#but :^) I am aware that no one would write with her so it’s scary | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

idksmtms · 1 month ago

Text

no body, no crime (Daemon Targaryen x Niece!reader) - evermore series

evermore series

A/N: 2 fics in one day?? Am I trying to make up for the month I was away?? (yes, yes I am...)

I feel like I only write Niece!reader with Daemon because he is the perfect hot incesty uncle on HoTD and why would I want to change that??

Summary: When Rhea Royce is found dead in a riding accident in the Vale and Daemon returns to King's Landing, you wonder if it is all because of you…

Word count: ~3k

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, kinda scary Daemon, creepy vibes, mentions of death, suspicion of murder, kinda stalker/obsessive Daemon, era typical marriage habits, slight spoilers for HoTD S1, (please let me know if I missed any)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so.

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

You had always known that Daemon was dangerous. No person that lived in King’s Landing should think otherwise, because the ones that did often ended up a consequence of his danger. He was reckless, ruthless, impulsive. He had killed and was always ready to kill again. You knew of the proverb the common folk often quoted, “Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. When a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air, and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.” You often wonder which side the coin has landed on Daemon, whether it has even landed yet or you are merely witnessing a point in time when the face with madness is tilted up to the earth as it rotates through the air.

You had always been intrigued by your uncle, by his harsh manner and sultry tongue, by his ruthless quest for power and his weakness for women. As a second daughter, you had much more idle time than Rhaenyra ever did, and you often used it to skulk about the Red Keep and spy on the doings of others. You had grown an early infatuation with watching Daemon in the training yard, or simply following him as he made his way around the Keep.

Of course at that age you had thought yourself a master of secrets, one with the shadows, and you hadn’t noticed the little smile that always graced his lips when he noticed you following him, or that he took extra long, winding, paths to reach his destination.

Then Daemon had defied your father and gone to fight the war in the Stepstones, and that had been the end of that. In the long while Daemon had been gone, the realities of womanhood had raised you quickly. You were burdened by responsibilities, by the slowly growing urgency of finding you a suitor. You were so changed that when Daemon returned victorious and supplicant, he almost did not recognise the woman you had become.

It was now him who was found trailing you, watching you when he could and forcing his company onto you. It was now he who was infatuated with you, and while you would have enjoyed the attention once, would have revelled in it and preened girlishly, you had also become aware of the realities of men, and particularly Daemon in the time he had been gone. You had become aware of his violent tendencies, his gallivanting habits, and most of all, his marriage.

His hatred of Rhea Royce was famous throughout the land, he had made it clear to any passerby, but you still valued the sanctity of marriage and would not take any part in helping him defile it.

“Would you care to accompany me on a stroll through the gardens, darling niece?” He asked one day after finding you perusing scrolls on Targaryen history in the library. You had jumped at the sound of his voice, looking at him warily as he seemed to appear out of the shadows. His dark eyes scared you.

“Unchaperoned? That would not be wise uncle,” you had mumbled, turning back to the tome placed on the table before you.

“You are my niece, why would a chaperone be required?” He asked as if you had posed a ludicrous concern and you frowned at him again.

“Yes, but we are also Targaryens,” and while you had believed that to be the end of the conversation, Daemon had simply scoffed and forcibly threaded your arm through his and walked you out of the room.

You couldn’t deny that the walk had been pleasant. He could be funny when he wanted, and he was immensely clever despite his impatience and brutish behaviour, and you had found your hands gripping him voluntarily, found yourself enjoying the feeling of his firm muscles under your fingertips. But you also couldn’t deny that there was something that always had you on edge. There was an underlying violence, a darkness that always lingered around him, and you knew that you could never trust that you were fully safe in his company despite no obvious threat.

More walks were posed in the coming days that you happily agreed to, and enjoyed all the more. You could physically feel his charms working, at the gentle way he caressed the back of your hand when he was lost in thought while listening to you speak. Or the way he gazed directly into your eyes when he spoke, his gaze never once wavering. And he had a certain affinity for presenting you with gifts. The first was still your most cherished, a necklace with a pendant of Valyrian steel shaped in the sigil of house Targaryen. You often felt equal parts scared, excited, and happy in his presence.

When it was decided that Rhaenyra was to tour the realm to find a suitor, your father decided that it would be best for you to accompany her and try to find a suitor of your own. Of course Rhaenyra would have first pick, but you could choose from the others and it would be best to be done with the complications for both princesses all together. While you weren’t particularly looking forward to the prospect, you were content in the knowledge that you would be allowed to pick your own husband, a luxury you were highly aware few were afforded in the realm.

A fortnight before you were due to leave, in the late evening when the Keep was lit only by torches and candles, Daemon cornered you in the library. Your space was lit only by a few candles scattered around the table you were sitting at, and when you noticed him lingering at the edges of the light, you jumped out of your seat, ready to scream for help. Your heart beat out of your chest, your entire body was clenched and you wanted to run, but then he stepped into the light and you felt yourself unfurl in your seat. Relief was like a wash of cold water and you began to giggle, hand pressed to your chest as you gulped air in like you had never tasted it before.

“It’s just you,” you breathed out, closing your eyes for a moment before opening them and refocusing your gaze on Daemon now that he had stepped closer to you. He walked over and kneeled down in front of your seat.

“Do not leave on this tour,” he said it firmly, almost desperately, but you could only frown at him in confusion.

“I- what do you mean, kepus?” You clasped your hands in your lap, fidgeting a little with your index finger. He quickly wrapped his own hands around them, gripping them tightly as he looked at you.

“I mean that you should abandon this worthless search for a suitor, and marry me instead.” You let out an incredulous laugh but found nothing funny about the situation. You pried your hands out of his grip and quickly stood up, stepping back from where he stayed kneeling in front of you. Not for the first time did you realise how tall and strong his body was that you were not much of an intimidating presence even while he kneeled at your feet.

“You cannot be serious, kepus,” you mumbled.

“What makes you think I am in jest?” He asked, and you could see no humour in any part of him. He looked hewn from stone.

“Because you are married, Daemon! By the gods, how do you forget this each and every day of your life?!” Your body felt like it was overflowing with panic and hysteria. “You are married, and have been married for a long while. Just because you leave Rhea Royce in the Vale does not change that fact. It is sacrilege for you to even suggest marrying me while she lives happily and healthily.” The sudden pin prick of tears caught you by surprise, and you wiped at your cheek before they had even fallen.

Daemon stood from where he had kneeled and stepped closer to you. When you began to back away, he followed, and only when your back was pressed to the wall and you could move no further did he stop. He refrained from pressing his entire body to yours but his face was so close that your noses brushed and his eyes had blurred into a slash of black.

“Is my sham of a marriage the only reason you deny me?” He asked, low and whispery, his voice a snake slithering up your arms and legs. You gulped, the urge to run like a raging storm inside of you. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” You said it so quickly you weren’t sure you spoke it for a second, but once it left your mouth, you knew it to be true. If he was not married you would say yes. If he was not married you could actually see yourself loving him. But it was simply not to be.

He stood there and stared at you so long that you wondered if this was your end. Were you about to die at the hands of your uncle? You began closing your eyes, readying yourself for the inevitable when he pressed his lips to your cheek in a chaste kiss then pulled away and walked out of the library. You opened your eyes and nothing was amiss. It was almost as if he hadn’t ever been there and you had stood from the chair and pressed yourself to the wall of your own volition.

