#blue salt knives

[saltcxrcle]

ménage à trois ── . ✶ sam. w & ruby

summary: ruby learns her lesson about popping into motel rooms uninvited

pairings: sam winchester x gn afab!reader x ruby, samruby, bi!reader, bi!rubyノwc: 6.2K warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, no use of 'y/n', fem pronouns are used, SMUT, porn with a smidge of plot, set in late szn 4, threesome f/f/m, oral both fem & male! receiving, fingering, slight sub/dom dynamics (slightly mean dom!reader and sam, sub!bratty!ruby), some degradation, name calling (ruby -> whore, slut), reader is referred to as a 'pretty girl' once, face sitting, manhandling, orgasm denial, rough sex, unprotected p in v (please use protection), kinda edited; all mistakes are my own a/n: here it is, the long awaited and final installment to motel chats! god i need them so bad and idk why i waited for so long to write this but i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did while writing this! heres the samruby smut freaks <33 sam. w masterlist | ruby masterlist | motel chats verse! masterlist

YOU NEEDED QUIET NIGHTS LIKE THIS. 

You were lounging on the slightly lumpy mattress in the motel room you were staying in, and the sounds of Sam typing away at his laptop would occasionally break the calm silence that the two of you were sharing. 

You and the Winchesters had been stuck in this town for a couple of days after the three of you wrapped up a simple salt and burn. Sam hadn’t been able to find a case for you guys to go on, so Dean decided to plant his feet here since it was a coastal town and it had the best pie in the diner across the street from where the three of you were staying. 

You could tell Sam was getting a little stir-crazy and was dying to leave—wanting to find another hunt or figure out which seal was going to be broken next. Hence, he was tapping away at the laptop, straining his eyes with the blue light emitting from the screen. 

You were reading a random Agatha Christie novel that was buried at the bottom of your bag, and you managed to find it after being bored with helping Sam research. But, you had been rereading the same page for the past ten minutes since your eyes always strayed away from the book and to Sam sitting at the table across the room from where you were. 

You couldn’t help it. Sam's presence was distracting. Your eyes zeroed in on his hands, dragging along the mouse pad of the laptop. Long and dexterous fingers tapped at the keyboard, and you couldn’t help the way that your mouth watered at the thought of his hands grabbing at you and bringing you to your own pleasurable demise. 

You’ve witnessed Sam���s hands being capable of bloodshed and violence, wielding knives and guns as he hunts—but you’ve seen them being in tender ways, a guiding hand on your lower back as you navigate through a sheriff’s office, or when his touch was feather-light on your broken skin as he patched you up from hunts that weren’t kind to you. 

You swallowed thickly as your eyes strayed from Sam’s hands to his forearms, which were exposed. The brown button-up with studs for buttons that decorated his shirt was rolled up to his elbows, and you almost audibly groaned at the sight his forearms. You had to advert your eyes away from them—the prominent veins and rippling muscles in his forearms awoke something primal in you and all you wanted to do was bite them. 

Christ, I’m acting like a Victorian man seeing a bare ankle for the first time. Get a grip! 

You shook your head to try and rid yourself of the lustful yearning that you had for Sam. You could admit that it was a little pathetic that you’d been lusting after him for so long—but it was hard not to when he was built like a god reincarnated into a mortal’s body. God, it was unfair how effortlessly he looked good. Yeah, you were kidding yourself when you told yourself that there were only platonic feelings for Sam.  

You bookmarked the page you were on before tossing the closed book on the bed beside you. You slid off the bed and made your way to the table that Sam was sitting on. You stood behind him as you draped yourself over his back, your arms wrapping around him in a loose hug, and your head was right beside his, looking at the random article Sam had found on his laptop. 

You felt Sam huff a little laugh through his nose, clearly amused at you. You tried not to let the scent of mahogany, amber, citrus, and something that was clearly just Sam distract you. 

“Found anything?” You murmured as you nudged his head with yours like a cat would against your leg. 

“No.” Sam sighed out, leaning back and sinking into your embrace. The hand that was resting in his lap moved to rest on one of your forearms that was wrapped around him, his thumb slowly caressing the skin.  

You hummed as you thought about it. You ignored the sparks zipping through you at the feeling of Sam’s warm hand on you. 

“That’s probably a sign to take a break.” You pointed the obvious out to Sam. 

Sam sighed again. “We have to figure out what–”

“What the next seals are. I know Sam.” You finished his sentence for him as you let go of Sam and moved out from behind him. 

Sam looked unamused by the fact you cut him off, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch slightly. He moved to type on the laptop, but you closed it before he could even touch it. 

“Nope,” You shook your head at Sam. “No more researching, you’ve been doing it since we finished the hunt here, and I want to hang out with my best friend without any interruptions or talk of the potential apocalypse, okay?” 

Sam’s jaw clenched. You could see the struggle in his eyes, but you stared down at him with your best puppy dog eyes, and your mouth formed into a slight pout. Sam’s eyes flickered quickly to your lips before meeting your pleading gaze. 

“Fine.” Sam conceded after he blinked and broke the staring contest between the two of you.

Your mouth pulled into a wide smile. “Great! I’m going to go shower and when I come out, you better not be on this laptop and have found a movie for the two of us to shit on okay?” 

Sam couldn’t help but smile at your infectious energy. “Sounds good.” 

You nodded at Sam before heading to your duffle at the foot of your bed, quickly grabbing your pajamas and going into the bathroom. The shower started, and you began to hum to yourself as you waited for the water to warm up.  

Sam kept his eyes trained on you until the bathroom door closed with a click. He glanced at his laptop before he shook his head. You always seemed to pull Sam out of his own head, which he was grateful for since this past year.

It weighed on him like a two-ton car on his shoulders. But you were like a soothing balm over the rough days that he dealt with when grappling with the blood addiction. Guilt brewed in his stomach, wanting to admit to you that he needed the stuff to feel stronger, but he wasn’t sure about how you would react, so he kept it to himself—letting the feeling slowly consume him. 

Sam got up from his seat and stretched out his stiff muscles. He didn’t know how long he was sitting there but could feel the ache in his shoulders and back from sitting on the uncomfortable chair. 

Sam sat at the foot of the bed you were lying on earlier and grabbed the remote, clicking through the channels on the shitty TV that the motel provided. 

You were out of the shower in no time, but as you strolled out of the bathroom, a scowl made its way onto your face. You hated that you recognized the back of the brunette’s head, and you could see the annoyed look that Sam etched into his face as he stared her down. 

“For fucks sake, is there not a day where we aren’t free from your bullshit?” You groaned as Ruby turned around at the sound of your exasperated tone. 

“Well, don’t you sound so happy to see me.” Ruby quipped with a mocking smirk on her face. 

You rolled your eyes at her as you crossed your arms over your clothed chest. Both Sam and Ruby’s eyes followed the movement, the action pulling the shirt taut over your chest and revealing that you weren’t wearing a bra. 

“What do you want, Ruby?” Sam asked, his voice carrying a roughness to it. 

“Can’t a girl drop by and say hi?” Ruby shrugged. Her question was innocent, but both you and Sam knew better. 

“Not when it’s you. Now what do you want?” 

Ruby put her hands up at your irritated tone. “Jeez, here I thought we were getting along.” 

You looked at her incredulously. “When have we ever gotten along?” 

Ruby had a dangerous gleam in her brown eyes—but before she could say anything, Sam moved in between the two of you, going behind you, grabbing your shoulders, and pulling you backward. You didn’t realize that you had been inching closer to her. Feeling Sam’s hands on your shoulders made you relax slightly, grounding you in the moment. 

Ruby looked on the scene with a smirk dancing on her lips. Oh, she was going to have some fun with this. 

“Okay, let’s just cool it for a second.” Sam saw the tension beginning to brew, and he really didn’t want to break up a fight between the two of you. “Ruby, if you don’t want or need anything, then leave.” 

Ruby pouted at Sam. “Awe, you want me to leave so soon?” 

“Yes!” You exclaimed, answering before Sam could. 

Sam squeezed your shoulders, signaling that you needed to calm down. 

“Ruby, Leave.” Sam’s tone was serious as he stared at her. He could feel his skin starting to crawl the longer she stayed, itching for a fix. Sam’s supply was running low, but he knew he couldn’t do anything about it while you were in the room. 

“Ugh, the two of you are no fun.” She looked around the room, not making any moves to leave. “Where’s the third musketeer?” 

“He’s at the bar.” You spat out through gritted teeth. “Is that all you wanted to ask or are you just trying to waste our time?” 

“And what time am I wasting? It doesn’t look like you guys were doing anything important. Or did I interrupt something again like I did last time?” Ruby’s smile was coy and knowing as a mischievous glint passed through her eyes. 

“What-

“You didn’t. Now get out.” You quickly interrupted Sam, sending Ruby a glare that had the heat of a thousand suns. 

The smirk never slipped from Ruby’s lips. “Hmm. That’s not what you said when you were moaning like a whore while our pussies were grinding against each other.” 

The reaction from you and Sam was immediate. Your face flushed with heat while Sam’s hands slipped from your shoulders; shock rendered him speechless as his brain was trying to comprehend Ruby’s words. 

“Shut the fuck up.” You ground your teeth together and had to resist the urge to strangle Ruby and cover your flaming cheeks. Embarrassment flooded your veins, and you were grateful that Sam was standing behind you so you didn't see his reaction. 

Sam blinked in surprise and shock. His own mind betrayed him and conjured up an image of the two of you naked in bed and having sex. Sam had to clear his throat, looking away from the demon smirking in front of him, attempting to tamp down the growing arousal brewing in him at the thought. 

“I don’t know why you’re embarrassed, Sammy here is into the idea of it isn’t he?” Ruby asked as she moved closer to you, like a snake inching toward her prey, getting ready to strike. 

“Ruby.” Sam’s voice was stern, agitated by her words. He moved out from behind you and stood right next to you.  

“Oh, don’t play dumb, Sam.” Ruby met your eyes, an almost malicious smile on her lips at the sight of the frown on your face. “I’ve never seen the two of you come harder to the idea of fucking each other while you fuck me," Ruby said casually like you guys were having a casual chat at the coffee shop. 

Ruby was having fun. That much was sure as she saw the two of you shift uncomfortably right next to each other, refusing to look at the other. It was easy to rile you up, and if she played her cards right, the three of you were going to be in for a fun night. She just needed to push the right buttons.

Sam always took a little convincing, but with her blood on the table, he always cracked and fell to his knees before her. But with you here, Ruby had a feeling you didn’t approve or know about the blood addiction, so she was relying on you. She just had to push a little harder to get you to snap. 

Once you broke, Ruby was sure that Sam would follow in your footsteps. A shiver of anticipation went down her spine as she inched closer to the two of you, only a foot away from either of you. 

Ruby let out a little laugh. “Come on guys, there’s no need to be embarrassed, we’re all adults here, we can talk about sex and having it with each other.” 

“Christ, do you ever stop talking or do you just like hearing the sound of your own voice?” You snapped. You were beyond done with Ruby. 

You were mortified that Ruby just carelessly revealed that the two of you had slept with each other to Sam. You were planning on taking that secret to the grave. You didn’t care about the fact that Sam was sleeping with her; it was a well-known fact between everyone and their mother at this point. But you can’t deny how your stomach fluttered at the mention of Ruby mentioning you while she fucked Sam. 

“You know what exactly you can do to shut me up.” Ruby taunted, wanting you to take the bait.

You stared at her, your fists bawled at your side. You took a glance at Sam. Fuck it. You thought before lunging at her, pulling her into a biting kiss filled with teeth and tongue. Ruby couldn’t help but smirk against your lips and had to hold back the laugh that wanted to escape her at the stunned expression that appeared on Sam’s face. 

What the hell? Sam thought as he saw you lunge at Ruby—he was going to reach for you, thinking you were going to attack her, but faltered when he saw you planted your lips on hers, pulling her into a rough kiss.

Sam thought of himself as a respectful man—but he was a man at the end of the day, and seeing two beautiful people kiss in front of him sent a bolt of arousal down his spine as he felt his cock hardening in his jeans. 

It ended all too soon for Ruby. Her mouth opened to say something, but your hand covered it—smothering any words that threatened to spill from her lips. A fire glinted in your eyes as you shook your head at her before looking at Sam with a smirk.

“Want to help me out here? Since she wants us to shut her up so badly.” 

If you want out, you can leave. I’ll deal with her. You conveyed to Sam in a silent conversation when your eyes met his increasingly darkening gaze, the hazel of his eyes being swallowed up by his pupil. Sam sent you an almost imperceptible nod, making your smirk widen. 

Ruby saw the exchange between the two of you, and she smirked underneath your hand. This was easier than she expected. 

You moved your hand from her mouth, turning her around so her back was facing you. Your hand quickly grabbed the hair near the nape of her neck and pulled her head back roughly, exposing her neck to you and making her stare up at Sam, who was looking down at her with a filthy smirk. Ruby had to muffle the low groan that escaped her lips at the sudden manhandling coming from you and the scrape of your nails against her scalp. 

“You wanna show me how you shut her up? She talked a big game about how you fuck her face.” Your filter was thrown out of the window. Lust had taken the driver's seat of your mind and your words. 

Sam chuckled darkly in a tone you’d never heard before, and you could feel your underwear dampening at the sound. “Yeah, I can show you. She sucks cock like a slut.” 

You hummed. “I figured. That’s the only thing that mouth is good for right, Sammy? It's better used for sucking cock and eating pussy.” You leaned down and nipped at her neck.

Ruby let out a soft moan at the feeling of your lips on her neck before a louder moan at the sting of the pain of your teeth sinking into her neck. 

“Yeah it is.” He agreed, looking at the scene in front of him hungrily. “The only time she’s quiet is when she’s choking on my cock.” 

Ruby’s underwear was ruined. She could feel it as arousal flooded her veins as you and Sam talked about her as if she wasn’t in the room with the two of you. 

“Are you guys going to keep talking about shutting me up or actually do it?”  Ruby had to swallow a moan at the feeling of a harsh tug of her hair before she lurched forward and felt the rough carpet against her jean-covered knees. She had to brace herself, Ruby's hands fell to Sam's thighs—her face now being eye-level with Sam’s prominent bulge. 

Your eyes were trained on Ruby’s hands as they unbuckled Sam’s belt and flicked open the button on his jeans. Sam kicked them off as soon as they fell off of his hips, leaving him in shirts and his boxers. 

Ruby looked at him with wide eyes as she leaned in and kissed his cock through the thin fabric. She started to plant kisses along his bulge, licking at the damp spot at the front of his boxers.

His hand landed in her hair, grasping at the strands. “Don’t tease.” Sam growled out as he shoved her closer to his covered crotch. 

Ruby huffed but obeyed him anyway. Her hands grabbed the waistband of his underwear and pulled them down, his cock springing out once they were off. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it. It was long and thick, the tip ruddy and leaking, and it was begging to be sucked. 

Ruby licked her lips at the sight of it. It had been a while since she had sucked Sam off, and she couldn’t help but press a soft kiss to the sensitive tip, precum smearing on her bottom lip. 

Sam let a low groan escape his chest at the feeling and let out a soft sigh at the feeling of her warm mouth wrapping around his tip and slowly enveloping the rest of his shaft. 

You let out a low whistle at the sight of Ruby swallowing down Sam’s cock, her nose nestled at the trimmed patch of hair at the base of his dick, reminding Sam that you were still in the room with them. 

His eyes snapped open, not realizing that they had closed and met your blown-out eyes. 

“Come here.” Sam gestured for you to come closer to him, his voice thick with lust. 

Ruby’s mouth started to move on Sam’s dick, her tongue tracing the veins that were on his thick shaft as you moved closer to Sam. He grabbed you by the waist as soon as you were close to him and kissed you hard. It wasn’t as hard as you kissed Ruby, but it was still filled with tongue and passion. Sam moaned against your lips as Ruby started to suck his cock with fervor, eventually making him part from your lips to look down at her—making you follow his gaze. 

“Wow, she really is a cocksucking slut.” You saw how eager she was on his dick, moving her head rapidly, spit pooling at the corner of her mouth as her mouth hollowed around him. 

You saw her hand reach for the rest of him that couldn’t fit in her mouth, but you acted fast, grabbing her hands and pinning them to the small of her back, going on your knees behind her. 

You clicked your tongue at her. “You’re gonna let him fuck your face like the good demon whore that you are.” You murmured into her ear as you squeezed her wrists. 

Ruby let out a low moan around Sam at your words, a groan escaping his mouth at the feeling of the vibrations around his dick, increasing the pleasure he was indulging in. Sam gathered her hair in one of his hands and started to thrust his hips, shoving his cock further down her throat. 

You kept her hands pinned to her back as you shuffled to the side of the both of them, the room filled with the sound of Sam’s pleasured grunts and groans alongside the occasional gag and shlick noises coming from Ruby’s mouth. 

It was pure debauchery as you watched Sam fuck Ruby’s face. Your underwear was ruined at this point—your pussy practically pulsating with need, but you could care less. You wanted to see Ruby get a taste of her own medicine for once. 

Ruby was in pure bliss right now. She didn’t feel the need to use her abnormal strength at all. Ruby was right where she wanted as she savored the taste of Sam on her taste buds. All she wanted next was to taste you. 

You used your free hand to shove your hand in her jeans, feeling her wetness through her underwear. “Shit, she’s soaked. Should have known you’d like being used like this.” You jeered at her as you pressed at her clit through her soaked panties. 

Ruby whined at the feeling of her clit being stimulated and ground her hips into your hand, wanting more friction. You let her, pressing harder against her as you rubbed her through her wet underwear.  

Sam started to fuck her face harder, pushing her face down his cock until he was fully sheathed into her mouth and holding her there. You could see her throat bulging with his length. 

You couldn’t help but groan at the sight and rubbed at Ruby harder. “Fuck, that’s hot.” You muttered as you heard Ruby gag around his dick. 

Sam was breathing harshly at the feeling of Ruby swallowing around his cock. “Such a good mouth, fuck!” He noticed how her hips were moving as your hand was shoved down her pants. “You liked being used by us don’t you?” 

Sam let go of her completely, letting her take a breath, a cough escaping her before it turned into a high-pitched moan. Your hand made its way underneath her panties and shoved two fingers into her sopping cunt—you were met with no resistance since she was leaking profusely. 

Ruby nodded in response, but Sam gripped her chin with his free hand. “Words.” He demanded. 

“Y-yes,” Ruby said through a broken moan. You had brushed against her g-spot and began to attack her neck with your lips. 

Sam used the opportunity of her open mouth and guided her back onto his cock, pistoning his hips at a slower pace than before but hitting the back of her throat with every thrust. 

You could feel her start to clench around your fingers as she moved her hips in tandem with your fingers. Before her orgasm could crest and overtake her, you signaled to Sam, and the both of you pulled away from her completely.

Ruby let out a pitiful whine as she stared up at the two of you through wet eyes. She looked fucked out with her pink lip gloss smeared all over her face, her mascara beginning to smudge and smear down her cheeks as Ruby glared up at the two of you. 

You couldn’t help but smirk at how wrecked she looked. You locked eyes with and sucked her slick from your fingers before turning to Sam and kissing him. He quickly reciprocated the kiss, his tongue diving into your mouth and groaning at the mixed taste of just purely you and Ruby’s arousal on your tongue. 

You quickly broke the kiss—a string of saliva connected the two of you before it broke. You both turned back to Ruby, matching predatory looks in either of your eyes. Ruby felt her stomach fall as you gestured for her to stand up. She stood on shaky legs before you pulled her into you, grabbing another fistful of hair and making her look up at you. 

A smirk that could rival her own black soul pulled at your lips. “Time to learn your lesson about showing up without any warning.” You let go of her and pushed her towards the bed. “Strip.” Your tone left no room for an argument.

“Are you going to let her boss you around too?” Ruby couldn’t help but take a jab at Sam. 

You raised your eyebrow at her, sharing a quick look with Sam. Then, with an unexpected speed for a man his size, Sam lunged at Ruby— pinning her to the bed with a hand around her throat. 

Sam glared down at Ruby. “You know I was going to let you come around my cock. But you had to be a brat.” Sam shook his head, acting disappointed. “We both call the shots tonight, you don’t, so strip.”

Sam looked back at you. “You too.” He ordered before letting go of Ruby and began to shed his shirt, shucking off the brown button-up before taking off the grey v-neck he had—leaving him standing naked in the warm lighting that the lamps of the motel room provided. 

You couldn’t help but stare at the expanse of his tanned skin as you took off the shirt and pajama shorts you changed into after you had showered, leaving you as bare as the day you were born.

Both of you approached the bed from opposite sides. The roles had reversed. Ruby was the prey now, left naked in the middle of the bed, her chest heaving with anticipation as you and Sam had become the predators and waiting for the right time to strike. You and Sam started to plant kisses on her bare skin. Your lips trailed across her chest as Sam’s lips moved down her stomach, moving in between her legs. 

Your hands went to her breasts, squeezing at the soft flesh as your mouth covered hers, kissing her sloppily as Sam began to kiss at her clit softly before swiping his tongue through her slit and spearing her on his stiffened tongue. 

Ruby broke the kiss, letting a moan erupt from deep in her chest as the heat in her lower stomach started to brew again. You began to pinch and twist at her nipples, biting and nipping at the soft skin of her neck and chest, letting her whines and moans fill your ears. 

Sweat began to coat her skin as pleasure overwhelmed her senses. She felt like there were hands all over her body, gripping her thighs, her boobs, and her hips. Ruby could feel herself getting closer. She could almost taste her climax, but so could Sam. 

He pulled away from Ruby’s cunt. It was glistening from the mix of his spit and her slick, flushed, and her clit swollen from how Sam wrapped his lips around it and sucked at it. Ruby let out a frustrated cry, making you chuckle into her neck.

You pulled away from her, and one of your hands left her chest to caress her wet cheek, wiping at the stray tear. “You’ll come. Just until we think you deserve it, okay?” You cooed at her sweetly, but your words carried an undertone of authority. 

“Sam’s going to fuck you and I’m going to sit on your face.” You explained to Ruby with a gentle smile on your face, patting her flushed cheek before you and Sam moved. 

You hovered over her face, your back to the headboard as Sam wrenched her legs apart and teased her with his cock swiping through her slit, tapping his head on her clit teasingly—a low whine escaping her as her cunt clenched around nothing. 

“Use your words. What do you want?” Sam taunted, hearing her whine as his cock prodded at her entrance, the tip threatening to slip inside. 

Ruby ground her teeth together. She slowly regretted letting the two of you hold the power in this situation. Your wet cunt was hovering over her face, and Ruby’s mouth watered, remembering the unique taste of your arousal from the last time you sat on her face and rode it. 

She was aching to be filled by Sam’s cock. “Put your cock in me and sit on my face.” Ruby huffed, her voice strained with want. 

“What’s the magic word?” You couldn’t help but tease Ruby. She was being a brat, so this was warranted in your mind. 

“Please, please fill me up and ride my face.” Ruby broke, and she really didn’t care anymore. She just wanted to come. 

You looked at Sam. “If that’s what she wants.” You had a smirk as you shrugged, lowering yourself on her face. 

The soft sigh that you let out turned into a low moan as the vibrations of Ruby’s moan echoed through you and into your cunt as she started to eat you out, her hands finding purchase on your hips. You stared at how Ruby’s pussy stretched around Sam’s cock, and he let out the sexiest groan once he was fully seated inside of her. 

Sam started to move at a fast pace, giving Ruby no time to adjust to his size as he shoved his dick deeper and harder into her. You let yourself go as you rode her face, eyes fell shut at the feeling of her sucking at your clit—you were pinching at your nipples, sending more sparks of pleasure to your lower belly, letting the warmth bloom throughout your body. 

Your eyes snapped open at the feeling of Sam caressing your sides, moving your hands away from your breasts to knead and holding them in his big hands. You couldn’t help but lean forward, trying to keep your cunt connected with Ruby’s mouth and kissing Sam. 

You were obsessed with the taste of Ruby lingering in his mouth as your tongues danced with each other. Your hand fell and started to rub at Ruby’s swollen clit, making her squeal into your pussy. 

“Maybe we should have done this sooner. Her mouth feels so against me.” You panted into Sam’s mouth. 

Sam let out a breathless chuckle. “She liked that, clenched around me so tight when you said that. You like that? Us using you like our little fucktoy?” 

A muffled moan left her, and you smiled wickedly at Sam as your hips rutted harder down on her face. “Yeah, she does. The best part about this is that we can do as much as we want to her, and she won’t break.” 

Sam’s hips stuttered slightly. “Fuck, she’s clenching around me so tight. She’s close.” 

“Sam, stop.” 

He obeyed, stilling inside of her, and she whined against your pussy, stopping her ministrations. You slapped at her tit when you felt her tongue stop moving against you. 

“I didn’t say you could stop.” 

Ruby internally rolled her eyes at you but continued to eat you out, shoving her tongue in you and fucking you with it. You let out a moan but tried to compose yourself as you gestured for Sam to pull out of Ruby. He looked at you confused but pulled out of her anyway. 

You quickly leaned down, resting your hands against Ruby’s thighs before taking Sam in your mouth, and your eyes rolled back at the mixed taste of Sam and Ruby. 

“Fuck me. Shit, your mouth is so good, taking me in your mouth so well f’me pretty girl.” 

You preened at the praise from Sam, spending some time sucking his cock while letting the coil get tighter and tighter in you as Ruby used her mouth on you.  

As much as you didn’t want to, you lifted off of her face and pulled your mouth away from Sam. You were getting close as well, but you wanted to come around Sam’s cock. You moved your way down Ruby’s body, settling in between her legs and face-to-face with her pussy. 

“Doing so well for us Ruby, such a good little whore. You can come whenever Sam says you can?” You said as you started to softly rub at her clit with your thumb. 

Ruby didn’t care anymore. She just wanted to come already. Ruby was so close to an orgasm that time, but she was at the mercy of you and Sam. This may have backfired on her, but maybe it was for the better. 

You threw a coy smile over your shoulder at Sam, your hips swaying as an invitation as you spread your knees apart, revealing your pussy to him. Sam swiped his fingers through your wet slit before bringing his slick-coated fingers to his mouth and tasting you. 

“You taste good.” He said once his fingers were cleaned. Sam moved to eat you out, but you stopped him. 

“Next time, I want to feel you fill me up.” You promised as you sent him a slightly pleading look. 

You really wanted to be filled—you had been clenching around nothing all night, and you wanted to feel him for days after tonight. Sam nodded and gripped your hips while your face dipped down, and you licked a broad stripe up Ruby’s slit, your fingers entering her as your mouth wrapped around the bundle of nerves. 

You moaned into Ruby’s cunt as Sam stretched you out with his cock—the satisfying pinch of pain bled into pleasure as he filled you up. You swore you could feel him in your stomach, and the feeling intensified as he started to move. 

You tried to finger and eat out Ruby to the best of your ability as Sam fucked you, and sparks of pleasure zipped up your spine. 

Sam wouldn’t have imagined this happening in a million years. This was something that only played out in his fantasies, but fuck was he going to enjoy and wring out every drop of pleasure he could. His hands gripped your hips hard as he pistoned into you. 

“So tight around me, fuck, you feel so good.” Sam praised as he leaned over and planted kisses on your spine. 

You barely heard Sam’s praises over Ruby’s constant babbling and whining, filled with yeses and pleases and a mix of your names blending together in her garbled speech. 

“Can I come? Please!” Ruby begged, feeling her eyes well up in frustrated tears. She was so close but held back, not wanting to disobey either of you and have her orgasm ruined for the fourth time. 

Sam could feel you were getting close too—hell, he was on the verge of it as well. Your pussy was practically choking his cock as he brushed against the spongy spot that only Ruby and yourself could find. 

“Yeah, shit, you can come,” Sam ordered Ruby, and she all but broke apart on your fingers and mouth. You tried to work her through her orgasm, but you were distracted by Sam now rubbing at your sensitive clit while thrusting harder into you. Your forehead came to rest on her still convulsing pussy as you fell apart Sam’s cock. 

“Where?” He managed to say through gritted teeth, having held back his orgasm to let you get through yours, but with how you were pulsing around him, Sam was close to releasing you. 

“A-all over us.” You managed to say before Sam pulled out.

You lay beside Ruby as Sam got on his knees with you guys on the bed and started to stroke his cock rapidly with your lingering arousal as lube. He came with a long groan, spurts of his cum landing on both your and Ruby’s tits and chests as you both looked up at him. 

Sam’s breathing was harsh as he let go of his spent cock. He cursed underneath his breath when he saw you collect some of his cum and tasted it for yourself. You hummed at the taste. He was a little salty, but nothing too bad. You turned to the demon next to you and kissed her, your tongue coated in Sam’s essence. 

Sam’s cock twitched at the sight. It was really hot, but he knew he had to wait until he could get going. 

You pulled away from Ruby. “Learned your lesson yet?” You asked with a smirk on your lips, caressing her cheek with your free hand. 

A mischievous glint passed through her brown eyes. “I might need another lesson to ram it home.” 

You tore your eyes away from Ruby to look at Sam. Your gazes met, and a silent conversation passed between the two of you. 

“Round two it is.” You said, still looking at Sam before turning back to Ruby and straddling her. 

Ruby saw the dangerous look flash in your eye and saw the matching look in Sam’s eyes. She knew she was in for a very long night. 

[cherrygirlfriend]

MAIDEN OF THE SEA

“for so long i didn’t have a home… thank you for changing that.”

mermaidia!reader... a girl who was the eldest daughter of the king of the ocean, poised to be the next one in charge of it all, now an orphan with no way home.

mermaidia!reader... a girl that was taken from her home in the sea by fishermen when she was a teenager only to be sold like a prop.

mermaidia!reader... a girl that grew up in captivity, being held in tanks by rich people that treated her like a freak show; like she was nothing but a pet to show off.

mermaidia!reader... a girl that grows legs whenever she isn’t in salt water; and due to her, the amount of salt the winchesters had to buy doubled due to the frequent sea salt baths she took; not only did she enjoy it but whenever she goes more than three days without being in salt water, her skin starts to turn blue and scaly.

mermaidia!reader... a girl who the winchesters took in when they realized that she has no family, no home, after they took care of the people that owned her.

mermaidia!reader... a girl with the tail the color of beautiful, shimmering blinding blue, whose eyes turn the same color when she feels strong emotions.

mermaidia!reader... a girl who reminds dean winchester so much of himself; the eldest, an orphan, someone with no childhood, no home…

“never had she danced so beautifully; the sharp knives cut her feet, but she did not feel it, for the pain in her heart was far greater.”

