#burning iron and honey sweet promises

[phoibos-querella]

getting back to posting ctnt fanart by drawing fanart of how I interpreted tntduo to look like in the beginning of the first chapter of the fanfic Burning Iron and Honey Sweet Promises by @emi-writings

please check out the fic on ao3 with this link or check out emi's tumblr account :]

[emi-writings]

TUMBLR ISN'T LETTING ME POST THE LINK FOR SOME DAMN REASON BUT BURNING IRON AND HONEY SWEET PROMISES CHAPTER EIGHT IS UP!

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

ACITHYCS.

“a crack in the heart you call stone” (john wick/fem reader)

Running away from John Wick is never a good idea. TW: nsfw, noncon, dead dove, abuse, violence, power dynamics except the reader doesn’t have any power, smacking, spanking, choking, rough, awful shit. Your assassin sweetheart is not sweet in this. He’s fucked in the head, but I mean it is your fault.

It was a really, really, really.

Really. 

Bad fucking idea. 

Bad fucking idea to turn cottontail and run away in the night. 

Run from him.

But you did, didn’t you? Maybe because you didn’t realize what a stupid decision you were making, maybe because you were too scared to stay, maybe because you didn’t know what else to do. 

Maybe because running away from monsters is the standard of sane and you needed to prove that you were not crazy. 

“That’s bullshit,” you know he’d say, “your decisions are your own and you will deal with their consequences.”

And, oh fuck, you haven’t heard his voice in so long - that sweet honey heroin aphrodisiac infused growl - but somehow little drops of it still sit sticky inside your ears. 

Your cotton panties feel uncomfortable and clingy, and you have to squirm several times in your seat to pull fabric from damp folds. 

That’s the worst part, the one that makes you want to put a 9 mm barrel in your mouth because surely - guaranteed - you’re sick in the head for almost - ha, who are you kidding - for definitely - wanting him to find you. 

Insane after all, even through the trouble to prove otherwise. 

You shouldn’t get out of the cab, you shouldn’t walk upstairs to your apartment, you shouldn’t open the already unlocked door, you shouldn’t start curling your toes and burning when you see him casually sitting at your dining table, drinking a cold beer and eating leftover pizza. Like he just belongs here, in the life you picked specifically void of him.

He ignores you, favoring the newspaper clutched in his fist, munching and relaxing and as handsome as any husband should strive to be.

You take the chair opposite from him and press your thighs together in anticipation of that involuntary, awful clench of your cunt when his broody eyes meet yours. You try to rest your hands on the table, but pull them back into your lap when you notice they are visibly shaking. 

“John.” You’re surprised you can talk through the saliva filling your mouth. 

“Hello, honey,” he says, then kicks the table out of the way and muffles your scream with the loud crash into the kitchen counter. No barrier between the two of you now - really, you’re a fucking idiot to think anything could keep this beautiful, horrifying human wrecking ball away from you - and he fists the loose fabric dress over your tummy and tugs you forward. 

“You know what happens now?” He asks, terrifying you with a smile. 

You blink owlishly up at him, tears globbing on your bottom lashes, body shaking violently, and ask: “wh-what?” 

Instead of answering, he grabs your throat, takes you off your feet and slams you - not gently - against the wall. Picture frames smash to the ground, scatter glass over the linoleum. One minute you’re breathing, and the next you’re wondering what delicious air even tastes like.

You claw at his hands, face swelling up and turning a shade of beautiful blue that grabs his cocks attention - the length of him fattens up against your tummy and he grinds into your soft, plump skin, hard and unforgiving. 

There’s black hellfire in his eyes, a dark promise to make you sorry for your miserable little John-free existence, and, for a second, you resign to the notion that he is going to keep his iron grip around your suffocating throat until you pass out. Your vision is already blurring and darkening, claws scratching pitifully at his arms. A little woodland creature in a big bear trap. 

But, he lets you go, dropping you right on the hard floor, and you land on your ass, gasping for air, face soaked from tears, dress ripped down the middle. He jams his pointy shoe in between your legs, pressing the tip into your cunt, hurting you. 

“John, please,” you whimper through grit teeth, trying to push his leg away and only getting a big black dress shoe crushing your pussy as reward. 

Your head flips back, neck craning just enough to put agonizing tension on your scalp and spine. His fist nets what feels like every tearing hair on your head, and you can’t help but screech in pain. 

“Please,” he repeats, voice eerily calm even as he’s shoving his fingers down your throat and making you choke. He pulls out and leaves thick white spit dripping onto your pouty lips and chin. He smears the excess on your cheek and smiles down at you - almost lovingly - “you’re begging already? Fucking pathetic.” His foot digs deeper into you and you let out a cry, proving his point. You are pathetic. 

“Oh, I missed this tight little cunt,” he sighs and closes his eyes as if talking to himself. “Thought about her every fucking day.” 

“John, I’m sorry, I-“ 

“Shut up.” He slaps you on the cheek, hard enough to leave a big red welt, then lugs you up by your hair. He doesn’t bother to move his leg, so your bare skin scrapes raw on the rough fabric of his pants. “The only thing that’s gonna come out of that pretty mouth from now on is ‘yes, John.’”

He spins you around, manhandles you onto the counter, presses his cock into the cotton of your panties and slaps your ass harder than he had done to your face. He watches your plump jiggle and retract, wets his lips, grunts. “Did you hear me, babydoll?” He slaps the same spot, and you yelp and claw at the counter. 

“Yes, John.” The phone is right beside your head, you see the screen light up with worried texts from your friends, asking if you’re home yet. You could try and pick it up, call someone, dial 911, but this is John, and you know there’s not a chance in hell you could touch that phone without him crushing it in one grip. 

“Oh?” He sees where your eyes are, of course he does. He’s a fucking lethal predator, and you’re just a stupid girl. “You wanna call somebody to come save you? Do it. Call them. But you’re gonna watch attentively while I kill them all, I can promise you that, honey.”

Fat wet tears run down your cheeks and puddle on the counter. You can’t help but feel partially responsible for the crazed, lightless black fire in his eyes. The way he’s completely gone and fucked in the head. No, not partially. This is all your fault. You drove him to madness, left him with a broken heart that turned black and rotten over time, and now you’re gonna deal with the repercussions. 

He grinds up against your cunt and ass, so smashed in that you feel his plump cock head chafing your clit. He tugs on your hair to bring your face off the counter. “My little cry baby’s gonna be sobbing a lot more often, now.” He tsks as if disappointed. 

He slaps your ass for a good bit, alternating each cheek, using the tips of his fingers to make the sting unbearable. You almost move your hands to cover the raw red skin, but he tugs your head back harshly in warning. 

You whimper and put your hands back on the cool counter, wishing it was your ass instead - the tissue is on fire, a new level of burning every time his hand meets your flesh. 

His palm is worse than his fingertips. It’s a throbbing pain that shoots over your back, legs, and tummy, and he gets you screaming with a big, ruthless swing. Screaming and crying and kicking your feet and biting your lip hard enough to taste pennies. 

Sharp slaps on your plump little cunt turn you into a sobbing, begging wreck of a human. Then, he pulls your panties to the side and pinches your burning labia, tugging and stretching, making it snap and swell. 

“She missed my cock, huh? How many times did you try and fail to fill her up?” 

He unzips himself and pushes his pants and boxers down, then jams his massive cock into your unprepared hole and you wail into the counter. 

“How could you fucking do this to this to her?” he laments with a snarl, thrusting into you with shattering, slow slams. 

You try and nudge yourself onto the counter to get his raging tip away from your cervix, but he pulls you farther down on him instead and starts taking what he wants, hard and unforgiving, hair fisted in his hand so that your back arches for his cock to pound deeper into you.

“John. Please. I can- can’t. Fuck. Too much. It hurts.”

He smacks your ass with palm again, only this time latching to your skin, fisting a pound of flesh and fat. That familiar flop flop flop of your body accommodating his intrusion tells you that you’re soaking his dick and making it easier for him to fuck you harder. Traitorous fucking whore. 

“What did I say?” He asks you, that poised voice cracking into growls and grunts and groans, slick with impending orgasm. 

You don’t answer soon enough, and he digs further into your ass with blunt nails. You feel like he’s going to rip the meat right off your body. 

“Yes, John.” But he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t let up. He gets meaner, lifting your feet up off the ground and your head impossibly higher in the air, making so the only thing holding you up is his brutal cock. You feel fucking impaled. 

You’re helpless, trapped, humiliated, and all you can do is take the rough slap of his pelvis against your abused skin. When he reaches down and pushes his fingers into your swollen lips to find your clit, you can’t help but hate yourself for enjoying this - this consuming fire spreading, overtaking, the choice to orgasm from this brutality ripped away from you as he rubs and fucks you toward blinding, white hot release. 

He leans over you, puts one foot on the counter beside your ass to give him an impossibly deeper angle that reads like his cock is in your womb. 

With all senses overwhelmed by excruciating pleasure - an impending orgasm that’s going that’s going to wreck you - the only thing you can really do is cry and take it until he decides to baste your burning cervix in cum. 

It’s immediately spurting from you, coating your thighs, his legs, dripping pearly rivulets onto the floor. He replaces his dick with two fingers, wrenching away any hope of release, gathers some fluid and brings it up to the only unstained place - your asshole. He costs the outer tissue, pushes two fingers in and curls them down, rubs at your delicate insides harshly. 

“Think you can handle my cock in your ass, Mrs. Wick?” He leaves two fingers inside your anus and pushes his thumb into your snapping, gaping, runny cunt. You push back onto his finger, trying to fuck the almost orgasm free from your aching hole. 

John snorts as if to laugh at this whorish attempt. 

“Tell you what, I’ll give you two choices: I shove my dick into your ass and fuck it as hard as I want til’ I cum again. Or. I spend a few hours prepping you to take my cock. What do you think?”

“Need a break,” you mumble, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks in shiny rivulets. 

He smacks your thigh. “That wasn’t an option, honey.”

“Okay… okay.” Your frantic, hissing tone makes him smile for the first time in a long while… For the first time since you ran away from him and left a sobbing, drunk, blood hungry mess of a man on the kitchen floor; surrounded by glass and blood and splintered wood, screaming, smashing everything in the house to tiny pieces. You don’t know how many people have died terrible deaths for the absence of this spongey, tight, beautiful pussy - Christ, he even dabbled in torture just to see if it would get him off like you could. 

But he’s going to spend the rest of your life reminding you - reminding you that if you ever fucking leave again he’ll kill everyone until you have no one left but him. 

“Ten seconds and then I’m picking for you,” he murmurs, kissing behind your ear. 

He has to press his weight into your hips to keep them from rocking down onto his fingers - the ones he’s got shoved up to the hilt of his hand inside you, teasing your front wall with languid little rubs. 

The resigned, pathetic defeat in your tone warms his heart. “Second option.”

“Which one was that again?” 

“Prep me.” 

He nips your cartilage with his teeth, wrenching a little beaten whine from deep in your throat, the loss of his bully fingers making you clench and spasm and writhe. 

He picks you up, cradles you to his warm heartbeat, kisses your head. You can’t help it, you fold into his embrace, cling to the John you once knew, hands clutching at the lapels of his suit in some desperate attempt to find comfort. 

“I’m sorry, John.” You choke on whimpers, smothering your tears into his collar. 

“Oh, babydoll,” he coos, smoothing your sore scalp. “No you’re not. But you will be.” 

[fanaticsnail]

Five Days

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 5,900+

Synopsis: Temperatures flaring between a marine and their prisoner brought the two of you to this moment. In charge of the former-admiral's prison transfer, the sweltering heat propels you to do something against protocol. You give in to your temptation, and allow him to give you what he threatened he would.

Themes: Aokiji Kuzan x f!reader, gendered terms used, mdni, 18+, smut, nsfw, inappropriate use of devil fruit, inappropriate use of seastone, coercion, swearing, unprotected sex, oral sex, marine x pirate, enemies to enemies that fuck, kisses, subtle Dom!kuzan x Sub!reader, pet names used, summer temperatures, tipsy writing, temperature play, pirate!kuzan x marine!reader.

Notes: This fic is dedicated to a dear friend, @skullfacedlady who needed a reward for all her hard work in studying. I hope you enjoy your man like this, love. Come get him. This is a part of my October event, but I wanted to give Skullfacedlady a gift because I'm so proud of her.

The sweltering heat swelling the brig of the vessel stung and cracked your skin. The perspiration dripping beneath your marine hat did little to cool your face and body, especially due to the weight of your heavy uniform jacket. The remainder of the crew had made port, leaving you and another officer behind on the topdeck to keep guard of the ship in case there was an incident involving you and the detainee in their cell behind you.

As a lieutenant, prison duty was not your usual forte, yet it was your given task for the past five days. Drawing the short straw in the meeting with the other members of the crew had you seething: likely what had the temperature searing your veins with the slight simmer of rage. Standing with your back to the brig, you attempted to ignore the presence who continued to attempt to goad you into a verbal spat for the umpteenth time.

“Go on, little one,” the smooth voice calls from behind you, causing your lip to upturn in a twitched curl, “Take off your jacket. It’s hot out, and you don’t deserve to be more uncomfortable than you already are.”

Aokiji Kuzan, the admiral who served his severance to the marines in favor of joining Blackbeard’s crew, was a thorn in your bootheel the moment he stepped aboard. A fly buzzing in your ear would make for better company than the sweet-talking man in the cell. You were a marine, and he was a defector turned to piracy. These past five days, he had been pressing you with comments and flattery with a smoothness to his tone that you hadn’t experienced prior. Always balancing on the knife’s edge of being overly seductive, while a complete gentleman the next. It repulsed you, enticed you, agitated you, and aroused you. You hated it as much as you loved it, and that, in itself, drove you wild.

“The prisoner will refrain from speaking in the presence of a marine,” you offered monotonously to him in a practiced response, ignoring the trickle of sweat pasting your hair against the nape of your neck. The heat was bordering on unbearable now, the thick air stinging at your nostrils with the burn of the embers.

“Come on, honey,” he whispered softly, his tone almost harboring empathy, “It’s just you and me. I'm not gonna tell anybody, I promise-.”

“-You promise?” You cut him off, tilting your head towards him. Thankful for the shroud of your marine uniform cap, you were able to glare at him from beneath the shroud as you scorned him, “A promise from a pirate whispered through iron bars means very little to me. Especially from a deserter.”

“Ah, so that's it, then,” Kuzan nodded. His dark, tight curls now loosely framing his face with a wave-like bob to his motions. “You’re offended I renounced my orders and took to living for myself.” He chuckled, leaning back against the wooden hull of his cell with a cocky air to his tone.

Kuzan had long-since shrouded his heavy jacket, likely before the seastone shackles were placed on his wrists, halting his abilities. You were made vaguely aware of his powers, one of which was the ability to grow a prosthetic for his missing left leg from an element. He was exceptionally tall, far taller than you at full height. From his place sitting hunched against the cell wall, he could easily meet your breasts at his eye height.