You stood there for a few minutes more, just waiting for something to happen, for Daemon to return or the Stranger to come and guide you to the next life. But the world had returned to the stillness it inhabited in the hour of the ghosts.

The tour had been unsuccessful for Rhaenyra, but ultimately it had been unsuccessful for you too. You could not marry before Rhaenyra, but after meeting the men on the tour, you didn’t want to marry any of them anyway. They were all either young, immature, boys who didn’t know their right from their left, or men as old as your father, backs already curling over their walking sticks and servants already wiping dribbled wine from their chins.

In the days after your return to King's Landing, you had discovered Daemon’s sudden disappearance with Caraxes and it had left you in a certain dowerness. You had already spent so long at sea with little to no entertaining company, and you had looked forward to returning to your walks with your uncle. It seemed not to be.

But soon enough you were whisked away to Driftmark to secure Rhaenyra’s betrothal, and despite being rather annoyed that you were forced to join this journey, you ended up glad for it. Laena Velaryon, close to you in age, swiftly became a favoured companion of yours. She was strong but kind, fun but sensible, and you found yourself excitedly seeking her company in the time you spent at Driftmark before the betrothal was finalised and you all began making your way back to King’s Landing.

While you were happy for Rhaenyra, happy that she found someone she could spend the rest of her life with in Laenor, you began to worry once more for your own prospects. Who would you choose? Or worse, who would be chosen for you? But all these worries were put to the side upon discovering the news that awaited you on your return to the Red Keep.

Rhea Royce was dead. Mourning bells had rung through the Vale upon the discovery of her crushed body under her horse. But all you could think about was the determination in Daemon’s eyes that evening in the library. All you could think of was the question he had asked, the harsh whisper and the quick exit. Where was he?

With each day that passed, your nerves grew. Your mind was plagued with the thoughts that this was all Daemon’s doing, a desperate attempt to end his marriage so he would be free to love you openly. And with every day that he did not return, your heart grew more fearful that your suspicion was correct.

There had only been one letter from him, sent from some unknown location, claiming a grief over the tragic accident that befell his wife, and nothing more…

On the day of Rhaenyra’s wedding, you had almost spilled your goblet of wine down your dress when he had entered the hall. He looked clean and fresh, as put together as ever, and something inside you turned cold at the smirk he wore as he sauntered down the aisle and waited for a chair to be placed for him at the table just to your right.

Laena, blessed Laena, sitting directly to your right was your rock. You had requested that she have her place at the head table with you, and now you were more thankful than ever that you had requested the placement.

“So,” she whispered right in your ear, “what killed her then?” You jumped, turning to Laena with wide eyes and shaking hands.

“What? What do you mean?” If others didn’t know any better, it would surely be assumed that you were somehow guilty for the death.

“Well, you said so yourself, Daemon is claiming he simply heard the news of her death and that he believes it was a tragic accident, but the Royces believe he had something to do with it, that Rhea was too good a rider for it to have happened the way it looked. What do you believe?”

You said nothing, let Laena get bored of your silence and move on to other topics and judgements of the people in the hall. But when she stood from her seat to go greet her family members on one of the lower tables, it took everything within you not to cling to her skirts like a child and beg her to take you with her.

As soon as she left you sitting there, your eyes were pulled to Daemon like some magical force controlled your actions. You couldn’t stop watching him, lips almost shaking, and he watched you in return, jovial to an almost sadistic degree. Just as he was about to reach for your hand on the table, a man walked up and stood just in front of him, glaring so viciously that you bristled. Daemon didn’t even bother glancing in his direction until he cleared his throat aggressively.

“Yes?” He asked, frowning in confusion and annoyance in the man’s direction. “Who are you?”

“Sir Gerold.” When Daemon continued to look at him like he was some random fool, you could almost see the smoke pouring from the man’s ears. “I am Sir Gerold Royce. I am cousin to your late lady wife.” Your eyes widened as you looked upon the man, pressing yourself back into the seat warily as Daemon seemed to relax further into his, leaning back, palms pressed to the table, and a look of clarity dawning across his face.

“Aah, yes, terrible thing, I’m positively bereft, such a tragic accident.” His lack of expression was almost comical. If you hadn’t been so terrified of the situation you were sure you would have laughed uproariously at the fake grief Daemon so easily wove to further antagonise the Royce man. The man’s jaw looked close to cracking at how harshly he clenched his teeth together.

“You know better than anyone it was no accident.”

“Are you confessing some guilt, Sir Gerold?” He asked, and you could see that Daemon was enjoying the interaction immensely. He had that mischievous glint in his eye, that subtle quirk to his lip that gave him such a self-superior air and made him ten times more dislikable than he already was.

“I am making an accusation.” And there it was, out in the open now for all to see, the uncomfortable suspicion that had bounced around everyone’s mind since the news of Rhea Royce’s tragic passing had spread.

Daemon said nothing, simply continued staring at Gerold Royce with those black eyes of his that made the world feel small and harsh. Ser Lyonel was listening on your left, and you wanted to melt into the wood of your chair, never to be seen again. The air was thick and painful and watching Daemon quickly deposit the man with no thought to the grief he was going through, you leapt out of your chair and scurried out of the hall, ignoring the footsteps that chased after you.

You weren’t quite sure where you were going, just that you had to leave that situation and were now fruitlessly attempting to outrun the thoughts that chased you so relentlessly. Your breaths were shallow and painful, your hands felt full of blood, heavy and swollen, and you couldn’t quite see where you were going through the panic.

Your trusty feet led you to the library and you only stopped once you were inside and at the table you usually chose to sit at. As the breath began to return to you, so did the awareness that you were not alone. You whirled around to find Daemon turning the corner with his long strides. He paused just at the edge of the little area you occupied and watched you with a calculating gaze.

“Did you do it, Daemon? Did you kill your wife for this?” You asked hurriedly, voice hushed and lips stumbling over one another as you spoke. Your pulse was thrumming in your ears, and while you were all fidgeting and pacing, Daemon stood still and stoic, as immovable as a wall. When you paused to look at him, chewing on your lip as you frowned the longer he made you wait for an answer, he stood to his full height before leaning down so his face was pressed as close to yours without actually kissing you.

“I would do anything for us,” and his voice was a dark whisper, a promise…

197 notes · View notes

rosie-writings · 1 month ago

Text

You Need a Melody

Kinktober Day 1: Dirty Talk

Summary: In the middle of an investigation, you lose focus because Colby doesn’t understand the effect his voice has on you, so he ends up bringing you back to his hotel for the night but not without tormenting you for the rest of the job.

Warnings: Semi Public smut, Unprotected sex, Voice kink, Dirty talk, Degradation, slight Praise kink…

Words: 8.1k

Title is from ‘Higher’ by Sleep Token

Note: I chose a to write about a real investigation from their channel to aid with inspiration. Not knowing that it was a sad ending, I diverted from the video midway through because it felt disrespectful to not due to the nature of this story.

There was something about the sound of it that put my stomach in a twist breathing alone couldn’t undo.

The wind was still cool enough for us to pull on our jackets by the time the sun tapped the horizon, and I was impressed I made it that long without it considering my arms crawled with goosebumps from the moment we stepped out of the car. I blamed it on the crisp spring New York air.