MERMAIDIA’s abilities... speaking to animals, changing the temperature of water, hydrokinesis, tears that turn into pearls, accidental weather control…

pearl necklaces seashells bright blue moon phases animal crossing mermaid media long baths animals salt stargazing rabbits sam and dean self-made jewelry reading ice cream the ocean the sun home

WORLD UNDER THE SEA

works coming soon…

[punk-in-docs]

A song of liars and beggars: part II

— Emperor Geta x Reader (Salacia)

— 5.3k words.

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV — Part V

Summary: You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblog and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW: for this chapter; mainly violence and cruelty and mentions of death/imprisonment. also this has turned long winded im so sorry- i wish i could just bang out some gratuitous smut but noooo i need 7k of angst before penetration apparently --

The cell you are thrown into is poky small.

When the guards push you into it, you stumble and you fall. Stone breaks your landing. Collapsing in the dusty dirt. Soiling your pretty blue dress. The sea blue churned into mud. Into filth. Spoiled tide.

Bloody grit and sand sticking to your chin that still drips blood. Ichor dripped on your silk chest. Lip throbbing. Body bruised into the colour of nightshade petals.

You twist back, eyes blurred with tears, to see the dark expression under the Roman guards helmet.

Who spits at your feet and calls you a traitorous whore. He was the same one whose ring of fingertip bruises now circled your upper arm. Even though you were in chains.

Your surroundings are grim. There’s no window. No bearings. A bucket with filthy stagnant water sits in the corner.

The air is stale. Packed close and scorching. It reeks of piss and decay. Necrosis. Festering. Yellow bleached skulls. You hear the wailing shouts of men. The rattle of chains. You will be left down here until they come to take you. In whatever form that may be. Beheading. Or a stoning.

Maybe the Emperors really are gods. Those twin golden growling wolves. And now they’ve thrown you down to the underworld. Left you down here with the dying and the dirt and the vermin for company.

The walls are grimy stone, and strung with chains. Torches the only lick of civilised orange light in these otherwise miserable caverns. Rats creep along the floors - the scurry and click of claws. Not that they’ll find any scrap of food near here. There’s none to be had. Not even corpses. Death isn’t merciful enough to visit here.

Bile coats the back of your tongue. Sour and acetic. The men in the cells opposite you m, sneer and call filthy propositions in the dark. Dark so thick it was like wool. Ask to see under your pretty dress. Leering at you. Puckering kisses.

You are a rare drop of clean ocean in this savagery to them. Pure. A blue crocus blossoming in a crack in the barren dessert. Wash away the sin. Their rotten teeth shine in the dark like knives. Hungry and waiting.

You curl into a ball in the corner. Bring your knees to your chest. Cower in the shadows as the rats run past your feet. Clammy tails flicking over your toes.

You sob quietly. Arms folded. One smashed elbow drying to sticky blood, stuck with grit from your collapse.

Your father was torn away before you could see what happened or where they took him. You heard his shouts at Macrinus, his begging, but couldn’t see where he was taken. You couldn’t bear thinking about the alternative.

Your brothers body will be laying in a paupers grave somewhere you’ll never know. Never be able to go and lay orange gladiolus flowers before his headstone. Forgotten. Your mother will be told nothing of this- of you. Of the supposed treason-

Or maybe a garrison of soldiers were already marching on their way to deliver news. To slaughter the traitors family in that white villa by the sea. Smear crimson up the walls- droplets of red splashed on the jasmine petals. You think of the linen shifts your sisters ramble around in. You think how the perfect hues of soft blues and olives greens will be ruined with the garish red of blood-

You squeeze your eyes shut. Drops of salty ocean squeezing down your cheeks. And even that is of no use to you now. Landed sea nymph. Away from the oceans call. And now you’re bound for desolation. Gasping. Dying. Dragged to land by men who want to pick at your scales and leave you raw, bare.

You never should’ve left home. Not for a distant hollow man and his even emptier words.

Sleep doesn’t come to you. Nor are you awake. You slouch, curled on the cold dirty floor and envelop yourself into the grit and dirt. Abrasive on your soft milk-and-honey skin. The cornflower blue of your dress matted with mucky earth.

You enter a state between waking and sleep. A shallow one, spliced with sliced necks, pooling blood on biscuit coloured sand, and your brothers final cry.

Sounds start chipping at you. The slap of metal. Clicking and shuffling steps.

A jolt across your cell rouses you from your purgatory. Head snapping up on your shoulders. When you accustomed your eyes to the dim, the sight of the person unlocking your cell, makes your stomach plummet.

General Acacius.

There’s no mistaking him for another. That unmistakably noble profile. The firm set of his brow. His aquiline nose. The curl and bend of his greying hair. The way he looks at you - it might just be the kindest thing you’ve been awarded in this abrasive hell you find yourself in.

You raise to your wobbly feet. Heart felt like it had taken to thudding in your throat. Choking tempo as it beats there. Muscle thick and ticking on the back of your tongue.

One thought echoed around your mind; this was to be the path to your death.

You were being led by the General of the armies of Rome. It seemed a grand imposition for escorting a mere slip of a traitor to her death.

War has thickened his body. Muscular arms swing from a wide back and shoulders. Sun weathered skin which spoke of his time out in the elements, fighting for the glories and victories of Rome. Age lay in the silver threaded though his hair. The muted pain in his gait of past injuries catching up with him. Body littered with scars that probably ache and tug. Mars made flesh. Glory for Rome. Victory.

You swallowed. Throat dry. Easing your way to the door on uncertain feet. Hands clasped in chains still. They feel heavy as mountains to carry along. He’s come with guards. Four of them. Armed and marching to the beat of his strides. A valorous man indeed.

You step close to the heavily armoured man. Salty tears leaking down your cheeks that you don’t care to bat away. Atleast one spec of home will cling to your skin when life is gone. Even if it is only your silly scared tears.

He leans close to you when you come to the door

Suddenly a warm hand - calluses and hard furrows that only come from years of grasping a sword hilt - is around your forearm to steady. He unlocks the iron heavy chains and cuffs that surround your wrists. The chafing welts they left circling your wrists as the only impression of your imprisonment.

It’s the kindest touch you’ve felt in what seems like years.

You look at him with incredulity. He claims it all off you so easily. You were easy to devour. Every emotion worn open on your face.

Your lashes glued together with tears. Eyes so wide. Big and shining and they must reflect spring sun off beaded waves like a blanket of sapphires. A question lingers, tucked back shyly behind your teeth. Unable to wander off the curl of your tongue.

Why are you unlocking my hands?

He tilts his head at you. It’s almost chiding.

An unexpected warmth flows from his dark eyes. It’s too dark down here in this filthy stuffy pit to discern their colour. They swing somewhere between bronze and amber.

There is a mercy in them, a mercy to him, you’ve seldom seen anywhere else. Let alone a man as slaked in blood as he is.

Maybe it’s mercy- more likely that it’s pity.

He throws the shackles aside to the guard. Eyes for a long moment the way the iron has cut into your wrists. Raw skin. Damaging such a fine beautifully untouched creature.

He’s certain there’s worse damage to come to you.

His voice when he speaks is honey thick. Deep as it carved down all the rock walls around you. Louder than the clanking of chains and the wails from prisoners. Whom, you noticed, suddenly quieted down. They were whipped when they spoke up, you guess. So they go quiet. Like cowed dogs.

“I’ve slaughtered many a traitor in my time. You don’t seem a danger to me, or my men.” He observed. It’s both a warning and a comment.

It’s ridiculous really. The thought you could be a threat. All slippery, skin soft and coveted as a purely formed ocean pearl.

When you are in fact shivering in a silky thin dress the colour of harmless cornflowers. Huddled in your cell corner gently spilling tears. No hint of resistance or fiery hatred. No storm to be found here in your veins that houses entire oceans and their tempestuous wrath.

He knows innocence when he sees it. That rare, very rare, taste that clings to his tongue like sugary sweet ripe fruit. Something to cut and slice through all the ichor and viscera he all too well knows the flavour of. There’s a calmness to you. A damned sort of acceptance. Calm as still waters.

“Come.” He tilts his head. “The likes of you doesn’t belong down here.” You with your stock of noble blood, shouldn’t perish forgotten in these filthy caverns.

He walks to the pathway that you vaguely recall you were led down. The one that ascends steps and up into daylight. Out from the dust and the dirt and the still living bones of the trapped and the damned.

“General. Pray tell me. Is my father dead?” You ask. Whisper a pathetic imitation of your voice. Raw and weak. Choking on the unknown.

His face is stiff. He doesn’t seem inclined to reply.

“I cannot give you answers.” He chides. He turned his back to you. And his brute tone slaughtered any further enquiry you may have felt compelled to make.

You shrink down as you fell into step. Being led in your dirty dress, littered in cuts and scrapes.

Numerous guards form a metal lined wall around and behind you. Shields and swords and the metal clink of their steps. Trapping you. Armoured cage for a pretty captive. You wince when the new sunlight hits your eyes. Bright and acidic. Gulp for thick air that meets your lungs like ambrosia.

You walk and follow, silently. Waiting to come to the place you’d die.

Expecting to be led to gallows. Or an executioners block. Maybe even a court lined with people, one where you’d be trialed to death for a plot you’d no idea even existed. Maybe you’d be shoved into the coliseum on the next fight to be mauled to shreds by lions. Gouged by teeth and claw. Die screaming in the same dirt as your brother did.

It doesn’t come. None of that comes.

Your surroundings change again and you find yourself outside the grand walls of the coliseum. Looking up at the huge enormity of its powerful walls. The golden stone standing proud against the searing blue sky.

You’re marched across the dusty dirt of a yard, to yet another cage; this one held bars just like your previous one. A cage built on the back of a cart that has two horses ready to pull it along the capital roads. The general opens the barred door and gestures guards in around you.

One of the soldiers hit you forwards with a harsh shove. The back of his sword hilt. A hard enough shove for you to know it would purple to a bruise soon enough. Mulberry purple staining your skin at the back of your hip. You barely even yelp.

The general admonishes the soldier harshly for his rough treatment. You were to be brought - unmolested.

A word the Emperor had ordered with a growing wolfish grin.

“Where am I being taken?” You dare ask. Words crack out your throat. Unused. Thirsty. Timid. Ocean starved. All this dry land is making you dizzy and miserable.

He explained. Tone grave. Before you are pulled inside the bars. Caged once more.

“You’ve been summoned.”

“By whom?” You seek.

His eyes weight into you. Wrapped in pity and severity. His words clang around your head. Coffin nails. Just like bars he shut around you.

“You’ve been requested by the Emperor himself.”

~

You struggle to comprehend the enormity of the palace before you.

Palatine hill boasted of the richest and finest palaces in all of Rome. Including the imperial palace. The huge sprawling building. The importance and grandeur of these halls weighted on you like tonne heavy rocks.

You feel like a smear of dirt among these polished white walls and halls. Crawling with servants and guards. Stuffed with so much riches and finery. You’ve heard tale of how Emperors were hand picked by the gods. They were gods to the people they reigned over.

You are escorted once again out of a yard and into this place you’d heard only grand things about. Marched along corridors longer than you’d ever known. You saw fountains spitting streams of clear crystalline water and imperial gardens with huge tropical plants. Statues of marble and tiled mosaic floors that shine as if recently scrubbed.

Guards at every door. Servants clad in cloth finer than you’ve ever owned - or touched - they carry huge platters of bread or bowls spilling over with plump fruits. Large amphora jugs of wine held aloft in careful hands. This seemed like a luxurious heaven. You wondered if you’d see clouds, goddesses and sun beams even from your lowly mortal perch.

The guards keep you in step. Hauled along so fast you feel blisters aching at the balls of your feet. As you’re traipsed in. Bloodied and low. Beaten down. Your split lip has dried to a cut. You worry it with your tongue. The little whip cracks of pain a reminder of your mortality - one you’re certain you will be relieved of soon.

You are brought to a set of huge imperial doors by the general. Who is bid to enter right away.

Your eyes don’t know where to settle first; the room is one of the richest displays you’ve ever seen. Orange fabric the colour of vibrant mandarins, hangs in drapes over the open arches and doorways. Mosiac floors polished to a shine. There’s gold and marble statues and plinths. Paintings in dark deep colours of battle scenes. Swords and blood and male glory. As if it had come to life right before your eyes. This room is threaded with gold and devotion to male gods.

As is the man who sits leisurely awaiting you on a padded lectus. One spilling with tasseled silken cushions to soften his seat. Emperor Geta.

His robes were the same as when you last saw him. Dark jewel colours of black and blue. Gems cast in gold on each finger. Dark cloths with gold items of jewellery on his breast in the form of a broach. So much gold you don’t now where to test your eyes first.

Maybe he is a god. He certainly has all the riches of one. Stood before you as if he were Jupiter and all his delights. Thunderbolts seeping from his powerful fingers.

A golden crown of laurels ringing his light waved hair. His eyes was where true darkness laid; dark kohl ringing eyes the colour of the darkest Umbrian. Earth of shadow.

He was idly picking at food laid on a rose petal strewn table before him. You’ve never seen an offering of food so large and all for one. Cups of wine. Bread. Dried Fruit and a tiered stand flowing with fresh fruit. Some cheeses. Meats and fish. All laid on plates for him to pick over and discard, or saviour at his behest.

You wonder which category you’d fall into- the former appears the more likely.

Your stomach pangs for the smell of the freshly baked bread. The sweetness of the fruit. The tart wine. Tongue dry as sand and sluggish in your mouth.

“There you are. My little sea nymph.” He sneers over at you. One side of his lip curls upwards.

In panic, you bend the knee and bow your head, subservient, meek, and that makes him smile more.

He’s snapped his regal bejewelled fingers and had you bought to him. Bloodied and blinking dust out your eyes. Dirt stroked on your once fine dress. It now hangs in shredded tatters at the hem by your sandals. Blood spots dried like rusted petals. Brutal handling from guards lay in the bruises now scattering your lovely arms and the welts banding your wrists.

You want to cower behind the wall of guards. But you are rudely thrown forwards. Those shadowy eyes trace over your poorly clad form; you do feel like a minuscule scrap of dirt. A crack in a looking glass. A tarnish on something gleaming golden. The smear of imperfection allowed to exist in this heavenly palace.

He sees your hands are loose by your sides; unbound.

“Why is she not in chains, General? Have we stopped chaining our prisoners” He asks. Ire woven into his words. Eyes unflinching and hard and he scowls at Acacius. Who remained unmoved even in the face of his petulant wrath.

“I saw no need to chain her. Emperor. Such a woman in her position could surely not be a threat to you.” It’s a barb. A small sensible thorn, perhaps.

You flick your eyes across to the General.

“I didn’t even have to draw my sword or threaten her. She came willingly.” He tells his Emperor.

Like a sweetly led fool. A sacrificial creature led blindly to her own slaughter.

The guards stand to attention. Unwavering. Wall of armour and swords around your back as you cower. Eyes cast to the floor as you’re being discussed like a slab of meat. Something without autonomy or feeling.

You can feel Getas eyes on you still. Hard and weighty as warm metal. Searing into your skin. The way livestock are branded.

Those eyes are unrelenting. Violating. Scouring you up and down some more. Inspecting the span of your hips. The dip of your waist. The fall of your chest. Plump of your breasts and hips. The once pristine coil of your knotted hair.

Goddesses would envy you. The furies would want to tear down your beauty and goodness in wrath. Scratch out your eyes. Shear your hair. Anything to steal the golden thread of goodness from you.

Juno had blessed you and kept you indeed. Like you’re fresh out of her temple and sparkling with promise. He knew it the second he saw you. He made up his mind to have you then.

You had something. Something wrapped inside yourself like a shell protecting a pearl. Something good and virtuous. He wanted you all for himself.

If he was good as a god, then blessing himself with a wife who was a gift from the most beloved goddess was his right.

He can smell lemons and salt. And wondered if he inhaled the nubile skin of your neck and hair if then he’d find the source of it. Made him want to bite down on that supple neck and leave his mark-

“An unlikely source for a traitor do you not think so, General?” He asks.

General doesn’t answer but his expression is very telling. “My spies tell me she was not in the capital for two days before the suspected treason.” He offers.

Your stomach lurches, manages to tie itself into knots. Clammy sweat prickles your brow and your neck.

“Maybe she wasn’t aware of the plot. An unwilling participant dragged into the sordid scheme.” Geta speculates.

No answer comes from you still.

“Is she mute? I certainly heard her screams well enough at the coliseum.” He mocks. Impatient.

“Speak. Your Emperor demands it.” The General barks at you. You flinch at his sudden raised voice. Finally trailing your eyes from the mosaic tiles.

“I am not mute. Your majesty.” You explain. Feeling the tickle of humiliated tears at your eyes.

“I can offer no plea for innocence, except the truth that I had no knowledge as to my fathers schemes.”

Because no such schemes existed. Macrinus should be here in chains instead of you. The lying snake. He orchestrated the whole thing.

Geta savours your words. Drinks them in the way he’d taste wine. Rolls them around in his mouth.

He merely nods slightly. You hold your breath for his response.

“Come.” He sneers. “There’s something I want you to see.”

He guides you across to the huge marble pillars which guarded the open mouth of the balcony.

You walk behind him and come to the balustrade of white marble. Peering over the ledge. Out into the courtyard below where a cluster of soldiers and horses are gathered close.

“The soldiers will ride on my command.” He tells you. Sick delight in the power he wields.

When they pull away, and the sight below is exposed to you, your entire body wrenches forwards. Desperation grips you violently. A cry shattered out your throat.

They were going to quarter your father before your very eyes.

He stood, small and beaten, blood pouring from a gash to his head, in a filthy cloth tunic, because they’d humiliated him. Had him stripped of his noble senate robes.

His limbs each tied to separate riders on separate horses. When they galloped off in different directions, he would be torn to pieces. Barbaric.

Through a blackened eye and a swollen brow your father gazes up at you. Despair on his face. A once strong man brought so very low. It wounds you.

Geta is drinking in your every expression. The full horror and pain writ across your pretty face.

“No. No, mercy, please. Your majesty. I beg of you. Mercy.” You babble.

Eyes wide with desperation. Voice breaking as surely as your heart was. Cracking in two in your chest. Sharp as glass shards. Clinking to pieces sharp enough to make your insides bleed anew.

“Why should I spare a liar? Salacia?” He asks you. “Why should I not make an example of what happens to traitors in my court…” He demands. Eyes locked on you.

“He’s offered me things I don’t want or need to delay his death. Money. Information. I cannot help but feel it’s inevitably drawn him closer to it.”

He raises his hand, calmly. You sob. The riders bolt to attention. One more move and that would be it.

You flew for him. Unrestrained. Desperate. Willing to beg on your knees if needs be. You put yourself in front of him. Put your hands to him.

The General and his guards drew swords and came close. Geta turned and and ushered them back with a harsh wave of his fingers. He was enjoying this too much. The nature of despair- the clammy stench of desperation pouring off you like ocean waves.

You could only think of one instance that might appease his lust for blood-

Dying in the place of your elder for his crimes was all you had. All you clutched in your empty injured hands.

“Let me take his place. Put the bonds on me instead. Let me take his punishment. Make me the example.” You beg. Tears shiver and fall down your cheeks. Burning drips of salt spear at your lash-line.

In your desperation you cling to Getas chest. Your nails raking gold and the fine threads of the fabric coat he wore. He didn’t seem to mind. He seemed amused by it.

“Little Salacia.” The way he used your name with a brazenly satisfied smirk altered something in you.

An arm winds itself around your hip. Cups the back. Pressed a bruise that you want to hiss in pain at. But can’t.

His other hand rings your neck. Ghosts his thumb over the curve of your chin. Smearing tears with the gold and jewels on his fingers. You gasp. Air emptying out your lungs in one fell swoop.

“You have so much more to offer your Emperor than your death.” He says quietly. His meaning became intimate. Wrapped in insinuation.

Your mouth opened, no sound came. Your lower lip trembles. You glance down at your father who is crying. Straining, wrenching forwards at his bonds. Desperate to keep you from this.

Geta takes his hand and runs his hand through one knotted lock of it for a moment. Leaning in to savour the smell of you. He moans with it.

Definitely lemons. Mixed with something briny salt, the ocean. In odes to your name.

Your father sees this. The closeness. The insulation that this man would take you. He shouts from his bonds below. Begging.

“By the gods, spare her.” He cries.

“Not my daughter. It is my crime. Take me. I am here. Take me!”

With your father and oldest brother dead, your mothers and sisters would be destitute. They would be reduced to beggars. Brought low. With him alive they were respectable- reduced in honour perhaps, but at least they’d live.

Tears bite at your eyes. You let them. Blink them away.

“What’s say you? My patience is wearing thin…” Geta bullies. Hand dropping from your hair.

It pushes you to act.

“Servitude of my body. I will enslave myself to your every whim. Emperor.” You say through tears. Every sordid whim.

“Exile him.” Youoffer.

Geta’s eyes gleam to that. Intrigued. You would exile and dishonour your own father?

“Exile him from Rome and the Senate, and send him back to Corsica to be with my mother and sisters. Where he is needed.” You implore.

“And what of you, how will you serve me?” He drawls.

“I will stay here and act as your servant in whatever manner you wish.” You accept.

“I have servants. Little nymph. I don’t require any more servants. I don’t need whores or courtesans. What I do require, however, is a wife. One who will give me strong heirs.” He smiles. Clutching your hip in a strong, thick fingered hand.

Your throat constricts. Tears squeeze. As if he’s fisted a hand around your throat and squeezed and choked until you gave. Melted into his hands pliant.

Geta has you exactly where he wanted you. As he planned.

“I need your word you’ll spare him if I agree.” You counter. Eyes hard as diamond tips. Still watery and half logged in tears.

“My word is bond. He will leave this city unharmed.” He assures. Displeased at your doubt.

Clever little nymph, too. To bargain with a god.

Asking an Emperor like him to pledge his fealty. Were you any other commoner he’d have your tongue cut out for that insolence.

Then again, cornered creatures will snap and bite and claw for survival. They will do anything.

“Then I agree.” You cry. “I accept.”

His smirk grows. Wolfish. Unsticking a coil of hair from the blood on your cheek. And he’s close. Too close for your comfort.

“You will be my Empress.” He decides.

“My wife and my property. I will own you in every manner there is. You will give me healthy sons that will dethrone my brother.”

Those words make you shrivel inside.

What have you just agreed to. You may have delayed your fathers demise. But it appears you’ve just turned the sword aimed his way to your belly. Chalked a target on your own back instead- an eye for an eye-

He turns, keeping you in his hold, he lowers his hand.

“Exile that snake out of Rome. This instant-“ He orders sharply. “Take him to the city walls and tell him never to return or I will have his head on a platter for me and my wife.”

You watch with thinly veiled relief as the guards come in to cut his bonds and drag him by the collar.

You want to run to him. You want to embrace him and tell him to return to mother with kind words and love. He is dragged away out of sight.

Bleeding and battered. But safe.

You lock eyes. Same colour as yours, shaded ocean, surrounded by bloated skin and blood sheeting his face. Cut with paths of tears rolling down, before he is gruffly marched away. Dazed, bound, and bleeding. He is choking on his sobs too.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye. Nothing. No familial words. No kindness.

He was torn from you. Now your every whim is stolen away. Dictated by this man. This cruel stranger. One who would bed you and keep you cowed like a broodmare.

You stood there. Watching down on the scuffled marks in the dirt where he’d once been. Dust clouding. Now empty. It seemed like an illusion. Had it all just passed like air. Like a warm sea breeze. Your life altered in one brief moment of mercy and begging.

Geta turns to his General. “You are dismissed. Leave. Go win my wars.” He sneers curtly.

Acacius took his leave with a frown and a bow. Look directed to you as he did. “Emperor. Empress.”

The Emperor snapped his fingers. And within seconds, servants scurried silently from other rooms. A handful of maidens came. Long hair unbound. Robes of orange and blue. He snapped his orders at them. They folded their hands in front of themselves. Heads low as they obeyed.

“Escort my new bride to her chambers. Have her bathed and made presentable. Put her in something decent. We will marry at dusk.” He informs. Glancing you up and down with a leer.

“Then she will grace my bed. Doing her duty like a proper wife.”

He strides over to you where you stand on the balcony, the marble thing holding you up. All strength sapped. Your knees and arms and bones were water. Not marrow.

It was always foam whipped off the waves that made you up. And now you sagged with it. Plaint and drowning. A sad drowned maiden in her brook. A doomed saint of the sea.

“Leave her hair unbound. I like it down.” He orders. Wrenching his hand to the back of your neck. You wither under his touch. He senses this.

“Be grateful. I spared your filthy treasonous father. But I can still make your existence an unpleasant one if I choose.” He warns.

He leans close to claim your mouth in a kiss so sudden and brazen it makes you weak.

His lips are pillow soft and anything but delicate. His tongue seeks your mouth, licks the blood off the healing cut. Moans sordidly when he does. He kisses like a starving hound.

A trail of spit connects your mouths when he pulls away. He smears it to your chin with a finger. Rubs his essence into your skin to stay forever stained.

“I eagerly await to taste more of you later. Empress. Don’t disappoint me. It’s not a wrath you want to risk.”

“Yes, Emperor.” You sigh.

He leaves you so quick, you almost keel over. The servants wait patiently to escort you out in his absence.

In the faraway sky, over the capital, new clouds sag and bloat. Darkly stalking across the once clear blue. The sky turns to grey and churning clouds. It’s too bad you couldn’t see the sea. You had a feeling there would thrashing, heaving storms and waves double the size of these damned palace walls.

Thunder crashes in the distant gathering dark. The ocean wanted you back. Neptune’s rage for the loss of you. You picture home. Humble white walls. The wind so fierce it ripped petals clean off the climbing vines of jasmine. The lemon trees swaying and rocked violently. News of treason and abduction reaching your sisters’ horrified ears. Your mothers cries in situ with the storm.

You watch at the sky until rain pelts the marble walls like lashes. Rain dots your skin. Cold stroking your hair and shoulders. Marring dark blue arrows down your ruined dress. Maybe you’re grieving-

A servant girl has to hook a hand on your shoulder and kindly try to urge you inside. Your tears entwined with the howling rain. It feels like that’s all that’s left of you.

~

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people- thank you--

@ceriseheaven @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @roosterisdaddy36 @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @gvtosbith @munsonswhoresposts2 @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-titties @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @usedtobecooler @peachesandfiends @littlelioncub43 @heyndrix @babybluebex @blueywrites @joejoequinnquinn @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @sharp-and-swift @chaptersleftunwritten

[xyywrites]

hi! i need help with writing descriptions, no matter they always feel very boring and repetitive, especially if it’s a one character scene, when i try to describe emotions and such — it just all feels very tell no show?

Hey anon!

So I'll divide your question into 2 parts :

a) the general description and b) describing emotions

GENERAL DESCRIPTIONS:

1. Describe With Purpose, Not Just for Filler:

Every description should do something—set the mood, reveal character, or add tension. Ask yourself:

Does this description tell us something about the character?

Does it affect the scene's mood?

Would the scene feel different without it?

Example: Instead of listing details about a room, show how a character interacts with it.

The room was small, with a wooden desk, a single chair, and a bookshelf in the corner. (Factual but lifeless.)

The room barely fit the essentials. The bookshelf leaned slightly to one side, stuffed past its limit, and the desk was clean—too clean, like someone had wiped it down one too many times. (Gives a sense of personality.)

note: this is not to say that simple doesn't work. Simple does work too. In fact in descriptions I prefer not to overload the reader with too much info. Sometimes tell not show is exactly what you want.

2. Use Comparisons, But Make Them Interesting

Instead of just saying something is big, small, cold, warm—compare it to something vivid. But avoid clichés like "as cold as ice" or "as dark as night."

Example:

(The house was huge.)

The house loomed over the street like it had been dropped there by mistake, too grand for the tiny patch of land it stood on.

3. Vary Sentence Structure & Rhythm

If every description is the same length, it starts feeling robotic. Mix short and long sentences to create flow.

Example:

The sky was dark. The streetlights flickered. The pavement was wet from the rain. (Too stiff, repetitive.)

The sky hung heavy, a sheet of unbroken black. The streetlights flickered—weak, sputtering ghosts against the dark. Rain pooled in the cracks of the pavement, reflecting the city in distorted, shattered pieces. (More dynamic and immersive.)

4. Make Mundane Actions More Engaging

Common actions—walking, drinking, sitting—can feel repetitive. Instead of always describing how someone moves, describe what their movement says about them.

Example: (She sat down on the chair and drank her coffee.)

The coffee was bitter, but she didn’t add sugar. She was too tired to care, or maybe just used to the taste of things that didn’t quite go down easy.

5. Use the Five Senses

Relying only on sight makes descriptions feel flat. Bring in sound, touch, smell, and taste to create depth.

Example: (The market was busy and full of stalls.)

The market was a riot of noise—fishmongers shouting deals, the metallic clang of knives against chopping boards. The air smelled of salt, spices, and the sharp tang of citrus from a freshly cut lemon.

6. Avoid “List” Descriptions

Instead of dumping all details in one go, weave them into the action.

Example:

The car was old. The paint was peeling. The tires were worn out. The seats were cracked. (Feels like a checklist.)

She ran a hand over the car’s hood. The paint peeled away in thin, brittle flakes, catching on her fingertips. One of the tires sagged, low on air. Inside, the leather seats were cracked, their stuffing exposed like old battle wounds. (More immersive.)

7. Change the ‘Camera Angle’

If descriptions feel stale, shift perspective. Zoom in on small details or pull back for a bigger picture.

Example: (The sky was blue and the trees were tall.)

(Zoom in) The sky stretched unbroken, a shade of blue so deep it looked painted on. A single cloud drifted by, lazy and indifferent.

(Zoom out) The valley lay sprawled below, a patchwork of green and gold, rivers carving silver veins through the earth.

DESCRIBING EMOTIONS:

1. Ditch the Label, Focus on the Reaction

Instead of saying "She was nervous," think about how that nervousness manifests. Does she tap her fingers against the table? Does she try to swallow, only to realize her throat is dry? Does she force a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes?

(She was scared.)

Her grip tightened around the mug, the warmth failing to chase away the cold in her hands.

The doorknob rattled. She flinched so hard her knee slammed into the desk, sending a sharp jolt up her thigh.

2. Use the Environment as a Mirror

Solo scenes can feel isolating if it’s just a character thinking in a void. Use the surroundings to echo their mood. If they’re anxious, maybe the room feels too still, the clock ticking just a little too loud. If they’re sad, maybe the sky outside is stubbornly blue and bright, like the world refuses to match their mood.