Although his skin glistened with sweat from the heat, his demeanor was always cool and collected. The former admiral seemed to radiate a calm, and this agitated you to no end. The purse of his lips, the curl of that edge of his smile, the ease his eyes seemed to put you - all of those weighed heavily on you as the burning air entered your lungs and expanded your chest.

“Tell me what about it you're so offended by,” he quipped with that curious edge in his tone, “Let's put it to rest so you and I can really talk, officer.” Aokiji Kuzan took a moment to gaze at you. His eyes lazily drank you in with an almost entertained twinkle in his eye.

Turning your head back to face the wall in front of you, you took a deep breath to calm your nerves. His tone haunted you. That cool edge in the blistering heat did more damage to your already alight temper.

“I have nothing to say to you, oathbreaker,” you snarl viciously, your head upturning to add further emphasis to your attitude. “You will remember your place, and hold your tongue.” Expecting silence to be met with your order, you recoiled completely as he goaded you further.

“Why don't you come in here and hold it for me, marine.”

The way he spoke with such an air of confidence prompted you to completely meet your eyes against his. If you could strike him dead with your haki without causing a strike to your record, you would have done so in a heartbeat.

Before you had an opportunity to utter a word in rebuttal, he revealed his palms in surrender and fell his eyes to your feet in submission.

“Accept my apologies,” he uttered quickly, pausing only to take a heavy gulp of air through his lips. “It's hot, tempers flare, and I'm pissed off about the seastone. My devil fruit power would be useful right about now, and we'd both reap the benefits. Please,” he turned his eyes up, meeting them against yours with that honesty behind them that held you transfixed, “I didn't mean to offend you. I just-... I've been in here for a while, and it just seems to be getting hotter and hotter.”

You took a moment to search his eyes, your own forming an analysis regarding his demeanor. Kuzan meant every word, and you truly believed he meant no harm. In honesty, he had been a model prisoner through his entire ordeal. Well mannered, polite, and cooperative: Kuzan did not engage with any of the other guards in this manner.

In a sigh of good faith and understanding, you sigh through your nose before removing your heavy uniform jacket and cap, placing them on a mop handle reclining against the wall. Each button popped slowly, his eyes wandering over each one with interest.

“Apology accepted,” you crack a small smile, raking over your hair to remove it from your eyes and shake the sweat from it. “And it's not ‘officer’, it's ‘lieutenant’ to you. For those of us who still respect titles, you will uphold mine.”

Kuzan clicked his tongue in understanding before smiling at you. He drank you in as he would a cool glass of water, glistening with condensation from the ice melting within.

“Lieutenant,” he smirked at you, waving his hand against his forehead in a mock salute. You decided to match his energy, raising your own and uttering, “Severencer.”

Turning back around to face the wall, your jacket and hat removal now making you feel a little more at ease in the humidity in the brig. You continued staring vacantly in that silence, ignoring the pair of eyes that never leave your body for a moment.

Externally, Kuzan was doing just as you were: fighting off the heat as best as he could within the depths of the ship. But, likely unlike you, fighting off the heat of another kind.

He had never seen a woman as physically beautiful as you were before, and he is a connoisseur of women. Kuzan prides himself on loving women, appreciating them from afar, and hoping they would be as interested in him as he was in them. With you: the enemy on a vessel binding him for capture, wearing the very uniform he discarded to chase his own destiny; he was unbelievably angry.

You were so physically close, but unattainable by him. If he remained as a marine, and had you met under different circumstances, he may have had a chance of a different life with you. Kuzan calculated the statistical likelihood of having you in his arms after work, wailing for him in the thralls of ecstasy while he pleasured you, and the thought had heat pooling in his belly that rivaled the atmosphere surrounding the two of you.

Rivals bound to be enemies with one another: his end being met at the end of a rope with his legs helplessly dangling beneath him, likely a trial to hold him accountable first and made an example of. Would you be present? Would you even care? Those thoughts momentarily shrouded his mind before his eyes focussed on the curvature of your ass now more revealed without your uniform jacket.

If he was a man bound for death, he craved to have you near him, just once, in any capacity. Now he’d managed to convince you to remove one layer, how much more could he get away with before you stopped.

“Lieutenant?” he gently called to you, his voice holding an edge to it that felt like a purr, “May I trouble you for some water?”

Inhaling deeply, you clicked your neck in a rotation before turning around to face him once again. Your scowl had resettled on your face as you looked to the canister in the corner of the room.

“What’s wrong with the one over there?” you asked, curiosity momentarily piquing in your tone. His smile upturned dangerously, his full-lips goading you with the sinister smirk threatening to spill over.

“Evaporation,” he explained, gesturing to the vessel with his bound hands, “Tends to occur when it’s hot like this. Have you any to spare for a lowly defector?” Growling in response under your tone, you made to the other side of the cell and filled the jug left behind for those working security for the day.

Dunking the vessel into the barrel, you felt how physically warm the liquid was and scowled at it.

Noticing the expression on your face, Kuzan groaned below his breath. He could change it to make it cooler. He could change the entire room to make it cooler. He could think of a variety of things he could do with you to make the stay more bearable, but he held his tongue. Watching as you traveled over to his cell, he took a note of where the keys to his cuffs were on the ring you unhooked beside his cell door.

“Stay where you are, hands where I can see them at all times,” you stated in a low warning, “Make a move, and I will drink the entire container while you have no choice but to watch, you hear?”

“Yes ma’am,” he pursed his lips, revealing his palms beside his head with his knuckles scraping against the wood behind him, “I’ll be a good boy for you.”

Electing to ignore the connotations laced behind that comment, you took to the side of the cell and peered into the empty container to ensure it wasn't a trap before replenishing his supply with the fresh one from your jug. You both trailed one another with your eyes, the tension returning between you while the menial task was completed. Taking a moment to study him, you noticed how truly attractive he was. From his tall stature, to his dark curls, down his lengthy body, down to his remaining foot extended on the floor: Kuzan was incredibly handsome, and you hated how hot his gaze made you feel as it lingered on your body.

“Stop gawking at me like that,” you snarl at him, watching in the corner of your eye how high the jug raises the volume of the water. He continues to rake his eyes over your body: truly enjoying the display of flesh you’ve elected to reveal to him.

“Like what, lieutenant?” He slowly bats his eyelashes at you, tilting his head to the other side and pursing his lips innocently. Your glare hardens, your face falling stern and serious as you bore your eyes into him.

“Like I’m some meal to you.”

He chuckles at your choice of words, feasting on your body with each passing moment while shamelessly undressing you further with his eyes. Kuzan truly no longer cared whether you filled his water canister or not, opting to drink you in in lieu of water any day.

“Oh, lieutenant, you are a meal to me,” he uttered seductively in response, “And I haven't eaten this well in quite some time.”

Five days.

Five days of the heat swelling the room. Five days of being in close proximity of Aokiji Kuzan. Five days of tension between you rising. Five days of ensuring he remained alive and healthy for transport. Five days of thinking about him every night while you remained in your joined barracks with your fellow marines. Five days of being unable to release the tension pooling between your thighs to not be caught by your comrades.

Five days of tolerating his comments, his words, and the way he made you feel both validated and violated with his flirtatious comments aimed towards you.

“If I had my powers right now, I could cool you off,” he whispered huskily, his bottom jaw dropping as he gawked further, “Anything you wanted, baby. I would give you the world if you’d let me-.”

“-Stop it, prisoner,” you warned him, your temper teetering on the edge of your resolve, “Final warning.”

Chains rattling broke you from your simmering rage, his bound wrists rattling as he drew them down over his thighs. His lip curled high, both snarling and smiling at you with desire being the swelling embers behind his darkened eyes.

“Warning for what? I am offering you a reprieve from the heat,” he tilted his chin up, looking down through his eyelashes at you, “Remove my seastone, sweetness. Let me show you how good I can cool you off.”

Snapping, you discard the jug and allow it to roll to the floor, water tipping onto the wooden panels surrounding you. With all the strength you could muster, you gave in to your rage and approached him. Using your foot, you press it against his chest and shove him firmly back with your boot heel. Holding him firmly pinned against the wall behind him, you lean more pressure onto your leg and stoop lower.

Having the upper hand on a former admiral lasted for less than a heartbeat before he took his shackled wrists and nudged your foot easily away from his chest to fall beside his thigh. Given the position prior with your entire weight placed onto your foot, you fell unceremoniously onto his lap. Each leg easily took their place framing his thighs beneath yours, eyes now level.

There was no opportunity to scream, snarl, or growl a reprimand at him before his lips collided messily with your own. Groans and whimpers fell easily from his lips as he attempted to hold you flush against him with his bound hands. His kiss was lustful, passionate, and aggressive: his former cool-headedness all but fleeing him the longer his lips lingered on your flesh.

“Desserter-,” you snarl angrily into his lips, attempting to pull away from his hard kiss to no avail.

“-Kuzan,” he moaned into your mouth, tilting his chin and circling your face, “My name is Kuzan. Use it.” The short hair on his chin and upper lip grazed the skin of your face with his passionate exchange.

In lack of your better judgment, you had no choice but to whine into his lips as he ordered you. His admiralty tone still found purchase in your head and reverberated in your obedient marine soul. Temperatures finally flaring enough, you roughly grip his dark curls and yank them back. He released a gasped groan in response, his lips still attached firmly to yours as he didn’t fight the feeling of your hands laced in his hair.

“Take off my cuffs,” he barked at you, his chains rattling as he attempted to grip your thighs in heavy fistfuls, “Now.”

The way his words held your judgment in an anchor made you feel as if he was using some kind of haki to dominate you. You knew that wasn’t the case. The slick pool of arousal dampening your panties spoke in prologues to your neediness of him. Your fingers moved against their will, your mind screaming at you to think with anything other than your pussy as you drew your shaken hands to unclick his shackles: all the while his kiss pressed into your lips with vigor.

As soon as his seastone fell easily to the floor, you both pulled apart and took a moment to gauge the way the other was feeling.

You just unshackled a bound prisoner, simply because he had baited you with a few suggestive words. That suggestion led you to disobey a direct order and follow the way your emotions ran rather than to heed to your call as a marine and chastise him for poor behavior.

Kuzan knew he could run. He should use this time to escape now. Convincing a needy and repressed marine to unshackle him took a long time, but his charisma lucked out with you. He could push you aside, trap you within the cell, escape to claim his freedom with the nomadic lifestyle that came with piracy. But he couldn’t.

Not with the way your clothed pussy felt against his lap, and certainly not with the intensity the heat made the both of you feel.

That realization only met you both for the bat of a butterfly’s wing before he was on you again. Hungry lips swelling yours with the intensity of his bruising kiss, Kuzan pushed you onto your back on the warm floor. Your undershirt stuck to your skin with the sheen of sweat glistening in your skin, desire fueling your passions in the midst of the moment.

When his lips pried away from yours, kissing a hot trail down your neck, your skin began to tingle beneath his cool breath. The seastone now released from your prisoner’s wrists returned his devil fruit ability to him with full fruition. The tenth titanic captain of the Blackbeard pirates was cooling your skin beneath the intensity of his heated kisses. Each time he mouthed at a pinpoint of your body, the coolness shrouded your skin and shot relief to your soul.

“Kuzan,” you gasped his name as he mouthed at your pulse with the heavy neediness, “N-No marks, please-.”

“-I know, baby,” he whispered against you, moving down to mouth at your pale undershirt, “Nowhere visible above your uniform. I'm aware.” His possessive growl was ripped from his throat when his trail was halted by the material, “Remove this and give me something I can mark up. I want you.”

The air began to thin with his ability cooling the atmosphere around you both, but the thickness of passion between you continued to build in intensity. As you reached down and gently placed your shirt to the side, he hastily drew his hands to your belt and expertly unbuckled the fastenings with a few quick swipes. You gasped out a squeak in protest, but it was quickly stifled by his lips colliding with yours once more.

He used his body weight to stamp you to the floor as you shared breaths. As the heat of your needy exhales expelled from your lips, the cool vapors of his own replaced the ones you lost.

“Thankful we lost the cuffs?” he smiled against your lips before tearing them away and searing his eyes into your body. You curled your lip and bucked your hips up, trapping the back of his knee beneath your heel and switching positions. Pinning the prisoner beneath you, you glared down at him while circling your hands around his wrists.

“I'm regretting not chaining you down to this floor and riding your face until I'm satisfied,” you quip back at him. Left in your bra and panties, you felt his hands draw up and sneak his fingers beneath the hem and play with the flesh of your ass.

“I don't need chains for you to do that, baby,” he purred up at you darkly, “Take a seat, and I'll have you screaming for me.” He annuncified the statement by slapping your ass before molding the flesh beneath his hands.

You were unsure whether you should be offended at his words, or aroused further by them. He was your prisoner, you his guard, him an ex-marine admiral, you a lieutenant rising in the ranks. Weighing up the options, you quipped your head to the side and allowed passion to once again guide you.

Crawling up his long chest, you tugged your panties to the side and revealed your glistening pussy to him as to test how serious he was. Accepting your challenge, he gripped your thighs and immediately pressed you down onto his face and licked a fat stripe from your slit to your clit in one lengthy motion. You sucked in a silent scream when he continued to slowly and passionately collect your essence into his tongue without protest, romancing your core with each intentional glide of his skilled muscle.

“Kuzan,” you whined in a breathy gasp, causing him to chuckle up into you. His eyes never left your face as he used his hard grip on your much smaller body to rock your core against his face.

“That's it, pretty girl," he praised you, his hands disappearing beneath the material of your panties to press your body further against his lips. Muffling his words up at you, he continued, “Get off on your prisoner's face. Let me feel you.”

Given how pent up you had been watching over Kuzan for the past five days, the coil in your abdomen bound tight quickly. Stomach knit in heavy knots, your pussy fluttered against his lips and tongue and he mouthed at you. Alternating between latching onto your clit and swirling his tongue against it, before drawing his face down to fuck your needy cunt with his tongue while nosing at your clit, Kuzan’s eyes never left you.

You were gorgeous. Everything about you was gorgeous. From the curvature of your breasts, to the shape of your ass, to the partition of your lips, to the hue of your hair: he loved it all. And he hated that he did.

“More,” he growled up into you, “Give me more, lieutenant. Cum for me. Cum on my tongue.”

Focussing on your clit, he mouthed at the small bud while concentrating a small coolness onto you. The combination of the coolness of his devil fruit with the warmth of his tongue tipped you over that edge.

Dancing on the edge of ecstasy, one more rotation of his tongue around your clit and you were cumming hard on his face. Muscles of your stomach tensed and flexed as you rode through your high. His steady hands splayed on your ass cheeks as he guided you expertly through your release.

Just as you came down from your high, you were met with a crude shock to your large joy.

Ice bound your wrists and flung you to the wall behind you. Knees drawn up to your chest, black flush with the wall, he bound your body to the wood with his devil fruit. Your eyes rounded in shock, body still sensitive from riding through your bliss to process what was happening.