No one else had goosebumps though, so then I decided to pretend like I was sensitive to the cold. But I wasn’t often bothered by the cold.

“What does the C and M stand for?” Sam asks as he points to the clear K and M on the door.

”That’s definitely a K—“

”Kall… Me… Kris,” Kris says, cutting me off, and follows it up with a dramatic gasp.

”Oh, so it’s all about Kris now,” Colby laughs but instead of saying anything else, Sam shoves the camera in Colby’s face.

”I see a scary man, do ya’ll see that scary man?” Colby says as he stares into the setting sun. His eyes are blank as he stares at them as if not a thought is behind that poor man’s eyes.

“What did you take?” Kris bursts out laughing.

”He doesn’t have to take anything to look like that unfortunately,” I laugh.

“Goddamn,” he laughs before he turns around and busts the door open.

”Ladies first!” He says happily and Kris complains about walking in first. We all pause laughing as Kris walks in looking very similar to the girl standing emoji.

“You can go next, Sam,” I sigh as I shove him. The camera shakes in his hand and he gasps.

”Actually you can!” He says and grabs my wrist and yanks me through the threshold. My nose scrunches as I’m dragged across the wood of the porch.

I’m hyper aware of the low laugh on my other side as I’m shoved into the same course Kris first took.

As we snoop around the house, Sam and Colby also explain some of the history of the house in between jokes. Something about putting Sam and Colby, Kris and Celena, and I in the same house either scares the ghosts away or gives us a false sense of security because there was more messing around and teasing one another than real investigation for the first twenty minutes. I didn’t have a problem with that.

I am convinced there are no ghosts in this house when all five of us get along like this. I also am sure that I would be the one replacing the ghosts for content because if I had to withstand listening to Colby speak like this for another day, there is no promising I would come out of this house alive.

It took going up to the top story for it to start though.

Dizzy, Kris plops into a chair and Celena sits next to her. Sam, Colby and I stand around her as she catches her breath.

”It could have been slight vertigo, this house is twisty and we just went out on that balcony, and seeing the elevation…” I suggest.

”That’s true,” Celena says. “You also get like this when suspicious things happen at my house.”

”It’s also really hot up here,” Colby says. I don’t say anything. I think Sam says something next. My heart skips. I pretend like I’m not sure why as I shift on my feet as Colby sways close to me subconsciously.

We continue on and go downstairs to talk with the owners of the house and go over precise history about the house.

Later, Celena and Kris explain what happened to them, and we immediately snap into investigation mode.

For a while, the irrational sensations that trail through my body every time Colby, honestly, simply makes his presence known, fade, and we get a more in depth tour. Many things happen, Kris hears something, there’s something that sounds like thunder; it’s hard to remember everything that happened because that much happened.

Until the owner told us the ghost’s story in the basement, and the lights flicker every time he mentions specific things about the ghost.

I’m not sure why the antics upped in that moment, but in my mind they did. Hearing footsteps and seeing flickering lights was enough for my stomach to recoil. On top of the things I witnessed, Celena explaining the ghosts she noticed in her mind's eye did me no favors.

My knees tremble by the time we make our way to the top floor.

As we film in the dark, the only light in the room pouring from the camera light, it seems harder to speak.

At least for me.

Sam and Colby orchestrate the interview with the ghost, and I’m silent for the entire time. Celena and Kris intervene intermittently, but my throat twists within itself with every answer we receive from the so-called ghost.

Colby is also a hair away from grazing my arm every time he speaks and moves naturally. So maybe it was that.

It’s not that anything more than friendly happens between Colby and I; recently his voice has just done something a little more than friendly to me. I’m not sure if that makes it better or not.

Especially if we plan to film during a particular time of month, I mentally prepare myself to be left dizzy and overwhelmed.

And definitely not due to any paranormal activity.

”New piece of equipment, doesn’t have batteries, so I have to go get batteries. I’ll be back in a moment,” Sam explains to the camera as Colby films him.

“Oh… okay,” Colby chokes out with fear.

“Oops sorry,” Sam says with a high pitched voice as he leaves the room and closes the door behind him. Colby comedically turns the camera to me and zooms out and I stand there perfectly straight and still as the light over exposes my body like a beacon.

Colby bursts out laughing and I whine as I close my eyes from being blinded.

”Sam deserves to get murked by ghosts if he’s leaving us alone in here,” I complain.

”Kris and Celena are alone in the creepy doll closet upstairs, so it could be worse for us,” Colby says and instantly, the erratic beating of my heart returns. I swallow tightly.

His voice sounds different when we’re alone, but no one would ever find me trusting my perception when I’m alone with him. I stay still, listening to anything that might happen in the room as we wait for Sam to return. My heart hammers in my chest, and my eyes don’t leave Colby as he flips the camera to face him and speaks to it.

An aching courses my body as he speaks.

Maybe he did have a different tone in his voice. We were alone with the camera, so it felt less like putting on a show since there were three less people taking up space in the frame.

Or maybe my body wants to believe he spoke differently now.

”Literally saw a woman— whoa I’m white,” Colby gasps as he turns the camera and sees himself in the viewfinder. I laugh once, stifling my movement because one, I’m in a house full of ghosts and two, I’m being filmed alone with Colby.

No, I don’t trust myself right now.

And then I hear it. My body lurches in the direction of the low bang and Colby instantly turns the camera towards the bar meaning he heard it too.

”It sounded like a footstep right there.”

”The ghosts are spying on us,” I say lowly.

We both keen our attention behind the bar for a few more silent seconds.

”It really sounds like something is right there, and the footsteps trail that way,” Colby explains to the camera as he points down the corridor and across the wall where it dumps into the hallway outside of the room we’re in.

”The ghosts are waiting outside to get Sam when he comes back,” I say. Colby turns to me.

”Why would they wait for him if we’re in here already?”

“Because you have a camera,” I laugh. “I thought we’ve established multiple times in this video alone that these ghosts especially hate cameras since everything huge we’ve captured has been when the cameras are off.” Colby puts down the camera for a second, and I hear the faint noise of the recording ending.

I’m not sure why my heart jolts.

We’re thoroughly alone now.

”Yeah? You think the ghosts will do something huge now that I turned it off?” I can tell by his light eyes that his words had no underlying meaning, but his voice could never be innocent to me. Especially not when he drops it to that smooth and low tone he always adapts to when we’re alone.

I convince myself it’s his real voice and not fluffed up for the camera.

”It would make sense if they did,” I say, but I don’t need to say anything else because the same rolling thunder sounds we heard in the walls happens right above our heads in the ceiling. It starts over Colby and finishes in a few paces, over me.

“Celena and Kris are two stories above us, not one,” Colby says distantly as he still looks up to the ceiling. I don’t say anything because my eyes are snagged on the length of his throat as he speaks up towards the aged drywall.

”Told you things happen when the camera is off.” Maybe I should work on the filter on my voice as well, because his eyes snap back down to mine as he hears my words. I swallow again. We already established that it is hot in his house, maybe I just need water.

Colby parts his lips again as his eyes are slightly darker than I’ve seen them all night.

The door opens and we both jump around. Sam walks into the room with the batteries and Colby quickly starts the recording again.