Example: The cold wind pushed against her back, and for a second, it felt like someone was there. But when she turned, it was just the empty street behind her.

3. Sensory Details Are Your Best Friend

People experience emotions with their whole body. What does fear taste like? What does joy feel like against the skin? Even a simple emotion like anger can be described in different ways—burning hot like a wildfire, or cold and simmering like a blade pressed to the throat.

Example:

Her jaw ached from clenching so hard. The words pressed against her teeth, sharp and bitter, demanding to be let out.

His vision blurred at the edges, not from tears, but from the heat rising in his skull. He could hear his own pulse, a steady drumbeat against his eardrums.

4. Using body language:

Example:

He smiled, but it was tight—too tight. Like if he let go, he might crack right down the middle.

5. Break the Inner Monologue Habit

If your descriptions feel like a constant stream of thoughts (I feel sad, I feel angry, I feel lonely), try breaking it up with actions.

Example:

She stared at the email, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then she backspaced everything she had typed, closed the tab, and shut the laptop. She’d try again later. Maybe.

His fingers found the bracelet at his wrist, the one she had given him years ago. He traced the worn-out engravings with his thumb, the metal warm against his skin.

She set two plates on the table before remembering. Staring at the extra one, she let out a breath and put it back in the cabinet. Old habits.

At the end of the day, writing descriptions is like learning to see the world through your character’s eyes. The more you practice, the more natural it’ll feel.

Hope this helps! 💛

[thelittlestladylikesthis]

The Pink Rose, part 1

*GIF creator unknown

Part One- July 4th, 74 ADD Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x reader

Word Count: 2,462

Warnings: 18+, fluff and smut, nightmares, witnessed death, implication of death, alcoholism, unprotected sex, sex after drinking, age gap, heterosexual relationship

**** Almost all characters and parts of the storyline are not my original creation and are credited to Suzanne Collins. And please be nice… I’ve never written fanfic or spicy things before- we’re starting vanilla. I will mark where the 18+ part starts and ends.

The cold night air smelled like fire and salt. The arena for the 61st Hunger Games was set up like a quarry next to the sea. [Y/n] was the 15-year-old tribute from District 12. Taking advantage of the low light and tall grass, the only other tributes were in her line of sight and fighting to the death. Spruce Silentsong - District 7 - and Millie Forge - District 2, were engaged in battle and had no idea [Y/n] was watching. Spruce was armed with two hand axes, which served her well-being from the lumber district. Millie had a sword in one hand and a mace in the other. The sword had once been in [Y/n]’s possession, but when Millie and the other careers descended on the District 9, 11, and 12 alliance, [Y/n] was the only one who made it out; without her weapon.

The gurgle of someone choking on blood sounded, followed by the thud of a falling body. [Y/n] thought Spruce must have hesitated. She’d scored high in the assessment, but Millie thirsted for blood. The gong sounded, marking the death of another tribute. 22 down, 1 to go. [Y/n] was still about 12 yards from Millie, but she knew she needed to act while Millie caught her second wind. She looked down to double-check how many throwing knives she had. [Y/n] looked away for half a second and her face rose to lock eyes with a piercing blue set, inches from her face. [Y/n] screamed.

She thrashed for a moment before realizing she was in her bed. She’d left the arena 13 years ago, but the nightmares stuck around. [Y/n] breathed heavily as she sat up and wiped the cold sweat from her forehead. Feeling the sheets next to her, she noticed they were cold and suddenly became aware of the early morning light streaming through the cracks in the curtains, highlighting the dust in the air.

Making her way downstairs, the familiar smell of hard liquor hit her nose. It’s too early for this- she thought as she scanned the room for her neighbor. Haymitch Abernathy was the only other living District 12 Victor. He’d won 11 years before her, and the last Victor from 12 was decades before him- it was just them to understand each other in their whole district. It was just them in Victor’s Village. Haymitch and [Y/n] had both lost their families due to their young defiance of President Snow and the Capitol. It wasn’t uncommon for one of them to stay at the other’s house in the month leading up to the Reaping. The closer the games got, the more frequent their demons seemed to visit. It was easier to help if they were under the same roof. In the last 2 years, they had taken to sleeping next to each other for comfort. Despite Haymitch’s frequent drunken stupor, they had developed a friendship built on sarcasm, life experience, and a unique outlook on the world that only a Hunger Games Victor could have. About 6 years of friendship later, the relationship turned platonic. This would seem odd to someone outside the relationship, but it was no bother to them. In his moments of being nearly sober, Haymitch was quite charming and a kind man with a sense of humor.

In the last two years, [Y/n] noticed that of all the people she interacted with in District 12, Haymitch was the one who could make her feel happy. He irritated the hell out of her sometimes, but she couldn’t deny that she had fallen for him. She didn’t expect him to return the feelings; people might not like the age gap and think her former mentor had taken advantage of her. Haymitch might be a good friend, but he may also be disgusted at the thought of any romance with someone he’d known since she was a teenager.

She stopped in the living room and found Haymitch asleep in the armchair with a bottle in one hand and what looked to be his shirt in the other. [Y/n] knew better than to get too close when waking up someone who’d been drinking. She stood a few feet away and threw a small couch cushion at him. Haymitch jumped and yelled at the sudden contact. “Dammit [Y/n]- what the hell are you doing?” he shouted after realizing where he was.

“Demons paid me a visit- do you have enough to share?” she nodded to the bottle that was still in Haymitch’s hand.

“Oh,” he faltered, “Help yourself, sweetheart,” She took a long swig before Haymitch reacted, “That bad, huh?”

“Don’t act like we don’t have the same dreams,” she pointed before taking another gulp.

The liquid had a comforting warmth as it ran down her throat but it still burned and created the feeling of stinging in her nostrils. The bittersweet feeling of downing alcohol was enough to take her mind off the Hunger Games. The more she drank, the more she understood why Haymitch kept himself in this state.

After almost an hour, [Y/n] could feel the heat in her cheeks and the chaotic feelings from earlier were almost gone. The dullness of her senses and her subdued anxiety were a treat. She looked over and noticed Haymitch was starting to nod off.

“Hey! Don’t leave me alone,” She said loud enough to bring Haymitch back.

Haymitch sighed, “What do you need sweetheart? You know I’m not the best company after drinking,”

Neither am I, she thought, “Hold me?” she suggested.

Haymitch stared at her before nodding his head and waving her over. [Y/n] climbed into his lap- he was larger than she was; this allowed him to envelope her in his arms with ease. She nuzzled her face into his chest. She could feel the old scars across his abdomen and tried not to think about when he got them. She was almost 5 during his games, but she remembered the vivid sight. Haymitch could feel [Y/n]’s slow, quiet tears run down his chest and he gave her a slight squeeze. Within half an hour, the inebriated duo was asleep.

Haymitch woke up, still mildly intoxicated, but much closer to sobriety than he was normally comfortable with. It was the day of the Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games. He heard the small woman in his lap begin to stir. She looked up at him with her deep [y/e/c] eyes and smiled. This girl- no- this woman was the closest thing he had to a family. He was the town drunk. He had business associates and people who tolerated him. Haymitch was a grown man, he never looked twice at the tributes or considered them family, much less friends. He’d hugged [Y/n] before, but this was different. For the first time in 24 years, Haymitch thought, What if she loved me?

He shook the thought from his head and felt disgusted with himself- she was so much younger than him and he didn’t want to ruin what they had spent the last 13 years building. When they met, he was already 27 and she was 15. The thought that they could be happy together would have been inappropriate then and it should be now. Right? Haymitch thought to himself that just because she was 28 and old enough to make her own decisions, that did not make a shift to intimacy okay. [Y/n] continued to smile at him; it had been a long time since anyone was happy to see him. He knew he irritated [Y/n], but she was never genuinely angry with him and still acknowledged him with kindness. They had developed some kind of relationship that was more than friends, but he couldn’t quite figure it out.

“Did you sleep alright this time, sweetheart?” he asked.

[Y/n] gave a soft chuckle, “I did- and it seems you did too,”

“What’s so funny?”

[Y/n] gave a little wiggle of her hips to emphasize that Haymitch had an erection and it was pressed right against her rear.

He gave a startled little jump and had a look of horror on his face, “I’m sorry-”

[Y/n] stopped him from getting up, “It’s okay, I don’t mind” She looked up at him through her eyelashes.

Haymitch raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side “Are you still drunk?”

[Y/n] laughed and quickly swung one leg over him so she was straddling him and he was situated right in front of her. He was so erect that he pressed against her stomach.

“No,” she leaned in and tickled his ear with a whisper, “But I’m quite wet,”

He gulped and tried to control his breathing. She was trying to… seduce him? But he’d been her mentor. But she was suggesting it. But he’d known her since she was 15. But she started this exchange. Conflicting thoughts raced through his mind. [y/n] saw the look on his face that was a mixture of shock and confusion- not someone who was willing to continue.

She turned her face away from him, “I’m sorry- I get it if I overstepped the boundary… I didn’t even ask,” she moved to get off him, but Haymitch grabbed her waist and told her to wait.

“[Y/n]- sweetheart- you’re beautiful and I’m not calming down,” he nodded down towards his erection, “But I’m not a good person. You deserve someone better- someone who won’t make you look bad in public. Not some drunk who takes advantage of a younger woman,”

[Y/n] didn’t know he felt this way. She grabbed his chin and demanded he look into her eyes.

“Haymitch Abernathy- I don’t deserve anything less than the man who is my greatest source of comfort, my biggest ally, my closest friend, and the person who currently has his cock in my lap,”

Haymitch was startled at her direct statement- he didn’t know she felt that way. He cupped her face with one hand and slightly tightened his grip on her waist. [Y/n] was more developed than most women in District 12. Haymitch couldn’t deny that he’d noticed her defined hourglass figure before, but who hadn’t?

“Kiss me” [Y/n] demanded quietly.

Haymitch nodded slowly, hesitated, and pressed his lips to hers. They started slow, and then [Y/n] traced his lips with her tongue. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gradually became less gentle in how she kissed him. She felt herself getting more excited and began to move her hips back and forth. Haymitch let out a deep sigh at the feeling of her against him. He ran his rough hands up her torso and his thumbs over her hard nipples. Her soft breasts filled his hands perfectly and felt so good as he cupped them. [Y/n] pulled her face away and swiftly removed her nightshirt. She hadn’t worn pants to bed so she now sat on top of him in her panties. She pulled his face back to hers in the neediest way she could muster.

“Haymitch, I need you,”

“You have me,”

“I need you inside me,” she clarified.

Haymitch’s eyes widened as he paused, but he wasted no time lifting her off his lap to rip off his pants. [Y/n] used this moment to remove her underwear as she noticed he didn’t have any either. They stood there naked for less than a second before Haymitch guided her a few feet over to the sofa. She lay down and Haymitch crawled on top of her. He reached between her legs and ran his thumb in soft slow circles as he made eye contact and used his other hand to line up his aching length with her entrance.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked hesitantly

[Y/n] nodded.

“You have to say it,” he said seriously.

“Yes Haymitch, I want you- are you comfortable with this?” she asked.

“Yes,” he didn’t even hesitate; he hoped he wasn’t coming off as desperate- but that look she gave him was enough encouragement. Haymitch’s eyes turned dark as he slowly slipped into her. [Y/n] gasped as he pushed the rest of his length inside her soaking wet entrance. Haymitch was a little longer than average, but his girth filled her up as he thrust into her. He slowly picked up his pace- [Y/n] leaned her head back and moaned. Her plump lips made the perfect “O” shape before she said his name.

To see the way she reacted to his touch and hear how she moaned his name, Haymitch didn’t want this to stop- but he could feel the blood flowing and the heightened emotions. He didn’t want to be the first one to finish. He started to slow down and [Y/n] gave him a look of confusion. He cupped her cheek, removed himself from her body, and slid down making his face even with hips. [Y/n] looked down at Haymitch and smiled mischievously, biting her lip. Haymitch hooked his arms under her thighs so her knees were over his shoulders. He smiled up at her and then plunged his tongue into her folds. [Y/n] felt the jolt of electricity from the contact with her clit. Her hips bucked closer to his face and her head fell back.

“Oh my days, Haymitch,” she whined.

“How do you want it sweetheart?” he said with his mouth still against her.

[Y/n] smirked, turned around, and said, “Just fuck me, Haymitch,”

He quickly stood up and bent her over. She was so wet that it was much easier to dive his whole length inside her. Making her moan his name more, Haymitch gave it his all with quick hard thrusts. In the back of his mind, he prayed that this felt as good for her as it did for him.

Feeling her whole body tense up, [Y/n] groaned through gritted teeth, “Fuck, I’m cumming!”

Haymitch was almost there too, “Yes, beautiful, cum on this cock,”

Suddenly the door flew open, “Haymitch you better not - AHH!!” Effie Trinket covered her eyes and ran out of the room with an impressive speed for someone wearing heels that high.

Haymitch and [Y/n] froze how they were. Still inside her, Haymitch said, “Well that’s an experience I never thought I’d have,”

[Y/n] looked over her shoulder and asked, “What? Fucking me or getting caught doing it?”

Haymitch sighed, “Cumming at the moment I got caught by her,”

They both laughed as Haymitch stood up and walked over to the kitchen to get a towel. They needed to clean up and clear the air with Effie.

Masterlist

[diamonddaze01]

STORM'S EDGE

⚡︎ PAIRING: httyd! jeonghan x fem! reader | ⚡︎ WC: 1.7K ⚡︎ A/N: check out the rest of ASH AND AETHER if you want more httyd! jeonghan

It was supposed to be a normal patrol flight.

A scout had spotted something unusual on the horizon—a flicker of movement beyond the eastern cliffs, there one moment and gone the next. It could’ve been anything: a stray ship, a migrating sea beast, just a trick of the light. But Jeonghan, ever the proactive chief, wasn’t one to let things slide.

“We’ll check it out,” he’d said, already mounting Luma before you even had a chance to argue. “You’re coming with me.”

You hadn’t even finished tying your boots before he was tugging you onto Nox’s saddle. Not that you minded. You’d always been one step behind Jeonghan, a presence at his side whether in battle, at meetings, or on these spontaneous flights. You were his second-in-command first, his girlfriend second.

He made it hard to separate the two.

The sky stretched wide and endless above you, the late afternoon sun washing everything in golden hues. Below, the sea rippled in waves of molten silver, the wind carrying the scent of salt and damp earth from the cliffs. It was peaceful, for once.

“You know,” you called over the wind, tilting your head toward him, “for someone who preaches strategy, you’re really impulsive.”

Jeonghan smirked, adjusting his grip on Luma’s reins. “I call it efficient.”

“I call it reckless.”

“Reckless was when you set the training fields on fire last month.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging your dragon closer to his. “That was an accident.”

“You let Jun pour a barrel of oil over the targets and then thought it was a good idea to test fire arrows.”

“Again—an accident.”

Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head. “Chief instincts tell me otherwise.”

“Chief instincts? You mean that little voice in your head that tells you you’re always right?”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

You scoffed, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. These flights had always been your favorite moments—where it was just the two of you, the sky, and the dragons, no weight of responsibility pressing down. For a little while, it was easy to pretend that things were simple.

And then the storm rolled in.

The first gust of wind nearly knocked the air from your lungs. It came out of nowhere, swallowing the sky in an instant. One moment, there had been blue stretching far and wide, the sea below calm and endless. The next, the horizon was gone, smothered in thick clouds that curled like ink spills across the heavens.

Wind howled, lashing against you like a beast with untamed claws, and rain pelted down in sheets, drenching your furs in an instant. Your grip on the saddle tightened as Nox struggled against the storm’s fury, wings beating frantically to keep you aloft.

Jeonghan’s posture shifted immediately. His easy confidence snapped into something sharper, tenser. “We need to land—now.”

You gritted your teeth, Nox’s wings straining against the storm’s force. “We’re too close to turn back now!”

“You think we can keep flying in this?” His voice was sharp, but not panicked. Jeonghan never panicked. He just pushed forward, made decisions, expected you to follow.

You locked eyes with him through the downpour, the rain lashing against your skin like tiny knives. He wanted to play it safe. For once.

You didn’t.

“I can see a clearing ahead,” you called over the wind, pointing past the jagged cliffs. It wasn’t much—just a sliver of rocky terrain cutting through the fog—but it was enough. If you could make it past the worst of the storm, you wouldn’t have to land.

Jeonghan’s expression hardened. “That’s too far. We won’t make it.”

You shot him a grin, reckless and wild. “You underestimate me, Chief.”

Then, before he could stop you, you urged Nox forward—straight into the thick of the storm.

The wind screamed, nearly wrenching you sideways. Nox faltered for half a beat, wings catching an unpredictable current, before correcting himself. Every muscle in your body tensed as you fought against the storm’s wrath, fingers locked onto the saddle’s grip, breath coming in sharp bursts. Rain blurred your vision, the world reduced to a whirlwind of gray and black.

Then, suddenly, he was there, pulling up alongside you, his eyes blazing with something furious.

“Dammit—” He pulled up alongside you, his movements tighter, more controlled. His frustration burned through the storm’s cold, visible even through the sheets of rain. He was keeping pace, but barely. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“Not if we move fast!” You yelled back. “We can still—” 

You didn’t have time to finish the sentence before the sky cracked open. A violent gust of wind roared through the canyon, shoving against both your dragons with the force of a tidal wave. Your stomach lurched as you felt Nox’s balance slip.

No. No, no, no—

Nox let out a sharp cry, wings folding in slightly to regain control, but it was too late. The wind had already sent you plummeting.

“Damn it—” Jeonghan veered toward you, Luma’s wings cutting through the rain as he reached for you—too far, too fast—

Nox fought against gravity, twisting, wings snapping open at the last second. The impact hit like a hammer as you broke through the lower clouds, narrowly missing the rocky cliffs below. You gasped, heart hammering against your ribs. Your dragon righted himself, breathing hard, sides heaving.

Jeonghan was already pulling ahead, motioning frantically toward a cave nestled at the cliffside. No more time for reckless flights.

This time, you didn’t argue.

You landed hard, sliding off your dragon before your legs could properly catch you. Your knees nearly buckled, but you caught yourself, breath still coming too fast. Your dragon shook out her wings, letting out a low, exhausted huff.

You barely had time to process before Jeonghan was in front of you, shoving his soaked hood back, fury carved into every inch of him.

“What the hell was that?”

You yanked off your gloves and threw them to the ground, not even bothering to shake out your dripping sleeves. “You tell me! You’re the one who wanted to come out here in the first place!”

“I wasn’t the one who flew straight into the worst part of the storm!” He took a step closer, close enough that you could see the rain trailing down his face, sticking to his lashes. “Do you have any idea how easily that could’ve gone wrong?”

“It didn’t,” you shot back, voice sharp. “Because I knew what I was doing.”

He let out a laugh, short and humorless. “Really? Because from where I was flying, it looked a hell of a lot like you were falling.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “You’re acting like I haven’t been flying my whole life, Jeonghan.”

“You nearly crashed—”

“You wanted to land, Jeonghan! If we’d done that, we would’ve been stranded out in the open—”

“We could’ve waited it out instead of nearly crashing into the sea!” His voice was sharp, raw with frustration. “You don’t think, you just act!”

Your jaw clenched. “You’re calling me reckless? This was your idea, remember? I didn’t drag us out here on some half-baked whim—you did.”

Jeonghan ran a hand through his soaked hair, shaking his head. “This isn’t about the patrol anymore.”

Something in your chest tightened. “Then what is this about?”

He exhaled sharply, like he wasn’t sure if he should say it. “You never listen.” His voice wasn’t loud this time. Just tired. “Every time I try to keep you safe, you fight me. Every. Single. Time.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry—did I ruin your perfect plan? Maybe I should’ve just sat back and let you make all the decisions like you always do.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Because that’s what this is about, isn’t it?” You stepped closer, voice cutting through the space between you. “It’s not about keeping me safe, it’s about control. You want me to follow orders, like everyone else does. Why? Because you’re the chief?”

Jeonghan stared at you, rain trailing down his cheekbones. His fists clenched at his sides. “Because it’s my job to keep you safe.”

The words landed between you like a drawn sword.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “I’m not some helpless villager, Jeonghan. I’m your second-in-command. Or did you forget that?”

His jaw tensed, lips pressing into a thin line. “I didn’t forget.”

“Then stop acting like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Silence thickened around you, the storm’s echoes distant now, muffled by the cave walls. The only sound between you was your heavy breathing, the lingering anger still crackling in the space where your argument had been.

Jeonghan stared at you, something unspoken thrumming behind his eyes. His fists clenched at his sides, chest still rising and falling too fast, too uneven.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” His voice was lower now, rougher, each word carved out of something raw. “I—”

Then he moved.

A sharp inhale was all you managed before his hands were on you, fingers curling into the damp fabric at your waist, pulling you forward with a force that left no room for hesitation. His lips crashed against yours, urgent, desperate, like he was trying to prove something neither of you could ever put into words.

You gasped against him, but your hands found him just as fiercely, gripping onto his tunic like it was the only thing keeping you tethered. His body was warm, feverish, despite the cold seeping into your bones. The kiss was messy—rain-slicked skin, clashing breath, the lingering taste of salt from the storm—but you drank it in like a woman starved.

Jeonghan broke away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath hot, unsteady. His hands still held you like he didn’t trust himself to let go.

“I can’t—” His voice was hoarse. “I can’t watch you risk yourself like that.”

Your fingers curled against the back of his neck, grounding him. “And I can’t watch you do it either.”

He let out something between a sigh and a laugh, shaking his head slightly before pressing another, softer kiss to your lips. Slower, this time.

No more words. Just the quiet hum of breath shared, the way his touch lingered even as the storm raged on outside.

[soluversworld]

i can't take back my vote can i have the angst please many thank

ᴅᴇᴀʀ ꜱᴇᴀ ꜱᴀʟᴛ - ᴋᴏɪ! ᴍᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴅᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ x ɢ.ɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

14 DAYS WITH YOU is a 18+ visual novel Minors don’t interact!-

Words: long

Genre: Angst

If you find mistakes I'm sorry I did not proof read

(Reader is G.N)

Summary : You were a sacrifice to the ocean, that consumed your friend then why is the Koi God's features and movements represent him?

Trigger warnings

Death & Dying:

Grief & Loss:

Body Horror (Implied)

Unreliable Reality:

Existential Angst:

Poisoning:

Religious Themes (Sacrifice):

Violence:

Hopelessness & Despair

Most of the Koi fish! Lore was insipred from Momo's lore? It's there in discord I don't know if I'm good with angst so hehe...I hate this tho

A fairy tale’s supposed to end with something golden, something soft. Right?

Maybe.

…Oh my lord, Koi God.

Corland Bay is a town stitched together with salt and superstition. The sea takes, the sea gives back. Drop something screaming into the waves, and maybe—if it's feeling kind—it’ll spit out a miracle. Gills for lungs. Scales for skin. A promise that you'll keep breathing, long after you should’ve sunk.

You hate it. Have always hated it. But that's not something you say out loud. Violet chatters enough for the both of you, fills the silences you leave behind, swears she’s only doing it to keep you safe. Eleanor too, tucked behind her scripts, pressing the words into your hands so you won’t have to say them yourself.

But the village knows now. The weight of their eyes is a tide all its own. They ask why, but the answer’s got nothing to do with them. It never did.

You hate the Koi God. Always have. Always will. The village whispers it now, lets your name rot in their mouths like fish left too long in the sun. Blasphemy, they call it. Ungrateful. Foolish. But what do they know of grief? Of standing at the edge of a boat, wind cutting like knives, watching someone else drown in your place?

It was supposed to be you.

Not him.

But the sea doesn’t care for fairness. The village even less. They pried your hands from the wooden rails, from his wrist, from his shirt, from the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, and they let him go. You didn’t see him hit the water. Didn’t see him sink. Just the look in his eyes—blue, blue, blue—before he vanished into the maw of the waves.

He asked, once. Why the sea had to take. Why it couldn’t just be enough to live. You had no answer then. You have none now.

It’s nothing. You tell yourself that even now, with his name a ghost on your tongue. It’s nothing, nothing, nothing.

But you loved him.

Or maybe you didn’t. Maybe you couldn’t. Maybe love isn’t the right word, because it feels too soft, too breakable, too far from the raw thing gnawing at your ribs. But you liked him. You know that much. And now he’s gone, and you’re still here, and the only thing left to hate is the god that took him.

The only thing left was the wedding bands. Small, golden, imperfect in the way only a child’s hands could make them. He made them for you—back when you were just kids, back when the ocean was still a place to play, not a thing to fear.

You never wore yours. Not the way it was meant to be worn. Just looped it through a chain, let it rest against your chest, where no one could take it from you. Where it stayed, long after he was gone.

Gone. Because his father gave him up.

Because the village needed someone, and a child was easier to swallow than a guilty conscience. Because when the hands dragged him to the boat, when the chants began, when he cried for someone—anyone—to stop it, his father didn’t. Didn’t fight. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even flinch.

You still remember the way he looked at you. Not at the village. Not at the sky. Not at the water that was about to devour him. Just at you.

Like he was asking something.

Like he was waiting for an answer you never found in time.

And maybe that’s why it still hurts. Because you were supposed to be the one to go. Because he should have had a choice. Because you still feel the weight of his band against your skin, heavier than it should be.

Because his father didn’t feel anything.

And you feel everything.

The morning felt heavier than usual. Like the air itself had thickened, pressing against your skin, making it harder to breathe.

You had to get ready. Today was… one of those days.

The village had its ways—its rituals, its rules, its sacrifices. And today, like every season before, someone would be chosen. Someone would be taken. Someone would be swallowed by the sea, and the rest of them would call it a blessing.

You pulled on your clothing with stiff hands, the wedding band against your chest warm from your skin. Too warm. Like it still held something of him, like it still remembered.

A knock at the door.

Violet stood there, cradling a potted plant in her arms, its leaves swaying with the breeze. She tilted her head. “Y/N…?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. She already knew.

“Today’s…” She trailed off, but you could hear the rest of the sentence in the space between her words.

Yeah.

You knew.

Your throat tightened as you swallowed. The whole village knew what today meant.

Violet shrugged, shifting the plant to one arm. “You should just stay inside,” she said, too casual, too light. “Call it a sick day. No one would blame you.”

You shook your head.

She sighed through her nose, giving you that same small, apologetic smile she always did. “Of course, Y/N.”

She didn’t push. She never did. Just glanced at you one last time before stepping off your porch. "Take care," she said, already walking away.

And then she was gone.

You were alone again. The silence pressed against your ribs.

Outside, the village was waiting.

Work was exhausting.

Today was one of those days—the kind where the air felt too thick, where everything reeked of seawater and incense, where magic scripts stacked high on your desk made your head pound. The village didn’t just throw someone into the waves and call it a day—no, it had to be done right. The words had to be written. The offerings had to be prepared. The ritual had to be perfect.

And you had to work through it.

You groaned under your breath, slamming your forehead against the desk, wishing—just for a second—that you could not care. That you could be like the rest of them, scribbling their prayers onto parchment with steady hands, believing the Koi God would keep them safe as long as they fed it enough bodies.

“Y/N…”

A soft voice. Gentle. A little nervous.

Eleanor.

You turned your head just enough to see her. She was right beside you, as always, a sunball of warmth wrapped in clumsy hands and hesitant smiles. She had ink on her fingers again—smudged across her palms, dotting her cheeks like freckles. She probably didn’t even realize it.

She fidgeted with her sleeves, eyes darting to the stacks of scripts. “It’s… a lot, huh?”

You groaned again. “Understatement of the year.”

She giggled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I—I could help! If you want…”

“You are helping.”

“Oh. Right. I just—” She tripped over her own words, biting her lip before trying again. “I just mean, um, I could take a little more. So you don’t have to do as much.”

You sighed, stretching your arms over your head. “You’re too nice, El.”

She turned pink. “I—I just—! It’s not—!”

You smirked. “Relax. You’re my favorite clumsy workmate.”

That only made her blush harder. She grumbled something under her breath, but you caught the tiniest smile tugging at her lips.

Yeah.

Eleanor was shy, fidgety, and a walking disaster when it came to handling anything fragile. But she was also your friend. Your workmate. Your gossip partner when the rituals were too much and you needed something—anything—else to think about.

suddenly, you heard a voice.

Its time?!

The village reeked of incense and salt. A hundred voices murmured their prayers in unison, a tide of empty words washing over the docks, begging the Koi God for another season of safety.

At the center of it all stood the village chief, old and bent but still carrying himself like his word was law. You hated him. Hated the way he grinned through yellowed teeth, the way he lifted his hands like he was something holy, the way he spoke of death as if it were a gift.

“This is a day of sacrifice and rejoicing,” he declared, voice carrying over the crowd. “One life given—one thousand lives guaranteed.”

A family stepped forward. A mother clutching her husband’s arm, sobbing into his shoulder. A father who looked away, jaw tight, unwilling to meet the eyes of the child standing between them.

A small thing. No older than seven. Wide, terrified eyes, choked-back sniffles, fingers curled into shaking fists.

Something in you snapped.

“That’s a child.”

The words were out before you could stop them, sharp and cutting, louder than the chief’s speech. The crowd turned. The chief turned. And when his eyes landed on you, they twisted in disgust.

“Oh,” he sneered. “It’s you.”

The crowd rustled with whispers. You knew what they were saying. Knew what they always said.

The God’s disrespecter.

The miracle that you were even still alive.

“Keep your mouth shut.” The chief’s voice was steel. A warning. A threat.

You felt the weight of the gold pendant against your chest, warm against your skin. You clenched your fists.

And for the first time in years, you didn’t swallow the anger. Didn’t choke it down and let the ritual pass.

You looked at the child.

And you refused.

“It’s wrong,” you said, voice shaking, raw. “Killing them—it’s wrong. That’s a child. They have a future.”

The chief laughed, low and mean, like he was humoring something pathetic. “Still crying over that one, are you?” His eyes gleamed, cruel and sharp. “If you cared so much, why didn’t you offer yourself back then? When he was pushed off the boat?”

The words hit like a fist to the ribs.

You swallowed hard. The crowd was watching. Waiting. Like a pack of hungry things, eager to see you snap, eager to see you break.

“The ones we offer,” the chief continued, voice thick with reverence, “are the reason our village thrives.”

You looked at them all—faces you had known since childhood, faces that had never once flinched at the sight of someone sinking into the sea, faces that would go home tonight and sleep soundly while a child drowned in the dark.

Something inside you twisted. Made you sick.

You wanted to kill him.