The prisoner bested you. He was going to escape, you were going to be punished for your insubordination, and your career was to be ruined. As he rose to his full stature, you had no choice but to watch as he dusted off his pants and produced a shard of ice to extend from his absent knee down to the floor.

You had released your prisoner, and after cumming so hard on his lips, he was going to leave you in your bra and panties against the wall for your superior to find.

Tearing your eyes away from his face and clenching them tightly shut, you felt shame wash over you like a cool bucket of water. Your body was still twitching in soft aftershocks as you heard the rustling of materials. Assuming he was donning his shirts and personal effects, you were shocked to feel his lips on your neck and bare chest flush with your own.

Your eyes reopened, quickly finding purchase on his thick curls as he hummed against your skin.

“Thought I'd leave you like this, didn't you?” he sighed against your skin, “No way, sweetness. Not when I haven't felt the way your pretty pussy wants so badly to take my cock. Nuh uh.”

“You-...?” Your breath was stolen from you as he dragged his cockhead against your sensitive entrance. His height at full stature was over nine feet tall, and the circumference of his cock was enough to have you whine as he rocked it against your panties.

“I know.” He nodded his head against your clit, “I'm big. But you can take me, can't you?” Tugging down your bra, he groaned in bliss as your breasts were freed from the shroud of the material.

The ice spread your legs, moving beneath the will of its master to hold them apart for him. He rocked his hips, against your clothes cunt, groaning as he did so. Ice cracked and swelled, dragging across your stomach and binding you to the wall. His lips traced down to your nipples: swirling, tugging, and releasing them with a taut pop.

“You want this, don't you?” Kuzan purred against your skin, “Tell me you want this. Big pirate making a little marine feel so helpless. Say it. Say ‘I want this, Kuzan’.” He drew his lips up to your neck once more, trailing a flurry of kisses towards your jaw while his ice toyed with the border of your nipples.

“Say it.”

“I want this, Kuzan.”

The words spilled from your lips before you could tell them not to. You were bewitched by him, possessed by a lust that you had never known. His smile was felt against your jaw as he drew his eyes up to meet yours. Tugging aside your panties once more, he lined up his cock with your entrance: soft beads of pearlescent precum beading in need at the slit.

“That's my girl.”

Those three words were all the warning he gave you before his lips bit and ravished yours. At the moment his rough kisses met with your lips, gasping and growling against your mouth: his cock softly rocked into your core. You whined desperately into his mouth as he pushed more of his cock inside to the ridge of his rim.

No matter how rough his kisses became, he was so careful with his cock pressing inside you. Kuzan knew how small you were in comparison to his stature, and he would never dream of injuring you in the thralls of passion. Although he was a pirate and you were a marine, he treated your body with the respect you deserved.

Five days of being close to you. Five days more for longing. Five days longer still for yearning. And five days longest for how many nights he fucked his fist to the thought of claiming you as his in the quiet of the night.

Finally passing that first ridge, your body took him like it was made for it. It was Kuzan’s turn to whimper into your neck, shuddering as he buried his face into your neck and cock into your pussy. Sinking down to half his length with little resistance, he became lost in the way your pussy sucked him in. Rocking against you, he gasped into your ear.

Eyes wide, you had never felt so full in your life. While he was your enemy, you had never felt a touch as gentle as his. He was so careful with his cock that you could take him, while he toyed with you with his devil fruit.

“Look down,” he whispered, “Look how deep you're taking me. How well you're taking a pirate's cock.” Doing as he ordered, you looked down and watched as his hips rocked in slow, languid thrusts. Cock disappearing within your cunt, you gasped out as you took him within you.

“Like being fucked by a filthy pirate?” He quipped, his cock sinking deeper, “Pretty marine getting her pussy destroyed by her prisoner. Come on, tell me you w-want m-more.”

His stutter gave out his hardened experior, his bliss truly being lost to him with each marriage of degradation and praise. He tried not to show how much he was enjoying this moment stolen with you.

As soon as he got you off once, he had no doubt he was going to flee from his cell and claim his freedom. But he was in love with the way you cried out for him. He was obsessed, consumed with longing for your release joining with his.

Sensing this dynamic shift while being bound to the wall, you decided to goad him into more.

“Does the filthy pirate want to show the marine who's boss?” you whispered against his ear, biting at the lobe and attempting to rock against him to the best of your restrained ability. “Does the filthy pirate want to fill his marine with his cum? Pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” he parrotted back, his hips snapping with more purpose, “Does this feel pathetic to you?” His pace increased, his desperation more tangible with each in-thrust.

Ice eclipsed both your nipples, only giving way when he dipped his lips down to roll your pebbled bud within his hot mouth to contradict the cold with the warmth. You mewled beneath his lips, your pussy fluttering beneath his harsh momentum.

Coil building further in your abdomen, you felt another orgasm approach you with a low build. Kuzan was nearing his peak, his cock already beginning to expel sticky waves of precum within your stomach. Kuzan was becoming sloppy with his movements, his balls sucking up into his stomach the closer he became to his release.

“Gonna cum, Kuzan?” Your question fled from your lips like a needy whine informing him you were reaching your end, “Gonna fill me up with your cum? Go on, pirate. Tarnish me. Ruin me.”

“Nnnnghh- fuck,” Kuzan growled into your neck, biting just below to collar to anchor himself to you, “Gonna cum. Gonna- fuck, I'm cumming. Ah-, shit.”

Ropes of viscous cum met with your cervix with his verbal confession, his hips rutting against your core and giving in to the feeling of your cunt fluttering around his shaft. As he met his peak, you met yours. Walls contracting around his shaft, you cried out for him while he filled you.

“Hhah- cumming,” you warned him, your pussy sucking him in with every wave of your secondary ecstasy. Milking him of his cum, your cunt squeezed his thick cock as you both met the waves of your highs in the arms of one another.

The dancing lights split your vision white, just as it did his own. You had never felt the way you did in the arms of this former admiral, nor did he buried deep within the pussy of a marine lieutenant. As you both finished, he slunk his head forward and collected you into his arms. Ice cracked like glass, the shards dropping to the ground and simmering like embers against the floorboards.

He ushered you onto the ground, sitting back on his calves and holding his cock deep within your pussy. Both panting and catching your breath, you sat within the shared breath with the man who ushered you into twin highs in close succession. Dwelling in the silence, your hearts beat as one as the heat dampened down between you both.

“You have a fifteen minute head start, former admiral,” you sighed, stroking his cheek with your palm. He blinked slowly at you, taking in your words while coming down from his high.

“What do you mean-?” He began, halting beneath your interruption.

“-It takes the average marine seven minutes to shake off haki,” you nodded, pressing your forehead against his and brushing your noses together, “You conquered me. I was helpless. Do you understand, pirate?”

Kuzan was taken aback, shaking his head and searching your eyes. You nodded against him, your smile slowly splitting up your cheeks.

“I conquered you?” he asked softly.

“Knocked me out completely,” you laughed in response. Gently pressing your lips to his forehead, you unsheathed his cock from your pussy and began to collect your things. “You have fifteen minutes to redress. Get to it before I catch you.”

“Catch me?”

You smiled as you gathered your uniform into your arms. Kuzan, the former admiral he was, was truly clueless when he was spent of his release. Balls and head both empty, he reached for you in craving of your touch.

“Kuzan,” you warned him, “You escaped your shackles after you found the strength to conquer me. You collected the keys, unbound yourself, and fled. You left me alive as witness to your escape.” Kuzan understood, nodding along as he came to terms with what you were expressing to him.

You were enemies. An ex-marine turned to piracy, and a marine in charge of his capture. Both of you knew how wrong this was, but your bodies couldn't help but to sing how right it could be. He could never give up his freedom for you, and you would never turn to piracy for him. No matter how your bodies felt together, and how easy the intimacy came to you both: you could never be together like this.

“Fifteen minutes?” He asked you, halting to cup your ass in his firm hands, “Is that all I'm worth to you?”

Rolling your eyes in response, you playfully slapped his arm while you scampered to find your uniform.

“You're lucky I gave you more than nine, pirate,” you snarl at him, “I gave you that extra six for making me cum twice.” Kuzan laughed, finding his effects and beginning to don them while you fixed your uniform up.

“I will see you again, lieutenant,” Kuzan whispered while fixing his belt at the waist, “And when I do, I am going to make you cum so hard you'll renounce your vows and join me in piracy.”

“And when I find you again,” you warn in return, “You're going to cry for me while I show you that quips and taunts are not all I can do with my tongue.”

Kuzan gulped, truly wanting to experience that thought while he shrugged on his heavy overcoat. You began affixing your coat once more to your persons, making sure each button was marine-issue ready. He watched on with a shudder to his jaw and a feral urgency in his eye that craved that meeting between now and then to become smaller.

“Until the next time, then,” Kuzan offered with an extended hand. Placing your hand within, he drew your knuckles up to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against it.

“Until I see you again,” you responded in kind, nodding to him as he released your hands with his kiss. The temperature began to fluctuate between you. The weather mixing with Kuzan’s abilities made for a more pleasant atmosphere between you currently, but the heat between you would continue to grow with every passing moment.

Both of you couldn't wait until the next time you saw one another again: both hoping you could truly best the other.

Only time would tell.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory

[ichorai]

the silent storm ; aemond targaryen.

pairing ; aemond targaryen x mute!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; aemond pays you a visit in the library and has a confession to make.

words ; 1.2k

themes ; fluff, mildly suggestive, established relationship (married)

warnings / includes ; mentions of killing/death/violence, reader is one of jasper wylde's many children, aemond being whipped for you <3 also he learned their version of sign language js for you, some kisses but nothing more than that, "i'd burn down the entire world for you" trope, lots of pet names :)

main masterlist.

The candle’s flame warbled as you set it down on the table, bathing the small corner of the library in a dewy, clementine luminescence. You narrowed your eyes at the frayed spines of the arranged historical books, fingers trailing along the dusty shelves. 

After several minutes of debating between a tome on the history of dragonkeeping, and a lengthy volume on alchemic remedies, you settled on reading the latter for tonight. You eased down into a rickety wooden chair that did no favors for your back, flipping the old book open with a gentle smile, and began to read.

Not even ten minutes past, your husband’s voice drifted through the library, quietly calling your name.

You reluctantly pulled your attention away from the miraculous works of potions and brews depicted on the yellowing pages, and affectionately rolled your eyes to the side. It was an ongoing joke amongst the court that Aemond physically couldn’t be without you for more than an hour at once. The two of you were scarcely ever seen without one glued to the other’s hip. The Silent Storm and the One-Eyed Dragon, the lords and ladies oft called you and your husband. 

With your father, Lord Jasper Wylde, being the Master of Laws, he was usually far too busy for the likes of you. Not to mention that he had four wives and twenty-eight other children to attend to—you were simply known as ‘the quiet one’ in your youth, which soon evolved to the Silent Storm when the court witnessed you beating up one of your older brothers with no restrain when you caught him stealing your coffers, where you kept your silvers.

Imagine your father’s utter shock when Aemond set his sights upon you, proclaiming you to be his almost instantly. Not even three months later, the two of you were wed, and you couldn’t be happier. 

“There you are,” the prince said, eye lighting up when he caught sight of you. “I knew I’d find you here.”

You arched a brow. Don’t be so smug. I’m always here, you signed, hands motioning languidly as your lips curved up into an amused grin. 

Aemond moved forward to sit beside you, two of his fingers slotting beneath your chin to tilt your face up so he could plant a sweet, chaste kiss to your lips. “Yes, yes, you and your beloved books. Hardly a second goes by without your nose buried between pages.”

A humored huff fell from your lungs. You lifted your hands. Sounds like you’re jealous.

Your husband watched you sign, before scoffing. “Me? Jealous of books?”

Worry not, husband. I love you more than I love the library, I promise.

Ironically enough, right after you gestured out your reassurance, you turned right back to your book and began reading once more, missing the tilt of Aemond’s head and the widening, lovesick smile curving the corner of his mouth upward.

“What are you reading?” he asked, peering over your shoulder, before softly laying a kiss against the slope of your neck, lips brushing against the cold metal of the necklace he’d gifted you on your last name day. You smelled of lavender and honey, a scent he’d give anything to drown himself with.

Alchemy, you responded. 

“Apologies, my love, I’m afraid I don’t recognize that word,” Aemond whispered into your skin, not unkindly. 

You turned back to your husband, eyes soft and patient. You spelled it out for him, having to lightly swat his face away from your neck with a silent laugh just so he’d be able to concentrate. 

“Ah, alchemy,” he mumbled, voice rife with affection, drawing you closer to him. “What have I done to deserve someone equally intelligent as they are beautiful?”

Instead of responding, you leaned forward to kiss him, his lips melding gently over yours. You pulled away to plant another kiss to the side of his nose, and a final one right below his leather eyepatch.

I love you, Aemond signed to you, before pressing his enclosed fist right above your beating heart. “Avy jorrāelan. I would burn down the entirety of Westeros at your behest, jelmāzma.” Storm.

I’d rather you not, but thank you for offering, you replied, brows pulling together incredulously and your shoulders shaking with muted chuckles. A brilliant smile flickered over your expression, the shadows of your face elongated with the candlelight. What brings about such a… violent sentiment?

A beat of silence. Aemond seemed hesitant, his hand coming forth to lovingly stroke your cheek, thumb running along your jaw.

“Promise you won’t be mad at me.”

You blinked at him in a miffed fashion, then narrowed your eyes accusingly. What did you do?

Aemond winced. There was a reason why the court called you the Silent Storm. “Promise me first, darling,” he said, trying his best to placate you.

Fine, sure, I promise. Your gaze was sharp, and Aemond already had a feeling that your words were empty.

“Well, I was training with Criston when I overheard two bumbling, foolish lords passing by—and they were talking about you. Naturally, I stopped sparring and listened to their conversation. It was… an improper debate about whether or not you’d make sound in bed.”

You sighed, used to the giggles and whispers behind your back. The lords and ladies often forgot that just because you were mute, didn’t mean you couldn’t hear them, either. 

You killed them, then?

“I killed them,” Aemond confirmed, looking none too sorry about it, either. “Slit both of their throats. I couldn’t stand by and just listen to them insult you in such a way.”

They were jesting! you hurriedly signed, frustrated that your husband had taken such drastic measures without confronting you first. That is what men do, they jest and they speak ill-will and they are pigs about it! There is naught that we can do about their behavior other than a slap on the wrist—you cannot just kill anybody who gets on your nerves! Swear that you won’t do it again. Swear it, Aemond!

“But they were—”

You held a warning finger up, effectively halting him in his protests. The glare you had fixed on him held the intensity of a thousand hurricanes. And what was a dragon in comparison to the might of a storm?

“Yes, my love,” Aemond reluctantly said, biting down on his tongue. 

The anger melded over your visage seemed to melt away at his relatively easy acquiescence. 

Good boy, you teasingly signed, which earned you a light, ticklish pinch of retaliation to your side. I love you, too, by the way. But if you take another undeserving soul again—I’m going to have to reconsider.