“So we need to stay very still,” Sam explains, and he turns on the white rem pod looking piece of equipment. As they speak, we have to stay as extremely still as possible or else the pod will shrill to life. I almost need to hold my breath when Colby asks questions. His voice is low but smoother than usual; it’s all I can ever describe his voice as. But when he asks questions to the ghosts in the night, I can hear another layer of velvet that…

I need to hold my breath as we stand here perfectly still, to say the least.

My body is on fire already. I don’t want to know what changing my clothes later will entail.

”Do you know if there’s members of the Kriescher family in this house? If so can you go up to this table so this device goes off?” Sam asks.

It’s silent.

”Okay, so he doesn’t know anything about the murder, but he’s not alone so—“

The rem pod shrills to life and green floods the room.

”Boom, confirmed,” Sam says. I glance at Colby who looks at the rem pod. The green light paints his face as he thinks for a moment.

”Charles or Edward, I don’t know… I still saw a physical person. Let’s go see if Celena and Kris got the same things,” Colby says. And we pick up our things to go back two floors up.

My hands shake as I grab my things and I can’t stop thinking about the heat deep in my body.

I’m hyper aware. I’m sensitive. Those are two things I’ve never dreamed about calling myself, but the way Colby’s hand drags against mine, or the way we brush past each other have to be charged more than they ever have been.

Charged with something. Maybe it’s all me and my hormonal anticipation and he’s completely oblivious.

He never realized the complexities of his voice.

“Welcome to the seance room,” Sam sighs as he walks into a dark room illuminated by a dozen candles around the room and in a circle around a white poster board and planchette. My stomach twists and it’s then and there that I may need to go to therapy.

We sit in a circle. My knee taps Kris’ knee and Colby’s knee as we sit in a close circle and Sam opens up the seance.

“Charles or Edward, we invite you to use us to draw any clue as to what happened to you. Edward, give us a hint,” Colby says next to me as all our fingers touch the planchette, and it begins moving.

Maybe we all need therapy because two drawings later, we think the ghost has drawn a gun and a man’s face with blood pouring from it.

“Oh my god, I’m going to be sick,” Celena says, and Kris freaks out. They explain that they pieced together a story in the closet upstairs.

”The husband knew! He knew that the affair with the doctor and his wife was going on, so he put it on a piece of paper that if he was going to die, it was the doctor’s fault.” Celena says.

”That’s confirmed though,” Colby says.

”What is?” Celena gasps and my stomach twists.

”The doctor is the one who confirmed he was dead.”

”I literally saw that the body was alone and the doctor was checking it and he found the paper and disposed of it so no one knew! He killed himself in the woods with the gun in a way to make it look like a murder, and left the note in his pocket to frame the doctor since he had an affair anyway,” Celena explains.

A rush of flickering light coils through the room, and goosebumps that run bone deep cover my skin. Kris draws in a harsh breath as the candles flicker and Sam jolts in shock.

”It matches up perfectly, the way the gun is pointing to the man and the way the blood is falling,” Sam explains as they point to the drawing.

I’m perfectly quiet, overwhelmed by how much Celena and Kris uncovered.

“That is insane,” Colby says as he turns his head, and I feel his breath on my skin making chills race down my spine. Then I hear the thunderous rolling behind us again; the reason his head turned. But I don’t look at it, because at this point, Colby’s voice on my skin makes it recoil more than the sound of the paranormal. When I don't look behind just as the rest of us do, Colby looks down at me and I look back at him.

I need to keep myself in check and hold my breath when he looks at me so intently within the candle light. His eyes look much darker with the orange light despite the fact they are the purest blue I’ve seen.

The others turn, and it takes physical labor for me to look back at the planchette in front of us.

It takes another beat for Colby to finally pull his eyes from me.

His knee doesn’t leave mine for the rest of the seance.

The next investigation we start is with a deck of cards.

Sam sits at the head of a table with Kris and Celena on either side of him. Colby and I sit on the other end as Colby films.

“If there is a spirit who wants to talk to us, they can see the cards,” Sam explains as he lays out three lines of six cards in between the girls. “What we’re going to be doing is that you guys will intuitively move your hand over the cards and turn over the one you feel like the ghost wants you to flip. If the card is a heart, the answer is yes. If the card is a spade, it’s a no. If the card is a diamond, it’s maybe, and the club is I don’t know.”

I take a breath because it feels like it’s necessary, and when I see Colby shift, I look at him subtly. He glances at me as well, and something about the glint in his eyes makes me look away and blink quickly.

”Charles and Edward, if you’re talking to us and the one depicting a framed murder, we have some questions we’d like to ask. The first question is, are there spirits that would like to talk to us through this game?” Sam begins the gam.

Celena felt the inclination to turn over a card.

It was a spade.

”Oh…” Colby breathes deeply, and I shift in my seat as if his breath was personally intended for me.

“It’s highly advised to not continue with the game if they say no…” I roll my eyes with a smirk at Sam’s comment because we all know he won’t stop like the dumbass he is.

The sounds and motions around us intensify until the mirror shakes behind Sam. His eyes go wide and Colby gasps a ‘whoa,’ and I’m more caught off guard by the heat in my clothes.

For the fourth time.

”Did Edward know about an affair between the doctor and Frida?” Sam asks.

Celena draws a spade.

”Oh, who are we talking to that wouldn’t know?” Sam asks softer, more distant as he thinks.

”Rob?” Celena whispers.

”Are we talking to Rob?” Sam asks confidently.

Celena draws a spade.

Colby’s head turns to the side as he shifts in his seat. His eyes are on the cards intently as I see his mind rolling with thoughts about the game.

I stifle as I feel his arm relax over the armrest of the chair.

His fingertips graze over my thigh right above my knee.

I become more still than I have all night.

Of course I decided to wear shorts earlier that afternoon.

“Maybe Frida,” Sam says.

”Maybe it is because she didn’t want to talk about it,” Kris suggests.

”Is this a female spirit we’re talking to?” Sam asks louder.

Kris draws a heart.

”Yes,” Sam says with excitement.

”So it could be Frida,” Colby’s voice raises and my thigh subtly jolts up into his fingers as he speaks and moves. He doesn’t recoil his hand.

His fingers move across my skin absentmindedly.

A current of chills make their way through the lines of my skin. I’m even more excited to change my clothes when this night is over.

”Is this Frida Kreischer?” Sam asks.

Celena draws a heart.

”Yes,” Sam exasperates with a sigh.

”Yes, we’re finally talking to her,” Colby sighs excitedly, and my stomach tightens at his breathy tone. I flinch and look at him for half a second because where did that lighter and breathy tone come from? My heart pounds now.

First my skin, then my stomach, and now my heart; Colby is ruining them all tonight.

I really need to get a psychiatric evaluation if he’s affecting me like this more so than literal ghosts in an old mansion.

”She married that doctor six months later…” Colby whispers animatedly, reminding us that she really doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Did Edward Kreischer die by the hand of a family member?” Sam asks.

Kris draws a diamond.

”Oh… maybe, she doesn’t want to say,” Colby says as his head turns thoughtfully. I bite my tongue when his fingers swirl higher up my leg.

”I’m just going to go for it…” Sam sighs quietly. “Edward Kreischer, did you try to frame the doctor for murder?” Sam asks.