You wanted to wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze until he understood what it felt like to be powerless. To be small. To be chosen by someone else’s hands.

But you didn’t.

You pressed your fingers to the pendant at your throat, gold warm from your skin, and you breathed.

“Don’t do this,” you said.

The chief smiled, slow and vicious. “What’s wrong? Would you rather take their place?”

You exhaled. Steadied yourself.

Then you met his gaze—steady, cold, certain.

“Yes.”

Silence.

“I’d rather be the one than that child,” you said, voice unwavering, fingers curled tight around the pendant. “I’m tired of this village. Tired of all of you. Except maybe…”

Your breath hitched.

Maybe some.

You heard Conrad’s voice and a few others...—sharp, calling your name—but it was already too late. The chief reached for you, fingers gnarled like old roots, but you swatted his hand away with a sharp tch and walked past him.

Laughter followed. Low, smug. Like they had already won.

"Today’s bad luck will bring us fortune," someone jeered.

"Let us pray to the Koi God," another intoned, voice thick with mockery. "That their death is peaceful and safe."

That they die believing.

The boat waited, rocking gently against the dock. The men stood ready. The priests trailed behind, draped in ceremonial robes, their eyes hollow with practiced reverence.

You stepped forward. Dressed in white. Your own funeral clothes.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

A part of you almost laughed.

Ahaha.

How sad.

The boat rocked, slow and steady, carving its path through the ink-dark water. The priests droned their prayers, low and rhythmic, a hollow chant that meant nothing. The air smelled of salt, of something old and watching.

You clutched the ring. Gold, small, warm from the press of your palm. The weight of it dragged you back—childhood, his hands, the promise that should’ve been yours to break.

It should’ve been you.

Not him.

The memory split open in your chest, raw and aching. The boy’s face, his black hair damp with sea spray, his blue eyes wide—scared. But smiling, just for you, like it was okay, like it didn’t hurt.

You almost cried. Almost let the tears slip down your face. But the sea churned, restless. The priests prayed. The Koi God loomed, unseen but there.

You swallowed it all down.

You hated this. Hated them. The god, the sea, these people who had never once cared.

You hated it all.

The plank stretched before you, slick with sea spray, creaking under your weight. The priests droned on, their voices weaving a tapestry of empty reverence, of worship born from fear.

One of them—face obscured by his hood—stepped forward, pressing a small cup into your hands. Hydrangea, moonflower, teardrop. The name meant nothing. The liquid shimmered inside, dark and still.

“Drink.”

You did. No hesitation, no question. Maybe you should have.

It slid down your throat like silk, like rot. Your limbs turned heavy. Your breath slowed. The world around you dulled—sounds stretched thin, the air too thick to breathe.

Your feet carried you forward. Slow. Unsteady.

The plank creaked again.

Your memories flickered, bursting behind your eyes like dying stars.

The boy. Standing where you stood. A step away from the edge, the sea roaring beneath him.

His face. His eyes. That look.

You blinked hard, the weight in your chest turning unbearable.

Ah…? Ah…?

You almost felt—

Sad.

The sea took you like it always meant to. Cold fingers wrapped around your lungs, kissed the back of your throat, whispered lullabies in the form of salt and suffocation. You sank, hair fanning, arms useless—until something moved.

A shadow. A shape. A tail, slashing through the dark like a blade through silk.

Then—hands. Not human. Not quite. Webbed, strong, dragging you upward as if you weighed nothing, as if you weren’t meant to die today.

Your lips broke the surface just long enough to suck in air—just long enough to see the boat above, to hear the shouts, to taste the panic before—

THWIP.

An arrow.

Your savior jerked, pulling you down so fast the water split around you. Your lungs screamed. Your throat burned. Not again. Not again. Not again.

The sea swallowed you whole, and for a moment, you thought—fine. Let it. Let it take what it was always owed. Let it carve out your lungs and replace them with water, let it bury you alongside the boy who should’ve never left—

Except he did leave. He left, and you stayed.

You stayed. And you hated the Koi God for it.

But this? The hands gripping yours? The pale, glowing eyes staring into you like they already knew all your sins, all your grief, all your ugly, rotting thoughts—

This was the Koi God.

Wasn’t it?

A laugh—soft, amused—bubbled through the water. And oh, weren’t you stupid, weren’t you pathetic, weren’t you just another fool in a long line of fools who thought they knew how the sea worked?

The sea—hungry, howling, a beast with no teeth but endless, grasping hands—took. It took like it had always meant to, like it had been waiting, like it had let them have their rituals, their prayers, their thousand blessings, only to remind them—

It was never theirs to command.

You gasped—sputtering, shaking—pulled half onto the boat, the wood slick with salt and sin. The wind carried screams, choked and desperate, of men who thought themselves gods but were only ever bones waiting to sink.

They went down.

Their mouths opened for breath, but the sea poured in instead. Their hands reached for salvation, but only found the cold, merciless grasp of the deep.

And you?

You curled into yourself, small and shaking, a thing that should not have been spared, a thing that should have gone with them. The ring—warm from your skin, wet with salt and sweat—pressed against your palm, a whisper of gold in a world of dark water.

Your throat tightened. Your chest heaved. The air came in ragged, ugly sobs.

"Ahhhhhhh!!!"

It tore from you, raw, ripped-out, half-cry, half-curse.

The boat rocked—tilted—mocked you.

The waves lapped at its edges, gentle now, as if the sea had already finished its feast.

You cried.

You cried.

The sound clawed its way out of your throat, ugly, jagged, raw—like something that had been ripped from you. Your breath came in panicked gasps, too fast, too shallow, choking on itself, on salt, on fear.

The screams were gone. Gone.

Only the water spoke now.

It lapped at the boat, mocking. Whispered in your ears, soothing. It had taken them—taken them all—just like it had taken him.

Your fingers dug into the wood—splinters driving under your nails—not enough, not enough to ground you. Your body trembled, useless, shaking so hard your teeth chattered. The night was warm. The wind was still. And yet you shook, bones rattling, lungs heaving, because you could still hear them.

The splashing. The struggling. The wet, gurgling gasps as their lungs filled with seawater. Their hands clawing at nothing. The moment their screams stopped.

You pressed your hands to your ears, shaking, shaking, shaking.

It didn't help.

The boat was too empty. The silence was too loud. The dark water stretched in all directions, vast, endless, and somewhere beneath it—they were still there.

Sinking.

Watching.

Waiting.

The ring dug into your palm, cold, solid, real. You clutched it so hard it hurt, biting into your flesh, as if holding it tighter would stop the way your body curled in on itself.

A hiccuping breath—too fast, too fast, too fast—you weren’t breathing right, weren’t thinking right, weren’t here anymore.

The waves rocked the boat, gentle now. Gentle.

Like hands lulling you to sleep.

The world was too bright.

Your eyelids peeled open like old paint, heavy, unwilling. The sky above you stretched vast and endless, blue as the ocean that should have swallowed you whole. It was too still. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt wrong.

You should be dead.

You weren't.

A hollow feeling curled in your stomach. Like something had gone wrong—like some unseen balance had tipped in your favor when it shouldn't have. The air felt too thick. Your breath sat heavy in your lungs.

You swallowed around the weight in your throat and dragged yourself upright, limbs sluggish, aching. The wood beneath you creaked as you stood, the boat rocking gently under your weight. The ocean stretched in all directions, gleaming in the morning light—so deceptively calm—like it hadn’t devoured an entire boat full of men the night before. Like it hadn’t taken them.

Like it hadn’t taken him.

Your hands curled into fists. You took a step toward the edge, knees unsteady, half-dizzy from exhaustion. You needed to see it. Needed to look. The water lapped lazily at the boat’s side, dark and endless and—

A ripple.

A shadow.

Then—eyes.

Pale. Ghostly. Blue as drowned lungs.

You froze.

The face that surfaced was eerily still, save for the dark strands of hair that clung to high cheekbones, waterlogged and dripping. A face carved from memory. A face shaped from nightmares.

A face twisted in anger.

Anguish.

The weight in your chest turned to ice.

You stared.

It stared back.

And for a moment—for one long, breathless second—you were a child again, standing at the edge of the boat, watching him sink..

The world spun in a blur of salt and storm.

You hit the water hard, the cold sinking into your bones like teeth, stealing the breath from your lungs before you could even gasp. The sea churned around you, dark and endless, clawing at your limbs with greedy hands. The emergency boat bobbed just within reach, but your arms felt weak—too weak. The weight of exhaustion dragged at your body, threatening to pull you under.

Then—hands.

Cold, smooth, unearthly.

They closed around your wrist, pulling, lifting—saving.

You thrashed on instinct, wrenching away with a strangled sound, kicking up a spray of seawater as you pushed yourself back. The storm raged above, but in the water, everything felt too still. The figure before you—half-hidden by the murk of the waves—watched in silence, their long, dark hair floating like ink in water. Red eyes burned through the gloom, glowing like dying embers, framed by fin-like ears that twitched at your rejection.

Ethereal. Alien. Unfamiliar.

And yet—not.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. You sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, your chest burning, your mind screaming at you to move, move, move—

And then they reached for you again.

Fingers wrapped firm around your wrist, gentle but unyielding, guiding you back to the emergency boat. You tried to resist, but your limbs were sluggish, the fight draining from your body with every second you spent struggling. The storm howled overhead. You gasped, choked on salt and air as you broke the surface again, your vision swaying, dark spots creeping into the edges.

The last thing you saw before collapsing onto the boat was their expression—soft. Sad.

Like they had been waiting for you.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling from exhaustion, from salt, from something far worse. The boat rocked beneath you, the storm's wrath quieting into an uneasy lull, as if the sea itself was waiting.

And then—movement.

A head breached the surface, slow and deliberate. Pale skin, dark hair slicked back by water, eyes red like dying coals. Fin-like ears twitched, droplets sliding down the golden chains draped over his shoulders, catching the dim light like shattered stars.

"Angel… are you okay?"

The voice—human? No. No, it couldn’t be. It was too smooth, too soft, slipping into your ears like the tide, whispering something familiar, something dangerous.

Your stomach twisted. You pushed yourself up on shaking arms, glaring down at the figure in the water with a face twisted in revulsion.

"The fuck are you?" The words came out hoarse, scraped raw from screaming, from swallowing too much salt, from choking on fear you refused to name.

He blinked at you, unphased. His gaze—deep, all-seeing—held only concern.

"Angel?"

Your breath hitched. A cold chill coiled around your ribs.

"Who's Angel?"

The name clung to you, sticky, like something dredged up from the deep, something long forgotten. It wasn’t yours. It couldn’t be yours.

His brows knitted together, like you had just wounded him.

"You are."

A pet name. An endearment. A claim.

Your fingers curled into your palm, nails digging into the flesh to ground yourself, to keep from slipping further into the madness of this moment.

"Don’t call me that."

The command was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

But he—it—only watched you, unblinking, unmoving. As if waiting.

The creature—the Koi God, the siren, the whatever-the-fuck-it-was—didn’t flinch at your words. But something in its expression flickered. A quiet sadness, subtle, like ripples spreading across still water.

It stayed there, half-submerged, red eyes never leaving you. The golden chains on its shoulders shimmered with each slow movement, and when it finally spoke, the voice was softer. Careful.

"Are you hurt?"

You scoffed. "Am I hurt?" The laugh that left you was bitter, nearly a snarl. "You fucking drowned me. Your stupid ocean tried to eat me alive. Your stupid people threw me in like a goddamn offering. And now you wanna ask if I’m hurt?"*

Its fingers twitched. Like it wanted to reach out.

You glared, daring it to try.

Instead, it lowered its gaze slightly, mouth pressing into something close to regret. Still gentle. Still kind. Like it thought kindness could fix this. Like it thought kindness could change the fact that you wanted nothing more than to wrap your hands around its throat and squeeze.

"Do you need anything?" it asked instead, voice as steady as the tide.

You clenched your jaw, bile rising in your throat. The audacity.

"Yeah." You sneered, leaning forward. "I need you to fuck off."*

Silence.

It didn’t react—not in anger, not in offense. Just looked at you. Through you. The sadness lingered in its expression, quiet and endless, but it didn’t turn away.

You hated it.

You hated those fucking eyes.

Hated that it wouldn’t leave.

Hated that you were still here.

You felt it before you saw it. A dull, seeping warmth pooling around your ankle, trickling down in sluggish, sticky trails. Your leg throbbed—probably got cut against the wreckage or a sharp edge of the boat. Whatever.

You ignored it at first. Didn’t matter. You’d deal with it.

But then it spoke.

"Please... your leg."

The voice was quiet, careful, like it already knew you’d bite if it came too close. You froze. Looked down.

Blood.

Dark red, spreading slow.

You hissed through your teeth, already tearing at the hem of your clothing, ripping a strip of fabric to wrap around the wound. Your hands were steady, but the Koi God—the thing, the siren, the freak—reached out before you could tie it.

"Let me help."

You recoiled on instinct.

"The fuck do you mean, ‘let me help?’”

It didn’t answer. Just waited. Held its hand out, palm up, as if asking for permission. As if you owed it anything.

You hesitated. Only for a second. Only because the wound was worse than you thought.

Slowly, reluctantly, you moved your leg forward.

The Koi God exhaled—relief?—before lifting a hand to its own skin. Its fingers traced over the smooth surface of its arm, right where the dark, koi-like scales merged into its starry patterns.

And then—

It pulled one off.

You flinched.

The scale shimmered between its fingertips, reflecting a color you couldn’t name. The Koi God pressed it gently to your wound, and warmth surged through you.

Not burning. Not painful. Just—healing.

The bleeding stopped. The sting faded. You felt the skin knitting back together.

Your breath hitched.

Your stomach twisted.

Your eyes snapped up to meet its own.

The Koi God stared back, eyes heavy with something unreadable.

And in that moment, the realization slammed into you.

This wasn’t just some fish.

This wasn’t just some siren.

This was the Koi God.

The very thing you hated.

The very thing that shouldn’t be touching you.

Yet here it was. Holding you together.

"Go away."

You muttered it between bites, shoving a spoonful of cake into your mouth without looking at the Koi God. The chocolate melted on your tongue—dense, sweet, a little stale but still good. You barely even liked sweets, but this? This was cake. A rare find in the middle of nowhere. Probably belonged to one of the priests. One of the bastards who drowned you.

You chewed slower.

Tastes better knowing that.

Another bite. Then another. You ate like you had something to prove.

Then—

"Is that… c-cake?"

The voice wobbled. Soft. Hopeful.

You turned, spoon halfway to your mouth, only to see the Koi God’s head breaking the surface again. Wide, pale eyes flickered between you and the food.

"Must be delicious…"

He was floating, bobbing slightly with the movement of the waves, but there was something awkward about it—like he wanted to ask something but couldn’t bring himself to. Kept dipping below the water, then rising again. His tail swished beneath him, sending little ripples out toward the boat.

You stared.

Your grip on the spoon tightened.

Something about it—about him—itched at the back of your mind. A memory. Distant. Small.

A tiny hand reaching out.

A piece of candy, bright red, pressed into a dirt-smudged palm.

A boy looking up at you, hesitating—before breaking into the widest goddamn smile you’d ever seen.

Your stomach twisted.

Before you could stop yourself, you grabbed a chunk of the cake—more than you meant to—and shoved it toward the Koi God.

His eyes went huge.

"Ah—w-wait, I—"

You hissed, turning away.

"Just take it before I change my mind."

He hesitated. Then, slowly, carefully, he took it from your hand.

Held it like it was something precious.

Took a bite.

Then another.

His expression lit up.

"Oh—" He covered his mouth, eyes practically glowing. "It's… really good!"

The way he said it—like it was the first time he’d ever eaten something sweet—made something crawl up your spine.

You scowled, shoving another bite into your mouth, pretending you didn’t just share food with the thing you were supposed to hate.

"When are you going to kill me?"

Your voice cut sharp through the silence, cold and flat, like you were asking about the goddamn weather.

The Koi God blinked. His chewing slowed. Then stopped.

"What?"

You glared. "Kill me. When?"

A beat. Then he swallowed the last bit of cake, tilting his head like you’d just asked him to solve the meaning of life.

"Why would I—?"

"Like you killed all those sacrifices." Your fingers dug into the edge of the boat. "Each year. One by one. You think I don’t know?"

The Koi God’s expression flickered, confusion melting into something deeper.

"Isn’t it the priests who drop the people into the water?" he asked, voice careful, measured, like he was picking his words piece by piece.

You scoffed. "What’s the fucking difference?"

"The difference is—" He hesitated, eyes flickering with something unreadable. "I never killed them."

Your blood went hot.

Bullshit.

"Oh, so they just drown for fun?" Your nails scraped against the wooden edge of the boat. "You think that makes it better? They die because of you, because of this stupid goddamn ritual—"

"Because of them," he corrected. "Not me."

Your breath hitched.

Your anger wanted to lash out, wanted to scream that he was lying, that none of this changed a damn thing.

But something—something—itched at the back of your skull.

You clenched your teeth.

"People still died because of you," you snapped.

The Koi God’s lips parted slightly. Not to argue. Not to fight.

Your fingers tightened around the ring. The metal was cold, almost biting against your skin, and the more you stared at it, the more the rage twisted inside you, hot and pulsing.

"His life was cut short." Your voice came out rough, barely above a whisper, but packed with every ounce of fury you could manage. "Because of you."

The Koi God didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t defend himself. Just looked at you—looked—like he was sinking into something deep and silent.

Then his eyes flickered.

"What’s around your neck?" he asked, voice soft.

You exhaled sharply. "I just told you. A ring. One of the victims who died."

His expression shifted, something sad creeping into those pale blue eyes.

"What...features does he have?" he asked, hesitant, as if the answer mattered more than anything.

You scowled, barely thinking before answering. "Black hair. Blue eyes."

Silence.

Then—

"Angel?"

Your whole body locked up.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a second, you swore the ocean itself stilled.

You snapped your head toward him. "Stop calling me that."

His gaze didn’t waver. His face was unreadable, but his lips parted slightly, like he was holding something back.

"Did you read my mind?" Your voice was sharp, accusing. "Is that it? You fucking with me?"

His hands clenched. He still looked so—so—sad. But then—

Then he giggled.

Soft. Delicate. A little broken.

"Ah, Angel... are you slightly dense?" he murmured.

Your chest tightened.

"It’s okay," he mumbled, half to himself. "It’s okay."

The Koi God looks at you like you are the moon, like you are a dream, like you are the answer to every question he never asked. It is sickening. It is cruel. It is fond.

And it aches.

It burns in the places where your anger lives, where your bones remember the weight of water and your lungs still scream with the memory of drowning. It burrows under your ribs, sharp and unbearable, because there is no reason—no reason—for him to look at you like that. Like you are his. Like he has found something lost.

Like he has missed you.

You want to spit in his face. You want to tear that softness from his eyes. You want to demand why—why, why, why—but your throat locks, because you already know he will answer in riddles and silence and that unbearable, aching gaze.

And gods, it is disgusting. It is unbearable. It is—

—making your eyes sting.

(And isn’t that the worst of it? That you cannot look at him without feeling something shake loose inside you? That his stupid, tender, infuriating eyes feel like a hand pressing against your chest, gentle and knowing and far too kind?)

Your nails dig into your palm. Your voice comes out raw, trembling on the edges of something ugly. "Stop looking at me like that."

But he just smiles, just tilts his head like the ocean is whispering to him, like your words mean nothing at all.

"Angel," he says again, like a promise, like a prayer.

And you hate him for it.

The words come out like knives, jagged and shaking, ripped from the deepest part of your chest.

"GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The air splits with your voice, raw and cracking, trembling with something too big to hold. You don’t know if it’s rage or grief or the sick, spiraling ache in your ribs—but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Because he’s looking at you. Looking at you like you’re something precious, like you’re worth something more than the salt in your lungs or the prayers that drowned you.

And that? That is unbearable. That is wrong.

"I’M DISGUSTED—" your breath shatters mid-scream, fists clenching so hard your nails bite deep— "DISGUSTED TO LOOK AT THE FACE OF YOU—OF YOU—"

The Koi God flinches. Just barely. A twitch, a ripple across the stillness of his face.

Then, quietly—softly, so soft it almost drowns in the waves—

"I’ll leave now."

The ocean shifts, the wind pulling at his hair, but he doesn’t look away. Not yet.

"If you want anything…" He hesitates, words caught like shipwrecks in his throat. "Please let me… know."

And then he goes.

Just like that. No fight, no resistance—just fading into the water like he was never there at all. Like he has always known his place. Like he has always expected this.

Like he always knew you would hate him.

And you—

You crumple. You break, shaking, gasping, collapsing in on yourself because you can’t—can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t stop.

And the name—oh, that name—

"REDACTED—"

It rips from your throat like a sob, like something torn straight from your soul.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

Your voice drowns in the waves. The wind. The space he left behind.

You curl in on yourself, clawing at the aching, empty hollows of your chest.

"I want to—"

Your breath shudders.

"I want to play again with you…"

And somewhere—deep, deep beneath the waves—

A boy with black hair and blue eyes stirs.

The words come out like knives, jagged and shaking, ripped from the deepest part of your chest.

"GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The air splits with your voice, raw and cracking, trembling with something too big to hold. You don’t know if it’s rage or grief or the sick, spiraling ache in your ribs—but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Because he’s looking at you. Looking at you like you’re something precious, like you’re worth something more than the salt in your lungs or the prayers that drowned you.

And that? That is unbearable. That is wrong.

"I’M DISGUSTED—" your breath shatters mid-scream, fists clenching so hard your nails bite deep— "DISGUSTED TO LOOK AT THE FACE OF YOU—OF YOU—"

The Koi God flinches. Just barely. A twitch, a ripple across the stillness of his face.

Then, quietly—softly, so soft it almost drowns in the waves—

"I’ll leave now."

The ocean shifts, the wind pulling at his hair, but he doesn’t look away. Not yet.

"If you want anything…" He hesitates, words caught like shipwrecks in his throat. "Please let me… know."

And then he goes.

Just like that. No fight, no resistance—just fading into the water like he was never there at all. Like he has always known his place. Like he has always expected this.

Like he always knew you would hate him.

And you—

You crumple. You break, shaking, gasping, collapsing in on yourself because you can’t—can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t stop.

And the name—oh, that name—

"REDACTED—"

It rips from your throat like a sob, like something torn straight from your soul.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

Your voice drowns in the waves. The wind. The space he left behind.

You curl in on yourself, clawing at the aching, empty hollows of your chest.

"I want to—"

Your breath shudders.

"I want to play again with you…"

And somewhere—deep, deep beneath the waves—

A boy with black hair and blue eyes stirs.

"I want to steal those strawberry puddings with you… I want to play… I want to sob—"

Your voice is unraveling, spilling out in choking, gasping breaths, curling in the empty space where he should be.

"AHHHHHH—WHY—"

Your nails dig into your skin, knuckles white, trembling.

"WHY DID YOU DIE?!"

The ocean doesn’t answer. The waves don’t care. They keep whispering against the boat, lapping against the wood like hungry mouths, like greedy hands—like the same hands that pulled him down.

You remember—oh, you remember—the way his fingers had curled around yours, desperate, slipping, slipping—

"Please—"

You shake your head, bite down on the memory until it bleeds, but it doesn’t stop. It never stops. The salt in your throat tastes like prayers, like the ones the priests chanted when they held you down, like the ones they spat as they dropped him in.

(And the Koi God—he had watched. Hadn’t he? Hadn’t he watched and let it happen?)

Your chest heaves, a sob clawing its way up, twisting, ugly, raw—because you don’t know.

You don’t know if the Koi God had let him drown.

You don’t know if the Koi God had even touched him.

But you know this. You know that your friend is gone, and you are here, and there is no justice, no balance, no fairness in this wretched, drowning world.

Only you. And the monster in the water.

And the ring in your hand—cold, pressing, circling your finger like a shackle, like a memory, like the weight of the dead.

The dream comes slow, thick, like water filling your lungs.

It starts with a boy—black hair, blue eyes, a lopsided grin sticky with stolen candy. His laughter, bright and clear, tangles with the summer air, with the rustling of leaves, with the hurried footsteps of two little criminals making their getaway.

You had grabbed his hand—run, run, run!—and he had laughed like you’d just given him the world.

But then—

Then—

The grip of hands too strong, too cold, wrenching him away from you. The priests, faces carved from stone, voices thick with empty prayers. His eyes, wide, wild, terrified—

And you—helpless. Screaming. Thrashing. Watching.

The boat. The water. The way he had stared at you, betrayed, heartbroken, furious, as they pushed him off the edge and the sea swallowed him whole.

The way you had reached—too late, too late, too late.

Your chest jerks, gasping, choking on saltwater that isn’t there, on a name you can’t scream—

And then you wake up.

The boat is quiet. The ocean is still.

Your face is wet.

You touch your cheek. Tears.

Your breath comes in sharp, broken pulls. The dream is still clinging to you, crawling under your skin, sinking into the marrow of your bones. You shake, curling in on yourself, pressing your forehead to your knees.

It’s just a dream. Just a dream. Just a—

The water ripples.

A head slowly surfaces.

Dark hair. Pale blue eyes, glowing soft in the moonlight. A face you know, a face you hate, a face you—

A voice, hesitant, careful.

"Angel…?"

And suddenly, you can’t breathe.

Your scream rips through the night, raw and jagged, shaking the fragile silence. The boat rocks beneath you, but the ocean—calm, endless—does not care.

"No, no, no—" Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your hands clawing at your chest, your throat. The salt in the air tastes like the salt of your tears.

And him. Him.

Dripping, glowing, not quite human, not quite monster—familiar.

Too familiar.

Black hair, heavy with seawater. Blue eyes, soft, searching, too gentle for something that should not be. For something that cannot be.

"Angel…?"

The name scrapes against your ears, against your ribs, against the walls you’ve built inside yourself.

You shake your head, shaking, shaking, shaking. No. No, no, no.

"Don’t call me that." Your voice is barely a whisper, barely a sound, but he flinches like you’ve struck him.

But you can’t stop looking. You can’t stop seeing.

The curve of his face. The softness of his features, delicate yet sharp, familiar yet impossibly wrong. The way his mouth quirks—nervous, hopeful, aching.

The way he used to look at you.

Before the temple. Before the sacrifice. Before—

Before you watched him die.

You feel sick.

"Why do you look like that?" Your voice is shaking, thin, breaking apart. You can barely hold it together, barely hold yourself together.

He stares, eyes dark with something heavy, something ancient.

He does not answer.

And somehow, that tells you everything.

You wake with a sharp inhale, air burning in your lungs like you've been drowning, like you are drowning, like you never stopped.

The world is too still. The ocean stretches, vast and empty. The sky is too blue. The air is too quiet.

And he is gone.

"Koi fish…?" Your voice wavers, raw from sleep, from screaming. You push yourself up, hands clutching the boat’s edge, scanning the water. Nothing. Nothing.

"God…?" The word tastes bitter, acid on your tongue, thick with something you don't want to name. The waves lap against the wood, gentle, unbothered. The wind hums. No answer.

A breath trembles out of you, shaking your ribs. Your fingers dig into your palm, nails pressing hard enough to hurt. He's gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.

Why does that hurt?

Your grip tightens around the ring—his ring, their ring, the ring of someone who died for this wretched ocean. For him.

It isn't fair.

You swallow. Swallow the lump in your throat, the pressure behind your eyes, the horrible, gnawing ache in your chest. You try to force the words out. The name. The name you haven't said in years. The name you buried in the salt and waves, along with everything else.

You hold your breath. You whisper.

"REDACTED…?"

The ocean stills.

A ripple, slow, deliberate, breaking across the surface. The water shifts, something moving beneath.

And then— a head, breaking through the quiet.

Black hair, slick with seawater. Blue eyes, wide, unreadable.

Your breath catches.

"Ah… ah?" His voice is hesitant, almost uncertain.

You choke on the sound of it. Choke on everything crashing into you at once.

"You're…?" You can't finish.

You don’t know what you were going to say. You don’t know what you’re looking at.

The ocean between you feels like a lifetime.

You cry.

"Why…?" Your voice shatters like glass against the waves. "Why do you look like the Koi God…?"

Your throat burns, your chest tightens, and the world tilts—no, you tilt—your knees buckle, the boat lurches—

And you fall.

The cold slams into you, salt filling your mouth, your lungs, drowning the sob that rips from your throat. Your limbs feel sluggish, heavy, but before you can sink, hands—his hands—grasp you, steady, firm, pulling you up.

The ocean spits you both out, the sky spinning above you. His arms are strong around you, holding you as if you’ll disappear if he lets go. You wish he would. You wish he wouldn’t.

"Don’t cry," he breathes, voice so soft, so pained. Like your grief is a knife in his ribs.

But you do cry. You sob against his shoulder, choking on gasps and salt, and he just holds you, his warmth steady against your shaking frame.

You clutch at him, fingers digging into the damp skin of his back, real and solid. Not a memory, not a ghost.

And slowly, through the blur of your tears, you see—

His eyes aren’t the empty, soulless gaze of a god.

They are warm. They are human.

You weren’t crying in despair.

You were crying in salvation.

And he realizes it at the same time you do.

The arms around you tighten, and—hesitant, uncertain—he buries his face in your hair.

You cling to him.

And this time, he does not let go.

"REDACTED… REDACTED…!"

You choke on the name like it's something sacred, something broken, something you were never meant to speak again.

But you do.

And he is there.

Your body shakes, sobs wracking through you, curling inward like you're folding in on yourself, like if you make yourself small enough, you can wake up and this will all be some cruel trick of the waves.

But the warmth against you is real.

His arms around you are real.

"You—" Your voice splinters, breath hitched and gasping. "You didn't die…"

The weight of it crushes you, presses down until you're sinking, but his grip is strong. Keeps you afloat.

He doesn't speak. He can't.

But his hands tighten on you, holding, steadying, grounding.

He doesn’t let go.

And you sob into his shoulder, into the space where his name used to be.

You sniffle, wiping your tears with the back of your hand as you climb onto the boat, the wood slick beneath your trembling fingers. Your chest still heaves from crying, but there’s something lighter in it now—something warm.

Your eyes land on another slice of cake. Chocolate again. Maybe meant for that bastard priest, maybe not, but it doesn’t matter anymore. You grab it without thinking, turning back toward the water.

Redacted blinks up at you, hesitant. He hasn’t moved from where he’s floating, his hands just barely gripping the side of the boat, half-submerged. His long, dark hair fans out in the water, slick against his shoulders, the scales of his tail shimmering beneath the surface.

He looks at you like he doesn't quite believe this is real. Like he doesn't believe you are real.