A deep hum fell from his throat, and you were about to gesture some more warnings (borderline threats), but the thoughts were dashed from your mind when he surged forward to kiss you, pushing you up against the bookshelf. His large, spindly hands splayed over your waist and curved along your back. 

“Alchemy can wait, can’t it?” he murmured into you, nearly dizzy with yearning.

You shook your head with an exasperated beam, before pulling him forward by the lapels of his coat and slanting your lips against his once again.

[baekguuuuu]

The Way I Loved You

Characters: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: Angst, Romance

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: Inspired by Taylor Swift’s The Way I Loved You. Through flashbacks and present-day reflections, you navigate the highs and lows of both relationships, ultimately confronting what your heart truly wants. A story of passion, longing, and self-discovery, this is a journey of realizing that sometimes, the love that burns the brightest is the one that leaves you scorched.

I met Baekhyun during a summer that I still replay in my mind sometimes, like a sun-drenched film reel I can’t bring myself to burn. It was at a music festival where he’d performed with his band. I wasn’t supposed to be there—my friends had dragged me along, insisting it would be fun that I needed to live a little.

“You’ll love it,” my best friend had said, nudging me toward the front of the crowd as Baekhyun’s band took the stage. She was wrong, though. I didn’t love it.

I fell.

Baekhyun had this way of commanding attention, his voice like honey dripping into the sunlight, thick and golden and impossible to resist. But it wasn’t just his voice; it was the way his eyes sparkled with mischief when he cracked a joke between songs and the way he laughed like the world existed just to amuse him. He was magnetic, and I was the iron.

After the set, I found myself backstage with my friends, courtesy of one’s VIP connections. Baekhyun spotted me immediately as if I’d been glowing in the dark. “Hey,” he said, his voice still hoarse from singing. “Enjoy the show?”

I should’ve played it cool. Instead, I blurted, “You were incredible.”

His grin widened, and he leaned closer, his eyes locking onto mine. “What’s your name?”

Our relationship was a whirlwind, a thrilling ride on the back of his motorcycle, the city lights blurring into a tapestry of excitement. Baekhyun was unlike anyone I’d ever met, a mix of chaos and charm wrapped in leather jackets and calloused fingertips. He made me feel alive in ways that both scared and thrilled me.

We fell fast and hard, like a meteor streaking across the sky—brilliant, unforgettable, and destined to burn out. But I didn’t know that then. All I knew was the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world, the way he made me laugh until I couldn’t breathe, the way he kissed me like it was the only thing that mattered.

Being with Baekhyun was like living in a whirlwind. It was thrilling, unpredictable, and chaotic—sometimes in ways that left me breathless and other times in ways that made my chest ache. We burned bright, but bright flames have a way of leaving marks.

It wasn’t always chaos with Baekhyun. He had a way of being so disarmingly sweet, of pulling me into his world with a smile or a glance. I still remember the night he taught me to play the piano.

We were at his apartment, a modest space cluttered with sheet music and half-empty coffee mugs. He pulled me toward the small upright piano tucked against the wall, a mischievous grin lighting up his face.

“Come here,” he said, patting the bench beside him. “I’m going to teach you something.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I can barely manage using chopsticks. What makes you think I can learn anything else?”

“Because I’m the best teacher,” he said with mock arrogance, his fingers playing a gentle melody that made my heart skip. “And because I believe in you.”

His words made my cheeks flush, but I sat beside him, letting him place my hands on the keys. His touch was warm, guiding my fingers with patient precision. Every time I fumbled, he’d laugh softly, his voice like a soothing balm.

“You’re getting it,” he said, his eyes sparkling with pride as I managed a simple tune.

When I finally got it right, he turned to me, his face just inches from mine. “See? You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice low and earnest.

At that moment, the world outside faded away. It was just Baekhyun and me, the music lingering in the air like a promise. And when he leaned in to kiss me, his lips soft and full of affection, I knew I was falling—fast and hard.

It started with the little things. His tendency to cancel plans at the last minute because something more exciting came up. The way he could be so charming with everyone but distant when it was just us. I told myself it was just how he was, that he didn’t mean to hurt me. And when he apologized, when he pulled me close and whispered how much I meant to him, I believed him every time.

I remembered being at a party, one of those gatherings in which Baekhyun always thrived. He stood at the center of the living room, laughing effortlessly, his charm magnetic as everyone gravitated toward him. The way he commanded attention was almost unfair—effortless, natural, like he was born to shine under every light in the room.

I watched him from the couch, holding a half-empty glass of wine and trying not to let the pang of loneliness creep up on me. Baekhyun threw his head back at something someone said, his laugh lighting up the room, and for a moment, I felt that familiar tug in my chest. He was breathtaking like this—untouchable and dazzling.

But then his eyes flickered to me. Just for a second. And instead of warmth or an invitation, there was... nothing.

“Hey,” I called softly when he finally made his way over, his drink in hand. “You having fun?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” he said, his voice distant. His gaze darted around the room, already looking for his next conversation.

“Baekhyun,” I said, reaching for his arm. “Can we talk for a second?”

He frowned, pulling his arm back like my touch burned him. “Now? Can’t it wait? Everyone’s here—I don’t want to kill the mood.”

Everyone was there. The words hit me harder than I wanted to admit.

“It’s just... you’ve barely talked to me all night,” I murmured, keeping my voice low.

His eyes softened, but only briefly. “I’m sorry. You know how I get at these things. I’ll come find you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “Later.”

But later never came.

I stayed on the couch, watching him charm the room while feeling more invisible than I ever had. He apologized the next day, and the cycle continued.

The apologies became too frequent, and the moments of closeness felt like borrowed time.

“You said you’d be there, Baekhyun,” I said, my voice trembling as I clutched my phone.

“I forgot, okay?” he replied, his tone dismissive, like forgetting my graduation ceremony for getting my Master’s was no big deal.

“You forgot?” My laugh was bitter. “Do you know how embarrassing it was, standing there alone while everyone else had their families and friends?”

“I didn’t ask you to rely on me for everything!” he shot back.

The line went quiet as I stared at my reflection in the window, his words slicing through me like a blade. Rely on him? Wasn’t that what people in love were supposed to do?

For all the chaos that came with loving Baekhyun, there were moments that made me feel like I was the only person in the world. Like the time he surprised me with a late-night picnic under the stars because I’d mentioned missing the quiet of my childhood summers. Or how he’d rest his head in my lap and trace invisible patterns on my skin, murmuring about how lucky he was to have me.

He had this way of making me feel seen, as though I wasn’t just someone he loved, but someone he adored. Someone he respected. With Baekhyun, it wasn’t just about passion—it was about the way he’d hold my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, or how he’d kiss my forehead as if sealing a promise only he could understand.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he whispered breathlessly as I lay beneath him. He collapsed on top of me, our bare chests touching against one another as we both caught our breaths after expressing love through actions.

He made me feel like a real woman, like I was more than just his girlfriend. Like I was his muse, his equal, and his refuge all at once. And in those moments, I forgot about the fights, the letdowns, the parts of him that hurt me. Because in the way he loved me, I felt whole.

But it wasn’t just the fights. It was the in-betweens. The way he’d light up a room, captivating everyone, only for me to realize I was standing in the shadows. The way he’d make promises that felt so solid in the moment but crumbled under the weight of his restless energy. The way he’d kiss me like I was his whole world, only to turn around and leave me wondering where I stood.

Then came the night that ended it all.

We were standing in the rain, arguing over something I couldn’t even remember now. His face was a mix of frustration and sadness as raindrops traced his sharp features. “Why can’t you just trust me?” he yelled, his voice carrying over the downpour.

“Trust you?” I shot back, my voice cracking. “You disappear for hours, break promises, and you expect me to trust you? You can’t keep doing this, Baekhyun!”

“I’m trying!” he shouted, stepping closer. “I’m trying to be better for you, but it’s never enough, is it?”

I could feel the tears mixing with the rain as I whispered, “I just want to feel like I matter to you. Like I’m not always chasing after you, trying to catch up.”

His silence said more than any words could. And that was the moment I knew. We loved each other but weren’t enough to make it work. Not then.

Although Baekhyun did try to fix it—us… however, it was too late then.

It had been two weeks since we broke up, but Baekhyun still called—persistent, unrelenting, just like the way he loved.

When I answered, his voice was soft, almost hesitant. “Can we talk?”

I hesitated. “Baekhyun, we’ve said everything already. There’s nothing left to talk about.”

“No,” he cut me off, his tone firm. “You talked, and I listened. Now it’s my turn.”

Reluctantly, I agreed to meet him at the café where we used to spend lazy Sunday afternoons. When I arrived, he was already there, sitting by the window with two cups of coffee on the table. He looked up, his expression a mixture of hope and fear, and for a brief moment, my heart clenched.

“I know I messed up,” he began the moment I sat down. “And I know I don’t deserve it, but I need you to give me another chance.”

I stared at him, trying to find the anger, the bitterness, anything that would drown out the faint longing I felt just being near him. “Baekhyun, we didn’t work. You know that.”

“I can change,” he said, leaning closer. “I will change. I’ll prove it to you, I swear. Just don’t give up on us.”

I shook my head, my voice trembling. “It’s not just about you needing to change. It’s about me, too. I can’t keep feeling like I’m not enough for you, like I have to keep chasing you to stay in this relationship. It hurts too much.”

His eyes softened, and he reached for my hand, but I pulled away. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Tears stung my eyes, but I forced myself to stand. “I know. But love isn’t enough if we keep hurting each other.”

I left him sitting there, his hand still outstretched, and I didn’t look back.

It wasn’t the last time I saw Baekhyun.

It happened on a crisp evening outside the cozy bistro Chanyeol had picked for dinner. The warm light from the restaurant spilled onto the sidewalk as we stepped out, laughter lingering between us. Chanyeol had his arm around me, casual and protective, as we talked about the movie we planned to watch next.

Then I saw him.

Baekhyun was leaning against his motorcycle, his leather jacket slightly unzipped, revealing a hoodie underneath. His helmet dangled from his fingers, and his eyes, dark and searching, found mine almost instantly.

I froze, my breath catching. He didn’t move closer, didn’t call my name. He simply stood there, his gaze flickering briefly to Chanyeol and back to me.

“Do you know him?” Chanyeol asked, his voice breaking through my trance.

“Yes,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “He’s... Baekhyun.”

Understanding dawned in Chanyeol’s eyes. “Do you want to—?”

“No,” I interrupted, grabbing his arm. “Let’s go.”

But as Chanyeol got his car keys from the valet, I found myself glancing back. Baekhyun was still there, watching us with a calmness that unnerved me.

Later that night, I texted him. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

His reply was immediate. “I didn’t come there to make a scene. I just wanted to see you. I’ll always want to see you.”

My hands trembled as I typed my next message, wanting to leave me alone as I was already with someone. “Chanyeol is everything you’re not. He’s steady, reliable, and perfect in every way.”

His response came after a long pause. “I know. But does he make you happy?”

I stared at the screen, the question echoing louder than I cared to admit.

For weeks after our breakup, Baekhyun had tried. He’d texted me late at night, asking if we could talk, only for me to leave him on read. He’d show up outside my building, waiting in the cold just to catch a glimpse of me, but I’d slip past him with my head down.

At first, I thought he’d never stop. That Baekhyun would always fight for us the way he used to fight for his music. But then, one day, he didn’t. The calls stopped. The texts stopped. The spaces where his presence used to linger felt hauntingly empty.

Chanyeol’s hand rested gently on mine as he drove us back to his place. The radio played softly in the background, something easy and inoffensive. He glanced at me, his smile warm and steady. “You’ve been quiet. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

“Long week, huh?” he said, squeezing my hand.

“Yeah,” I echoed, the word feeling heavy in my mouth. Long, but not in the way he thought.

Chanyeol was perfect. He was everything I thought I wanted. But lately, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing—or rather, someone.

I hated myself for it. For thinking of Baekhyun when Chanyeol was right there, being thoughtful and kind and everything Baekhyun never was. But the heart doesn’t care about logic, decency, or what’s fair. The heart wants what it wants, even when it’s the last thing you need.

Everything in my life was perfect, actually. From the immaculately arranged breakfast trays to the gentle good mornings that greeted me, nothing was ever out of place. Not him, not the way he loved me—kindly, patiently, like I was the most delicate thing in the world.

Chanyeol was different. Steady. Consistent. Reliable in ways Baekhyun never was. He’d show up on time, remember the little things, and genuinely listen when I spoke. He was warm and patient, a safe harbor in the storm that had been my life with Baekhyun.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked as he wrapped his arm behind me, placing a gentle kiss on my bare shoulder. The sunlight filtering through the curtains felt almost too perfect. 

I nodded, offering him a small smile. “I did. Thank you for asking.”

“You know, we could go for a picnic this weekend,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “The weather’s been lovely lately.”

That’s how it always was—planned, predictable, steady. And yet, I found myself drifting off, my mind wandering to a time when nothing about my life was steady. Back to a time when Baekhyun would show up unannounced, his motorcycle roaring in the distance, his grin wide and wild.

“Get on!” he’d yell, not even giving me time to protest. The wind whipping through my hair as we sped through the streets had been chaos—unrestrained, untamed, exhilarating chaos.

“Does that sound good?” Chanyeol’s voice pulled me back to the present.

“Sorry, what?” I asked, blinking at him.

He chuckled softly. “The picnic. This Saturday?”

“Oh. Yes, that sounds… nice.”

When we started dating, I thought I’d found what I’d been missing. He made me feel cared for, and valued in a way I’d longed for during my time with Baekhyun. My friends were ecstatic when I told them about Chanyeol. 

“He’s so perfect for you,” they’d say, their eyes glinting with approval. Even my parents, who were always wary of the guys I dated, took an instant liking to him. They adored his polite manners, his steady career, and the way he treated me with respect.

“He’s everything we could have hoped for you,” my mom had gushed over dinner one night, her smile so wide it hurt to look at.

But there was one thing he couldn’t do: he couldn’t make my heart race the way Baekhyun did.

It wasn’t fair to compare them, but my mind did it anyway. Chanyeol’s hugs were warm, but they didn’t leave me dizzy. His kisses were soft and sweet but didn’t set my skin on fire. His laughter was kind but didn’t echo in my chest like Baekhyun’s.

“You okay?” Chanyeol asked, noticing the faraway look in my eyes.

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing important,” I lied. How could I tell him what I was thinking about Baekhyun? How much did I miss the chaos, the fire, and the way he made me feel alive even when he was breaking my heart?

Chanyeol nudged my upper body so I could face him. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear; his thumb never left the skin of my cheek.

“You’re perfect, you know that?”

The words from him should have made my heart soar. His voice was calm, steady, full of certainty—the kind I’d spent years craving. But instead of feeling weightless, I felt heavy, like every part of me was tied to something I couldn’t quite see.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my smile politely measured. He deserved that much. 

I knew very well that Chanyeol deserved someone who could give him more than vague responses and distant smiles—someone who could love him the way he loved me—with unwavering calm and clarity. But my heart, stupid and stubborn as it was, still ached for something else. Someone else.