Kris draws a spade.

”So then the mystery still stands?” Sam asks lowly.

”Freida Kreischer, you’re not the only spirit talking to us, are you?”

Celena draws a spade.

Colby’s fingers push into the thick of my thigh.

My toes curl.

”Is it true that Freida and the doctor were having an affair?” Sam pushes.

Kris draws a diamond.

”She really really doesn’t want anyone to know,” Celena exasperates under her breath.

”Was Edward Kreischer murdered?” Sam says.

And Celena draws a diamond.

”Oh my—“ Colby laughs breathily, and my own breath hitches as his fingers move again as he readjusts how he sits. They fall in between my legs now under the darkness of the table. “We’re also the first people to document this, so maybe they’re telling us to keep our mouths shut,” he suggests. His voice is normal and low as if nothing is going on.

“Yeah,” Kris agrees, and Sam closes the game.

I suck in an uneven breath as Colby’s fingers tightly graze my core over my hot shorts when he draws his hand away to stand and clean up.

As we move on to our final investigation, we get our things together in the dining room. I shove the extra lights in the backpack and the smaller tripod as well. I turn to grab the other tripod and Colby is there, putting something in his backpack as he looks up at me.

I could have fallen to the floor from the dark look in his eyes.

”Is it still warm to you?” He asks. I know it’s supposed to be polite words in his mouth, but that tone annihilates any kindness whatsoever.

”I’m not sure,” I say back quietly, lowly. Colby stifles, his head turns to the side slightly. His eyes drape over my body.

”Hm…” I swallow tightly as I tear my eyes away from him and I look to the floor and turn to follow our loud friends. He holds my arm and my body is on fire. “And I’m not sure why you’re avoiding the question?”

”I’m not sure why it’s a deal for you,” I say smoothly, looking back at him with dark eyes. He visibly swallows. His eyes still tear me apart, slicing to the bone.

”It would be a deal to you if you had just felt how turned on I was in the middle of a seance of all things.” My vision blows for a moment, and a scoff huffs out of my dry lips.

”What- What are you even saying?” I choke out as I try to pass him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Celena following the other two out the door.

”Maybe I’m saying I just felt how hot you were under those shorts and I’m trying to figure out why.” My hands are trembling more than they have all night. Chills fall across my body, amplifying this heat in my shorts all over again as I feel his breath on me.

“Colby-“

“If it’s not because of me, you’d be out the door already. You wouldn’t have let me touch you the way I did during the card investigation.” But my heart already throbs desperately as he speaks to me like this. My chin quivers as I try to form words, but he seems to have taken all of them. “What? Have nothing to say for yourself?” My eyes gleam up at him thickly.

”Stop talking,” I choke out and he pauses.

”I’m sorry, I’m not trying—“

”No,” I whisper quickly. “It’s not that.” Colby’s eyes narrow as he tries to figure me out.

”Not like what?” I sigh impatiently and look back up at him.

”We should go—“

”No,” Colby demands. “You-You like when I talk to you like that, don’t you?”

”Colby,” I sigh breathlessly, and my heart stops as he says it. His eyes glaze over.

”Go. Follow them,” he commands me, and I quickly obey. My body trembles as I hurry out of the door and meet the other three towards the cellar where we plan to perform the last investigation.

The three didn’t question why we dragged a pace behind them.

We split.

Celena and Kris do the Estes method in a corner of the cellar.

Sam records himself with the rem pod sitting alone in the room right above Celena and Kris to find the consistencies between their experiences.

And Colby and I do the Estes method between the entrance of the cellar and the first floor of the mansion since the furnace is right next to it, and supposedly the ghost Colby is trying to talk to died in the furnace.

My hands shake as he gives me the blindfold and he notices. I hold my breath as I glance at him one last time before I pull it over my eyes. I hear an uneven breath between Colby’s lips. Then he puts the headphones on me.

His fingertips gently graze my face as he pulls his hands back. My lips part.

The radio starts.

I don’t hear Colby at all, but the words pour out of the radio. I know this supposed ghost talked a lot, so I should have expected it. It distracts my burning for a while, and I’m nearly over it until I feel the tap on my shoulder. I hesitate and draw in a breath when I feel his fingers graze up to my face again.

I timidly raise the blindfold off me.

Colby stands in front of me.

I look up at him.

”Did-Did any of that make sense?” I ask timidly.

”Yeah,” he says as if it’s an afterthought. My heart pounds as I feel his fingers on my chin still, and I look over seeing the camera turned off. I look straight back up at him from where I sit.

”You’re very good at this,” he says, and a tsunami of fire extinguishes the remaining sense in my body. On my body. His low voice twists my stomach and I shift in my seat. I gasp as I feel him yank my gaze back up towards him since he never took his fingers off my chin. “You look very obedient… sitting there and saying what the box is telling you to.” His voice is so smooth like velvet my chest heaves.

”Colby,” I sigh his name as I shift in my seat. He crouches down in front of me.

”What? Is it suddenly hot in here again?”

”Don’t-Don’t speak to me like that.” His eyes glint and he smiles evilly.

”So it is my voice then? Is that why you’re blushing and dazed?”

”Colby,” I choke out again, slightly louder. He leans forward to ground me again. To keep me from squirming and retreating out of the chair.

”I never took you as such a dirty girl, getting so turned on just from someone’s voice in the middle of a haunted mansion. What’s wrong with you?” He antagonizes me. His voice is breathy but dark and I’m drowning in it.

My chest heaves and I can’t even speak.

”Have you even paid attention this entire time? Do you even know what state you’re in? Or are you too busy being a slut and imagining a bunch of nasty things because my voice turns you on?”

”Fuck- Colby—“ I gasp as he cuts me off with his hand on my thigh. My lips part and Colby leans forward. Only centimeters are between our parted lips. His eyes glint down my face and he smiles slightly as he sees the dazed look in my eyes and the desperation on the tip of my tongue.

”Tell me what you’ve been thinking about?” I figure out the game he’s playing. His fingers lightly swirl around the end of my thigh, momentarily dipping in between my thighs before going back to the top.

”No,” I whisper breathlessly.

”No?” He asks, turning his head. The lightness of his voice makes my thighs push together. He looks down to them briefly before smiling. “You want to just listen to me talk to you then?”

”Colby…” I think my breath doused with a whiny tone sounds like a beg to him.

To which I’m grateful for because I don’t think I can form another syllable.

”Fine,” he says, pausing and swallowing tightly. “If you can’t tell me what dirty thoughts you’ve been having about me, I’ll figure it out myself.” I swallow hard when he pauses.

”I didn’t even know if I could have made it to this mansion the first time I saw you in the hotel. For as fantastic as you look in those shorts, I wanted to rip them off you.” I whine timidly as his fingers swirl over my thigh and raise higher up my hot skin. “I imagined taking a break and letting you ride me in the car before going back to this job because I couldn’t focus. Do you even understand how hard it is to focus when you’re around?” I cry out when he squeezes my thigh harshly. His lips get nearer to mine. “Do you know how much of a fucking whore you have to be for me to be so distracted and turned on in the middle of a haunted and insanely active mansion?”

And then I moan when his fingers press into a sensitive part of my thighs. He stifles and adjusts the way he’s crouched in front of me. His hand sits on the arm of the chair in front of me and he leans closer.