You roll your eyes. Dumb fish.

Without a word, you tear off a piece of the cake and lean forward, holding it out to him. His eyes flicker between you and the dessert before he opens his mouth slightly, letting you place it on his tongue.

You expect him to take it carefully. Instead, he hums—a soft, pleased noise muffled by the food—and his cheeks flush. His finned ears twitch, and the way his tail flicks behind him is almost cute.

You giggle. Giggle. What the hell?

Redacted looks up, startled, mid-chew. You blink at him, then at yourself, then at the cake in your hand.

When you look back at him, his lips curl into the smallest, softest smile you’ve ever seen.

And just like that, for the first time in forever, you smile back.

"Redacted… Redacted…!" Your voice trembles, hands gripping the side of the boat as you stare at him, really stare at him. His face—so familiar, so achingly familiar—framed by dark, wet strands of hair, those pale, ethereal eyes full of something that hurts.

He doesn’t answer at first. Just watches you with that same look, something in his throat bobbing as he swallows. He looks afraid.

"I don't… know," he finally whispers, voice hoarse. "Before I—before I died, I felt something. And then…" He exhales shakily, looking down at himself, at the glistening koi tail where his legs should be. "I woke up like this. Maybe the other Koi God chose me. Maybe the ocean just didn’t want to let me go."

Your fingers tighten on the wood. "Then why didn’t you—" The words come out too sharp, too raw. You inhale. "Why didn’t you look for me?"

Redacted flinches, guilt flashing across his face. His lips part, but it takes a moment before any words come.

"I tried." His voice is so soft, so small. "I swear, I—" His throat tightens, and he looks away. "I wasn’t… doing well. With oxygen. I couldn't stay near the surface long enough to search. I kept blacking out. I don’t even remember how much time passed before I could move properly. But I tried, Angel."

That name—that name.

You glare at him through the burning in your eyes.

"Don't call me that."

His shoulders tremble. He bites his lip, nodding. "Okay." But he doesn’t take it back. Doesn’t apologize for saying it.

You watch him carefully, the way his fingers grip the side of the boat like he’s afraid you’ll push him away again.

"...You really tried?" Your voice barely makes it past your lips.

His pale eyes lift to yours, red-rimmed. "So much."

And for the first time, you wonder if maybe, just maybe—

The ocean stole him from you, too.

You hold his face in your hands, the cool dampness of his skin against your warm palms. He blinks up at you, wide-eyed, mouth slightly parted like he can’t believe you’re real—like he’s scared if he moves too fast, you’ll disappear again.

"You’re my best friend, Redacted."

For a second, something in his expression cracks. His breath stutters. His lips press together like he’s biting back a reaction. And then—gone. He smooths it over with a soft, too-soft smile, but you saw it. The way his shoulders tensed. The way his fingers twitched against the boat. The sadness that flickered through his face like a ghost.

Oh.

Oh.

Were you dense?

You stare at him. He stares back. Neither of you move, the ocean gently rocking between you, filling the silence with soft ripples.

Your gaze flickers down—to his hands, to the ring still looped around your neck. You remember how carefully he had made them. The way his fingers trembled when he handed them to you. The way he looked at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

You swallow. "Hey, um…" You clear your throat. "Why did you make these rings, anyway?"

Redacted stiffens. The tips of his ears—his **fin-like ears—**darken slightly, the gradient shifting warmer, redder.

"It's just…" He rubs the back of his neck, looking away, looking anywhere but at you. "I… wanted to."

Silence.

Just that? Just that?

His tail flicks beneath the water, his nervous energy bleeding into the surface ripples.

You stare at the ring in your palm. The realization hits like a truck. Oh. Oh. OH.

"IM SO SORRY, REDACTED!!!"

You explode into apologies, full-blown wailing, gripping his face tighter as you sob, forehead pressed against his.

"WAHHHHHHH, REDACTED, I’M SO STUPID, I’M SORRY!!!"

His ears are so red. His tail smacks the water. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

"Angel, w-why are you crying—"

"BECAUSE I’M SO DENSE, I’M SO—" You hiccup. "WAAAAHHH—"

He snorts. Actually snorts. And you—still sobbing, still hiccuping—squish his cheeks.

You’re an idiot. He’s an idiot. But at least you’re idiots together.

You throw your arms around him, burying your face against his damp, cool skin. Redacted freezes. Every muscle in his body locks up, his tail flicking wildly beneath the water, absolutely malfunctioning.

You don’t care. You don’t even notice. You’re just—happy. You sob into his shoulder, clutching him close like he might disappear if you let go.

"You’re really here," you whisper, voice shaking. "I—" You hiccup. "I thought I lost you forever."

Boom. Redacted explodes. Not literally, but inside? He is gone. Launched into orbit. He wants the earth to swallow him whole. He wants the sea to drag him under. He doesn’t know how to handle this—**you—**holding him like he means something. Like he’s real. Like you love him—no, no, don’t think about that. His tail flicks frantically, trying to vent the absolute wildfire inside his chest.

But then—your grip loosens. Your breathing shudders.

"Angel?" He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes darting over your face. You're pale. Too pale. A light sweat clings to your forehead, and—

You sway.

"Angel—"

You shake your head. "I’m just dizzy." A weak smile. "You should go for now. I’ll call you back later."

He hesitates.

He doesn't want to.

But you’re looking at him like that, with that same stubborn determination, and he’s always been weak to you.

"Okay." His voice is soft. Too soft. Like it hurts him to say. "I’ll come back soon, okay?"

You nod. He sinks into the water, those blue, blue eyes lingering on you until he disappears beneath the surface.

And then—

Pain.

A gut-wrenching pain tears through you. Your stomach churns. Your vision blurs. You stumble forward, gripping the edge of the boat as your throat tightens, burns—

You vomit.

The taste of metal floods your mouth. Red. Too much red. It splashes against the wood, thick and glistening in the dim light.

Your breath catches. Your hands shake.

Blood.

Your blood.

You cough, more spilling past your lips, your body rejecting whatever's inside you. And then—realization strikes.

The cake. The moonflower.

Your fingers tremble against your lips.

"No… no, no, no, no, no—"

Your vision tilts. Your knees buckle.

Somewhere beneath the waves, Redacted stills. Something is wrong. He can feel it. The ocean around him hums with unease.

And then—

A sound.

A choked, desperate sound that sends ice through his veins.

Your voice.

"No… no, no, no, no—"

You wipe your mouth. Your hands shake. Your body feels wrong—too heavy, too cold. But you force yourself to move, force yourself to clean up, force yourself to breathe.

You don’t sleep. Not really. Just crying until exhaustion steals you away.

And when morning comes, you wake up with a splitting headache, your throat raw, your stomach aching. The taste of blood still lingers in your mouth, copper and regret.

You don’t think about it.

You won’t think about it.

Instead, you sit up, take a deep, deep breath, and call out:

"Redacted?"

Silence.

You swallow down the bile, the fear, the everything.

"Redacted," you say again, voice steadier. "I wanna talk."

The water stirs. A ripple. A presence. And then—his head breaches the surface, those too-blue eyes locking onto you, scanning you, worried.

"Angel—"

You smile. Bright. Carefree. Fake.

"Aren't you gonna show me your new house?"

His expression flickers. Uncertainty, hesitation—hope.

You don’t let your smile falter. Not even once.

You just got him back.

You are not losing him again.

Even if your body is eating itself alive.

Redacted hesitates. His tail flicks beneath the water, slow, uncertain. His blue eyes search you, drinking you in, memorizing you, as if afraid you might disappear again.

"You can't breathe underwater," he says, voice gentle, almost apologetic.

You tilt your head. "Can I turn into a fish, then?"

He blinks. Startled.

"Like you."

He frowns. Lowers his gaze. "It’s... not possible."

"But you—"

"If you die," he interrupts, softer this time, barely above the waves.

Your breath catches.

"What?"

"If you die and you’re... unsatisfied with it—if your soul still lingers, if you refuse to pass on—you can turn into something like me." His fingers ghost along the water’s surface, uncertain, nervous. "But if you die happy... you won’t become anything at all. Just... pearls. Salt. The sea takes you."

You stare.

Your stomach twists.

Not in fear. Not in horror. But in—something else.

"Angel," he says, voice steady, determined. "It's okay. We'll do something about you. I won't let you die."

A foolish, impossible promise.

And yet... you smile.

"You won’t?"

"I won’t."

"Then," you say, grinning despite the ache in your bones, "I guess I better spend as much time with you as I can, huh?"

He explodes.

Not literally. But visibly, wholly, entirely.

His face burns red, his tail flicks so fast it nearly splashes you, his hands fumble over absolutely nothing.

"I—" he sputters.

You laugh.

You laugh so freely, so lightly, so happily that for a moment, you almost believe you’re okay.

"Redacted? Can you show me around your new house..?"

"But Angel, you're a human.."

"Shit, I forgot-" Redacted tore a piece of his scale and gave you.

"Do you trust me Angel?"

"...Of course."

"Keep this scale to your heart...and think, you will entre your celestial soul form..." You just have to sleep and let your soul free..

The ocean cradled you like a lullaby.

Your body felt weightless, untethered, like drifting silk in a current. You reached out, and the water didn’t fight you—it embraced you, pulled you further, deeper.

And then—him.

Redacted stood before you, but not as the koi god you had known. His face was sharp, elegant, almost inhumanly perfect, with glowing, pale eyes that pierced straight through you. His long, dark hair swayed like it was alive, dancing with the water.

You stared.

Your breath (if you even had any) hitched.

His fin-like ears twitched as he tilted his head. The delicate gold chains draped across his upper body shimmered, catching the light of the deep sea like stolen stars. His arms, patterned like the night sky, flexed slightly as he reached out, and you caught a glimpse of the koi motif on his flowing attire. The reds, the whites, the blacks—it was beautiful.

"You're—" the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

His gaze flickered to you, expectant.

"Beautiful."

For a moment, he froze.

Then he huffed, sharp and flustered, before schooling his expression into something obnoxiously smug.

"Oh? Am I?"

You rolled your eyes, but grinned as you reached out, patting his head.

He sputtered.

"What are you—"

"Good boy," you teased.

Instant regret.

His eyes widened, his face burned, and he nearly choked on the water surrounding him. You had never seen a fish have a full-body reaction before, but you swore you just did.

His fingers twitched before suddenly gripping your hand. Firm. Unwavering.

Your chest squeezed.

"Let's go, Angel," he said, voice lower than before, quieter, yet no less full of feeling.

And then—the world opened up before you.

You turned, and for the first time, you saw the ocean as he did.

A vast, endless abyss of color and life.

Schools of shimmering fish swirled past like liquid silver. Towering coral formations stretched toward the surface like cathedral spires. Bioluminescent creatures pulsed with eerie, dreamlike light, guiding your path deeper and deeper.

It was magic.

It was unreal.

It was his home.

And right now, he was sharing it with you.

The ocean trembled.

Redacted's hand tightened around yours.

"I like dreaming with you," he had whispered—just moments before, just before your fingers had brushed, just before the world had torn itself apart.

You had been floating together, weightless and timeless, like the moon and the sun caught in a silent eclipse. He had tilted downward, his luminous gaze locked onto yours, and for a fleeting second, the ocean had felt smaller, quieter, softer.

Then—pain.

A pit of red bloomed from your arm, rupturing the moment like a knife through silk.

And the voices came.

"There's that koi god who betrayed us!"

"He didn't give us anything this year!"

"The sacrifice failed!"

You gasped, the sting in your arm spreading like fire. The surface above was dark with the silhouettes of ships, and the water around you was stirring with motion, with hatred, with something ancient and heavy pressing against your chest.

The first arrow shot through the water like a vengeful whisper.

You barely had time to register it—because Redacted moved first.

He was in front of you before you could even blink, a dark shape in the water, all sharp motion and unwavering resolve. The arrow embedded itself into his shoulder.

His body jerked. His grip on your hand slipped.

"RUN, ANGEL!" His voice was fierce, desperate. "DON’T LOOK BACK!"

You couldn't move.

Another tremor wracked your body, and this time, you coughed—a deep, wet sound.

Blood.

It spilled from your lips, dark and viscous, twisting like ink in the water.

"The priest gave the poison!" A voice sneered from above.

"They'll die soon enough."

And then—they turned on their own.

A single scream cut through the waves as one of them—**the one who had struck Redacted—**was seized by cruel hands and hurled into the sea.

He sank.

Fast.

The weight of the ocean swallowed him whole, pulling him into the endless blue below.

And just like that—the boats were gone.

Leaving only you and Redacted.

Your vision blurred. Your limbs felt heavy.

The poison was working.

"No," you whispered, reaching for him.

But he caught you first.

Your body shuddered violently.

Each cough rattled your ribs, sending fresh waves of pain through you. Blood dripped from your lips, curling like ribbons in the water.

And yet—you smiled.

"Angel—" Redacted's voice wavered.

You could feel his arms tighten around you. Desperate. Shaking.

"No. No, wait—" He pulled you closer, pressing you against his chest. His heartbeat was frantic, hammering like war drums beneath your fingertips. "Angel, don't—don’t do that. Don't smile like that."

Like this was the last time.

Like you already knew.

Like you had already accepted it.

You blinked slowly, warmth pooling in your chest at the way he held you like you were everything.

"I just—" You tried to speak, but your voice cracked. A new, violent cough tore through you, and Redacted flinched at the fresh burst of red.

Panic flashed across his face.

"W-What? Angel? Angel, stop—"* He sounded breathless, like he was forcing himself to breathe for both of you. He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice barely a whisper. "Why are you hugging me like that...?"

Like you were saying goodbye.

"I guess..."

Your voice was barely above a whisper, carried away by the water between you. You coughed again, more blood curling into the sea, staining the soft glow of Redacted’s scales.

His arms tightened. Desperate. Unwilling.

"Stop talking like that." His voice shook, but he tried to keep it steady. To keep you here. With him. "You— You’re not dying, Angel. You’re not—"

You smiled weakly.

"I thought I’d die with regret." Your fingers curled into his golden chains, gripping just tight enough to feel real. To feel something.

"I tried to feel regret." You blinked slowly, the edges of your vision softening like a dream. The ache in your chest felt far away now, drifting.

"But… there’s nothing to regret."

Redacted sucked in a breath. His pale eyes flickered, wide, frantic—his hands trembled as they held you, trying to pull you back.

"No," he whispered. "No, don’t—"

You let your head tilt forward, resting gently against his shoulder. His warmth, his presence.

"Your arms…" Your voice was so quiet, so soft, as if the ocean itself were swallowing your words. "Inside your arms feels safe."

He shook against you, his grip fierce.

"This is what peace feels like, huh?" A small, dazed chuckle left your lips. "Peace to know that you’re alive… I never expected that."

You felt him shudder. His nails dug into your back, as if holding you tighter could keep you from slipping away.

"Then don’t leave." His voice cracked. "Stay with me, Angel. Just— just stay."

You coughed again. This time, it left a sharp sting in your throat.

"To die in your arms..." Your breathing was slower now. Softer. Lighter.

"There’s nothing to regret."

"I can't feel regret."

Your voice was soft—too soft. Like the final breath before the tide carries everything away.

Redacted felt his chest tighten. His hands trembled against your skin, gripping, holding, as if he could keep you here, anchor you before the current stole you from him.

And then—

You kissed him.

A fleeting press of warmth—salted with blood and tears—a whisper of something that could’ve been, something that never got the chance to bloom. But it was real. Real enough that his breath hitched, real enough that he froze, real enough that it shattered everything.

"I love you...?"

It was a question. A dream. A confession that came too late.

Maybe—

"Maybe in another life."

His world collapsed.

You collapsed.

Your arms, once weakly wrapped around him, began to slip—disintegrate. Like grains of salt melting into the sea. Like foam dissolving against the shore.

"No—"

His breath hitched—his hands clawed at you, desperate, shaking, trying to hold you together. Trying to stop what was already happening.

"Angel—!"

But you were slipping—breaking apart.

His hands closed around nothing.

His arms, once wrapped around you, were suddenly empty.

He gasped, choked on his own breath. His eyes burned. His vision blurred.

He looked down—his hands trembled. Nothing. Nothing.

The water around him shimmered, glistening under the light—not with blood. Not with pain. But with something soft, something almost beautiful.

Sea salt.

The ocean had taken you, swallowed you whole, made you a part of itself.

You were gone.

Redacted’s body trembled as he let out a shaking breath. His throat was raw, his chest a gaping wound that no blade had caused.

And then—he sobbed.

He sobbed harder than he ever had.

His arms curled around himself, holding nothing, and he let the waves crash into him.

You didn't die with regret. No, you cradled peace like a prayer, let it kiss your throat and call it mercy. Not a tragedy, no—not a tragedy if you chose it, if you embraced it, if you let the sea sink its fingers into your bones and name you soft, name you gone.

What a love it is. What a love to die in the arms of someone who trembles. To leave behind tears that taste like salt and let them pretend it’s the ocean. To press a final breath into his lips and watch him break apart, piece by piece, like a slow-burning housefire.

You didn’t die with regret. You died knowing he would carry you. Died knowing he would scream your name into the deep and wait for the echo. Died knowing he would call for you, call for you, call for you— and the only thing that would answer is the tide.

But did you realize, oh dear you, that the man you left behind would never move on? Did you think, in your final breath, that peace was a gift you could press into his hands like a parting favor?

You died gently. Softly. Like a whisper into the tide. But for a man who only ever loved you, only ever saw you, moving on isn’t a possibility. It’s not even a concept.

He still reaches for you. Still calls for you. Still sinks in the same ocean where you crumbled into salt, into nothing, into something he cannot touch.

He isn’t alone. Not really. Because if he’s alone, then you’re truly gone, and that—**that—**is the one thing he won’t allow.

You were supposed to be safe in his arms. Alive in his arms. But all he has left is the phantom weight of you, the ghost of your warmth, the cruel reminder that he held you only to lose you.

"Maybe in another life..."

And then— a voice.

Soft, uncertain. Cutting through the salt-heavy air like a dream you’re not ready to wake from.

“Excuse me? Are you okay?”

He saw his Anel, He signed a deal with the Witch for this moment/j

The world rushes back in, too bright, too loud. Water clings to your skin, the last remnants of something— someone— slipping away. And before you, a man.

He’s staring at you, wide-eyed, breath catching like a fishhook in his throat. His hand trembles as it touches his face, fingers ghosting over his cheek like he’s checking if he’s real. Or maybe if you are.

You know that look. Recognition.

Like he’s seen you before. Like he’s held you before.

And then, under his breath—so quiet you almost miss it—

“I won’t lose you this time.”

The words drip like a curse, like a promise, like the first notes of a song sung at the bottom of the sea.

And when he looks at you again, there’s something in his eyes—something deep, something ancient, something that remembers.

You don’t know why, but your heart beats like a wave crashing against the shore.

Like it knows.

"Are you looking for any books?"

[pomegraphy]

Lady Selene,

Goddess of

The Lunar Month

The Greek months start with the new moon and were then divided into three ten day periods. The first ten days were presided over by the waxing moon, the next ten were the near full and full moon, and the last ten was the waning moon. Festivals including the lucky and unlucky days of the month were measured in the cycles of the moon.

Evelyn-White. "Long-winged Meme... at eventime in the mid-month: then her great orbit is full and then her beams shine brightest as she increases. So she is sure token and a sign to mortal men" (Homeric Hymn, 32 to Selene: C7th- 4th B.C.)

Childbirth

Pregnancies were commonly measured in lunar months, so Lady Selene had a natural association with childbirth.

Timotheus. "Through the blue-black vault of the starts and of Selana who gives swift childbirth." (Campbell Vol. Greek Lyric V, Frag 803: C5th B.C.)

Dew

The moon was believed to nourish plants and animals with her dew. Lady Selene was associated with Ariadne, wife of Dionysus as the goddess of nourishing.

Cicero. "Luna the Moon's course also has a sort of winter and summer solstice; and she emits many streams of influence, which supply animal creatures with nourishment and stimulate their growth and which cause plants to flourish and attain maturity." (De Natura Deorum, 2.14: 45 B.C.)

and the Moon

Tryphiodorus. "When Mene (the Moon) [Selene], full with grey fire, gilds with her face the gleaming heaven: not when, sharpening her pointed horns, she first shines, rising in the shadowless dusk of the month, but when, orbing the round radiance of her eye, she draws to herself the reflected rays of the sun." (The Taking of Ilias, 514:C6th A.D.)

Who is Selene?

The titan goddess of the moon. She was depicted as a woman riding a sidesaddle on a horse. Her lunar crescent was set upon her head as a crown. She was said to sometimes drive a team of oxen and her lunar crescent was likened to a pair of bull's horns.

Symbolisms of Selene

Crystal: Moonstone

Colors: Silver, Grey-white, and white

Day of the week: Monday

Scents/Flowers: Myrtle, willow, white poppy, white rose, and wall flower.

Animals: Bulls and horses

Offerings

Silver jewelry, curved crescent knives, silver/white coins, silver/white candles, cups of (salt) water, seed pods, mirrors, white flowers, any sea/tide related offerings, mooncakes, writing hymns.

Ways to worship

Wearing silver jewelry

Wearing moon colored clothing

New Moon: banishing and undoing things.

Waxing Moon: offerings that relate to things you want more of. Great time for offerings

Full Moon: Harvest what you've been working on

Waning Moon: leave offerings that you want less of.

Taking items from your altar outside or on a windowsill during a full moon.

Cleansing the altar and offering items with water charged with moonlight during a new moon.

Going for a walk under the moonlight(with safety precautions)

Talking to the moon

Learning astrology

Stargazing

Meditation at night.

[archesnalleyways]

you should really expand on the thought of having to suck rick’s cock at gun point like I’m salivating thinking about it

Teehee 🤭

requests are open, we are so back

Warning: contains guns, other weaponry, non-con/dub-con

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

You’ve moved away from your basecamp alone, in desperate need for some cans of food. The supermarket looks pretty bolted up but you spotted a inconspicuous window high up on a wall and decided to try your luck. Some shelves were tipped over, some broken, but as you worked your way through you found a storage room.

Your eyes spotted a cardboard box and in your hungry, desperate state you just dropped your gear and started to rummage through it. In the damp box there was a load of tin-cans, some leaking but multiple intact. Beside you on the floor you started to pile up the useful ones, trying to read some of the drooping labels.

But then you hear a gun click behind you. The blood freezes in your veins and one hundred scenarios flash before your eyes,

“Drop the cans” a husky voice states.

Your hands instinctively let go of the food, brain jumping from the fear of being shot, to your weapons being three feet behind you, to the hunger residing in your gut. Lifting your arms up in the air the show that you’re unarmed.

“Now turn around, slowly.”

You start to rise up but you hear the man behind you tut.

“Stay down.”

The pang of humiliation is faint in contrast to the fear, but it’s still there. But you listen and spin around, still on your knees, and turn to see a tall man pointing a gun straight at you. There’s a shotgun slung over his back, multiple knives strapped to his body and his blue eyes trained at your every movement.

“Aren’t you a pretty lil thing?” He says with a southern drawl, looking you over once before focusing on the box slightly behind you.

An old, ragged tote is thrown to your knees as he uses the mouth of the gun to point at you and then the food.

“Pack everything edible in that bag, now.”

Your hands made quick work of piling the cans, sorting out the already opened ones onto the side. Your eyes leave the food for a second to look over at the man again. He lifts an eyebrow at you, taking half a stride closer to examine your work. As the last can is placed into the bag you twist your body to place it by his feet.

“Put your arms behind your back.”

You move instantly as he glances into the tote and nods approvingly.

“You take orders so well, darlin” the man says, with something dark glittering in his eyes.

He walks up the few steps toward you, gun still aimed at you, as he grips your chin. His calloused thumb drags against your bottom lip before grabbing your cheeks, forcing your face into a ridiculous pout. As he let go slowly your tongue darted out to wet your lips, completely involuntarily.

He groans and moves his hand to his groin, massaging the bulge there. Your eyes widen as you started to put together what was gonna happen. The mans salt-and-pepper beard moved as he smirked popping open the button on his jeans.

“It would be such a waste to let you go now, doll-face” he says as his hand returns to his dick that is hardening in a rapid speed, “especially since you are so good at taking orders, right darlin’?”

His whole face darkens and his eyes bore into your own, as he leans down slightly.

“If I even feel a hint of your teeth I’ll empty the fuckin’ clip” the man hisses at you, pushing the barrel of the gun firmly against your head.

You nodded softly with your heart beating out of your chest, and lifted your hands to pull down his jeans. The cock that springs out is undeniably pretty and perfectly red over the tip. Paired with the rugged good looks of its owner this experience might’ve been enjoyable for you. But then you’re reminded of the weapon and ushered to get to work.

Your tongue darted out to lick at the underside, lips wrapping around his tip. You taste the hint of precum before taking half of his length into your mouth, tentatively bobbing over the first couple of inches.

“Good, that’s good” he grunts, dick twitching as he sees tears starting to roll down your cheeks from the strain.

Hollowing out your cheeks you decide to take in some more of him, desperately trying to make this the best blowjob of your life. Saliva starts to gather at corners of your mouth as you dare to look up at him for the first time, but not before stealing a glance of the gun in his hand first.

“Pull your top down, wanna see your drool over those tits”

With a quick yank your boobs spill out, nipples already pert from the cool air and, despite the circumstances, arousal. The man groans in appreciation.

A big hand splays over the back of your head and you have time to anxiously dart your eyes up to his before he starts to thrust into your mouth, and subsequently down your throat.

The sounds of his pleasure and your gags blend as they ring out into the store, one of your hands resting at the base of his cock and the other landing to cup your clothed pussy.

“Ah, fuck it!”

The curly-haired man seemed to get lost in his pleasure since he decides to fasten his gun into his holster to free up his hands. Grabbing a chunk of your hair to maneuver you over his massive cock, pushing you down until your nose was pressed into the patch of hair at his base. You gargle around his member, more drool bubbling from the edge of your lips.

“That’s it, doll” he moans, “choke on it.”

He lifts his hips slightly to get the very last of his dick stuffed into your mouth, your eyes rolling into the back of your skull. When he pulls you off a string of saliva lands on your chin before it drips down onto your exposed chest. He places his dick over your face, pre-cum and your spit leaving sticky trails onto your nose and forehead.

“Aren’t you perfect stress relief?” He asks rhetorically, lifting his cock to slap it over your face a couple of times, “found me food and takes cock like a slut.”

Despite everything you feel your face flush from his words and humiliating actions. He chuckles at you, almost cooing softly before pushing you down onto his cock.

“Too bad I don’t have time to test your other holes, I’m sure they’re lovely” he groans out, thrusting deeper and deeper.

His grunts starts to increase in both volume and frequency, warning you that he’s about to cum, and you begin to mentally prepare yourself for swallowing when he pulls his cock out.

“Stay still, darlin’” he murmurs, eyebrows knitted together, as the hand not jacking himself off with pulls at your hair to put your face in the perfect angle, “I’m gonna paint a pretty picture.”

The last syllable morphed into a groan as he came, hot load landing in ropes over your face. His eyes glittered darkly as he covered you and the utter filthiness of it all made his dick twitch one last time. A few spurts landed on your tits and you keep your eyes trained onto his, mouth slightly agape. He tapped the last drops of cum onto your lips before pulling his pants up again.

He picks up the bag of food you packed and stopped for a second to take in the state of you. Tits out, eyes irritated from tears and face covered in cum. Truly a sight for sore eyes.

“Bye-bye sweetheart, I hope I’ll run into you again” he says with a wink and leaves.

[kissesandarsenic]

Day 21 - Revenge

tw. non consent, torture, dead dove: do not eat

One of my darker fantasies includes me being abducted and abused to the point of breaking. I'll be hurt, degraded, assaulted, treated like utter filth while locked up in this bastard's basement.

It's not to sate the masochist in me, on the contrary.

I want it so that my sadistic side has an excuse to absolutely deal to someone no holes barred.

Breaking out of the restraints I've spent weeks wearing down. Using surprise and sheer rage to overpower my captor. String him up so he can't get out. Delight in the way he cusses me out and screams, like his words have any sway.

I'd take one of his knives, cut his clothes clean off so he's exposed for me. The fear in his eyes would taste like ambrosia. Or an aphrodisiac. I'd take his cock in one hand while holding the blade to his throat, tell him if he doesn't get hard for me, I'll carve his fucking heart out of his chest. He'd know I wasn't joking.

Once his cock was at attention, I'd take him in my mouth, swatting his balls black and blue until he was begging for it to stop. There's some electric gear lying around so maybe I'd light him up with that too. Use the canes and the paddles on places you're really not meant to. Who gives a shit if there's internal bleeding? It's nothing he doesn't deserve.

I'd hope he's an anal virgin. All the more fun to stretch him open on random objects I find floating around. No lube. There isn't any down here. He made sure of it.

God and it would just be so fucking delightful watching him cry. He'd start whimpering out apologies and excuses and promises to be a good boy from now on. Bleating like a fucking lamb about to be slaughtered.

It wouldn't be enough to make me stop. It would never fucking be enough.

I want him so thoroughly broken that I could cut him free and all he'd do is curl up at my legs and cry and plead for me not to leave him.

I don't know if I would or not. Might be addicted to breaking him at that point.

Still, the mere thought of leaving him there to sob and wilt without me would have me a dripping mess.

Loretta and Salt's Kinktober Masterlist

[leonawriter]

Okay apparently I'm going to do a study on this introduction, because going back to it? Especially knowing more about Hakuba via more recent Magic Kaito chapters? Fascinating stuff.

So. Hakuba's introducing himself, and he starts out by bringing up "My father spoke of you often" and "It seems you're a very sharp detective." Both of those are positive!

Hakuba is... high society, compared to Hattori simply hanging out around high ranking people and treating them like normal. Hattori argues with Kazuha in a very down to earth way, while Hakuba knows how to drink tea and probably how to set the table with a full set of cutlery (or at least how to use them).

So, Hakuba using their fathers to introduce himself is, to him, a normal enough way to say "I've heard good things about you, we're similar, I hope we can get along well."

What's more - Shinichi realises that, pretty quickly. Even if they hadn't met previously, he'd have been able to figure out by the words being used, that Saguru's father knows Heiji's father, or that they're in the same business.

If anything, I'd say that this slight culture clash is the second step of things going wrong between Hattori and Hakuba here, right after Hakuba being present at all, since Hattori had wanted Shinichi to take his rightful place where Hakuba is currently sitting.

Strike one, strike two.

Unfortunately, it gets worse from there, and I'm gonna go into it.