It happened on a quiet afternoon. Chanyeol and I were at his apartment, sorting through takeout boxes while a soft playlist played in the background. He was humming along, his warm, familiar presence filling the room.

I should’ve been content. Happy, even. But as I watched him move around with practiced ease, I felt a strange hollowness creeping in—a sense that something essential was missing.

The second I turned my head, the ghost of Baekhyun’s laughter crashed into me like a wave. Loud. Chaotic. Carefree. And all at once, I was drowning again, swallowed whole by the memory of him.

The weight of my realization grew heavier with every passing day. Pretending that everything was fine with Chanyeol felt like suffocating under the mask I wore. I wanted to be fair to him, to not let my heart wander when he had done nothing but love me. But the truth was, I wasn’t entirely his, and I never had been.

It hit me one quiet evening while Chanyeol and I were watching a movie. He had his arm around me, his steady presence a comfort I knew I didn’t deserve.

I’d sworn I wanted stability, but stability felt like numbness. And as I sat there, nestled in Chanyeol’s embrace, I realized I didn’t feel anything close to what I used to feel for Baekhyun. Not even a shadow of it.

Chanyeol turned to me with a small smile as we sat on his couch. “You’ve been quiet. What’s on your mind?”

I hesitated, not knowing how to explain the chaos swirling in my head. “Just... thinking about life.”

“Anything specific?” he asked gently, his hand resting on mine.

And that’s when it hit me—how much I missed Baekhyun.

I missed his fire, his unpredictability, the way he could make me feel like I was the center of his chaotic universe. I missed how he could pull me into his orbit with just one look, how his laughter could chase away the darkest clouds. I missed him, even with all his flaws, because loving Baekhyun was like standing in the middle of a storm and feeling more alive than ever.

Chanyeol was perfect in every way, but he wasn’t Baekhyun. He couldn’t make my heart race or my world tilt on its axis. And I realized then, with painful clarity, that I was holding on to Chanyeol because he was safe, not because he was the one I wanted.

He deserved someone who could love him wholeheartedly, and I hated myself for not being that person. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, pulling my hand away.

“For what?” Chanyeol asked, concern etched on his face.

“For not being honest with you. For trying to force something that was never going to work.”

His expression faltered, and I felt a pang of guilt, but I couldn’t stay silent anymore. “I care about you, Chanyeol. But my heart... it’s not here. It’s with someone else.”

“I want you to be happy,” he said, his voice steady despite the pain in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, guilt threatening to swallow me whole.

“Don’t be,” he said, smiling sadly. “Sometimes, love isn’t about who’s perfect on paper. It’s about who makes your heart feel full.”

That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The pieces fell into place one by one, each more damning than the last. I didn’t want stability. I wanted fire, chaos, the kind of love that consumed you even when it hurt. I wanted Baekhyun.

One evening, I found myself standing outside Baekhyun’s apartment. It had been months since I’d last seen him, months since we had parted ways under the rain, months since the last time he tried to reach out. Yet, the thought of facing him again made my pulse race and my hands tremble.

When he opened the door, his expression shifted from surprise to something softer, almost vulnerable. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice low.

“I know,” I whispered. “But I needed to see you.”

He stepped aside to let me in, his movements hesitant. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something unidentifiable in the air, grounding me and making my heart ache.

“So, what’s this about?” he asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed defensively.

“I…” My words faltered. I had rehearsed this moment in my head countless times, yet now that I was here, I didn’t know where to begin.

“You’re with Chanyeol,” he said, filling the silence. His tone wasn’t accusatory, but it wasn’t neutral either. “He’s good for you.”

“I ended it,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “He’s not you.”

His sharp intake of breath echoed in the small space between us. “You can’t do this,” he said, shaking his head. “You can’t just come back and say things like that. You made it clear you wanted me out of your life.”

“I know it’s selfish,” I replied, stepping closer. “But I had to tell you the truth. I thought I wanted stability, someone who could give me the kind of love that didn’t hurt. But Baekhyun, nothing compares to what we had.”

“What we had nearly destroyed us,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. “Do you think I’ve forgotten how much we hurt each other?”

“I was scared,” I whispered. “Scared of going back to the way things were. Of us hurting each other again.”

I swallowed hard, tears welling in my eyes. “But I also remember the way you made me feel, like I was alive in a way I’ve never felt since. You were my fire, Baekhyun, and I don’t think I can live without that.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching as he processed my words. “You’re asking me to take a risk again. To go back to something we’ve already proved doesn’t work.”

“Baekhyun… I’m asking you to try,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Because I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

For a moment, the silence between us was deafening. Then, he closed the distance between us in two quick strides, his hands cupping my face as he pressed his lips to mine. It wasn’t the soft, tentative kiss of someone testing the waters. It was raw, desperate, and full of all the emotions we’d kept bottled up for far too long.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against mine. “If we do this again,” he said, his voice trembling, “we do it right. No more games, no more breaking each other’s hearts.”

I nodded, tears streaming down my face. “No more games.”

The space between us disappeared as he stepped forward, his hands cupping my face. His touch was tentative, as though he was afraid I might disappear. “I’ll do better this time,” he whispered. “I promise.”

I smiled through the tears that blurred my vision. “I know you will.”

His lips met mine, soft and tentative at first, as if he was afraid I might disappear. But as I kissed him back, all the walls I’d built crumbled, and the love I’d tried to bury came rushing back like a tidal wave.

The chaos, the fire, the love—it was all still there, waiting for us to embrace it. Together.

It wasn’t easy, and there were times when I questioned if we were doing the right thing. But for every doubt, there was a moment that reminded me why I chose him. The way he held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way he’d look at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, his gaze full of unspoken emotions. The way he made me laugh, even on my worst days.

One rainy afternoon, as we sat on the couch, Baekhyun was strumming his guitar while I hummed along to the melody, and I realized something. Love didn’t have to be flawless to be worth fighting for. It just had to be real. And with Baekhyun, it always was.

His fingers paused on the strings, and he looked at me with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re off-key,” he teased, leaning closer.

I swatted his arm, laughing. “You’re off-rhythm.”

“Touché,” he said, setting the guitar down and pulling me into his lap. “But admit it, you missed my genius.”

Rolling my eyes, I rested my head against his shoulder, listening to the rain patter against the windows. These quiet moments felt different now—gentler, softer, like we’d found the balance we used to lack.

I couldn’t help the giggle escaping my lips when I felt his fingers crawl from my knee to my inner thigh. “Seriously?” I clicked my tongue, giving him a playful glare. “Last night was not enough?”

“Never,” Baekhyun trailed kisses from my jaw to my neck; his fingers started to undo the knot of my shorts. “I can never get enough of you.”

We’d both changed in the months since we found our way back to each other. Baekhyun still had his restless energy and still liked to push boundaries, but now he made an effort to include me in his world. And I learned to trust him again, little by little, realizing that love didn’t mean perfection—it meant showing up, trying, and forgiving.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Did you know you’re the best thing that ever happened to me?”

I tilted my head to look at him, my heart swelling at the sincerity in his gaze, trying so hard to focus on his words and not on his touches at the moment. “I think I’m finally starting to believe you.”

“You should,” he murmured, placing a soft kiss on my lips and laying me down on the soft cushion of the couch. “Because I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving it.”

We weren’t perfect—no relationship ever is. But we were learning, growing, and most importantly, choosing each other every single day. 

For the first time, I felt like we were enough.

And just like that, the chaos returned. However, this time, it felt like home.

[chelleztjs18]

The Monsters Within (N.R) Pt. 5

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!SerialKiller!Reader (Modern AU)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

Summary: You like Natasha and you keep her to yourself.

Warning: This is a Dark Fic. 18+, a lot of swearing words. Graphic and gore descriptions, kidnapping, mind manipulating / brainwashing, blood, death, violence, bone crushing, Stockholm Syndrome and angst (Let me know if I miss anything)

A/N: Hello hello peeps. I'm back for a bit from my sad depressed isolations. I almost not to post this today because something happened and got me down again but I promised to post it today, so here you go! The last and final part of this dark mini series. There is a some angst if squint. Thank you to my Curious George anon for motivating me to write and helping me brainstorming and even writing some parts in it! Y'all can thank her for this chapter. hahaha. Also thank you @honey-sweet-hiraeth for the base of the idea in this chapter. Well, enjoy and happy reading!

It has been a few months since the night Natasha accepted her inner monster. Wanda is dead and she is just part of your memory in the back of your head. You are living your life now with your redhead girlfriend. Not just as happy lovebirds but as a couple who loves taking the lives of others.

After Natasha killed Wanda furiously, a thirst sprung and she slowly started getting into it. You never knew that you would find your perfect match ever. Natasha is a great girlfriend. Loving, gentle and sweet person to you but sinister and dark at the same time which makes you fall for her even more.

Her smile and laugh always look beautiful but my oh my, it even looks ethereal when she does it with some splashes of your victims’ blood and when she looks like she is having fun dismembering them limb by limb. It’s one of your favorite parts besides smelling her perfume that’s mixed with the iron scents of the blood puddle dancing around in the air with the acid smell on your hunting night. Well, that’s what Natasha wants to call it every time both of you go out for the night, killing.

Natasha can’t control her blood thirst and the more she feels the rush from killing the bigger the urge to do some more. You love it so much but sometimes you have to remind her that both of you need to slow down so you won’t grab more police’s attention even though they start to not be able to keep up due to no trace being left behind.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I love killing as much as you do but we have to be careful. I just want us to be more cautious” You explained patiently.

“I know, babe. Fuck, but it feels so good when I feel the knives taking their lives and cut them apart.” she expresses her thoughts in a sinister giggle as both of you put the last body parts into the bathtub.

“Oh yeah, I know what you meant dear. Don’t forget that cracking sound when the grinder grinds the bones and how it looks when the acid burns their flesh.” you added in agreement casually having the disturbing details like it’s a normal daily conversation while pouring all the acid onto the dismembered innocent.

“Oh don’t even start it, you are teasing me right now. You're just making me want to kill more, you know that right?” she complains in a playful nagging tone.

“Look at you, craving to kill some more. I turned you into a monster, didn’t I?” You smile, looking at her as your hand wipes a smudge of blood off her cheek.

“Well, someone said that everybody is a monster in their own way.” she replies in a teasing tone as she kisses your neck that has some splashes of blood on it, gets the taste of it off her lips then smirk at you.

“How about we meet in the middle as a solution?” She offers you a negotiation with her puppy dog eyes begging expression.

“How?” you ask curiously. You know you couldn’t resist her whenever she begs you with that look even though she is under your control. You’ll do anything for her. If Natasha wants the moon, she’ll watch you grab it for her. If she wants the head of the victim, you’ll watch her cut the head off their throat. That’s how much you love Natasha. 

_____

Since then, you and Natasha agreed on something which you can’t lie that it was actually a good idea.

Being the sweetheart she is, Natasha proposes the idea to change your targets to kill criminals especially perverted men instead of helpless women. Every now and then you still kill women you find out there but Natasha always insists on doing the whole process by herself due to her jealousy issue. She hates it when she sees you touch other women even though they are all lifeless and that’s how much Natasha loves you.

A year later after the changes of your targets, it has been leading the police to different tracks and make them think that there is another serial killer who roams free in town. The people are now divided on two sides when it comes to the talk about this so-called controversy theory. Some people take sides to both of you and call you “The Punishers” and some of course still are against you no matter who the victims are even if they deserve it.

With all that, everything changes. Your life has been okay. Natasha gets more attached to you, like a lost clingy puppy. The hunting and killing night has become an easy routine for you and Natasha. Too easy.

_____

The night is getting quieter as the time gets later. The wind blows a soft whistling sound and you see some stars sparkle in the sky shortly before you and Natasha walk into your house after a quick hunting night.

The mess in your house now shocks you and Natasha. You instantly think that someone has broken into your house. You look around and find your glass coffee table is now shattered. Stuff is scattered around. Your tall bookshelf has fallen and your books are all over the floor.

You and Natasha look at each other, puzzled and wondering what had happened. Your hand gesture instructed her to stay quiet. Both of you look around and tip toe. Natasha taps your shoulder rapidly to drag your attention to now unconscious James on the kitchen floor, with his hands tied up behind his back and his ankles tied as well.

Both of you halt your steps as soon as you hear something in the kitchen then a figure of a woman gets into your sight. You don’t recognize her from her back but as soon as the woman turns around, you hear Natasha’s soft surprised gasp.

“Oh Hi!!” She greets both of you. You recognize her, so does Natasha of course.

“Ye-yelena! You are alive!” Natasha exclaims in excitement and gratefully. As soon as she is about to run to her blonde long missing sister, your protective instinct takes control and you grab Natasha’s hand to stop her and she obliges.

Deep down both of you are worried if Yelena found the basement and things under there. You remember that you still have one victim from last night that you haven’t taken care of. As luck would have it, you locked the other door. You clench your jaw as you watch every move Yelena makes so you can be prepared for the worst. As nervous as Natasha is of her sister finding who she is now, she misses her and beyond happy that Yelena is back.

“Yeah, of course I’m alive.” She paused a few seconds then looked at you before she continued. “You guys have a lot of freaky things in your basement.” Your stomach turns after you hear her statement.

“What’s behind the lock door? Dead body or something?” Your heart races especially after she looks at you followed by her sarcastic question. Natasha swallows hard. With a bowl of mac and cheese in her hand, Yelena casually walks to the dining chair next to the knocked out James to sit.

You are enraged seeing what she did to him. Yelena takes notice that you look at him. She puts one of her feet on James and nonchalantly says while chewing her mac and cheese “Relax, he is still alive but I don’t know what to do with him so I gotta tie him up before he wakes up.”

Seeing her boot steps on the side of James’ face really fumed you and your hand slowly grabbed the knife that’s tucked in the back of your belt. This time Natasha’s protective instincts of her sister stops your action. Her hand stops yours and she looks at you then firmly tells you “Don’t you dare.”

“Yes, yes, don’t you dare, Y/n” Yelena echoes Natasha’s words and takes another bite of her food. Your eyes are rounded in surprise when you hear her saying your name. Tension grows around the three of you, none of you saying anything for a good few seconds. Silence covers the room slowly.

“Oh sorry, where’s my manners? You guys want some? This big dude was a fighter, I got hungry after I fought him so I made some food. Do you have hot sauce?” Yelena’s thick accent wrapped voice breaks the silence as she offers both of you unconcernedly and fearlessly even though she noticed what you were about to do.

“Lena, where have you been? I have been looking for you.” Natasha’s eyes turn glossy.

“I have been here and there, trying to survive alone because I thought you were dead but I’m glad you are alive Nat.” She pauses her words, sadness and happiness shows in her eyes looking at Natasha but still tries to keep herself together.

“Soooo, is killing people your full time job? Or is it more of a hobby? If it isn’t your job yet, maybe it should.” Yelena expresses her sarcasm.

“What-what do you mean?” Natasha tries to cover the truth.

“No, thank you. I love my job so—” You sarcastically answer but she interrupts you.