”Tell me what you’ve thought about tonight,” he says darkly.

There was no room for defying him.

”Your voice,” I choke out again.

”What about it?”

”It’s so- It- It turns me on, I’m so wet when you talk to me like that.”

”Yeah?” He says sweetly even though his voice is still dark with a heaviness I had never heard before.

There was no getting out of this situation alive, I thought.

”I can’t believe how wet you think you are when I wasn’t even trying to turn you on. You want me to talk to you like I’m trying now?”

”Colby,” I whine. I can’t handle it.

”I’ve thought about putting my fingers inside you since you let me touch your thighs like a slut in the other room. I’ve wanted to tear your clothes off and feel how wet you are for myself. And to think it’s all because of my voice…” He scoffs. “You’re such a fucking slut and I think you deserve a lot more than just my fingers.”

“Colby please,” I whine as my hips squirm. I gasp when his hand on the arm of the chair falls to my hip tightly.

”Don’t writhe like a slut, I haven’t given you anything yet,” he fires at me under his breath. “You want me to make you come?”

”Y-Yes, Colby please—“

”If you’re good for me, I’ll make you come all night when you come back to my hotel room.” I grit my teeth as I realize he will make me wait for a few more hours. “Be a good girl and be patient.”

”Colby,” I sigh breathlessly. He looks down in between my thighs again where his hand trails across my skin. I gasp when his fingers trail lighter.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so hot, it’s making it difficult for me to even be patient.”

”Please,” I choke out.

I gasp when he actually touches me over my jean shorts. My back slightly arches.

”Fuck… I can feel how hot you are through your clothes,” he whispers. I roll my hips forward into his fingers. His breath is shaking as he leans over me, and his free hand goes back to the arm of the chair as he raises up to his feet. “You sound so pretty when you’re frustrated.” I whine when he slides his fingers up and down my core. He knows it’s not enough to pleasure me enough to make me come, but enough for me to squirm and gasp for more.

”If you want, you can grind on my hand and take it for yourself, but I’m not giving you anything until later. You think you can get away with thinking like a slut this entire night? In public too?” I bite back a moan at the tone of his hostile voice. I grind my hips forward into his hand and he drags in a breath. “God, you really are such a pathetic slut for me aren’t you? You can’t even be patient and wait for tonight, you’re just grinding on my hand because you’re so desperate for it you can’t control yourself.”

”Colby,” I sigh his name as my head tosses back. Pleasure wells through me at the sound of those words coming off his voice thickened with arousal. And I thought he could never sound better.

”Yeah,” he teases with a sigh. “Moan my name like the slut you are. I can’t believe it’s so easy to get you out of your mind like this.” My thighs tighten around his hand when I hear him sigh. It was almost a moan. My nails dig into the edge of the chair as my back arches and my hips grind on his hand faster. The pleasure builds and is so unbearable; the dry friction of my jeans jamming into me over my soaked underwear is mind numbing.

With Colby’s voice in the mix of it, I’m a mess.

”God, you’re ruining me. Can’t wait to tear you apart in my bed. Look at me. Look at me now,” Colby demands, and my glossy eyes stare back at him in a haze. “You’ll look at me when I tell you what I’m going to do to you when we get back to the hotel.” I whine in response as I obey him. “I’m going to taste you and make you come on my face before I fuck you hard from behind. I’m going to stuff your face in the pillows too because I bet you’re so unbearably loud and we don’t want to disturb the entire hotel. You can barely hold in your little gasps now, what makes me think you can handle it when I touch you for myself?”

Tears are in my eyes by the time they snap shut. I bite my lip harshly as my pleasure coils to a point and I come on his hand. He sucks in a breath as my hips tremble and my thighs snap together and pull his hand further in.

”Fuck—“ He chokes out under his breath. He keeps his hand there so I can grind on it, coming down from my high.

My eyes open blearily, but I’m completely unsatisfied. I didn’t come very hard and my arousal ached for more.

I was more concerned about the fact that the denim was a deeper color now. Colby recoils his hand with a teasing smirk. Then he stands up.

My heart skips harshly in my chest when I realize how hard he is, and he turns away from me taking a breath himself. My body still trembles as I’m frozen to the chair. My breath heaves as I watch him intently. He turns back around with closed eyes. He pulls his jacket back on, hoping it would cover his arousal.

”Get up,” he demands. I ignore the jello that replaced my knees and I get up and follow him out of the entrance to the cellar.

My night is a blur.

We finish the video with Sam’s organization alone; he does the outro with Kris and Celena as Colby and I clean up and get the things into the car. My arms shake when I’m with him and I don’t dare say a word. I can’t even look him in the eyes.

His eyes are all over my body though. Analyzing. Planning.

My body tenses and nearly keels over when he’s near me.

There’s an edge to his voice now. Everytime he speaks, my legs get weaker.

In the car when we grab food before going to the hotel, Colby tells Sam to trade rooms with me. I planned to sleep on the couch in Kris and Celena’s room as they took the bed. The girls were quiet if they thought anything of it. I think Kris shot me a look but I couldn’t handle it and didn’t make eye contact with anyone for the rest of the drive.

I can’t hear anything except Colby’s voice and my erratic breathing by the time we close the hotel door behind us. I turn to him like a deer in the headlights and he drops his bags aimlessly; his eyes firm on me as he walks up to me.

A noise shoves out of me when he grabs my face with both hands and I bend backwards as he leans over and kisses me hard.

It’s not like fire anymore, no. Explosions happen behind my weary eyes, and I realize he wasn’t joking about earlier. It’s not that I assumed he was joking, it’s that I’ve never felt this side of him.

I’ve never dealt with the pure desperation and intensity that seemed to loom in his veins.

I moan into his mouth and kiss him back even harder than he first kissed me. He steps back as he moans, and he licks into my mouth. I cry and moan and whine against his mouth when our tongues slide together, and maybe he was right that I’m acting like a slut. I didn’t mean it.

The world stops spinning when he pushes me back on the bed; my feet still on the floor.

”Such a fucking slut, I can’t believe how much you’ve turned me on,” he breaths shakily over me. My own heart follows my erratic breathing as he harshly peels my jacket away and leaves me in the cropped shirt and short jeans shorts I wore. He kisses, moreso bites, down my stomach and the hem of the denim before he falls to his knees in between my legs.

“Colby—“

”Lie down,” he spits as I go to sit up. His fingers drive into the thick of my hips. I whine and obey. Like always.

He undoes my shorts before he pulls them down and off my legs. Then he draws a sharp breath between his teeth.

”Fucking hell, look at you. Your pussy is so drenched for me even still,” he mutters, not even peeling my underwear off my slackened puffy arousal. My hips writhe as I feel his breath on my core. His nails drive into my sides. “Be a good girl for me or I won’t let you cum.”

”Okay,” I say highly, and I hold back my whining and writhing of my hips.

“Fuck,” he sighs as he pulls my underwear down and tosses them to the floor. Then, I hold my breath as he blows lightly on my arousal. The cool air sends moans through me and it takes every cell in my body to not squirm. “The fact that it’s my voice that gets you this wet is what’s blowing my mind.”

I cry out when his tongue licks me once, twice.

And my hands are in his hair.