But then Hakuba brings up that he's not even fully based in Japan. To which, mostly Hattori is just "wait, what?" - but although I'm sure he means it simply to be as clear as possible, that could also be read as "I would say that, but I'm actually better." As in, being smug.

Strike three.

Still with "Kudo is the high school detective of the east, that's obvious, isn't it?" and rubbing salt into the insult to Hattori's bro with "they'd have liked me to represent the east in his place" but...

Oh boy.

This... this is also where I just stared and held my head in my hands because now? Because of something Hattori's said, and what he's going to continue saying/leaning into... we need to go back in time.

All the way back in Hakuba Saguru's first appearance, the papers say "just returned from London," suggesting (as I've seen someone say before) that he'd spent at least some, if not much, of his youth in Japan.

Certainly, he doesn't seem to speak with an accent in the present day, so he can't have grown up in the UK and only sometimes lived in Japan.

In Japan, however, he is referred to as...

In Nakamori's (uncouth) words at their first meeting, "Y-you're that bastard from London!"

No mention of how he has a fully Japanese name, partially Japanese features, a Japanese father, and no accent.

His introductory splash also frames him with the Union Jack behind him, showing off his Holmes cosplay and light hair. Almost all the major characters in the series have blue eyes, but here it's rather... plainly emphasising his Western features. His non-Japanese-ness.

Now, I do have to wonder if Gosho wrote that back in 1990 and hadn't given much thought to it. I certainly don't think it was intentionally cruel.

However, by volume 40, released in 2003, he's learned a bit more about social prejudice, and shows this with the Professor's First Love story:

This shows something that happened 40 years ago in-universe, with a girl of Japanese-American descent who has light, gingko colour hair, being very aware of how different she is, and not wanting her friend to see. She calls her hair "weird" and starts to cry.

Coming back to the present - content released in 2006 - let me go back to Hakuba Saguru.

Hattori "That's obvious, isn't it? And yer not even from this country to begin with."

Oh, Hattori. Only the previous case had you seeing how words can be as sharp as knives, and can hurt people.

Saguru doesn't seem too bothered at first, however...

First off, he points out that it isn't even his fault he's "taken Kudo's place" in the first place!

They contacted his housekeeper, who he's been shown to be very close with (I'd hazard a guess to say that, having not seen his mother at all, or seen her mentioned, Baaya is closer to him than his parents are), and when she heard that her charge would only be taking someone else's place since they weren't there, she got offended on his behalf.

Saguru, who loves this woman like she's literally his nanny, could hardly say no at that point.

More to the point: how he says "But it appears I am unfit to represent the East..."

So now we have Hattori having come in wanting his best friend to be represented and not sidelined just because of circumstances out of his control, and being in a bad mood immediately because of someone else having been called in. He also possibly inflates the number of cases he worked on or solved, by including childhood adventures, leading Saguru to point out that his count is only low if you only count the ones in one country. Saguru attempts to make friends with him regardless, and that doesn't work because Hattori is still stuck on how Saguru is "taking Kudo's place" and then focuses in on how Saguru "isn't even from this country" which... starts leaning into the uncomfortable territory of "Hattori I love you to pieces but are you being racist/xenophobic right now?"

I say that in the context of how Japan has a really big problem with seeing anyone who isn't fully Japanese as Not Japanese Enough, as I went into earlier. I don't think he's aware how he's coming across, by the way; he's simply got a big case of foot-in-mouth.

So now instead of having come to this conclusion organically and naturally, Saguru is offering to take the place of "Guest Participant from Overseas" to placate Hattori.

I'd imagine he won't be wanting to tell Baaya about that, for sure.

Saguru goes on to suggest that Conan (i.e, Shinichi himself) should represent the East instead.

I reiterate: they could well have come to this conclusion over a friendly conversation, because of how they have five detectives. But instead now Saguru has ceded his position to (as far as he knows) a child. A very clever child, but a child nonetheless.

The next time we're back at the island with Hattori and the others, he's already decided he doesn't like "that smug guy."

As said before, there are plenty of things that Hattori could have picked up on that'd suggest Saguru "looked down on people" and "had a prideful way of thinking" and he certainly could appear smug in his achievements.

Hattori himself says that Saguru was "was like a copy of [Kudo]." But he has decided he doesn't like Hakuba, therefore he won't like Hakuba.

A moment of Saguru bonding with Natsuki over their natural brown hair, a shared trait - we can see him smiling after saying "But... there aren't any tv cameras yet, so you could do what you want for tonight?"

In a way I feel like I'm making too much of a big deal out of this one thing, but I'm not the one bringing attention to it - Gosho is. Gosho's the one who reminds us that kids get into trouble for their natural brown hair, and Saguru got that too.

Those who've read Magic Kaito will know that he DOES have a Japanese school uniform - but as we saw at the start of the post, when he arrived, he arrived from his school in London.

This further emphasises how he's set apart from the others.

(An aside: it's entirely possible that his "school abroad" is more likely him going to sixth form, since our Secondary schools last (or did for me) up to the age of 16, and depending on the time of year he may have transferred over to the new school year already. Or he's just finishing his last year of Secondary. We don't know.)

Honestly... I'm going to leave this at that for now, because for one thing the post got away from me a bit, and became longer than I expected, and for another thing, I've covered the majority of the first meeting and both of them getting off on the wrong foot.

In short:

Hattori arrived with an idea of slipping Shinichi into the event, and was offended and upset when someone was already in his place. He, being the loyal friend he is, wasn't willing to simply let it lie.

Instead of backing down and accepting the situation and make friends with the new detective - who Shinichi knew and was acting friendly with, and who was willing to befriend him - he let his bad mood get the better of him and made offensive remarks of his own, most of which to the others would seem entirely unwarranted.

Because of that, Hattori still has a bad opinion of Saguru, and Saguru's opinion of Hattori has gone from "my father's spoken of you [positively]" to "rude asshole."

Neither of them are innocent, but when you look at them individually and fairly, neither of them are the only one in the wrong, either.

Like... no wonder they don't get along from here on? Wow.

I did not expect there to be so much in it, but there we go.

[tyxoxo]

Cherry Waves

pairing: jeno x fem!reader

genre: thriller, angst, kidnapper/stalker jeno au, jaemin + mark inserts

words: 11.9k

warnings: stalking, kidnapping, murder, blood, knives, cnc smut, oral, fingering, choking/breath play, voyeurism, spitting, unprotected sex, its lowkey giving incel, post-traumatic stress, stockholm syndrome

(this is purely fiction, warnings in bold mean potentially triggering cotent)

a/n: the feds prolly looking at my search history like “👀” but on another note, this is the longest piece of writing i’ve ever published. so pls pls pls! send feedback! this was a rollercoaster of a fic to write ._.

major hugs and kisses to @glitchfiles for helping me decide on an ending and @pradajaehyun for proofreading!

playlist: 

deftones - cherry waves • rosemary • bored • be quiet and drive

clams casino - blast

—

“i’m kind of scared. do you think it’ll bite?” 

“noo, don’t worry baby. it won’t. squirrels are always welcome to food.” your boyfriend reassured you, chuckling in the presence of your endearing timidness. 

the two of you were currently exploring a nature park, choosing to celebrate your 5 year anniversary in the outdoors, away from the bustling city life.

“here, just take the almond and approach them slowly, they’ll come.” he said as he handed you one to start, out of the bag that read Blue Diamond Almonds.

“how about you go first?” 

the two of you shared a laugh, your partner nonetheless agreeing to demonstrate.

just like you expected, he took one almond in his hand and began to tread softly over to a family of kits, and a mother. the four were eagerly awaiting the treat, using their noses to scour over to him. one baby squirrel was more brave than the others as the rest halted once your boyfriend began to kneel down. 

in one sniff and a switch of its tail, the squirrel grabbed the almond and hurried back to his family. 

“see! not that hard! your turn.” he rose up in the process, standing close by in case you opted out. 

“alright, here i gooo.” you geared up the courage, doing exactly as he did, approaching softly towards the group of squirrels. 

you cocked your head to the side in curiosity at the fact they all ran away in unison, back into the green shrubs they called home. and with not enough time to save you, you heard the scuffing of shoes against pavement and a loud crack sound to follow. 

as you turned towards the deafening sound, your boyfriend collapsed onto the floor, his head making contact with the concrete in just as strong of a crash that you heard just mere seconds before.

you weren’t sure if a scream managed to escape, as the hooded figure armed with the hammer made sure that you weren’t conscious to tell the tale.

—

the constant motion of your head banging against a hard surface is what stirred you. your eyelids were heavy, not just from the forced slumber, but from the blood that managed to seep down from your scalp and cake onto your skin. the familiar smell of iron flooded your senses, reminding you of your current state. 

somehow you were moving, not on your own accord. you couldn’t have been... your hands and feet were bound with what felt like rope, based on the friction as it dug in your skin. 

you were moving inside a van, laying down in a fetal position, with your boyfriend across from you doing the same; though he didn’t seem to be conscious.

it was hard to tell if he was breathing, due to the jounce of the van driving over rough terrain. 

the entire vehicle wasn’t average, all of the backseats were gone, not even folded down into a compartment. it felt industrial, with what seemed like new steel framework covering the entire interior. 

you lacked the energy to produce any sound, let alone turn to the direction of the driver's seat to see who was transporting you. the salt from your tears was the last you could recall before falling back into a deep sleep. 

—

to say you reanimated back in the comfort of your own home, with your partner by your side would be the highlight of your life. to say that what all happened was merely a dream. 

yet, your harsh reality was thrust upon you once you awoke again. all of your limbs were still bound, with the only appropriate action being observing where you were now.

you were placed on a cold, grey concrete floor, plastic tarp covering the walls and ceiling, with a single LED work light standing in the corner offering plenty of illumination. a standalone workbench was positioned against the left wall, with an abundance of mechanical tools to satisfy any technician. 

you knew you were still covered in your own blood, but the smell wasn’t there anymore. instead the nauseating odor of overused bleach coming from a nearby bathroom overtook your senses. 

your vision finally began to focus on your boyfriend who was lying directly across from you. 

you weren’t sure if your attacker merely forgot to tape your mouths shut in a haste or simply didn’t care. either way, you used what freedom you had left to call out, your scream resonating enough to wake him up.

he winced, teeth covered in crimson from the aftermath of his blunt force trauma. once he met your eyes, tears began to well; relieved to know he was breathing, but pained to see him struggling for clarity.  

he scanned the room, just as you did, then settled upon your crying eyes. 

“are you okay?! please, tell me you’re okay!” 

he was selfless just like always, more concerned about your well-being than his own. 

“i-im okay.” 

truly you weren’t. your head was pounding, and your arms were beginning to fall asleep from being bound. 

“i’m sorry i couldn’t protect you. im-” 

“no! don’t say that! we need to get out of here now!” you cut him off immediately, not wanting his words to add onto the anguish you were already feeling.

“just stay there and i’ll come to you.” 

you nodded as he began to shimmy along the cold floor, using his coarse shoe soles to push along the concrete. 

he paused every other moment, most likely feeling dizzy from his injury.

your hopes were crushed when he was halfway. the sound of multiple door locks being fidgeted with, echoed throughout what you assumed to be the basement. the door creaked, and slammed shut even louder. your boyfriend stopped moving, knowing the end was potentially near. 

the view of who or what coming down the stairs was obstructed by the tarp covered wall but within seconds, you saw a man.

who didn’t bother to cover his face.

you kept the fact that he was attractive repressed in your mind. it was more important to realize that you would likely die here now that you saw what he looked like. 

he was tall, lean, and young. couldn’t have been much younger or older than you. with raven dark hair that was long enough to form somewhat of a mullet. his bangs covered most of his blank expression, though it didn’t take much squinting to realize his irises were black. an evil black.

your memory was too foggy to remember if he was wearing the same clothes as before. but the white dress shirt, and black slacks didn’t seem familiar; especially the black butcher’s apron. 

he stopped at the base of the stairs upon seeing your boyfriend’s attempts to get close to you. 

“we can give you whatever you want. we have money. take our cards, whatever. just let us go please!”

he ignored your boyfriend’s pleas, choosing not to even look at him. instead, his eyes bore deep in your own.

fear grew in the pit of your stomach. there were only a few things a guy like him would want from you and the thought of him taking not only your life, but your body shook you down to your bones. 

your boyfriend must’ve assumed the same based on his whirling eyes between you and your attacker. 

you wished to give him a name, something to represent his depravity. but all thoughts were paused once he began walking slowly in the direction of the workbench. 

there was a toolbox and a rolled up utility belt waiting for him, it was just a matter of choice.

he rustled through the box, creating enough noise to elicit terror for the both of you.

it didn’t take long for him to choose one, the light in the corner bouncing off of the stainless steel bowie knife that he pulled from it.

he inspected the blade and it’s sharpness in silence, ignoring the sobbing coming from your disheveled body.

“kill me and just let her go!” 

your boyfriend’s cries didn’t go unnoticed, as the mephisto of a man paused his inspection, eyebrows raising as if he would accept that offer.

seeing his side profile from his position at the workbench sparked faint recollection within you.

why did he look familiar?  

—

Four Months Ago

—

jeno still wasn’t good enough at adapting to his new life of carnage. 

how did he not know that a decomposing body would attract maggots, no matter how “clean” he kept his basement bathroom. 

the life he claimed was an “accident.” 

atleast that’s what he told himself.

but could a life taken after rejection still be considered an accident? maybe.

the girl took too long. 

he cooked for her, provided clothes for her, gave her a place to sleep. yet she was never accepting of his affection. 

it was just four days ago that he had to rush to the emergency room on his own volition, to have a laceration on his collarbone stitched. the bitch barely missed his subclavian. 

he was beginning to be more lenient after holding her captive at his house for 2 weeks. though he wasn’t sure if there was a beginner’s guide on “how long it should take to actually let a hostage begin to roam your house.” but he learned his lesson after dinner, when she ran towards the kitchen sink and grabbed the sashimi knife.

every attending nurse asked what happened, but he continued to blame it on a “freak accident”: trying to transport a porcelain attachment on his shoulders, tripping and ultimately earning a gash. 

somehow they bought it.

ten stitches later, he was discharged. seething at the teeth, he sped back to his house to finish her. he couldn’t have another slip up like that again.

that night he brought the blade into her neck, earning her a matching cut. 

it was the first and last time she was ever brave. 

now here jeno was, at a utility store in search of his first shovel. he wasn’t picky, he just needed something sturdy enough to help dig his first grave.

off into the distance, he saw you. innocently scanning the shelves for new vanity light bulbs. 

you were absolutely perfect.  

he felt a sudden magnetic pull to be near you, even smell you. but he had to resist the urge; there was a decomp job waiting for him at home. 

it probably wasn’t a good idea to approach you either, as there was a possibility the smell of putrefaction was beginning to attach to his clothes. 

from that day on, jeno had been watching you for months. 

every outfit you wore, every doe-eyed expression, every bite of your lip was all for him. 

even though the two of you were never formally introduced, he knew the proper time would come. 

so far he had done well becoming acquainted from afar: he knew where you worked, your grocery store of choice, your primary care doctor, even your favorite drink at the local café.  

there was still so much left to uncover. now, he set the goal of finding out your birthday, just to send a batch of flowers to your job when the time came; labeled anonymous of course. 

but the dreams of becoming your admirer were crushed the day that jeno found out you had a significant other. he almost chucked the vase he was holding. he didn’t need a vase, he was merely there because you and your boyfriend were at a furniture store, eyeing a new couch for your living room. it was just a method for him to blend in. 

he kept his composure so as not to draw attention nor have to pay the store for damages. 

the boy you called “babe” was average, nowhere near your level. but you clutched onto him like he was the only thing that mattered. 

what did he have, that jeno didn’t? 

the obvious answer was you.

jeno sat the vase down before storming out of the store, causing the bell atop of the door to slam and chime throughout the showroom. you actually turned to the direction of the entrance, somewhat alarmed at how loud it rang through the store. 

fortunately, you were too late to see him. 

that night, jeno began plotting his second abduction. it would be a challenge, no doubt. 

he would ultimately regret if you got hurt in the process, but with enough love, he could prove that he was sorry.  

and now that his “ex” was taken care of, he could finally focus. 

there was a small checklist he made within a couple of days: buy a van, have the backseats removed and fitted with steel.

luckily money wasn’t an issue. but he did get a few weird glances from the auto modifications shop at his request.

“you don’t seem like the type to want a van decked out like this?” the automotive stylist said while looking over jeno’s new 12-seater. 

he was sly enough to come up with a lie, plus the amount of money he was willing to drop was all that was needed to seal the deal. 

jeno considered himself well-equipped from first girlfriend, it was just a matter of time and preparation before you were his second...

—

Present

—

you couldn’t hold back your screams, not when the love of your life was on his knees, being held at knife point. 

“please! stop! you don’t have to d-do this!” 

you thrashed on the floor, tears painting your cheeks, mucus staining your upper lip.

jeno had dragged your boyfriend back to his original position with his knife in hand, eventually standing behind him. 

he took a handful of your lover’s hair to cock his head back, exposing an array of veins lining his neck. 

“i love you so much…” was the last you would ever hear, causing jeno to furrow his brow and snarl in disgust.

the life you once knew was taken in a slash, jeno’s right hand swiping the serrated blade along your boyfriend’s stained skin. 

your ears rang from the sound of metal against flesh, all of the tendons snapping at once. velvet poured from the now-open cavity, splattering onto the tarp and jeno’s bare hands. 

your guts felt twisted, hearing the gurgling sounds of blood clogging his airway. seeing his eyes roll back into his sockets. so lifeless. 

jeno let the body fall on its own. 

he was inexplicably satisfied. the pig you called “babe” was now out of the picture, merely a slab of dead meat.  

you curled into a ball, letting your head fall to the floor, entire soul succumbing to emptiness.

you simply didn’t care if you were next. 

jeno stepped over the corpse and towards you, knife still in hand. with a swipe of his nose, he kneeled down in front of your shaken form, the least bit bothered by the blood smeared on his septum. 

you didn’t even flinch when he tossed the knife down, barely missing your chest when it came to a stop on the floor. 

“when i come back, we’ll be formally introduced.” 

with a click of his tongue he rose up, leaving as if he didn’t just rip out your heart. 

it didn’t take long for your boyfriend’s blood to run across the basement floor, the rest clotting near his open throat.

you let the warmth of the dark fluid envelop you. soaking deeper and deeper into your clothes.

—-

“shhh. shouldn’t we be quiet?” 

you heard the whispered voice of a woman, giggling in between her words.

your eyes fluttered open, taking a while to adjust from the tears that crystallized over your eyelashes. 

how many hours, or days has it been? 

based on the way your clothes were now brittle from the dried blood, and the sea of black covering the floor, it had been a while.

unfortunately, your subconscious wasn’t able to repress the memories of your dead boyfriend, not when his cold, stiff body was still on the floor.

his skin had blotched purple, showing signs of livor mortis, his irises a milky white. 

“no its fine. come here.” 

you heard the familiar voice of your abductor, as he ushered the woman down the basement stairs. 

excitement littered both of their faces, the girl hopping from the last step and into his arms. 

you didn’t care to recall her appearance, the only thing worth mentioning was her frilly dress and kitten heels. 

did she not even react to the scene in front of her? a corpse, and your starving body, still tied up, on a soiled basement floor?

she continued to giggle, keeping her hands on his chest.

“this is amazing…you’re so fucking hot.” her ear-grating words were swallowed by the heavy kiss they shared, attacking each other’s mouths. if it wasn’t for the mess, you were sure that he would’ve slammed her against the tarp covered wall. 

his hands explored her body, lifting up the ruffled fabric to expose her ass, squeezing ever so often to hear her whine in pleasure.

you tried your hardest to block out the sounds of their smothered lips. even slamming your eyes shut to fulfill the disbelief that flooded your brain. 

“you know i did this for you right?” he spoke in between their labored breaths, pulling away for air. 

“of course i did…now can i show you how grateful i am?”

he nodded, palming himself through his black pants.

the girl guided him towards his workbench, pushing his back into the chilled metal table, seeming dominant in her quest to show thanks.

her hands trailed down to his belt buckle, freeing the clasp. you could hear his zipper being undone, and the sigh of relief once she started touching him in the right places. 

you didn’t have the strength to demand them to stop, nor the freedom to end your own life. either decision would only fuel her to go slower.

the she-devil got down on her knees, pulling down his pants, giddy at the sight of him with no underwear. his dick sprang free from its confines, snapping back onto his chiseled groin. the girl squealed in satisfaction, to see that he was just as big as her face.

a growl erupted from his throat as she took him in her small hands and licked along the underside of his cock. 

she welcomed him in her drooling mouth, keeping her eyes glued to his look of satisfaction. he wasted no time fucking her face, eyes darting between you and the corpse he created.

you winced at every gag you heard, every tug of his lips between his teeth. 

she was struggling to fit what she could, even tapping his thighs, signaling to stop. but he wasn’t concerned for her effort. 

he was busy swimming in pure ectasy, getting off to the chaos he created. 

through it all, you finally managed to mutter the words,

“please kill me…”

—

Day 2 

—

the snapping sounds were becoming too hard to ignore. you couldn’t drown them out any longer.

your eyes focused on him again, attempting to stuff the rigid corpse into a large black suitcase. 

he panted as he tried to bend the unforgiving joints, fighting against the effects of rigor mortis. 

his frustration was growing with every trial and error. and the smell of rotting flesh wasn’t helping either. 

you were too catatonic to react…it was just another day in his world. 

he eventually succeeded, feeling pleased to have the remains covered before it continued its cycle of decay. 

in the corner of his eye, he saw you wiggling in your restraints, trying to make your limbs come alive again.

“who was that girl?” 

your voice was crackly, barely audible from dehydration. 

“what?” he said with obvious confusion, pausing to look over at your crippled frame. 

“the girl you were with?” you gulped afterwards, trying your hardest to lubricate your vocal chords with what saliva you had left.

“must’ve been a nightmare…” he spoke under his breath, shameless in his look of concern.  

somehow you believed him. 

and the mere thought of dreaming something so wicked disgusted you. 

you watched as he finished zipping up the suitcase, taking off his vinyl gloves and tossing them on top.

he then made his way over to you, kneeling down to untie the complex knots on your wrists and ankles.

you chose not to look at him, fearing he would change his mind and leave you there to molder in sorrow. 

“i’ve hidden my name for long enough…jeno.”

his eyes managed a subtle smile through his introduction; the naturally occurring feature strangely matching his exterior. if he wasn’t a murderer. 

once the ropes fell loose, you could barely resort back to mobility. it felt unnatural to finally be able to stretch after so long.

but now that you were somewhat free, you finally realized how filthy you were.

“i’ve got some cleaning up to do…there’s a bathroom for you to use over there. freshen up and then i can take you upstairs to the kitchen.” he pointed with his head over to the ivory bathroom, which seemed to be the only clean spot in the basement.

he had the decency to help you to your feet, watching as you struggled to gain equilibrium. you looked away into the direction of the bathroom, indicating you could help yourself now. 

you didn’t bother glancing over to the workbench, figuring he was smart enough to put away his tools and weapons. you didn’t have the energy to defend yourself anyways. 

the bathroom wasn’t far enough away to miss the smell of a festered corpse but you hoped by the time you showered, it would all be a bit better.

to your surprise, the bathroom was fully stocked: unopened toiletries, feminine products, shampoo, body wash, lotions, towels, everything you needed to feel alive again.

laying in the sink was an oversized t-shirt, sweatpants and socks, all in a vacuum sealed bag, which you assumed to be jeno’s. or maybe they belonged to a former victim. it didn’t matter as long as they were clean. anything was better than the battered clothes you had on now. 

you closed the door and began to undress, keeping your body towards the door incase jeno barged in to take advantage of your naked form. though you doubted anyone would want to see the current state you were in. 

raising your legs to get inside the fiberglass shower proved to be a challenge, even bending down to adjust the temperature of the water made your knees buckle. 

but you eventually managed to rid yourself of the dried blood and sweat; water droplets masking your tears as you watched the black clumps flow down into the drain. 

—

jeno was waiting for you outside the door, leaning against the wall that was now free of plastic sheets. 

everything was spotless, or at least that’s what you could discern through your hooded eyes. the floor was free of biomass, all of the tarp was discarded, and the suitcase was nowhere to be found. most of all, the horrid odor was gone. 

jeno eyed you up and down, satisfied with the floral smell coming from the lotion he bought you. he was always a fan of rose, and he hoped you were too. 

he reached out his left hand for you to take, but you rejected the gesture, instead hugging your sides and looking down at your feet. 

you could get up the stairs just fine. 

or so you thought.

just as your feet made contact with the first step, you tugged on jeno’s shirt for support as he led the way. 

you managed to miss the faint smile that painted his face, as you were too busy trying not to lose balance. 

once you made it upstairs, you took in the interior. natural white oak floors, a spacious living room fitted with potted plants, a curtained patio sliding door, a small tv, with a gaming console placed just underneath in the stand, a glass coffee table, and a single white boucle couch that was surprisingly free of any suspicious stains. 

the same could be said for the kitchen, shiny quartz countertops, and all steel appliances. you began to doubt if he afforded all of this on his own, but then you thought back to his extensive basement. maybe his career supported  all of his dangerous endeavors. 

your stomach instantely growled upon sitting at the kitchen bar. so loud that jeno managed to hear it as he began rummaging through the drawers for cooking utensils.

“i guess i should tell you the reason that you’re here.” jeno huffed as he began chopping up the raw food onto a cutting board. your heart dropped at his words; you weren’t sure if you could handle learning the reason right now.

“i’ve been watching you for quite a while now…i just knew from the very first time, that i had to prove my worth. prove that i could be everything you needed.”

you knew you weren’t mentally ready to play along with his insanity, nor try to earn his trust so soon. with his level of denial, your strategy needed time. 

all you could do was be a listener and soak in his confession. 

“i know i’ve done irreversible damage to you, so i don’t expect forgiveness. but at least let me give you the support you deserve to heal.”

you chose not to reply, it was best that way. 

maybe through the silence, he would come to his senses. 

as he continued to cook, you tried to look closely for any hints of him lacing the food. you weren’t afraid to deny sustenance in exchange for starvation.

but when you realized he was making a plate for himself, you felt less suspicious.

jeno arranged the food to look delectable, and placed everything neatly on trays, paired with a glass of water. he stood across the kitchen bar, eagerly awaiting your review before he took his first bite. 

you picked at the rice with your fork, and tried your best not to tremble when you brought it up to your mouth and swallowed a few grains. he frowned when he noticed you trying to hold back tears.

what was so sad about a plate of food? 

“i didn’t do anything to it.” he said sympathetically, but you let the tears fall anyway.

having a meal with the man that kidnapped you wasn’t anything to be delighted about. nonetheless, you grabbed more and more, slowly beginning to feel replenished.

jeno ate with you in silence, every once in a while watching the tears fall onto your plate.

you were sure that the lack of food for two days straight was the reason for the onset of nausea that creeped inside your body. the food didn’t taste bad, far from it. but the more you ate, the more you felt like you couldn’t keep it down. 

a couple of spoonfuls remained, and once you set down your fork, you eyed the couch behind you in the living room.

laying on a soft surface for once, sounded the most appealing.

“can you help me to the couch?”

you knew he wouldn’t turn down your request. anything you could do to earn his trust, the better. 

jeno was quick to assist, first, gathering the plates and placing them in the sink.

“i’ll put the leftovers in the fridge, just let me know when you want some more.” he said as he walked briskly to your position on the bar stool. 

you didn’t dare move.

his soft hands grabbed both of your own, clasping somewhat too hard to get you to your feet. you faced him eye to eye, waiting for him to guide you. 

but there was no motion from either of you; his chest mere centimeters from your own. his irises were such an uncomfortable black, soulless.

you couldn’t look away. 

sweat formed in your hands, which you were sure that he could feel. yet, he didn’t let go. a sniffle from your runny nose seemed to have snapped him out of his reverie. 

with no further time to waste, he helped you towards the living room, keeping hold of your clammy hands as you sunk down into the soft material. you winced as you swung your legs around to lay flat but immediately exhaled in relief at the plush cushions hugging your entire backside. 

jeno brought your glass of water to the coffee table, and scooted the tv remote closer.

just the mere sight of the remote made you wonder if turning on the news right now would show hundreds of stories on you and your boyfriend's disappearance. or any leads on the suspect. 

your family, your goals, your passions, all ripped away by someone that “cared” about you. 

why couldn’t you bring yourself to scream at the top of your lungs to fill the void?

the desperate need for rest overpowered everything else. this was the most comfortable you had ever felt in a while.

you closed your eyes, drifting off into a  deep sleep to the sound of running water from the kitchen sink. 

—

you missed the answer to your question just half an hour later. it was motivation. 

had you heard the sound of heavy knocks echoing off of the front door. you would’ve made your presence known, whether or not it was the police. 

a youthful male voice yelled on the other side.

“jenooo! open up buddy!” 

then a different voice spoke, 

“dude! we know you’re in there!” 

jeno froze from drying the dishes, only his eyes looking in the direction of the door. 

it was mark and jaemin.

he thought he made it very clear, for them to never show up to his house unannounced. 

ever since he began seeking you out, he made sure to send a text to them stating that “he’d been going through a rough time, that it was best to have as much privacy as possible. and to always shoot a text or a call before coming over.”

guess they didn’t want to respect his wish. 

he carefully sat down the ceramic bowl on the counter and bolted towards your sleeping body.

he didn’t even need to spike your drink, it was obvious you were going to pass out from sleep deprivation and mental exhaustion. 

jeno knitted his brow in disappointment. you looked so perfect like this, ready and willing to take what he could give. and now his friends had to ruin it. 

sadly, he didn’t have time to be gentle.

your eyes immediately shot open at the feeling of him gripping your waist with one hand, and covering your mouth with the other. 

“don’t fucking say a word.” 

he snarled in your ear, spit accidentally hitting your lobe from how hard he spoke. he wrapped his veiny arm around your hips, forcing you away from the couch. 

you had more energy than he thought, preventing him from getting a good enough grip to hoist you over his shoulders. you kicked at the coffee table, managing to knock over the glass of water onto the hardwood floor. he saw you turn your head towards the direction of the door from the sound of a few more knocks, those probably being the first you heard ever since they arrived.

he suffered through the discomfort of you gnawing at his fingers as he dragged you back towards the basement. 

your measly struggle only allowed a single muffled scream to bounce against the crevices of his hands. 

as he kicked the door open to the basement, he switched positions, this time dragging you down by a simple chokehold, causing your body to slump from the lack of circulation.

your heels knocked against each step, no longer having the adrenaline to fight back. he hurriedly grabbed the duct tape on the workbench, knowing he wouldn’t have enough time to do a thorough restraint.

it pained him to toss you onto the hard floor, just when you were beginning to find solace in his home. but he continued to tape your mouth, and your wrists, ripping the strips with his teeth. 

he added plenty to your mouth, knowing you were smart enough to try and lick the adhesive. 

you were disoriented enough from your elbows and knees striking the concrete, that he was able to sprint back upstairs, locking you inside. 

there wasn’t as much of a mess when he returned, just a glass of water shattered into pieces on the floor. he ignored it for now, already coming up with an excuse for the slight disarray.

he wiped his hands free of your saliva before opening the door. 

of course the two were excited to see him. 