“As a surgeon? And a serial killer at night?” Yelena smirks.

What she just said definitely puts you in high caution. You don’t want anybody to find out about you because you don’t want anything to happen to Natasha.

“How did you–” Natasha halfway asks her and Yelene finishes her question. “Find out?” Yelena puts her bowl down shortly before she continues as she stands up and pulls out a handgun.

“I thought you were dead, so I swore to myself that I would find and kill whoever killed you. Long story short, let’s just say that I did good research and found both of you even though it wasn’t easy. Well, I’m gladly telling you that your time has come." She points her gun at you at the last word she says and you quickly pull out your knife.

“Ah, a pair of killer sisters. I guess it runs in your blood, huh?” Your knife is on your tight grip and ready to take a life.

Natasha’s breath shook seeing what’s going on. “Y/n! Lena!” Of course both of you ignore her calls.

“You seriously gonna bring a knife to a gunfight?” Yelena chuckles and her grips tighten on the gun’s handle.

“Oh knife is more fun to use to torture my victim and guess what? You would be the next one.” Your intuition to survive brings your sinister self up to the surface. You move very slowly and Yelena’s aim follows you.

“Oh yeah? Try me.” The blonde challenges you.

“Y/n, what the hell? She’s my sister!” Natasha raises her voice. “Yelena, please don’t hurt Y/n!” her gaze jumps around between you and Yelena.

“I know, sweetheart but she is putting you in danger right now.” you answered.

“Said someone who kidnapped her and turned her into a killer?” Yelena puts up more guards on her stance.

“I helped her to find the monster in her. It was my act of love for her.” You explained in a disturbing proud tone and followed by a little chuckle.

“That’s bullshit! You sick bastard!” Yelena responded angrily at you then quickly looked at Natasha then back to you.

“Come home with me. Leave her, Nat!” she asked as she continuously watched every move of yours.

“Oh, she won’t. Your sister loves me as much as I love her.” You spoke for Natasha before even the redhead gets the chance to answer, mocking Yelena as you check how sharp your knife is.

“I love her, Lena. We love each other. I found my true self and she kept me grounded. Why don’t both of you put the weapon down and let’s talk. You are my sister and I don’t want to lose you again.” Natasha tries to stay neutral and cut down the tension. It’s hard for her to choose only one of you. She wouldn’t. She loves both of you.

“Look, Nat, she brainwashed you. This is not you. I don’t care how many you killed and I won’t tell anybody about what you did but I won’t let you be around this psycho.” Yelena is still trying her best to talk some sense to Natasha without letting go of her aim at you.

You walk back slowly, step by step with a plan in your head. Yelena notices. “What’s wrong? Are you scared? I would fight for my life if I were you.”

You let out an unamused chuckle the second you hear her mocking words. “You are one cocky little shit, aren’t you?”

“Blonde girls always fight back.” Yelena talks back your remarks and it hits something in Natasha’s memory. Her stomach turns. Before Nat questions Yelena about what she just said, you quickly hit the switch. The kitchen becomes dark. Only the moonlight that’s coming from the windows illuminates the room and you quickly sneak out of there.

With her quick reflex, Yelena instantly pulls the trigger, shooting in the dark a couple of times. To your surprise, she aims better than you thought. Two hot bullets made their way to you. One struck and got you on your waist and the other bullet grazed your thigh causing you to limp a little.

Yelena searches for you in such high caution yet Natasha looks for you worriedly.

“Get out of here, you coward!” Yelena demands, her breathing starts to get faster. She spins around to listen to any subtle hint of you; her gun is cocked and ready to shoot as soon as she sees you.

You walk around the room easily, familiar with how your surroundings are. You tipped toe to the other side and threw your knife at Yelena and it lodged right near her left shoulder blades causing her to yelp in shock. With great pain, Yelena turns around to find you again. As one of her hands tries to remove the knife and the other shoots one more time, thinking that you were still behind her. Shattered window’s sound followed after the loud sound from the shooting. Yelena realizes you are not there.

You snuck behind her then quickly grab her. One arm wrapping around her neck, making her gasp for air. Your left hand firmly holds the knife handle. You put more pressure on the knife, sinking it deeper, making her squirm. Then you twist the knife slowly, the agonizing sound coming from Yelena is music to your ears.

She lets go of her gun then tries to pull down your arm while air slowly empties her lungs. A satisfied sinister laugh flows out of you.

“What’s wrong? Are you fighting for your life right now? Hm?” you asked in a mocking tone. You loosen the grip of her neck for a few seconds then choke her again as if you are playing with her life like it’s nothing. Suddenly, Natasha hits the lights back on. She is torn and shocked from what she is witnessing in front of her.

“Y/n, let her go!” she says. Shaking as she aims her gun at you. She got your attention. “Oh hi, sweetheart.” You answer her nonchalantly.

Yelena gasps for air a bit by a bit. “Y/n, stop hurting her! I swear, I’m gonna shoot you if you don’t let her go!” You ignore her plea.

You laughed at Natasha’s threat. “You wouldn’t hurt me. Without me, you will be nothing. I made you. Without me, you are just a soulless monster.”

Yelena takes this as her chance to do something while you are not paying attention to her. She grabs her pocket knife discreetly then stabs your left thigh. You scream as soon as you can feel the knife against it. Yelena pulls the knife out to try and stab one more time but misses. Your hand is faster than hers. You were able to dodge it with your hand and grabbed the knife from her. You tossed the knife away from her reach.

“You little shit!” You yell at her. “Blonde girls always fight back. Just like last time.” Yelena says it one more time.

Natasha lets out a warning shot that was aimed close to you. “Y/n, you always say that about blondes. Why the hell did she say that??!” Natasha is still conflicted. Panic, confusion and curiosity are all mixed in her.

“Tell her y/n or..I..will.” Yelena tries to speak while struggling to get out of your strong grip as she slowly loses her energy.

“Y/n! I’m asking you one last time! Tell me why did she say that?!”

The silence from you was enough for her to finally connect the dots. “Did you try to kill her before?!” She asks in a shaky voice. Her grip on the gun gets stronger as she walks a step closer. Fury is written all over her face but there is a bit of her that wishes that her own conclusion is wrong. You try to ignore her question.

“DID YOU TRY TO KILL MY SISTER BEFORE?!” she demands an answer in a raised voice. Her pulse slammed in her neck.

“Alright, alright. Since the truth is out now. Yes, I did.” You finally let your arm’s grip off Yelena’s neck.

You yank Yelena’s hair back as you continue telling Natasha the truth. “I tried to kill her but her stupid blonde friend tried to help her and got in the way. Your sister was my first one that got away.” You pull the knife out of Yelena’s shoulder and let her go.

As soon as she falls weakly on her front, you step on her wound and give her a painful pressure. Yelena instantly screams loudly from the torment, leaving her with no strength.

“She..killed..Carol.” Her voice cracks as she tells Natasha between coughing and finally being able to gain more oxygen.

The cold gun barrel is still aimed at you and Natasha never lets her sight off you. Natasha’s skin crawled, sadness tore at her chest after hearing everything. Yelena’s scream, the truth and the view of you with no remorse whatsoever push her to the edge even more. Your confession felt like a knife to her heart. The memories of that night when you came home with a blonde victim and the next day you lied to her that you would never hurt Yelena came back in an instance.

Natasha’s gaze jumps from Yelena then back to you. “You tried to kill Yelena that night. It was Carol’s body that you brought. That was why you didn’t keep her body in the basement because you knew I would recognize her and find out what you did!!” Her body locked up with rage and her blood boiled. She sees your sinister smile, agreeing in everything she just said.

Natasha’s breathing gets faster. Tension grows in her. “Why, Y/n? Why did you try to kill her?”

“I thought she was in the way between us to have a new life together.”

Natasha tries not to let your words get in her head again. “That’s bullshit! You said you won’t kill her, you lied to me!”

“Oh yeah, I lied.” You casually play with your knife, toss it from your left hand to your right hand then back to your left.

“I thought you loved me!” She screams out her disappointment. Her forehead creased. You can see her hands shake a little, her face turns red from the overwhelming feelings.

“I thought so too.” Your answer shook her even more.She quivered with indignation. You punch Yelena and knock her out.

Suddenly, the loud explosive sound from her gun breaks the short silence. Natasha shot your right arm. This time your scream fills the room. “You bitch! You think you can kill me?!” You clench your jaw as you try to hold back the pain and you walk one step closer to her. The displeasure on your face intimidates Natasha a little.

As if your steps are connected to her gun’s trigger, Natasha shoots once more after you walk another step. Her love for you, anger and all of the conflicted feelings clouds her aim and the bullet went near your lower left ribs now. It stops you for a few seconds. Blood stains slowly appear on your clothes more.

“You can’t and you won’t. You are nothing! You should’ve aimed better, that's why you are not good enough!!” You yell louder at her and you quickened your limping steps.

Her heart drummed. Sweats trickled down her spine seeing the real you as she walked backward away from you.

“I’m not going to die. You can’t hurt me! I’ll make you watch me kill your sister!” You laugh in confidence.

The closer you get to her the more it provokes her to shoot you. This time two bullets flew to you as you were trying to charge towards her. Your body flinches each time. The hot deadly metals hit you on your stomach and grazed the curve of your neck. You are soaked with your own blood by now.

Fortunately, as soon as you get in front of her, your grip gets weakened and the knife falls off your hand. You are standing unbalanced. You look down to you all of your wounds then you look at her in the eye. Natasha gets just enough safe distance from you. She lets out a shaky gasp when she sees you fall on her knee weakly in front of her. Fear splintered her heart and her spirit fell seeing you wounded. 

Her feelings for you start to get in her head, part of her still cares for you. Natasha can see that your face is losing its color yet you are still laughing at her.

Meanwhile, Yelena slowly gains her consciousness and crawls weakly towards Natasha.

You spit out blood shortly before you say “I never loved you.” as you look up to her.

The four words of the final truth she heard from you plunged her into despair. Pain gripped Natasha’s chest. She crumbled inside, waking up flames of anger. Shame washed over her. The truth hits her like a huge wrecking ball. All she has ever done for you, all the victim’s life she took with you. In the end, all of them don't matter to you. Natasha starts to scream her lungs out, emptying all of her emotions as her eyes are closed.

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

Her gun makes repeated clicking sounds as her finger pulls the trigger rapidly multiple times. You laugh maniacally and it opens her eyes. Realizing that she is out of bullets, Natasha drops her gun.

Seeing her tears leaving wet traces on her cheeks keeps you wanting to tell her hurtful things “I never loved you because you are not Wanda. You are never gonna be her!”

Yelena finally gets back on her feet.

“Nat, kill her. She doesn’t deserve you, she doesn’t deserve to live.” Yelena suggests as she tries to hand her another gun.

Natasha doesn’t respond to her sister. Your mocking laugh fills her mind. Natasha doesn’t even know anymore how she feels about you. Questions running around in her head, vivid flash images of the dismembered innocences starting to fly around in front of her.  All that is soon followed by tremendous guilt. Her world starts to spin fast, your voice and every word you are saying are muffled.

Then another loud sound brought her back at the same time as the explicit view of blood and particles of your scattered brain exploded in front of Natasha. The bullet went through your head after Yelena finally pulled the trigger to end all this.

“No. No.. Y/n!” Natasha falls onto her knees.

The fed up blonde tosses the gun away then quickly hugs her broken sister. Natasha starts to sob uncontrollably.

“It’s over, Natty. She’s out of your life now. You are free from her chokehold. Come home with me.” Yelena tries her best to comfort her while she is crying hysterically on her shoulders. Natasha nods without any words. Her mind and heart are having a battle. Feelings and common sense trying to make their point to her. A rough tug of war is happening in her. She feels lost. Without you, she doesn’t know what to do. You have always kept her monstrous killer side on ground yet keeps feeling the hungry need to kill.

Natasha’s happy she could be with her only sister again but it doesn’t change the fact that you are gone. She is now left behind with questions. Questions that she will never get the answers ever.

Anger, disappointment, despair, relief and guilt are melted all together in her. Despite all the anger, love and hate she has for you, she crawled to your lifeless body. Pulling you to her hug and rocking back and forth. Your pool of blood got on all over her. She wants to scream at you, asking you if what you said was true.

Yelena stands up with a painful grunt and lets her have her last moment with you while finishing everything up.

“I’ll be right back.” with that the blonde limps away.

Natasha keeps wondering when did you stop loving her. What did she do wrong? What she doesn’t have that Wanda has.

“I love you but I hate you now too. Why, y/n? I hate how much I love you.” She whispers in gritted teeth.

“What am I gonna do without you? What am I gonna do with these memories of all of our victims? I can’t fucking erase them in my head! You turned me into the monster you are! Fuck you! I should hate you for everything you did. I love you! Please come back!” Natasha keeps mumbling to herself.

She feels guilty. She hates herself for everything she did to those innocents and for still loving you but she can’t stop herself. Emotions after emotions, thoughts after thoughts slowly pushing her to the edge mentally.

Yelena stops for a few seconds pouring all the flammable chemicals around the house when she hears Natasha screams in her crying.

It hurts her seeing Natasha like that but she knew she had to kill you and it was for the best, to save her.

Pain claws deep in her heart. Natasha is furious with herself. She knew she can’t turn back the time to bring you nor the innocents’ lives back.

Her guilt is covering her like a huge dark cloud. Natasha cries and cries. She is lost in her own dark mind even deeper. Her mind and memories are out of touch but it wasn’t because she didn’t know enough. She knew too much. Natasha doesn’t know herself anymore. Invisible walls are closing in inside her, the devil’s knocking at her door.

Natasha had a somber look. Her eyes red from crying and her voice becoming hoarse from all the screams that she had let out.

She kept on until there were no tears left to shed, no more anger, no more hate. Just an empty hollow shell.

The strong smell of blood and gasoline didn’t have any effect on her senses. Her sanity starts to wander off.

“I just took care of James, Nat. I just need to make sure everything doesn't look suspicious and then we–” Yelena checks on her sister, but can only see how despondent she is. Her words stop abruptly as soon as she sees Natasha’s condition. Her eyes look empty and not responding to the surroundings even though they are wide open.

“Nat, are you okay?” Yelena asked.

Natasha doesn’t say a word. Her gaze is on one random spot while her arms are still hugging you. No emotions are written on her facial expression.

Yelena breaks Natasha’s hug around you then her hands hold both of Natasha’s cheeks, leading her eyes to look into hers. “Nat, look at me. Look at me. Everything’s gonna be okay. Okay? You are coming home and I’ll be with you always.” her whisper sounds shaky from sadness and worry. Yelena leans her forehead onto Natasha’s. She closes her eyes and her tears roll down. As soon as Yelena opens her eyes back again, Natasha’s expression is still flat even though her eyes turn glossy. No words come out of her lips as if her tongue refuse to work.

_____

Half a year has rolled away since everything that happened at your house, since you died.

“How’s your sister?” Detective Harkness asks Yelena.

“She’s still the same. She didn’t say any word or show any emotions since I found her that night on the road near that burning house.” Yelena responded with the lie she prepared.