Thank god he doesn’t care because he parts my thighs more and lets them rest on his shoulder as he moans into me and sucks me hard. My hips thrust against his face as he eats me out and he doesn’t stop me at all. It makes his tongue work harder and his mouth close around my hot arousal tightly until I see stars.

”Fuck, Colby oh my god—“ I choke out as my hips squirm under him and he groans harshly, pinning my hips down.

I can’t even open my eyes as the moans and gasps pour from me; he eats me our just as he promised and it takes all but a couple seconds before the pleasure starts coiling. He pulls away for a moment and looks up at me with a look darkened with lust. It sends me spiraling.

”Fucking hell, you taste so good.” I whine when his fingers tease my entrance. “I could drown in your pussy forever. You would love that wouldn’t you? You’re such a desperate little thing anyway, I’d be surprised if you didn’t.” I can’t answer him because next thing I know he’s eating me out again two fingers deep.

“Fuck Colby—Yes thank you, thank you,” I moan as he fingers me harder. His free hand comes up to the side of my thigh over his shoulder and squeezes tightly.

I still feel his breath and moans on me and that’s what makes my head spin.

His fingers curl against that perfect place inside me and his mouth is unlike anything I’ve felt before. It takes two minutes and I’m coming on his face just like he promised.

When I’m still trembling and moaning, he stands. He pulls his jacket off and then his shirt and the room goes black.

It’s only him in front of me and it’s like every one else had died.

”You realize you’re mine now, yeah?” He asks breathlessly. I nod incredulously, my fingers tightening around the bedding under me.

”Yeah, good.”

Satisfied with that answer, he undoes his jeans but doesn’t deal with taking them them off.

“God, I know I said I’ll take you from behind, but wait a second,” he sighs and I gasp when his tip glides through my arousal. “Yeah, holy shit I need to fucking watch you take it when I fuck you hard. You think you can still handle it baby?” He teases and I glare up at him even though there’s no chance in hell I want him to actually stop speaking.

”Give it to me,” is all I can get out and so he does.

It’s like I meet god before I take my next breath.

He fills me up so perfectly I can’t contain myself or fit myself in the obedient box he forced me in earlier. I moan loudly and arch my back. My fingers try to pull him closer and instead, he grabs my hand and holds tight, moaning as he fucks me off the edge of the bed hard.

“Oh my god, you feel so good—“ he gasps as his eyes roll back. I watch intently as his hair falls in front of his face as he thrusts harder. The angle has me speechless and I can only take what he wants to give me. He finally yanks my legs up, feet from the floor, and pushes my thighs back and my back arches as a loud gasp is fucked right out of me.

”Colby, oh my god—“ I whisper, afraid of what sound would come out of me if my voice was any louder.

“Holy shit, you talk about my voice all the time but yours is going to make me come so fast.” I moan louder as I hear him speak to me like that and I relax.

I take everything he gives me as his eyes rake over me; taking in my appearance as he knows he sends me to heaven and back.

”Get on your hands and knees,” he finally spits out. I scramble to the head of the bed and I lower to my shoulder, staring back at him over my raised hips. “Goddamn, you’re really a little slut for me aren’t you?” He says with a voice so low I nearly fall over again.

He’s on his knees behind me and he fills me without warning. I gasp and moan loudly. I’m dizzy again when he fucks me, but this time the loud moans are uncontrollable.

“Holy shit,” he moans and he grabs a fist full of my hair at the roots and yanks me back to him. “You’re so easy, I knew you’d be fucking loud, stupid slut. Now, what you’re going to do is take it like a good girl and let me fuck you and come on my cock listening to my voice, you think you can do that for me?” His voice is so calm and smooth it nearly puts me to sleep.

”Yes, I’ll be so good for you.” He moans and kisses my neck sweetly. Few times in return, his pace slow and pleasuring behind me as he thrusts in and out.

”Good,” he simply says before he shoves my face back into the pillow. At the same time, he fucks into me so hard I moan before I even feel it completely. My body is on fire as he fucks me hard, and this time his own moans fill the room. “Oh my fucking god, your pussy was made for me, baby. You feel so damn good I don’t think I can go without it again.”

I think I moan his name.

”Think about you all the damn time. Especially when I’m alone. Always think about what it would be like to make you fall apart. I didn’t think it would be this easy and entertaining. I’m fucking addicted to you, baby,” he moans as he keeps thrusting hard. I can’t feel anything except the ecstasy he demands me to take. Fire coils in my core and trails down my thighs as they shake with pleasure. It builds and builds but doesn’t end.

”Please,” I moan into the pillow, wanting more than anything to come hard around him. I jut my hand down in between my legs but he sucks in a harsh breath and takes a break from pinning my head into the pillows. He grabs both my wrists and holds them down, pinned to my back with one of his hands. Then with his free hand, he shoves me back into the pillows.

”No way, I said you’re coming on my cock and listening to my voice. You acted like such a whore today, what am I to think other than the fact that you can come listening to it alone?”

I whine as tears fill my eyes.

”Now fucking feel it. Don’t you feel how good it is? You’ve never had anyone fuck you like this before, have you? You were so desperate for it, you knew I’d be able to because you’re so obsessed with my voice. You close baby? Close to showing me how much you need me?”

I whine and moan louder, my hips squirm as I try to tell him that I’m close.

”Holy shit, the way your pussy grabs me— I can feel how close you are, you just got so much tighter. You better fucking come when I tell you to because I won’t last much longer.”

“So close—“ I moan into the pillow in rhythm with his harsh thrusts deep in me. I tighten around him purposefully and he moans louder. His moans make me shake. I can’t even see; they’re blinding.

”My god… you’re so hot I’m so close actually…” He moans quieter, and the pleasure builds and I can barely hold it anymore.

”Please let me come,” I beg him as I turn out of the pillow to catch my breath.

”You want to come on my cock for me? Just from my voice, yeah?” He asks breathlessly and sweetly. Too sweetly for him to be fucking me like a slut right now.

”Yeah, please,” I ask nicely as my moans fade into desperate whines.

”Fuck— Squeeze me tight then, baby. Show how much you want to come. If you come for me I’ll fill you, okay? I’ll give you all my come.”

”Oh fuck,” I gasp and my thighs are shaking.

”Come for me now, baby. Come now,” he desperately moans, unable to wait any longer.

And thank god the sound of his real moans, louder and deep, push me over the edge.

I come so hard around him, I push my face into the pillows myself to block my moans from waking up unsuspecting people in the hotel. I tighten around him and he gasps as he lets go of my hands. He holds himself up as his orgasm wracks through his body, and I try to keep quiet and let him use me even though I’m coming so hard I can’t even breath.

”Holy shit, holy shit—“ He gasps breathlessly as he stills his hips and gently holds mine. His thumb brushes over my skin lightly as he coaxes me from my violent high. I turn my head to the side, facing him. “Are you alright?” He asks, panting and quiet.

”Yeah,” my voice breaks. He leans over and kisses me face.

”If I knew you felt this way about my voice I would have said something a long time ago.”

”The problem is you did and I’ve been going crazy for you since then. You’re just too stupid to have seen it.” Colby’s breath hitches as I say that and he laughs before he thrusts inside me deep again. I gasp loudly and arch my back.

”Maybe don’t talk to me like that when I’m this deep inside you.”

”You’re an idiot.”