“took you long enough!” jaemin exclaimed before reaching in for a hug. jeno didn’t return the embrace, choosing to remain cold and statuesque.

the two friends could sense the tension, coming to their defense immediately. 

“now before you get pissed, we sent you hella text messages and you never responded.” jaemin stepped back, raising up the palms of his hands. 

“yeah and we were beginning to worry. is it okay if we come in and talk? just thought it would be nice to check on you.” mark followed suit with his concern, hoping jeno would permit them entry.

secretly, jeno was squeezing his side of the door handle to death, and internally, his blood was boiling.

he had an entire human being probably thrashing around in his basement, and two unmarked graves of his ex and your ex in his backyard.  

now wasn’t the time.

but they were already here, and telling them to leave wouldn’t be easy. 

“fine. but you can’t stay long. i have to go grocery shopping here soon.”

a complete lie. 

jeno stood aside to let them enter, remembering to bring up the broken glass on the living room floor as they took off their shoes. 

“be careful, i dropped a glass of water earlier. let me sweep it up first.” jeno made sure they stopped in their tracks before walking over to his coat closet to grab the broom and dustpan.

he swept up the crystal shards in seconds, mentally praying that they would want to do something other than just talk in silence, 

something to drown out the potential noises you would make from downstairs.

—

unbeknowest to you, jeno was trying his hardest to appear unbothered as the three took turns playing Street Fighter. 

he kept losing, which seemed unlike him. and not once yelling at the screen was unlike him too. mark and jaemin noticed his lack of excitement, but couldn’t brush it off any longer.

“you sure you’re okay?” mark looked over at jeno once the match ended. 

“yeah i’m fine.”

“we can stop playing if you want. i get you’re not always in the mood.”

“no it’s fine. i need the distraction…”

jeno looked down at his controller, finding that to be the better option than locking eyes with either of them.

“is work kicking your ass? maybe you need a vacation…have some time away from all the bullshit.” 

jaemin did have a point, but you were more important. vacation could wait. 

—

had you finally been rescued? had the police finally traced him?

the lack of commotion from the rest of the house left you feeling hopeless. maybe the detectives were doing a welfare check, which wouldn’t account for much noise. jeno didn’t seem like the type to attack law enforcement nor turn himself in. 

he’d only had you all to himself for a day now, you doubted he would give himself up so soon. 

you managed to stand to your feet, thankful for the rush that prevented him from taping your ankles together.

you tried searching his workbench for any signs of a sharp object that could cut your wrists free. of course he locked everything away, and there didn’t seem to be a secret compartment. 

you then ran up the stairs and placed your ear against the door.

all you could hear were two faint voices other than jeno’s. but they weren’t loud enough to discern their position in the world. either way, you had to make your presence known. 

the length from the door to the stairs was non-existent, which meant you couldn’t get a head start to ram your shoulders into the steel material.

the least you could do was kick and shove it, just enough to indicate a disturbance.

you did all the above; sure to make his visitors look in the direction of the basement.

you were beginning to get overzealous in your attempts. you just knew you were going to be saved now. 

just as you stepped back to increase what momentum you had, you felt gravity pull you down towards the trenches.

without any assistance from your hands to break your fall, your entire body tumbled down the staircase. 

the uneasy sound of a pop rang under your skin, traveling all the way from your ankle. 

as soon as your twisted body settled at the bottom of the staircase, you instantly knew.  

he was definitely going to dispose of you now.

—

jeno thought he could never truly be mad at you. but when you decided to cause a scene downstairs, he knew a punishment was in order. 

luckily, mark received a call from his girlfriend saying she needed help installing a new router in her apartment, and since jaemin rode together with him, they had to leave. 

your pandemonium just began as the two put on their shoes and said their goodbyes, making sure to stress to him that if he ever needed to “rant or vent”, to give them a call.

his demeanor was like a switch as soon as he shut the door, his eyes darting over to the now silent basement, jaw clenched so hard that he could’ve tore a muscle.  

maybe you realized your fate, he thought as he power walked over to the door. 

the scene in front of him was far from what he could have ever guessed: you were sprawled on your back, laying in a pool of your own tears. as soon as he caught sight of your injury, he put two and two together. 

you fell and sprained your ankle.

a faint sigh left his lips, and he rubbed his eyes as if to erase the mess you were now in. 

your sobs grew louder as jeno made his way down the steps, hoping he would gain a conscious by the time he made it down.  

to your surprise, jeno didn’t pull out a knife, neither did he wrap his hands around your neck and give it a fateful squeeze. 

he bent down, carefully gathering your crippled legs together. with one brief exhale, he brought one arm around the back of your neck and the other under your bundled knees. he rose up effortlessly, without any need to readjust his footing. 

you winced into his chest at the feeling of your ligaments pulling apart even further from hanging in the air. 

but the pain seemed to have subsided for a split second as you looked up at the man carrying you bridal style up the stairs.

blemishless skin, pink lips, long eyelashes—

you interrupted your outlandish thoughts, choosing not to label him as outwardly flawless. you could burn in hell if you ever admitted so.

—

your foot had completely mutated, like you had swapped body parts with an alien. 

somehow you were alive, and that’s all that mattered.

jeno took the time to carry you to his bedroom and place you on his king- sized bed. you didn’t even need to ask for help as he swung your legs onto the semi-firm mattress. 

his entire room sported a similar Scandinavian design like the rest of his house, with more plants hanging from his bedroom window. 

“my foot looks disgusting…” you thought you whispered low enough under your breath, but jeno managed a chuckle as he started gathering extra pillows from his closet to elevate your swollen ankle. 

it sounded foreign, but oddly comforting.

“well, you managed a pretty decent tear. just be grateful it wasn’t your achilles, or i would’ve had to take you to the doctor…” 

“how long do you think?”  

“mmhm, three to four weeks. as long as you don’t put unnecessary pressure, it should be pretty painless. i have some ice packs in the freezer but i need to go digging for some pain pills. do you need anything else before i go get them?”

“a glass of water and blankets please.”

“of course.” he nodded at each request, making a mental checklist and walking off in the direction of the coat closet to gather the blankets. 

you scooted back in the bed, letting the headboard support you while you sat in an upright position. 

it didn’t take long for him to come back with a handful of all the things you needed.

a glass of water and ibuprofen lay on the adjacent nightstand, two pillows were placed underneath your ankles, three assorted blankets were folded neatly at the foot of the bed, two ice packs were wrapped in microfiber towels, and the fully stocked bathroom was just a few steps down the hallway to the right. 

you already had a brief discussion with him on needing assistance to go to the bathroom, though it left you feeling rather uncomfortable. then you thought back to him buying feminine products—maybe it was less awkward than you thought.

as the evening progressed, jeno remained by your side, scrolling through his phone on the other half of the bed. he didn’t speak much, only checking every once in a while to see if you needed to pee, too much in fact. 

he quickly realized your slight annoyance from his fifth time asking, deciding to keep quiet for the rest of the night. 

you finally managed to rest with your eyes closed once the ibuprofen took away some of the discomfort, and within minutes, you drifted off. 

—

3 Weeks Later

—

your recovery was painless just like jeno predicted. within a week, the swelling and bruising went down.

in the second week, you were able to walk to the kitchen to heat up your own food in the microwave.

considering jeno worked from home and couldn’t leave his office space that often, you tried your best to be self-sufficient. 

through it all, he continued to cook and clean, creating somewhat of a new domestic lifestyle that you never thought was possible. 

once he finished work at 6pm, he would come out of his office and into his bedroom where you spent your time reading. he would always refill your glass of water and lift the ice pack to take a peek at your ankle. 

you never admitted to him that you missed interpersonal relationships or profound conversation, but there was something deep within you that thought maybe he could see it in your face everytime he brought you a snack from the pantry without saying a word.  

in all honesty, you were afraid to bring up anything from his past. it wasn’t like the two of you were together and you had no idea he was a murderer. 

he showed his true colors from the very beginning.

every night he slept on the far half of the bed, always starting off on his back, with one hand behind his head. once he hit deep sleep, he shuffled quite a bit until he found comfort being on his side, sometimes facing you, sometimes not.

you never awoke to snoring or his body making contact with yours. most nights you would wake from a nightmare, though you did a decent job at hiding it. some nights you couldn’t handle the agony that plagued your mind, laying there crying for hours. 

just when you thought jeno couldn’t hear your sublte cries, he did. but what could he do to make it better? 

in the final week, jeno did some makeshift physical therapy with you, testing your range of motion while you sat on the edge of the bed.

he seemed to be in deep concentration, even making sure the room was silent so he could listen for any popping sounds that would’ve indicated more recovery time. 

“i don’t know if it’s just me, but i don’t look as stiff anymore.” you said as you watched jeno gently rotate your ankle clockwise, then counterclockwise. 

“you certaintly don’t feel stiff. i think we’ve done everything right so far.” jeno smiled, quite impressed with how well his methods turned out for you. he let your foot come back softly against the bed before standing up. 

your breath hitched when he positioned himself in between your legs, staring down into your glossy eyes.

jeno pondered on the thought of bringing up your sleepless nights. but he didn’t know of a correct way, or if there was one at all. the only thing he could do was make sure you had access to one pain pill at a time, for if the day came that you left him, he would leave the earth too. 

you had “been with him” for almost a month now, and you managed to last longer than he thought. 

he admired you for that. 

“will i ever know who you are?” 

your voice gave out, dwindling into thin air. jeno watched as you dropped your head to conceal what dignity you had left.

he used a single finger to prop you back up, ultimately deciding if an embrace would make it better. 

there’s no way it could. 

—

Day 32 

—

this was the worst nightmare you’ve had yet.

the scene was too vivid, too real to let go of.

reliving the day your boyfriend died ate away at your soul and spit out what sanity you had left.

each time he died, the more he spoke to you, as if he wasn’t dead.

“you see that i’m quite dead. how awful.”

though his neck had just been slit, he laid there…staring at you…speaking so monotone, so robotic. 

“why do you make me experience this over and over again? wake up. wake up. wake up.” he repeated to you. 

your blood-curdling screams filled the bedroom; yet another sleepless night for not only you, but jeno too. 

it was only recently that you began thrashing around the bed and filling the silent room with your grief-stricken cries. 

there was no trying to hide it now…the pain became too much. 

jeno immediately rose out of bed, enveloping your shaken body in a full embrace, the first time that he’d ever done so.

you continued to wail as if he wasn’t there. 

“where is he-i need to see him! where did you put him?!” 

you continued to repeat your demands, rocking back and forth in his arms.

jeno knew what you meant, but he was sure you truly didn’t need to know. if you were this broken down from the nightmares, there was no way learning the truth could make it all better.

jeno knitted his brow as you continued to shuffle within his broad frame. 

he would never admit this to you, but these past few weeks have been miserable. 

he was beginning to lose hope. 

spraining your ankle was probably the best thing that could’ve happened; as bizarre as that sounded.

the two of you spent so much time together, and even though jeno could tell you wanted to know more about him, there just wasn’t a right time. not yet.

his past and how he came to be was best left unsaid. not until you seemed “better”, as the heavy load of his own trauma would’ve only made it worse for you. 

and now here you were, still not “better.” 

within the time that you began to gain control of your breathing, jeno contemplated his decision. 

he let go of your body, rubbing his eyes to adjust better to the dark room. 

you watched closely as he made his way around to you and held out his hand.

for the first time, you took it. 

it was if you were still dreaming, but no longer fighting your night terror. 

he guided you towards the living room patio door, walking slowly enough in regards to your recently healed ankle.

you seemed to have forgotten that the backyard existed, as you were so used to being in your own purgatory. nonetheless, you were eager to see the outdoors again, yet still unsure why he was taking you there. 

jeno used his non-occupied hand to push the curtains away before unlocking the sliding door, still keeping his other hand interlocked with yours. 

a slight breeze hit your face as the two of you stepped onto the patio. 

even in the early morning, the moon still illuminated bright against the deciduous trees swaying in the wind. petrichor emanated from the dampened grass, soothing away your stresses immediately.  

being outside for even just a second made up for all the lost time you spent in captivity.

maybe this is why jeno brought you here, to finally let you experience the beauty of the outdoors again; to take your mind off the troubles of your nightmares.

you remained behind him, peaking over his shoulder to admire the forgotten land you once accustomed yourself to.

still no words were spoken as he lead the way into the yard. you continued to hold his hand, finding comfort in the creases of his palms. 

he came to a stop in the middle, and appeared to have been looking down at something. you furrowed your brow as he let go of your hand, already missing the contact that kept you down to earth.

once you stepped aside to be shoulder to shoulder, you immediately realized what this was.

your wish had been granted. 

in front of you were two raised patches of dirt, one seemed to have settled more than the other. it appeared that grass had been planted, in an attempt to speed up the rate of growth on the disturbed level of soil. 

your world shattered—crashing into the depths of pure misery and sorrow.

you fell to your knees, the softened mud painting your pajama pants deep brown.

all the tears you could’ve cried remained back inside the house. this time, your chest felt tight, constricting any sign of emotion.

jeno remained blank, gearing up for the words that would change your life forever.

he bent down to your level, knees settling into the mud, eyes glossed over.

he waited for you to look up from the two graves, almost considering if he should do this.

you met his eyes, just as dark as the sky.

“this will probably be the last time you ever see him.” 

to you, his voice barely sounded human, morphed into the monster he truly was.

you felt a surge of fight or flight—a passion to fight for your survival. 

it all became a blur as you lunged forward, grabbing both sides of his chiseled face and connecting your lips to his. 

you couldn’t bear to keep your eyes open as you kissed him. for you knew that this way of self-preservation would haunt you if you made it out alive. 

giving him what he wanted all this time, seemed to be the only logical way.

jeno welcomed your lips without falter, as if this was the answer. 

his lips were soft, mending against your own like silk. 

your hands remained attached to his jawline, as he trailed down to grip your waist.

he squeezed you just right, not too hard like he’d done in the past. 

you wanted him to take control, to show that he could do whatever he wanted. the whimpers that escaped your lips, told him so. 

the kiss never broke, as you both rose and stood under the pale moonlight. his hands traced down further, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. he cupped the underside of your thighs within a single catch of your breath, to which you exhaled and whined, so gingerly. 

he took your subtle detachment as an opportunity to connect your tongues, the feeling of warmth completely searing your insides. 

you were too dazed to match the way his tongue explored your mouth, but the messiness ignited infatuation for how unique he tasted. 

still, it could never be too much, not even the way your conjoined saliva dripped onto your tear-stained shirt. 

there was no limit for how willing you were to submit.  

he swallowed the whimpers that fell from your mouth, trying his hardest not to tug on your lips too harshly. 

his hands pressed upwards on the back of your thighs, signaling that he craved more.

he clutched onto your ass as you jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist.

you could feel the growth in his sweatpants increase the moment your breasts made contact with his clothed chest, nipples almost meeting together in the same distance across.

you were both harmonious in your attempts to get back inside the house; just the simple action of raking your fingers through his raven locks, encouraged him to move quickly. 

he managed to walk through the yard with ease, taking only a brief moment to peek behind you to ensure he didn’t trip over the entrance from the patio. 

during his journey to the bedroom, you buried your face into his neck, peckering on the veins that branched out into beautiful streams of blue.

your tongue found his racing pulse just as he kneed the door open to the room.

he laid you down on the edge of the bed, choosing to return the favor and kiss along your neck. 

your hands couldn’t decide on a spot to grab, so you kept them tangled in his hair.  

you had to be as convincing as possible that you craved this too, but it didn’t seem that hard to do when he caressed you in all the right places.   

“i’ve waited so long for this, for you…”

his voice had gone even deeper, vibrating against your collarbone as he kissed there. 

he continued further, meeting your chest that so desperately needed to be exposed. his teeth tugged on your hardened nipples through your cotton shirt, earning yet another whimper that bounced off the painted walls of the bedroom. 

he was dependent on your noises of pleasure, desperate to hear every sound that told him he was doing well.

just as you blinked, he lifted your shirt, with not enough patience to take it the rest of the way off. his mouth latched onto your sensitive nipple, soothing the sting with his tongue every time he nipped it between his teeth. 

he gave the same amount of attention to the other, swirling his wet muscle along every inch of your breasts. deep down, you wanted him to inch further towards where he deserved to be.

but you felt so sinful for thinking so. 

he continued his descent, kissing along the flesh of your tummy and down to your pelvis. his eyes remained closed while doing so, as if he was already familiar with every feature of your lower body. you hadn’t even realized that he tugged your pajama pants off, discarding them somewhere on the floor.

you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on him, though you knew he had a look of pure bliss; excited to finally take what was his.

you jumped at the feeling of his nose resting on your clit, even rubbing it back and forth, painfully slow. he inhaled deeply, taking in your scent that was bound to get stronger once he took off your panties.

your entire body jolted from his tongue tapping your sensitive nub, causing all of your blood to rush to that spot. he poked at a faster pace, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the ache in your core, nor nullify the guilt you felt from actually enjoying it.  

he was teasing, obviously wanting to savor every moment that had no guarantee of happening again. 

“all mine…” he purposefully whispered close to your clothed heat, the spurts of air hitting your dampened panties with every unhinged word he spoke. 

you wiggled your bottom half, coaxing him into giving the attention you so desperately needed.

he was receptive to your attempts, immediately hooking his hands under the seam of your panties and pulling them off in one fell swoop. you kept your arms close to your upper body as a way to console yourself for how far you let this go. 

he pried your legs open wide, pushing them back so they were bent at the knee. his hands rested on top, pausing to inhale your scent once more. 

you kept the view below hidden with your arms, as the sight would be too much to take in. the mere feeling of him licking a single strip with his flattened tongue, from your puckered hole all the way up to your engorged clit forced a complete sigh of relief out of your body. 

you covered your mouth with your hands as a result, conflicted on whether or not you should hold it in anymore.

judging by the pause, jeno wasn’t pleased with your concealment. 

“don’t fucking cover your mouth.”

he spoke right into your pussy, eyes trained on your next move. you obeyed him that easily, placing your arms down at your sides to grip the sheets. 

as soon as you looked down, you were met with a sight that would ultimately defy all virtue left in your sickened world. 

jeno’s eyes were locked onto you, lapping at your slick with such determination to make you cum from his mouth alone. 

his hands had moved from your legs to your thighs, making sure to keep you static through it all. 

he did everything right—sucking on your clit, dragging it lightly between his teeth, covering every inch of your folds with his spit.

each time he propelled his saliva onto your wet cunt, you couldn’t help but try to close your thighs around his head; all purity soiled by the way he defiled your pussy. 

you knew it would only get filthier from here.

he snaked his left hand down, the pads of his thumb coming to rest on your pulsating bundle of nerves. his other hand formed a union between his fore and middle finger, making a way to your entrance.

it was evident through your prolonged captivity that jeno would feel resistance as he eased his two fingers inside. he wasn’t as slow as you hoped, but if it was for the sake of prepping, you would take what warnings he gave you. 

all three of his methods worked in reducing the pressure in your pelvic floor, but you still felt as though you could never truly be ready for his cock, mentally or physically. 

“you can barely take my fingers, fuck…”

he took the chance to curve his fingers inside you, creating friction as he scraped against your spot effortlessly. 

your entire world was spinning, and it was just the beginning. 

he was steady as he fucked you with his fingers, never once loosing sight of how ruined you were. 

the squelching from your walls suffocating his digits caused his sweatpants to feel uncomfortably tight. 

he couldn’t wait to stretch you full. 

the denial you onced claimed, began to wash away as you felt your orgasm approaching. 

his pace increased, creating a rhythm that was bound to make you crash. 

“i-i cant! please!” 

jeno ignored your cries, utterly content with forcing it out of you whether or not you wanted him to stop.  

you grabbed a fistful of his hair again, resting your fingers in his scalp as your whole body convulsed. 

constellations flooded your vision, blinding you from the reality of your guilt. you couldn’t help but grind into his face, prolonging the peak of your climax. 

all but his mouth left your pussy, his hands ushering your lower body even closer.

he managed to stay latched onto your beating clit, as your body continued to spasm. he truly didn’t want to leave that spot, as he found himself completely drunk off of what you gifted him. 

the amount of your juices that painted his mouth and chin, was proof.

you barely had enough core strength to lessen the impact of your legs falling against the bed as jeno rose to his feet.

he undressed himself within seconds, tossing the items of clothing inside the open closet. 

all you could do was lay there and be a tool, trying your hardest not to react to the size of his cock. 

there truly wasn’t anywhere he could fit, not even in your mouth if he wanted you there. 

you managed to survive this far, but you were already second-guessing your chances the moment he positioned his naked body in front of you.  

there was complete truth in how perfect he was—toned muscles, smooth complexion, and veins that branched out in every direction, most notably in his arms and hands. 

he was the epitome of virility. 

you were merely just a vessel for him to use and destroy. 

“take off your shirt.” 

he stroked his length, watching you fumble with the piece of clothing bunched around your neck.

as soon as you discarded it, he lifted both of your legs up, letting his shaft plop onto your wet mound. the sound was filthy, an indication of how wet you were. 

he started to glide his length up and down your pussy, practically wet humping your slick as if you weren’t overstimulated from his oral assault only minutes prior. you involuntarily jerked at the contact of his tip rubbing your abused clit, watching as he dragged his bottom lip between his teeth at your undoing.

he finally let his grinding come to a halt; tip stopping right at your navel. 

precum leaked inside the natural divet in your skin, forming a pool from his arousal. 

“pl-please jeno…i need you.” 

you no longer cared if it hurt, all that mattered was being at his complete disposal. 

he listened to your desires, finally conjoining your bodies as one. the stretch was uncomfortable, burning even. but the satisfaction that followed, negated every ounce of hatred you used to feel. 

you attempted to breathe through the discomfort, but all you could produce was a gasp as he eased his way further. even through the pain, you could see in his face that you were his entire world. 

his mouth hung open, eyes rolling back for a second before gaining focus on your effort to accomodate his size. a line of saliva fell from his lips onto his shaft, making more of a mess than was thought possible. 

you were severely uncoordinated from the intensity of your previous orgasm, but that didn’t stop you from pulling him in for a kiss as he bottomed out. you moaned into his mouth, slurping on his tongue to taste what remained of your essence. 

he furrowed his brow when you clenched down as hard as his girth would allow, sucking him further inside your cervix.

he finally took it upon himself to move, feeling resistance as he geared up to piston inside you. his hands made their way from your thighs to your neck, gripping hard enough to make a vein visibly pulse against your temple. you placed your hands on top of his, hoping he wouldn’t take that as a sign to soften his hold on your throat. 

this was everything you wanted. the exhilaration of being on the brink of death, a stark contrast to how he’s made you feel before. tingling littered under where his palms squeezed, causing you to writhe in pleasure as he drilled into your pussy. 

no matter how hard he squeezed, you trusted that he wouldn’t end you. not when he was completely buried in your walls, growling in your ear at how well you took his cock. 

“you’re so perfect, taking my dick so well…” his words sounded muddled from the ringing present in your ears, you weren’t even sure you comprehended them correctly through the high building up inside you a second time.

you managed to let a moan escape through the restriction as he pushed both of your bodies higher on the bed, having enough skill to remain inside you the entire time. 

jeno noticed your eyelids begin to flutter, a sign that you were teetering on the edge. he relished in the sight—your body slumped against him, your vocal chords attempting to produce noise but ultimately failing.

you were officially cock drunk, inebriated by how well he fucked you dumb. 

even through the haze, you could see him enjoying every second, tugging on his lips to suppress the animalistic sounds brewing deep within his chest. 

he finally took his hands away, allowing your senses to restore from the lack of oxygen. your chest heaved profusely, causing your back to arch as if you were being exorcized.

his stamina was still just as unwavering, never once losing rhythm. just as you gained control of your breathing, he pushed your legs back towards your head, simultaneously being in awe of your flexibility. 

the sound of skin slapping hit against your eardrums with each strike, and now that there was a surge of pressure being applied to your throat from this new position, you could barely vocalize how flawless he was at hitting your spot every, single, time.

you could feel his length twitching, veins swelling, and balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. 

your stomach tightened from the pressure against your womb, forming a wave that you were bound to drown in. 

“i know you’re close…cum on my cock…fuck.” he gulped in between, trying his hardest to hide the shakiness in his voice. he was just as close as you were, ready to explode at any moment. 

all it took was for him to pause and grind into you slowly.

and with it, came a cathartic release. 

a string of moans finally escaped through your restriction, forming a melody for jeno to absorb in his frenzied brain. 

unhinged groans fell from his lips as he emptied his seed; silken fluid overflowing and mixing with your own.

you clenched around his dick even harder than before, milking him for everything he was worth.

he stilled inside you for a while, practically putting all of his body weight on you while you remained in that position.  

the back of your thighs were sure to have bruises from how long he had kept his hands there. but you wouldn’t trade those marks for the world. 

you shuddered as he exited you without warning, shifting to lay by your side. even through the silence, your thoughts were loud. 

he came inside you, and it was obvious that the aftermath of the situation plagued his mind too.

—

you pretended to be asleep. though jeno was a different story, which all worked in your favor. as the morning progressed, he pulled your backside into his chest, one arm resting on your waist and the other under your neck. it was a surprise to you, considering he never touched you in his sleep. 

the main complication you faced now was slipping out of his arms without waking him. 

you were still backed up against his front when you lifted your head to view the time. 

the nightstand clock read 7:32am. 

if you didn’t act soon, you would be put underground, allowing someone else to take your place and experience the same horrors as you. 

you wiggled yourself to test his stimuli, no response. so you did it again, nothing.

you carefully lifted his arm that was on your waist and began to scoot towards the side of the bed. he stirred once, but not enough to fully rouse him. 

the time read 7:37pm when you finally stood to your feet. 

you could’ve made your way to the kitchen, but cleaning up was definitely a priority. 

you treaded lightly towards the bathroom, not even bothering to bring clothes. as you stepped inside, you were met with abhorration. 

the person you saw in the mirror was barely recognizable, ravaged beyond repair. and no matter how hard you scrubbed your body, it still couldn’t wash away the bruises or the remnants of jeno that had been sitting inside you for the past two hours.  

hopefully by the time you got back to him, you would finally be purged of his undying affliction. 

the simple action of grabbing a knife from the kitchen wasn’t so simple in your regards. 

your anxiety started to rise as you entered the kitchen. there, laying on the counter, in a stainless steel holder, were your means of redemption. 

it didn’t matter what kind, just as long as it cut deep enough… 

the one you grabbed happened to be a paring knife; ideal for your method of use.

your hands were sweaty, making it difficult to grip thoroughly. but you managed with two hands, all the way back towards the bedroom. before jeno could potentially see you through the doorway, you switched your hands, positioning the knife behind your back.

he was still sleeping, peacefully.

the clock read 7:59am. any minute now. 

you walked around to where his back was facing you; his slow and steady breathing being a complete imbalance to your racing heart. 

you maintained a good grip of the knife as you slipped under the disheveled sheets, attempting to straddle him and in turn wake him up for his departure. 

at first, he grimaced, wondering why his sleep was being disturbed. but once his eyes fluttered open, he smiled, blissfully unaware of your deception. 

he turned onto his back so you could straddle him properly, his body heat greeting you like the sun.

he lifted his hands and started to caress your thighs, creating goosebumps along your tender skin. he seemed to be focused on the bruising, expression filled with pride at how hard he claimed you.

you fought with every fiber of your being to hold back tears as you lowered yourself onto his chest. 

you met his soft lips for the last time. sealing his fate with a kiss. 

you exposed the knife in your right hand before sinking it into his side, the impedance of his tough flesh trying to stop you from sinking the blade in deep. 

you kept your eyes closed through it all, but you could feel his mouth open in shock. 

your tears finally broke, and just as you felt them separate from your chin, you opened your eyes.  

and stabbed again. 

and again.

and again. 

you flinched each time, waiting for a piercing cry, but there was nothing. his mouth hung open in agony, trying to produce a scream, but there was nothing. 

his skin had turned pale, eyes dilated and whirling out of control. soon came the blood, painting your hands, the sheets, and his tepid skin. 

you buried your face into his neck, hoping to hear his pulse slowly drift away. 

instead you were met with his last words,

“you made it…”

—

check to see what readers are saying here!

//tagging:

@pradajaehyun @glitchfiles @nikimeows @seungsthetic

[justanothersanjilover]

One Piece Modern Gym Au Wip (Part 25)

It would be a lie if Sanji would say that he wasn’t shaking while following Zeff. He knew his Stepdad - scratch that, his Dad! - would never hurt him in any way…not intentionally anyway. But they haven't seen each other for two years and saying they parted on no good terms was an understatement.

“Sanji?”

He looked up to see Patty and Carne starring at him and then at Zeff. The old man looked like he bit into a lime and tried desperately not to pull a face.

„Hi, you guys. It‘s been a few days, right?“ Sanji tried to break the awkward silence.

“You little shithead, come here”, Patty grumbled, came over.

He put Sanji in a headlock and held him tightly, laughing because of the half-hearted struggle of him. The apron in his hands was falling to the floor when he grabbed Pattys arm.

“Let him go, Patty. He just came back, don't break him,” Carne laughed, wiping his hands on his apron.

„Let him cook,“ Zeff‘s voice rumbled through the kitchen and made them all flinch.

Patty and Carne again looked from Sanji to Zeff and Patty quickly let go of him. Sanji busied himself with stroking some imaginary wrinkles out of his clothes.

„What‘s he cooking?“ Patty asked and walked back to the stove.

„Whatever the fuck he wants! Never listened to me anyway,“ Zeff shot a fiery look at him and Sanji‘s stomach dropped.

„M…maybe…“ Sanji thought about Zoro and Perona. „Oh, I know!“

He turned and grabbed an apron from the hooks on the wall behind the kitchen door. Somehow he automatically grabbed a blue one with childish drawn sea life pictures on it - it was his anyway…why was it hanging there?