“Ah okay. I talked to her doctor. He said that she still doesn’t make any progress and he doubts that she will. Even if she does, it would take a long time. He thinks that her mental health is not fit enough and she won’t be able to cooperate well as the key witness.” Agatha explains.

“Any update on my sister’s case?” Yelena shows her pretend curiosity.

“Yes, we know that the burning house belongs to Y/n Y/L/N. We found her and her butler, James Barne.There was also a bone grinder machine on the house basement and other equipment.The team found some bones that match some of the missing people we have. Everything leads to a conclusion that they might be the serial killers that have been on a killing spree in this town. They believe that the equipment was used by Y/L/N and Barnes to their victims.” Agatha shares some parts of the result of the investigations.

“So my sister has been kidnapped by them? They could’ve killed her! I can’t imagine what she has been through.” Yelena tries her best to play innocent.

“The autopsy showed some gunshot marks as well on her skull. There is a possibility that they both were fighting and trying to kill each other and your sister might use that chance to get out of there when the fire just started. How? I still don’t know. All i know, she got really lucky that she could come out there alive.”

“Yeah. I’m just glad that she is safe now even though she hasn’t been responsive at all.” Yelena can’t hold back her tears, her lips quivered.

Both Yelena and the taller woman look at Natasha through the glass window, watching her sitting still with empty thoughts and looks.

“Then what’s next?” Yelena breaks the silence and looks at the brown haired detective.

Agatha clears her throat and lets out a sigh. “That was the reason I wanted to meet you here. Your sister is such a sweet and amazing person. As much as I want the best for her case but due to her circumstances and with both Barnes and Y/L/N dead, we can’t proceed further investigation on this case.”

“What did you mean?” Yelena shows displeased, the complete opposite expression from how she really feels.

“It means the case is closed. Which is also good because now you can focus on Natasha’s mental health recovery. As a friend, I really hope that she gets better soon and has her normal life back. Please keep me updated about her and I wish you both good luck.” Agatha gives Yelena a comforting hug.

“Thank you. I will let you know. I really hope she gets better.” Yelena hugs her back shortly before Agatha bids her farewell.

After Agatha leaves, Yelena takes Natasha for daily afternoon strolls around the facility’s garden on her wheelchair.

Yelena crouches in front of Natasha. “Hi Nat. I have good news for you. Agatha told me your case is closed. Everything works as planned. Everything was blamed on Y/N and Barnes. They don’t suspect anything about you. Now, please Nat, I want you to get better. I need you, you are my sister and all I have.” Yelena kisses Natasha’s forehead then hugs her lovingly.

“I’m sorry I killed her. I had to. It was for the best, please come back and get better. I love you.” Yelena’s heart breaks from waiting for Natasha’s hug and words that only heaven knows when will it come.

The monster within her has muted Natasha’s own sanity.

A/n: Welp, that's all for today! Let me know what you think. As usual, reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated. I'll be back to my depressed isolation so see you in next maybe for some angst or another dark story. I dont know.

Cheerio!

Chellez TjS.

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[nelapanela94]

I am not a fortune teller to predict that he was prepared to die. You never know what people are willing to do in desperate situations.

Chips of wood fuse with shavings of my own skin, but it’s too hot I no longer feel pain. Or maybe it’s the little pains, one adding after the other, the broken bones, twisted joints, burns and cuts, that at some point, they all cancel each other. A way to protect us from infinite despair. All I can do now that I lost the connection from my brain to my limbs is think of you. Where are you now? Are you waiting for me? Where?

I see you picking flowers to festoon our home.

Our home.

Are you butchering a song or are you dancing to a march?

I always thought you couldn’t dance to a march, but you taught me how. You can dance to the chirps of birds too.

I remember the last words you uttered before I left home; I’ve been replaying that kiss in my head over and over again, slow, and warped memory that painfully ebbs as I try to carve the gentleness of your lips molding to mine. The sweetness of honeyed tea lingering in your mouth; your soft hands warming my flustered cheeks.  

And then, the distress in your voice when you muttered: I’ll be waiting for you. Unlike me, you can glimpse the future.

I once read in one of Hange’s books that humans are a cluster of simple atoms and molecules of water, carbon, calcium, iron. Isn’t that depressing? Water, you can take it from any river; carbon in the form of coal; calcium from the scrapes of chalk; iron from the rasp of a rusty nail. But I refuse to think that the essence of life is belittled to the composition of cheap chemicals. You can’t be just that. whatever your soul is made of must be something special, inimitable, nothing that can be found on Earth.

I didn’t want to admit it, but I’m dying. I’ve endured so much I don’t know how much more I can take. Humanity’s strongest soldier is not made of stone. But I think of you, I think of the promise I made. It’s so easy to give up, but I can’t. For you I can’t.

I will not let Saturn devour our children.

I’m not ready to give you up. The remembrances are not enough. I can’t give up your smile, the spark in your eyes, the way you soothe the lines between my eyebrows. The way you mellow my mood. I can’t give up your hugs, your kisses, the tenderness of your skin brushing against mine. And the cute love sounds you drop in my ear when we pressed together with so much urgency as if we could exchange atoms. If there is a God, and if he had a voice, it is yours.

He brought me to you, to fill my life with your grace.

And that’s all I needed.

Your laugh is dwindling but I’m not ready to let go.

I press rewind.

One more time.

From the beginning.

Until I wake up.

Please.

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[simplegenius042]

FC5 Silva Omar Aesthetics

Bold - YES

Italics - Somewhat

HOLLAND VALLEY.

red, gold, and orange leaves against a clear blue sky // rows of apple trees in an orchard // pick your own pumpkin patches // baskets of puppies // a sleeping fawn hidden away from predators // pumpkin spice // the bite of apple cider // a harvest festival // the faint smell of a bonfire on the wind // the slight unease of getting lost in a corn maze // a hint of fall in the air when it’s still warm // golden sunsets // leaves just beginning to turn from green to orange // the rumble of a tractor // the buzz of an airplane flying low overhead // golden wheat swaying in the wind // the smell of gasoline // sprawling river deltas // crystal clear water // an old wooden dresser // family heirlooms // jingling keys // crimson blood // dark ink on parchment // the sting of a bruise // the warmth of a grand fireplace // gunmetal // work boots in the mud // cattails // the harsh cry of crows // the faint musty smell of taxidermy animals // farm animals making a racket // open air farmers markets // catching your clothes on a barbed wire fence // a fresh breeze through an open window // white rocking chairs // old farmhouses // scarecrows // wild westerly winds // the barely contained excitement for the approach of autumn

WHITETAIL MOUNTAINS.

fishing at dawn // the smell of woodsmoke clinging to your clothes and hair // wolfsong // locking eyes with another predator // a night that falls faster than expected // the crisp hint of snow in the air // log cabins // the scent of evergreen trees // stone fireplaces // a well worn camouflage jacket // old field guide books// the smell of a cigarette still lingering on your hands // lager // the roar of whitewater rapids // cool dark caves // the rough wood of an antique gun // the scent of iron // woodland paths crisscrossed by gnarled tree roots // a haze of dust from a recent rockslide // losing your breath as you wade into an icy river // winding mountain roads // an eagle’s cry // the bright red flash of a foxes tail at the corner of your eye // the patter of rain on dead leaves // petrichor // seeing your breath in the cold morning air // the click of a projector // the jangling of a chain link fence // gunpowder // the sizzling of a grill // burnt hair // the grand lobby of a lodge // gravel crunching underfoot // the cry of blue jays // information boards // brochures piled on a table // cold metal bars // the sour smell of a lumber mill // the rough texture of scouting achievement badges // muffled oldies music from another room // sharpening a hunting knife // blood red leaves blooming from bone white birch trees // red bleeding into the edges of your vision

HENBANE RIVER.

cloying floral scents // the thick mist that gathers near the ground at dawn // dewdrops sparkling on spiderwebs // the almost too intense morning sun // unseasonable warmth // birdsong // honeyed wine // walking barefoot in the cool grass // the clanging of a jail cell door // spying hazy figures of animals in the fog // lemon balm and lavender // the low growl of a wildcat that you can’t see (but it sees you) // choking clouds of pollen settling on cars like snow // vineyards // faint humming and singing from an unidentifiable source // juniper berries // feeling uncomfortably hot in overly formal clothes // lace // burning incense // frogs in the reeds // soft brunette tresses // long winding rivers // mesmerizing music // glistening trout // the sweet nectar of honeysuckle flowers // rumbling of truck motors // glass beakers // bundles of dried flowers // wind chimes tinkling // rough concrete bricks // tumbling barrels // the ringing of a vintage phone // sweet words // broken promises // moonflower and datura // the smell of freshly cut grass // the faint sound of children laughing

JOSEPH’S COMPOUND.

babbling brooks // humming // whistling // dogs barking // grand oak trees // the faint sound of hymns // a crate of ripe peaches // melted wax candles // the smell of fresh newspaper clippings // caged birds singing // a warm embrace // wrought iron arches // flames reaching for the sky // gentle voices murmuring // your feet sliding in thick mud // pouring rain // vape smoke // the slight scent of sweat // ink on skin // the smell of wooden church pews // the rustle of hymnals // old book smell // slight hint of ozone from old electronics // bradford pear petals floating on the breeze

DUTCH’S ISLAND.

creaking metal hinges // the crackle of a radio // the scratch of an old record player // the smell of antiseptic // the flickering light of a projector // the feel of pushing pins into cork board // echoing footsteps // shelves stacked with canned food and mason jars // dark shadowy figures on the edge of your vision // gleaming metal badges // a table of bullet shell casings // vertigo from standing on swaying radio towers // the sound of shattering glass // whistling pipes // suffocating heat // the chatter of squirrels // faint scent of mothballs// the sputter of a boat engine // the high electronic whine of an old television turning on // the sound of distant gunfire // tear stained letters // old family photographs // the smell of a mildewy basement

[siempredelsol]

Chapter 1: The Means To My End . . .

Monday.

The floor feels cool against her cheek. She doesn’t understand where she is- but she knows what she’s done. She promised herself that last time would be the last time but here she was. Her mouth was dry, there was a ringing in her ears- and it was all accompanied by a pulsing that reached to the core of her stomach. Whatever she had to eat last was now churning in her gut;

What did she eat last?

Did she eat today?

She feels clammy, and almost like she’s suffocating. There’s an imaginary weight on her chest, one that she can’t push away. Sitting up isn’t helping- and fuck did her head throb right now. Her stomach ushers her to the cool rim of the toilet bowl and she expels food she didn’t remember eating. The smell is putrid and she doesn’t seem to care as she rests her cheek to the dirty porcelain. 

Blackness then falls and she is gone. 

She’s gone.

Tuesday.

Dave’s working her from behind. She’s still and robotic. She’s pleasure, she’s pain. She’s fire, she’s ice. She’s disgusting, yet desired. He finishes in no time and slips a bill into her hand. She ignores the urge to check what she’s worth.; much like she ignored his wedding band and like he ignored her, slipping out of the room. 

She walks around his house admiring his pictures and the life that fills his space. His lovely home. With his lovely wife. She’s robotic as she eats the leftovers in his- their, refrigerator. His wife was a good cook too. 

A robe lays on the edge of the tub in this huge flawless bathroom, same as always. She uses shampoo that doesn’t belong to her and the shaving gel to shave her legs. Of course she used the pink razor sitting there as well. 

She smelled clean and delightful. How ironic.

Wednesday. 

She keeps herself occupied with nail painting and cross word puzzles. What a time to be alive.

Thursday.

There’s a man on the small tv in her motel room. It’s hard to make out details in the fuzzy screen but the cross in the back stands prominent. She agrees with him and curses at him all the same. He is wrong. He is right. 

Nonetheless she pulls in smoke and blows it in his face, pours a shot, and makes a toast to sin. 

It feels numbing on the way down. 

Friday. 

When she walks out on stage, the crowd howls. As they should. She’s showing a lot of fucking skin. She teases not- she is the real deal, honey. Her tips can surely prove that. Her hands glide like silk down the pole and she doesn’t think about who was there last and why the pole is especially forgiving tonight. She just does. 

Her mind is moving, but her body is degrading her thoughts with their movements. Her hip sways may be in time with the music from the speakers blaring above, but she isn’t sure. She's off her game tonight. The men don’t seem to care anyways. Their faces had begun to blur with every spin around the pole, the familiar churning coming back to her stomach. 

The bitter taste flutters across her tongue. Acid begins to burn her throat but the show goes on. She bends over, giving them a good peek. Swallowing the bile back, she gyrates her hips against the pole suggestively as her head tilts back. Despite her arms feeling weak, she dips slowly down and up and down and up. The stage is generously covered with their money, and she she steps all over it with her stilettos, taking her top off simultaneously to coax them into giving more. 

“Selena” 

They call her name. One of them. 

Dave is here tonight. She sees him. Odd. He slides a twenty down the skin of her tits before slipping it between the thin elastic waistband that held her G string together. He speaks in her ear which day to keep open for the week ahead before she manages to slip away with just a wink. She needed to breathe. She needed to go.

There is a rose waiting for her at her station in the dressing room. Dave's doing no doubt. A giving man that lacked loyalty. How sweet. If only his wife knew how sweet he is. Was.

She walks towards the train with a lot more cash than what she had to begin with. A child standing with her mother catches her attention as she’s passing. She hands the rose to the child, and she smiles. Her mother pulls the young one closer.

It’s a brisk night tonight, and she hugs her arms around herself. It does nothing to deter men from staring at her as she continues her way home. The motel room. Same difference. 

Now she felt naked. 

[emi-writings]

Thoughts and Decisions

So, I don’t need to go into details about the situation, we all know what’s happened.

For me, the entire thing hit hard and close to home. With other allegations towards other CCs, it was different – I could support victims, but I could not relate to their experiences. I just knew I wanted to create a safe space for them and I wanted to make sure I was listening to their voices. But in this situation I could relate to the victim all too well.

It’s been a bit of an emotional roller-coaster. I wasn’t the one who had been hurt, but old wounds felt like they had been brutally torn open for me. And there was also a part of me that was terrified and hurt that projects I have spent years on might end up not being completely by my hands, despite how much joy and passion they brought me.

Well, I took some time. I talked about things with a friend, I thought about things. And me and a friend have come to an idea that has settled things for me at least.

Changing C!Wilbur’s design.

The canonically depiction of C!Wilbur is a Minecraft skin that can’t go into much detail. We don’t even have a canonical eye color for him, we don’t have a canon height, we don’t really have much of anything. Choosing to interpret his skin in a way that is nothing like the person who played him really helps settle him as a character, not a person. And honestly, after brainstorming, I am happy with the results!

I am not an artist, so I can’t show you… but it’s really good, promise!

Anyway, I don’t know how many people who follow me are worried about Burning Iron, but rest assured that I don’t think I’ll be giving up on Burning Iron any time soon, nor will I be giving up on c!tntduo yet. I have stories I want to tell, and I don’t need to support the creators at all to enjoy these characters. I can watch the vods on different channels, I can read fanfics and enjoy fanart.

