabbed your face, turning it so you could do nothing but study her as she did you, your eyes locked on one another. Her expression shifted from a subtle longing to an unabashed look of want and seized your lips with an intensity that she had never allotted herself with you. Mizu licked into your mouth, tasting of the food you made and the tea she prepared, and dwelled on what it would be like if this was the rest of your life.

���Let me do this for you,” She rasped, her hot breath fanning over you. “Let’s make the most of tonight.”

Her fingers ghosted over your body until she reached the ties of your kimono and looked to you for permission. Understanding the silent question you nod, letting her undo the knots and reveal yourself to her. Mizu hovered over you, one arm supporting her weight and the other fondling your chest as she tasted your skin. Your arousal was almost uncontainable, your core throbbing at every touch, mewls and groans barely kept to yourself as the woman continued to shower you in affection.

“Mizu,” You couldn’t help but gasp when she slipped her hand between your legs and began to touch you.

Your composure slipped entirely when her fingers entered you and you clung to Mizu, nails scraping over her still-clothed body. You distantly knew you wanted to see more of her but failed to scrape together coherency as she thrust in and out of you, curling her fingers as she did so. Her thumb was massaging a toe-curling circle of pleasure and it was all too soon before you were reaching a peak. Breathy moans escaped you and Mizu swallowed them with hot kisses, noises of her own making their way to your ears as she took care of you.

Your loud cries echoed around the room as you came, clenching down on Mizu’s fingers though she rode you out until you were practically begging her to remove her hand. She smoothed her hand over your flushed face and whispered soothing words of praise as you returned to yourself.

“Beautiful,” She smiled, kissing each of your cheeks and then your lips. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” You tittered weakly. “I’m doing quite well.”

Mizu busied her hands by tying you back up and retrieving a blanket for the two of you to rest. “Good. I didn’t know if that was too much.” Her nervous tone was odd to you, given how easily she took control.

You gave her a peck to the cheek and took a breath to stare into her eyes that you’d grown to love. “It was perfect”

As you lay there, wrapped in Mizu’s arms and unsure of the future, you echoed to her a question you’d asked before.

“Will you come back to me?”

“I will.”

Yet, in the azure dawn, hope emerges, love reborn, fulfilling desires anew, as life unfolds, bright and true.