Did Zeff really just leave it for two years? Sanji asked himself while walking to the storage room.

He felt the eyes of his stepdad following him everywhere. It made him a bit nervous. He actually was prepared for everything when walking into the Baratie. Screaming, tears, maybe a quick and hard kick in the ass (which would be fair, to be honest). But not Zeff seating him and his friends on one of the best tables and then demanding him to cook.

He got all the ingredients he needed and walked back to one of the work stations - also his usual spot from two years ago. Smiling he took a knife from the knife holder on the wall. It was like coming home. His knives, sharp as ever - like he‘d never left. He could feel his eyes fill with tears and wiped them away.

Turning on the stove beside him and pulling a pot on it, he moved to wash the rice he got. After a few washes, the water stopped looking milky and so he put the rice in the pot with a bit of salt. While the rice cooked, he cut and peeled a few veggies like peppers, green beans, carrots, peas and a few more. Those went into a pan and was put on low heat with a bit water in the pan to steam it.

While he waited for everything to get done, he grabbed another knife and started cutting and seasoning three salmon filets. He fell back into the routine of working in the kitchen at rush hour so easily. While the salmon was steaming in the oven, he whipped together a sauce that was a bit spicy - with chili flakes in it.

The rice and veggies were done in time. He placed both on a plate, preparing it to look like it was a swirl of white and color chasing each other. The fish was done just when he finished the last plate. Smiling, he placed the salmon on top of the rest. Rounded everything off with some heart-shaped carrots on two plates and swirls of the sauce on top of everything.

“Orders up…” His voice got quieter as he spoke.

This wasn't an order…this wasn't his job anymore…he, wasn't working there. Again, his guts dropped and Sanji actually felt dizzy and like throwing up. What was he thinking?! Why was he just doing this? When anyone wanted to hurt Zeff’s reputation, they just needed to tell around that the Master Chef let some random walk-in cook prepare food in his kitchen.

“Still knows the drill after two years,” Crane joked. “Once in this hell, always in this hell, right?”

“Y…Yeah…I…” Sanji stepped back and took off the apron and wrung it in his hands. “I’m sorry I infiltrated your kitchen…and I’m sorry that I just came back without any warning…I…I’m sorry I never reached out; that I never called...” Sanji said quickly before his panic would take hold of him - he had turned to Zeff. „I‘m sorry…“

Zeff stepped in front of him, and Sanji flinched slightly. The look on Zeff’s face softened when he saw that.

“You aren't actually afraid of me, are you?”

Sanji looked up with big eyes and was pulled into a tight hug the next moment.

“You’re such an idiot, Sanji!”

It took a few seconds for him to realize what was going on. But then he hugged Zeff back and actually started crying.

“I’m so sorry! I didn't want to leave! I didn't want to!” he sobbed against his stepdads shoulder. “I had to…He would have…I didn't want you to lose the Baratie! I’m so sorry! I’m sorry!”

“It's fine,” Zeff patted his back and stroked his head. “I know…I was angry and shouldn't have said what I’ve said back then. I know you’d never just leave without a warning.”

They hugged each other for a moment, but when Crane let out a long, drawn aw, Zeff let go of Sanji, spun around, and almost glocked his su-chef on the head with his foot. Crane stumbled back to get out of reach but laughed out of the depth of his belly.

“You should get that food out to your friends, eggplant,” Zeff grumbled when Crane slipped out of reach.

“Yeah…gotta do that before the salmon is cold,” Sanji replied and turned to the kitchen station again.

With practiced movements, he put one of the plates on his forearm and took one in each hand. He opened the door with his foot and was out within seconds - falling back into the habits of working there was easy.

“Fried rice with salmon and a variety of vegetables topped off with a spicy sauce,” Sanji said, placing one plate in front of Perona and the other in front of Zoro before sitting down himself.

Prev / next

First Part

[slippinmickeys]

A prompt, formally. Shepherdstown WV.

Mulder pulled the car into the gravel lot and cut the engine. In front of them was a long wood building, painted a light blue. Over the entrance was an olde-tymey sign that said “O’Hurley’s General Store,” and on every conceivable surface on the rest of the building, it listed its wares: Glassware, Hardware, Furniture, Yard Goods. Hats, Music, Dolls. Housewares, Toys. Guns, Knives, Tools.

Scully threw him a skeptical look. “Did you…forget to pack something?” she asked.

Mulder put his seat back and settled in. “No,” he said. “We’re here on surveillance.”

Scully balked. “Surveillance?”

Mulder nodded. “I think our suspect shops here.”

“I wasn’t aware we had a suspect.”

Mulder turned to her. “We talked about this. The witch.”

“You’re right, Mulder, we did talk about this.” Scully could hear the whining in her own voice and did her best to level it. “Just because there was a pentagram found near the body doesn’t mean it was a ritual sacrifice. I explained this to the Sheriff as well.”

“It wasn’t just the pentagram, Scully. There was salt on the scene. Incense. All items used in ritual consecration practices.”

“t was the kitchen of a college student, Mulder. Salt and incense are pretty much par for the course.”

“Your autopsy showed he was killed with a sharp knife, ‘likely with a curved blade,’” he invoked a line directly from her report.

“…and that means witch?”

Mulder smiled at her. “The boline is a white-handled, curved, ritual knife, used mainly for the cutting of herbs and inscribing candles.”

Scully leaned back begrudgingly in her own seat. He wasn’t going to let this go.

“Fine. Our suspect is a witch. Why would he or she be shopping here?”

Mulder reached in his pocket and pulled out a folded up flier for the store they were parked in front of. Scully pursued the list.

“Cast iron,” she read off. “Enamelware. Dinner bells.”

Mulder nodded enthusiastically. “Candles,” he said. “Coffins. Frogs.” He pointed at the words painted on the side of the building. “Plus dolls. Dry goods. Knives.”

Scully turned to look at him.

“One stop shop for your modern day witch,” he said with a smile.

Scully looked back down at the advertisement, feeling her irritation give way to bemusement. “Who in the world drops into a general store to pick up a steam engine?” she said.

“Probably the same person who goes in for an anvil.”

She graced him with a grin.

“They sell ‘notions?’” She had to admit to being at least a little bit charmed.

Mulder bent his head to peer through the windshield at the store. “I really want to go in.”

Scully unbuckled her seatbelt. “So let’s go in.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Open your door before I change my mind.”

Mulder whipped off his own seatbelt and was out the door before Scully had a chance to button her coat.

She followed him up the gravel walkway, the stones crunching crisply under their feet. “I’ll bet you twenty bucks it smells weird in there,” she said.

“There’s no way I take that bet,” he replied, smiling. He trotted up the steps and held open the door for her and she shuffled in and turned to him, tapping her nose. His smile grew wider.

Scully then paused, five steps in, taken aback by the sight before her.

“Jesus,” she said. “I’ve never seen so much crap in one place.”

”Isn’t it great?” Mulder beamed.

A saleswoman appeared from behind a behemoth stack of crockery.

“Can I help you find anything?” she asked.

Mulder looked poised to say something she would probably wish he wouldn’t, so she decided to carry the mantle herself.

“Any chance you have a cauldron?” Scully asked.

“Absolutely!” The woman said brightly.

“How about a besome? A censer? An Athame?”

The saleswoman smiled. “Right this way,” she said, turning to make her way around several large barrels filled with wax-wrapped salt water taffy.

When Scully turned to see if Mulder was following her, she found him glued to the spot, his mouth agape.

“Scully?”

“Yeah?” she asked, more than a little pleased with herself.

“If they sell engagement rings, I’m buying you one.”

[uollop]

Pearlescent (Mer!Vash x Reader pt. 1)

Content: Mermaid Vash, GN! Reader, oceans (ofc), deep water, lifeguard reader, reader is ticklish

Word count: 2.3k

Notes: Happy MerMay! Mermaid AU won the poll pretty easily, so here it is! I hope you all enjoy it :))

Next Part

Vash had always been curious about humans, but his brother has always attempted to dissuade him from investigating them "for his own safety".

Knives would tell him stories about humans and the cruel things that they would do, but the tales didn't do much to satiate Vash's curiosity.

He would people-watch often, lurking in water that was likely too close to the shore for Knives' liking, simply watching the humans swim and talk and play. Watching them walk around on the beach had him wondering what it would feel like to walk with them. What the sand would feel like as he moved across the warm dunes.

He knew it was impossible, though. His tail prevented him from being able to enjoy nearly all of the activities that he was desiring to join in on.

It was getting late today, most of the humans had already left the water because of the chill in the air settling into the sea. Only a few remained on the sand, packing up their belongings to leave. He continued to watch, wondering where they went when they weren't at the beach. He was watching so intently that he didn't realize someone paddling over to him on a surfboard.

"Do you need help getting to the shore? It's getting cold, if you stay in the water any longer you'll get sick." When you spoke, you nearly scared the poor fish right out of his scales. Most humans ignored him during the day, but it seems he outstayed his welcome.

He recognized you. You were always sitting up high above the others, watching them during the day and occasionally blowing some kind of mechanism at them if they misbehaved. You were obviously some kind of an important person, seeing as they listened to you and that you were seated higher than the rest of them. Were you one of those royals that he had heard about in Nai's stories? He had been told about how cruel the Kings and Queens of the humans could be, but you seemed to hold a kindness behind your eyes that calmed his worries a bit.

"You've been in the water nearly all day," you laugh nervously at the lack of a response as you hold your hand out for him, "aren't you tired?"

He slowly blinked at you, a bit confused, before shaking his head, lowering himself deeper into the water so that it was only his blue eyes poking out. You watched him with curiosity before he suddenly dove under the water, splashing you a bit with the cold water as he swam away. Your eyes widened as he disappeared, cursing to yourself as you stared into the dark water. You waited a bit for him to come back up before you started to grow worried.

You slowly climbed off your board, allowing yourself to sink into the freezing water, goosebumps popping up across your skin as you tried to look into the water without fully submerging yourself. You couldn't even make out his shape anymore. You started to worry more, dipping your head under the water and opening your eyes, looking around. The salt of the water burned your eyes as you swam deeper, looking around for the blond.

It was so dark in the water that you could barely see anything that wasn't directly in front of you, but you managed to make out a silhouette deeper in the water. You swam towards it, reaching a hand towards the shadow before it swam further away. You narrowed your eyes and continued to swim after it, sure that it was the strange man that had been sitting in the ocean all day, watching people on the beach.

You had noticed him a few weeks ago. He came nearly every day, but you never saw him get into the water. He would always mysteriously appear in the part of the water that was too deep for most humans to swim comfortably, but he never seemed to mind. You were curious about him and, when you noticed he was the only one still in the water despite the bite in the air, you decided to go check on him.

His silence at your offer to help him towards the beach had concerned you a bit and, now, your concern got worse. You were starting to run out of air, but the shadow kept going deeper. As much as you wanted to keep following him, the stinging feeling in your lungs was enough to convince you to swim back towards the surface.

When you broke, you gasped, allowing air to fill your aching lungs as you coughed and rubbed your sore eyes. You were a trained lifeguard and he had been able to stay under much longer than you. You looked around the surface of the water, trying to see if he had surfaced while you were swimming back up, but you couldn't see him anywhere.

Panic continued to settle on your skin at the eerily quiet scene. The only movement in the water appeared to be your own as you frantically scanned the sea. You took a deep breath before dunking your head back under the water, almost screaming when you opened your eyes and you're met with bright blue eyes inches away from your face. You narrow your eyes at him and reach out to grab his arm before you realize something was off.

The first thing you see are the scars littered across his body. It was difficult to find a patch of skin that wasn't darkened by a slash or a stitch. There was also a concerning absence of a left arm, a short nub replacing where it should be.

You continue to glance down and notice something slightly more worrying. Instead of legs, he had a long... fish tail? You couldn't make it out well due to the pitch darkness that surrounded you both, but you were certain that you knew what legs looked like, and that thing definitely was not a pair of legs.

You reached out and grabbed his arm gently before allowing yourself to pop above the surface again, gasping for air and pulling him towards your surfboard. You released his arm once he surfaced, his scarred hand placing itself onto your surfboard. You reached towards the board and pulled yourself onto it, shuddering at the feeling of the cold air before looking back at him.

"You..." you trailed off as you stared at him, unsure if what you saw was real, "you aren't human, are you?"

He continues to stare at you, unspeaking before making a quiet chirping noise. You continue to stare at him in awe before shaking your head.

"Ok, um. I guess you're okay to stay in the water then... My shift is almost over, so I, uh..." You looked at him again before moving into a position that would allow you to paddle away easily. "I hope you have a good night. I assume you'll be here again tomorrow?" You ask cautiously before he nods and gives you a wide smile, showing off rows and rows of pointy teeth. It was almost cute. Mostly scary, but almost cute.

You slowly started to make your way back to the shore, occasionally glancing back at him. Every time you checked, it seemed like he wasn't getting any further away. Maybe he was even getting closer. Was he following you? You kept paddling, unsure if you were imagining things until you eventually made it to the shore and pulled your board out of the water. You turned towards him and see that he had pulled himself onto a nearby rock, his eyes still watching you.

Your eyes flicker down towards where his legs should be, your breath hitching as you get a better view of his tail. A long fish tail, covered in red and turquoise scales shimmered in the moonlight. You definitely hadn't seen it wrong; he was a merman.

You silently stare at his tail for a few more moments before you hear another chirping noise. You look up and see him patting the spot next to him on the flat rock. It takes you a moment to realize he wants you to sit with him, a patient look on his face as he taps his hand against the rock again.

You walk up to him and sit on the rock with him, a happy sounding noise coming from him as he immediately grabs your leg, causing you to yelp in surprise as your back hits the cold surface of the rock.

He examines your leg, a curious and excited look on his face as he squeezes your skin, stretching your leg out for a moment and then bending it at your knee, an amused chirp coming from him as he continues to move your leg back and forth.

You're confused at first before you realize that he doesn't have legs and that he probably isn't used to seeing them this close. You let him continue, until his hand brushes the underside of your foot, causing you to jolt and let out a stifled laugh.

He notices your reaction and repeats his movement, a large smile on his face. You laugh again, attempting to pull your leg away from him, but his grip is strong. He continues to touch along different parts of your leg and foot, smiling to himself.

Eventually he releases your leg and, for a moment, you thought it was over, until he suddenly grabbed your other leg, lifting it was well and playing with it as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. It was as if he hadn't just played with a nearly identical one, but you allowed him to examine your leg for as long as he would like. He doesn't mess with this one for as long, his curiosity satisfied as he places his hand on his lap, looking at you for another moment before giving you a gentle wave.

You wave back at him, unsure of what to say or do at this point. He seemed friendly, despite his sharp teeth. You stared at him for another moment before he made another high-pitched noise, sliding himself off the rock and smiling at you before diving under the water.

You waited a moment or two, unsure if he was coming back or not, until his head popped back up from the water. He swam towards the rock and held out his fist towards you. You looked at his hand for a moment before slowly placing your own hand underneath it, allowing him to empty the contents of his hand into your palm.

You looked into your hand curiously, the moonlight reflecting against a bunch of colorful pieces of sea glass. You slowly reached for a blue one, holding it towards the sky and allowing the light to shine onto it. You lowered your hand and smiled at him, "this is very nice. Thank you."

He lets out a satisfied noise before diving back under the water. You watch him disappear and, this time, he is gone for a longer period of time. When he does return, though, he is holding a soaking cloth bag in his hand.

He places the bag in your lap, looking at you expectantly. You set down the handful of sea glass that you had been holding next to you on the rock before pulling open the cloth bag, your eyes widening.

The bag was full of many things. More sea glass, sand dollars, shells, and a few pearls. You stare in awe for a moment before you give him a happy smile.

"This is beautiful, you seem to have been collecting for a long time," you say as you hand the bag back to him. His grin turns into a frown when you hold the bag out to him. He reaches up and pushes the bag back into your lap, chirping again. You stare at him in confusion for a moment before shaking your head with a laugh.

"I can't possibly keep all of this," You lift the bag up again, ready to hand it back to him before he lets out a low growl. Your face turns from a happy one to one of shock. He places his hand on the bag again and pushes it into your lap one more time. You blink a few times as you look from the bag to him, unsure of what to do before you shrug, "Ok, ok... I'll keep it."

He lets out a noise of pride and reaches into the bag, pulling out one of the pearls and holding it up to the moonlight. The small pearl shimmered gently against the light, its blue color was similar to the color of the merman's eyes. He looks up at you as if waiting for your reaction, so you give him a nod.

"That's very cool." You say as you admire the pearl. His smile grows as he moves closer to you, placing the pearl in your palm. He makes another chirping noise before closing your hand around the small treasure. You watch him carefully before giving him another smile. He looks up at you, his cheeks dusting a pink color. He stares at you for a moment before you hear a distant chirping sound. The merman in front of you blinks in surprise, looking at you for one more beat before waving and diving into the depths of the sea.

You waited for a while, unsure if he would be coming back. After ten or so minutes of waiting, you determined that he likely wasn't going to be returning. You stand up, gathering the items he had given you and walking towards your lifeguard tower. You glance down at your hand, admiring the pearl he had given you. You placed in it your pocket before taking the rest of your stuff and heading towards the path away from the beach, looking back at the sea one more time before smiling to yourself.

You hoped to see him again tomorrow.

Masterlist | Ao3

[the-real-treasure]

Treasure Treasure!

A OPLA Sanji x Reader

Master List Here

Chapter One: Shipwrecks and Hopeless Dreams

Summary: There’s a boy in the kitchen you would rip out your heart for. He hopes it will never come to that.

Trigger Warning: Threats and descriptions of violence, blood and gore, starvation, depressing language(?), Reader's Devil Fruit power is overwhelming and overstimulating Word Count: 2,828 **Edited 12/09/24**

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Standing in the crows nest of the mizzenmast, the sea salted wind burned your cheeks. Two years aboard the Orbit, and you still weren't used to the grittiness of the air when out at sea. The whipping winds and swirling storm clouds did not ease your discomfort, especially with the growing height of the waves and the discontented rumblings of the wood beneath your feet.

Before you had stepped foot on the Orbit, before your and Sanji's new lives had started, if someone, anyone, had told you that ships could have dreams, you would have called them crazy. What would wooden planks and cloth sails know about dreams, wishes or aspirations you would have wondered to yourself. Now though, now, with the Orbit creaking and moaning for more adventurous tidings than carting cruising passengers across the seas of the East Blue, you knew better. Anything, anything, if imbued with enough spirit and life could dream of more.

You closed your eyes. You couldn't think about that now. The storm was already causing a headache.

Then, amongst the screaming of the wind and the roaring crash of the heightening waves around you, the sound of splintering wood cracks below you. Snapping your eyes open, you peered through the darkness below you, only to spot another ship lurching through the water towards you, yellow duck figurehead near indiscernible in the darkness of the sea's blackness.

Pirates.

The shout rang out alongside the continuing of cannon fire. The man in the far crows nest screamed as he toppled from his perch into the frothing and dark water below, but you paid no mind. It wasn't the most brutal death you'd seen and it wouldn't be the last, you were sure of it. There were more pressing matters to attend.

Sanji. I need to find Sanji.

Your heart was pounding in your ears as you scrambled down to the deck, guns firing and people screaming around you. To others, it would look disconcerting how calm an eight year old appeared in the presence of the scourge of the seas but in that moment you were solely focused on escaping below deck to find your reason for being your best and only friend aboard.

SANJI-SANJI-SANJI

Your mind screamed his name along to the roaring of your heartbeat, pushing, punching and driving through crowds of panicking cruisers, crewmembers and cackling pirates equipped with cooking utensils and wicked sharp knives.

(The planks below your feet roared with joy and ache. Finally something, finally adventure)

Finally reaching the door to the galley, the roaring of your heartbeat turned into an all out shriek, seeing your Sanji, your Sanji, held to the wall by a giant with a stupid braided moustache and a knife to his throat.

Your mind went blank and your blood boiled. The act was on of instinct as you leapt onto the pirates back with a ear rending screech, tearing at his face and eyes with your nails, desperate to pull his attention away from your Sanji. The blond idiot decided to ignore your obvious attempt to save him as he joined in your screeching and clawing of the giant man between you, wracking his nails against the hand holding him hostage as the ship around you roared in encouragement of your bloodthirsty nature.

So enraged were you with the threat to Sanji, that you didn't realise the roar was coming from the tearing of the wood as the combined rage of the storm, the boundless strength of the sea and the continued barrage of cannon fire tore the hull in twain, the entire ship toppling into the salty water.

(The Orbit ached. She was so alive, if only for a moment, she lived.)

It was as the sea lapped your ears, soaking the bandages wrapped around your palms and weighing down your forearms, that your blood pressure cooled and your thoughts started to drift away from you, all fight and blind rage lost to the frigid water. You didn't register the desperate arms of a terrified child wrapping around your torso, or being scooped up like a sack of potatoes as your consciousness slipped into the dark depths of the East Blue. All you could see in front of misty eyes was the warm glow of yellow light on a stormy night, a blonde haired blue eyed figure looking down at you. Making you promise to try.

I'm sorry. I really did try.

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It was the unfiltered sunlight and warm stone below your cheek that woke you. Prying open your salt encrusted lashes was a trial, but catching a glimpse of Sanji lying strewn across the rockface beside you spurred your body to action, legs launching you up right and towards him before your surroundings had even registered.

You nearly collapsed on top of him, grasping desperately at his clammy and bloody cheeks. He was breathing and you joined him after a moment of pure stillness. Rage began to rattle trough you as he roused and you made eye contact with the man who had held him in harms way, stupid braided moustache drooping in the intense sun. Sanji's voice called from behind you to the man perched on the rock's edge.

"What happened?"

"A storm." The man's voice sounded gritty, like the wind had felt last night. Your nails dug into your palms. "Sunk both our ships."

"But..." His voice was weak and tired. "But the crew?"

"They're dead, aren't they?" It wasn't a question, not with the way you snarled it around your mouth like a sour juice. "Your pirates killed them all, left us to get shipwrecked!"

"All dead," he didn't blink at the accusation, "except for us."

You could hear the shuffling on the rocks as Sanji sat up behind you. "What d'we do?"

"We wait. And we hope that a passing ship spots us before that sun," he gestured to the horizon, "bleaches our bones."

“Now. This is all the food we got.” He stands from his perch at the edge, grabbing the smaller of 2 canvas sacks and tossing it at the two of you. “So eat slow. There’s no more after this.”

Rage swells in you but, still weak from the sea water and already starting to bake under the bright sun, you know none of you are in a fit state to start picking fights just yet. Sanji disagrees with you, glaring between the old man and the larger sack behind him.

”Why do you get the bigger one?!” H pulled himself up off the rocks and lurched into your back, steadfastness refusing to let him approach the pirate in front of you.

”’Cause I’m three times your size, that’s why!”

”There are two of us!” Sanji roared back.

The man snarled down at him over your shoulder and you nudged him further behind you.

”You know something? You should be glad that I’m giving you anything at all. Now,” Looking between the pair of you with a glare, “go over to the other side and keep lookout. And I mean it. Don’t bother me unless you see a ship.” He tilted his head, “You got it?”

He makes eye contact with you and crowds your space, spittle flicking into your eyes and making you yearn for the salty winds of the crows nest.

”I said, you got it?!” You feel Sanji shying into your back, he was two years your senior but you refused to do anything other than put yourself between him and potential threats. “Now go!”

Sanji grabs the sack and begins storming his way up the rock face behind you. You step back, intending to follow but refusing to be the first to drop eye contact. Deeming you no threat, how could you be with no weapons and nails torn blunt and bloody from the scratches in his face, he turns and returns to his sea-facing vigil. You turn and follow Sanji over the rocks.

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The island was cone shaped from what you could gather. Peering over the edge as you skirted around the perimeter, you saw the rock fall away into the sea, having worn away from decades, maybe centuries of corrosion by the sea. Thick needles jutted out of the surrounding water, and you think for a second on how funny and strange the luck of your life was. Any other group thrown against these rocks would have been naught but shreds of meat, not even a carcass left for seabirds to pick at but no. Not you and Sanji, you just had to survive and be left stranded on a ridiculous rock in the middle of the ocean with a blood soaked, waterlogged and irritable pirate to boot.

(Hatred, paranoia, apathy. They rang through your bones like vibrations through a bell, ringing through your head. The island hated you being here as much as you hated being here.)

It had been almost a month on the rock and as the rain pelted down on you and your golden boy, a familiar hopelessness  had landed squarely in your mind. Hidden in a small outcropping in the barren rock, you both shielded yourselves as best you could from the torrential downpour. You were barely dozing, trying to keep in front of the idiot boy beside you as the wind howled across the darkness of the sea, soaking you in cold and noise and bells-

Bells? Both your heads raised as the faintest ringing of a ships bells echoed out of the storm, and in the distance you could barely make out the outline of a ship on the horizon. Wild panic seized you both as you leapt out of your cover screaming for its attention. You both pushed through the hunger and exhaustion and screamed at the top of your lungs,  begging for them to hear you.

They didn’t.

(Hatred, paranoia, apathy. Hatred, paranoia, apathy. The cycle rang and rang and rang.)

A few days later you both sat at the edge of your island. It was yours now. No one else would want it and the only other person here was an awful silent pirate you hadn’t seen in weeks.

(You quietly hoped he was dead.)

You both looked at the last loaf of bread, blue mouldy and hard. Sanji tore off two pieces, handing one to you and quietly looking at the other.

You both eat in silence.

Over two months had passed on the barren rock. There was no food left from your sack.

(You had stopped counting the cycles.)

You had lost the sense of hunger to a complete emptiness a few days ago, after having spent days passing back and forth the tiniest morsels of anything, both refusing to take the last bite until you were trying to shovel crumbs into his mouth. You had nearly broken your promise already and you refused to let hunger make you break it truly this time.

(But they just wouldn’t stop ringing.)

Sanji sat beside you with his arms wrapped around his stomach, grimacing and quivering almost imperceptibly.

”The old man had twice as much food.” Your eyes moved slowly over to him as his trembling grew more noticiable.

(Hatred.)

”We can last a few more days.” His head snapped to you.

”Can we?” He was near hysterics.

(Paranoia.)

”Give it a few more days, we can’t afford to be stupid-” He staggered to his feet ignoring you.

”We can’t afford to be this hungry. He has twice. As much. Food.” And he was off. “If he won’t give us any, I’ll kill him myself.”

(Apathy.)

”No, Sanji-” You pulled yourself up after him, scrabbling for purchase on the rocks as your torn and blistered hands pushed you up.

(The ringing won’t stop)

He grabbed the knife and climbed over the rock separating the two of you from the old man. The bedraggled pirate, hair a mess but moustache still neat looked up at you as you both stumbled down towards him.

”Thought I told you both to stay put?” Sanji gasped and panted as he reached the sack on the ground, you barely caught yourself from falling into his back as you caught the back of his shirt.

(Hatred.)

”You still have some food. You gotta give us some!” Metal clinked against metal as he tore through the bag with the small knife, ripping the canvas and allowing the contents to spill on to the stone.

(Paranoia.)

Gold and jewels tumbled out of the bag, no food in sight. You pulled yourself away from Sanji as he gutted the bag, slowly approaching the worn down man as the boy was yanking out more and more gems and treasure in a desperate search for sustenance. You stopped short of him as Sanji gasped behind you.

”Where is it?! Where is it?” He advanced on you both waving the knife through the air, “There’s no food, how are you still alive?!” He stumbled to a stop beside you, following your gaze to the tied off and bloody trouser where the man’s limb used to be. Your voice was barely a whisper, throat dry and cracking from dehydration.

(Apathy.)

”Your leg…” Sanji finished the question for you.

(The ringing stopped.)

”What happened?” Two pairs of eyes followed his averted gaze to the sharp flat rock a few feet from him, the tip coated with a small layer of gore and stained in blood. “You ate it?! You ate your own leg?”

A wave of exhaustion hit you, and you slowly lowered yourself to sit again on the rock, eyes focused on the gorey sight but unseeing.

”You gave us all the food. Why?! You don’t even know us, why would you do that for a stranger?”

”Because, little eggplant…” His voice suddenly sounded as tired as you felt, head sinking, “I have been searching for the All Blue… my whole life. But now my time has come to an end. You share the same dream as me.”

(Your head pounds and the feeling -ever present, ever cloying- in your chest swells. Something inside you whispers thrills to you.)

”Believe me, the All Blue is real.”

(Believe me)

“It’s real. And if I can’t find it, then maybe you can.”

(Swirling blues, giant fish alien to you swimming in endless circles)

”So I’m gonna need you to live on. And I’m gonna need you…”

(Crystal waters as clear as glass)

”…to fulfil that dream…”

(Far far away, but it pulses and you feel it in your heart and your mind and your whole being)

”…for both of us.”

Sanji collapses onto the rock beside you, his head rested on your shoulder as, not for the first time, you wish that stupid disgusting fruit you were force fed as a child was actually useful. Of the three left for you to pick from, of course yours was a compass for the fools and idiots who had a hope of an immense and impressive future.

There was a world in which your ridiculous Treasure Treasure fruit had been replaced with the Gem Gem fruit, at least you could have created a shelter, as sparkly as it may have been, or the Pal Pal fruit and you could have enlisted the assistance of some dolphins or sharks, maybe even a passing Sea Beast to aid you off this rock.

No. You were left with the image of a brilliant swirling cerulean lagoon, teaming with fish and plant life the likes of which no man could even dream of in his wildest most ludicrous musings. You couldn’t even pinpoint it on a map if you wanted, only the vaguest of directions and destinations were afforded to your brain.

You raised your arm, jostling Sanji’s head and both men turned their head to follow it as you pointed off into the horizon. A small smile grows on his exhausted, sun soaked, blood encrusted face as he realises where you’re pointing.

”It’s still far away.” Your mumble barely audible.

(It reminds you of hiding in a dark dank corridor, clutching a book to your chest as you stare into the sobbing eyes of a terrified child and your chest clutches at the memory.)

”Too far?” The man is looking at you both like you’ve finally lost it, but this is a routine, well practiced but almost forgotten to the hopeless situation you’re all in.

(You wished you had remembered earlier. This will have to do.)

”Never too far. Not for us.” Your misty eyes turn to meet cloudy blue that start to clear for the stars to sparkle in.

”Have you worked out how long it’ll take to get there yet?” You chuckle and smile, the first real one in weeks.

”No. Weeks maybe. More likely months, could even be years.” Your eyes clear up with his and you turn a bright grin to the confused pirate beside you. “But the All Blue is out there.”

”And I can lead you to what you'll treasure most!”

Next Chapter: Straw Hats and Treasure Maps