I don’t know how everyone else is feeling, but I am feeling a bit better about at least one thing. And I do like the idea of really making C!Wilbur his own person.

[nature-s-trunk]

Health in Every Drop: The Promise of Pure and Natural Honey at Nature’s trunk 

What is Natural Honey

Honey is a wonderful natural product that comes from bees. It's pure and healthy, sourced from trusted beekeepers. Regularly eating honey can give you a boost of energy and make your immune system stronger.       This sweet treat is packed with good things like antioxidants, which help fight off bad stuff in your body, and it also has anti-inflammatory properties and anti-bacterial agents. That means it can help with things like coughs, colds, and allergies.                                   

Interesting Facts About Natural Honey

Eternal Goodness: Honey lasts forever! Archaeologists found pots of honey in ancient Egyptian tombs over 3,000 years old, and it's still safe to eat today.

Nature's Vitamins: Honey is like a multivitamin from nature. It's full of good stuff like vitamin C, calcium, and iron, which are all important for your body.                                        

Busy Bees: It takes a lot of work for bees to make honey. They have to visit up to 1,500 flowers just to collect enough nectar for one tiny teaspoon of honey.

Healing Honey: Honey isn't just tasty—it's also a natural medicine. People have used it for centuries to help with sore throats, wounds, and even tummy troubles because it has special properties that fight bacteria.

Flavorful Variety:  pure natural Honey comes in lots of Flavors and colours. It all depends on the flowers the bees visit. Some honey is light and flowery, while others are dark and strong-tasting.

Bee Talk: Bees have their own special way of talking—they do a dance! It helps them tell their friends where to find yummy flowers full of nectar

Pollination Power: Bees aren't just making honey for us to enjoy—they're also super important for growing lots of the food we eat. Without bees, we wouldn't have many fruits, veggies, or nuts!

Natural Preserver: Honey keeps things fresh because it doesn't let bacteria grow. That's why people used to use it to preserve things, like bodies in ancient times!

Hexagonal Homes: Bees are amazing builders. They create these cool six-sided structures called honeycombs out of beeswax to store their honey and raise baby bees.

Sweet Significance: Best Honey is more than just food—it's a symbol of sweetness, prosperity, and even life after death in different cultures and stories around the world.

Health Benefits of Natural Honey

Energy Booster: Honey gives you a quick burst of energy because it's packed with carbohydrates, which are like fuel for your body. It's a great alternative to sugar when you need a quick pick-me-up.

Immune System Support: Honey is like a shield for your body because it's full of good stuff like antioxidants, enzymes, vitamins, and minerals. These help your immune system fight off sickness and keep you healthy.

Sore Throat Soother: If your throat is feeling scratchy, honey can help! It has special properties that can calm sore throats and coughs. Mix it with warm water or tea for some relief.

Heals Cuts and Burns: Honey isn't just for eating—it's great for your skin too! It has natural germ-fighting powers, so it can help heal minor cuts and burns faster and keep them from getting infected.

Digestive Aid: Honey is like a helper for your tummy. It can ease tummy troubles and make your digestion better by encouraging good bacteria to grow in your gut.

Allergy Fighter: Some people think that eating honey from local bees can help with allergies. Even though there's not much scientific proof, some believe that a little bit of pollen in honey might help your body get used to allergens over time.

Sleep Support: Feeling sleepy? A little bit of honey before bed might help! It helps your body make a sleepy hormone called melatonin, so you can get a better night's rest.

Heart Helper: Honey might be sweet, but it's good for your heart too! It can help lower blood pressure and reduce the risk of heart disease because it has antioxidants that keep your heart healthy.

Weight Manager: Even though honey is sweet, it's better for you than sugar because it doesn't make your blood sugar spike as much. Eating honey in moderation can help you control your cravings and manage your weight better.

Inflammation Fighter: Honey can also help reduce inflammation in your body, which is linked to diseases like arthritis and heart disease. Its antioxidants and anti-inflammatory properties work together to keep your body healthy.

conclusion

Natural honey is more than just a tasty treat—it's a treasure trove of health benefits. It's like a superhero for your body! It can give you energy, boost your immune system, and even help you heal faster. Plus, it's full of antioxidants, which are like little warriors fighting off bad stuff in your body. You can use honey in all sorts of recipes, from sweet treats to soothing remedies for coughs and sore throats. Just remember, even though honey is good for you, it's still sugary, so enjoy it in moderation. In the end, natural bee honeys like a magical potion from nature, bringing joy to your taste buds and goodness to your health.

[fyreanddesire]

Chapter 1: The Means To My End . . .

Monday.

The floor feels cool against her cheek. She doesn’t understand where she is- but she knows what she’s done. She promised herself that last time would be the last time but here she was. Her mouth was dry, there was a ringing in her ears- and it was all accompanied by a pulsing that reached to the core of her stomach. Whatever she had to eat last was now churning in her gut;

What did she eat last?

Did she eat today?

She feels clammy, and almost like she’s suffocating. There’s an imaginary weight on her chest, one that she can’t push away. Sitting up isn’t helping- and fuck did her head throb right now. Her stomach ushers her to the cool rim of the toilet bowl and she expels food she didn’t remember eating. The smell is putrid and she doesn’t seem to care as she rests her cheek to the dirty porcelain. 

Blackness then falls and she is gone. 

She’s gone.

Tuesday.

Dave’s working her from behind. She’s still and robotic. She’s pleasure, she’s pain. She’s fire, she’s ice. She’s disgusting, yet desired. He finishes in no time and slips a bill into her hand. She ignores the urge to check what she’s worth.; much like she ignored his wedding band and like he ignored her, slipping out of the room. 

She walks around his house admiring his pictures and the life that fills his space. His lovely home. With his lovely wife. She’s robotic as she eats the leftovers in his- their, refrigerator. His wife was a good cook too. 

A robe lays on the edge of the tub in this huge flawless bathroom, same as always. She uses shampoo that doesn’t belong to her and the shaving gel to shave her legs. Of course she used the pink razor sitting there as well. 

She smelled clean and delightful. How ironic.

Wednesday. 

She keeps herself occupied with nail painting and cross word puzzles. What a time to be alive.

Thursday.

There’s a man on the small tv in her motel room. It’s hard to make out details in the fuzzy screen but the cross in the back stands prominent. She agrees with him and curses at him all the same. He is wrong. He is right. 

Nonetheless she pulls in smoke and blows it in his face, pours a shot, and makes a toast to sin. 

It feels numbing on the way down. 

Friday. 

When she walks out on stage, the crowd howls. As they should. She’s showing a lot of fucking skin. She teases not- she is the real deal, honey. Her tips can surely prove that. Her hands glide like silk down the pole and she doesn’t think about who was there last and why the pole is especially forgiving tonight. She just does. 

Her mind is moving, but her body is degrading her thoughts with their movements. Her hip sways may be in time with the music from the speakers blaring above, but she isn’t sure. She's off her game tonight. The men don’t seem to care anyways. Their faces had begun to blur with every spin around the pole, the familiar churning coming back to her stomach. 

The bitter taste flutters across her tongue. Acid begins to burn her throat but the show goes on. She bends over, giving them a good peek. Swallowing the bile back, she gyrates her hips against the pole suggestively as her head tilts back. Despite her arms feeling weak, she dips slowly down and up and down and up. The stage is generously covered with their money, and she she steps all over it with her stilettos, taking her top off simultaneously to coax them into giving more. 

“Selena” 

They call her name. One of them. 

Dave is here tonight. She sees him. Odd. He slides a twenty down the skin of her tits before slipping it between the thin elastic waistband that held her G string together. He speaks in her ear which day to keep open for the week ahead before she manages to slip away with just a wink. She needed to breathe. She needed to go.

There is a rose waiting for her at her station in the dressing room. Dave's doing no doubt. A giving man that lacked loyalty. How sweet. If only his wife knew how sweet he is. Was.

She walks towards the train with a lot more cash than what she had to begin with. A child standing with her mother catches her attention as she’s passing. She hands the rose to the child, and she smiles. Her mother pulls the young one closer.

It’s a brisk night tonight, and she hugs her arms around herself. It does nothing to deter men from staring at her as she continues her way home. The motel room. Same difference. 

Now she felt naked. 

[emi-writings]

thank you tumblr for not telling me about this despite being tagged

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! IT'S THE BOYS! IT'S THE BOYS FIRST MEETING! THIS IS AMAZING!!!

getting back to posting ctnt fanart by drawing fanart of how I interpreted tntduo to look like in the beginning of the first chapter of the fanfic Burning Iron and Honey Sweet Promises by @emi-writings

please check out the fic on ao3 with this link or check out emi's tumblr account :]

[baijingshen]

@qinyan​ sent:  ❛ you won’t survive long out there. i can protect you. ❜ [ Wen Kexing ]

Wen Kexing lets his eyes trail over the horizon, watching the trees sway gently in the wind. It’s peaceful here, like the center of a storm sheltered from the horrors of the world outside - but he knows them to be lurking behind the forest. He can see their faces clearly before his inner eye, hear their mocking voices spilling lies and slandering all that’s good and true in this rotten world. How ironic that they stand united now to call for his death but failed to do the same when his parents were fighting for their lives. To hell with all of them - and if there is no such thing, he will make sure to bring hell on earth to them as long as there is life left in him.

Scorpion’s words, however much they may resemble poison disguised as sweet honey, are not wrong. Once again Wen Kexing finds himself alone in the world, left with no one but himself to rely on. Just as Four Seasons Manor had not been a fortress, the dream of a life with Zhou Zishu had not been the promised reward for enduring a lifetime of misery. In the end it all went up in smoke, just like everything else Kexing ever loved. Why fate had to put it within his reach just to rip it away from him so cruelly, he does not know.

He turns to meet Scorpion’s gaze, sensing a hunger in it that feels all too familiar. This man might be driven by the same basic instincts as all the others but at least he doesn’t hide his ambition behind lies and deceit - and it wouldn’t be the first time Wen Kexing chooses to side with the devil to stay alive. It’s clear this offer does not come from a selfless wish to do good but a desire for a power yet outside the Scorpion’s grasp. The power of the Ghost Valley - even if it lies in shambles and half its devils already switched allegiance. Wen Kexing’s power may have dwindled but he’s undeniable still a force to be reckoned with.

When he finally responds his voice is low and his eyes widen slightly. “Help me burn down this world and I will help you raise from its ashes whatever you desire.”

[willowwhispersspeakeasy]

What the demon brothers kisses taste like

Warnings: blood mention, kinda horny

Lucifer:

You know that bitterness of berries? Like raspberries or even pomegranates? That's what kissing Lucifer tastes like.

If he lets you sneak your tongue in his mouth it almost overwhelms you. The taste of dark wine on his tongue as he sucks on yours.

He is an absolutely amazing kisser, and he will leave you breathless and keening into his touch. Looking into his hooded eyes as he smirks, licking his lips damp with the taste of you.

You cant help but imagine, if you were in the garden of edin, you'd have taken anything that serpent had given you if it tasted like him.

Mammon:

smoke, but not in a bad way. Hes breathy and greedy and oh so needy. His mouth could practically devour you if youll let him.

Mammon tastes like burning wood, kissing him is like licking a forest fire. His breath enters your lungs like smoke and he clouds your mind and your senses.

And the pretty noises he makes for you. Something between a whine and a growl, it starts highpitched and then drops deep in his chest. It rumbles against your mouth, promising riches beyond your imagination.

Kissing Mammon is full of fire and brimstone. When you finally part for air his breath is hot on your skin, burning tongue already finding purchase on your neck.

Leviathan:

Levi tastes sharp like mint leaves. Salt residue slices your tongue like blood in your mouth. His lips are cold and he shivers under the heat from yours.

Watch his fangs, hes to overwhelmed to remember to keep them away. Or nick them if you want to watch him go feral.

Or you could bite his lips. Pull his lower lip into your mouth and such gently. Hes shaking in your arms, completely platent to your control. Run your teeth over some of the chapt skin there. Make him bleed in return.

The salt and iron is sharp like the cool of his mouth. When you finally pull away hes panting and shivering, eyes now changed to small slits. Like a reptile with eyes on its prey.

Satan:

If Lucifer is bitter Satan is sour. Lemonade and orange cream, he hums so softly against your lips. He loves the taste of you sure, but he adores the experience of you.

Tight grip on your scalp, gasp passing from your lips as he overtakes you. You are surely pressed against something, caught between something and him. But the details escape you with how hes sucking on your tongue.

He traces your mouth, your throat, your collar, like hes tracing the words of his favorite novel. He wants to make you moan, gasp, whine, groan. Anything he can coax from your lungs.

Anything youre willing to give him, hes going to take it. And hes going to swallow those pretty little sounds. His tongue is acidic like his rage. And the sting of it against your own is oh so addicting. He'll make a masochist out of you yet.

Asmodeus:

Cherry lipgloss and rosé. Asmo tastes like giggles between childhood friends, suddenly choked by the hidden desire in their chest. He tastes like cream soda and complete infatuation.

Asmo's very being cries out as the passion of desire. Sure, hes seen as an inherently sexual being as the avatar of lust, but this...

This feeling, your skin against his, nails sunk in fabric and flesh. Breath warm on his lips, desire heavy in the air. This, these moments, are when he feels full.

Asmo tastes like unbridled passion. Hes an unstoppable force, the very breath in his lungs coated in desire. And every bit of it is yours to hold.

Hold him close, coo into his mouth, let him please you, heavens above, please just let him please you. Hes warm, like bubblegum on your tongue as he falls apart under your adoration.

Beelzebub:

Milk and honey. Maybe a little bit of chocolate from the candy he was just eating. Regardless his lips are always sweet somehow, to spite how many salty and savory snacks he eats.

Kissing Beel's lips is like nectar and ambrosia. It makes you feel full and warm and yet there's a sneaking fear of what happens if you have to much.

And yet, once he slides his tongue against yours, signing blissfully into your mouth, you don't care. Hes warm and soft and lord the way he strokes the insides of your mouth has you weak in his arms.

He growls as he pulls away, large hand on the back of your head, both to keep you from knocking it against anything, and to guide you into his kisses. His eyes are hooded as he watches your lips. Are the butterflys in your stomach love or fear when he speaks,

"Im hungry."

Belphagor:

Violet sugar. He tastes sweet like his twin. Its probably a chapstick Asmo bought for him. Belphie is far to lazy to kiss you, so youll have to kiss him instead.

His mouth is lazy against yours, hes probably dragged you to lay on top of him, one hand playing with your fingers above his head. His lips bruise easy, but he doesnt mind.

He'll bite at your lips, teasing and pushing your buttons to see what you'll let him get away with. Oh but once you let him slither his tongue into your mouth,

His kisses are lazy and messy and yet in seconds they turn hot and hungry. He has you on your back now, growling like a territorial cat as he rubs himself against you. You belong to him. Dont forget or he'll cloud your mind a dreams until you cant even remember your own name.