✧˖*°࿐

Sam and Colby Taglist (Comment to be added):

@a-random-google-user

@graceciesiels22

@honestlybabymiracle

@xxsecretscenekidxx

@thedeadlynights

@glittervame

@rockwyu

@worldlxvlys

@benbarnesprettygurl

#rosie writings #rosie hub #minors dni #sam and colby #colby brock #colby brock x reader #colby brock smut #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #smut #fanfic

279 notes · View notes

sadesluvr · 8 months ago

Text

The Hills (Part One)

JJ hates his menial job, but there’s a certain customer he lusts and loathes in particular.

(JJ Maybank x Reader)

A/N: This is based off of my Poolboy! JJ idea, and mean girl! Reader was the most popular (I'll probably write for a Housewife! Reader too though) This is my first time writing for OBX, but I’ve been meaning to put this out for a while🤭…I have ALOT more scenarios to play with, so this will be Part I of 3, but can also work as a one shot if I get lazy.

Not fully proofread, so sorry for mistakes!

Enjoy, and minors DNI.

Word count: 2.4K

Tags: SMUT / Poolboy! JJ / Mean!Kook! Reader / Degradation / Hatefucking / Teasing / LOTS of sexual tension / Unprotected sex / Light biting / JJ is feral and a little scary but it’s hot / Creampies

“Halle, grab the middle one would you? That way I can see Daddy on the golf course,”

Barf. JJ already knew what time it was.

For a girl who had it all, your life was rather methodical. You and your two friends would strut to the pool at 2PM on a Saturday, straight after your one o’clock tennis lesson and hours before you’d be whisked off to some fancy restaurant for dinner. That was your life, which, on multiple occasions, he’d heard you describe as “totally unfair”.

Sarah Cameron may have been the Kook Princess, but you were very well next in line. You were always draped in some kind of designer; was never one to miss a manicure, and kept yourself camera ready, as if there were a paparazzi around you. Still, you may as well have been, as you had all the friends, lovers and admirers a celebrity would’ve had.

However, you seemed to lack one special, but huge thing - basic fucking decency.

In short, you were a bitch.

And there was no one you were a bigger bitch to than JJ.

He never believed in your false virginal, ‘Daddy’s Little Princess’ spiel, and with good reason. You were snide, ungrateful, and had never even said as much as a ‘Thank you’ to him.

Once, you’d even managed to ’accidentally’ spill a drink on him.

Without a doubt, today was going to be one of those days.

“Hey, poolboy? We’ve been here for ages and you haven’t even gotten us an umbrella. Do you want me to fucking die?” you scoffed, brow raised expectedly as your two friends, Bree and Halle and snickered beside you.

“Chill out, ‘kay?” JJ said, rolling his eyes. “They’re in the same place they usually are. It’s not like you can’t do it yourself,”

“Do I look like a slave? Fetching umbrellas is what you get paid to do. Now hurry up and get us some Margaritas while you’re at it,” you said sweetly, a fake smile plastered over your face as you waved a hand dismissively.

Clenching his jaw, JJ was about to retort when one of his seniors, a middle aged man rather indistinguishable from the rest, intervened.

“Is there a problem here ma’am?”

“I don’t know, JJ,” you retorted pointedly, his name laced in venom as you spoke. And yes, you did know his name. Poolboy just rolled off of the tongue better. “Do we have a problem?”

Wincing, the blonde ran his fingers through his hair before shaking his head.

“Nah,” he said through gritted teeth. “None at all.”

He disappeared with a click of his tongue, blatantly aware of your smirk as you peeled off your scarf that hugged your waist. The lacy fabric danced off of your body to expose your torso and bare legs, glistening in the summer heat like a mirage in the middle of a desert.

As JJ clenched his fists, he couldn’t ignore the similar tightening sensation in his shorts, and quickly readjusted himself.

He just couldn’t give you that kind of satisfaction.

Not for now, at least.

“Yikes, I know her —“

“—How could you not?”

“So Pope’s one of her groupies…Got it.”

“I am not one of her ‘groupies’, okay? She’s got the whole island palm of her hand. Of course I’d know of her!”

“Whatever…Groupie,”

The Pogues were sitting at the Chateau, forced to listen to JJ’s rant about ‘Little Miss Brat’ from the country club. It was obvious to all of them that JJ, though not quite yet in love, certainly had a crush, information that was particularly striking to Sarah.

“I totally know what she’s about,” Sarah said lazily, tossing her hair. “Rich, pretty, all round self proclaimed bitch…No wonder my brother has this huge crush on her,”

JJ blinked and pursed his lips. The mention of the Kook king was triggering enough, but more so that he was infringing onto Kook territory far more than he expected.

“Rafe’s into her?”

“Big time,” she shrugged. “She’s never paid him any time of day, though. ‘Could probably do better anyways…”

JJ clicked his tongue, and began to rapidly drum his fingers on the windowsill. He couldn’t help but smile as he gazed out onto the greenery, and his leg bounced in tune to the made up beat.

“He’s gonna do something stupid, isn’t he?” Pope said quietly from across the room.

“What?!” he said, turning to the rest of the group, hands raised in defence. “You really think I’m gonna be stupid?”

“When are you not stupid?” Kie said flatly, to which Sarah nodded.

“Not much faith in you, buddy,” John B added.

“Wow, thanks guys,” the blonde said sarcastically, climbing to his feet and heading towards the door. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna smoke. Feel free to join me once you’re done with the dogpilling, ‘aight?”

He couldn’t wait for Saturday.

To his surprise, you’d shown up that weekend with relatively no fanfare. You were sitting in the same spot, dressed in your signature swimwear, with a short floral sarong clinging to your waist. Large sunglasses shielded your eyes as you basked in the rays, something that JJ was all too happy to interrupt.

“If it isn’t Little Miss Fortune…Where’s your entourage? Have they finally come to their senses and ditched you?” he said, stepping in front of you to block the light, eyeing the empty sunbeds on either side of you.

You didn’t flinch.

“Shut up JJ, I’m not in the fucking mood,” you snapped, before waving a hand dismissively. “Just get me my usual,”

The boy grinned.

“So you do know my name? Or was that a recent development…?”

Scoffing, you pulled your glasses down to your nose before smiling at him sweetly.

“Of course I know your name,” you purred. “How else would I be able to make a complaint to your boss?” you finished with a shrug.

“My boss?” He choked. “What the hell do you want to speak to him for?”

“Don’t play dumb, Maybank,” you continued, gracefully swinging your legs to the floor and swiftly standing up. As you did, your breasts bounced slightly, a sight that came second only to the sight of your hips moving as you began to walk back into the building.

JJ furrowed his brows, swiping a tongue over his lips subconsciously as he followed you.

“I’ve seen you checking me out,” you hummed, side eyeing the way the blonde stalked you through the corridors. “I’m pretty sure that’s sexual harassment,”

“Jesus - fuck - you’re such a bitch, you know that?” he sighed frustratedly, running his hands through his hair. As you neared the opposite end of the hall; just around a corner by a supplies room, you stopped, turned and smirked as you faced him.

There was no denying that he was sexy when he was angry; with his hair becoming tousled and pointed like mini devils horns, and the passion in his blue eyes growing deeper by the minute. You were more than aware that he was no prize, but sometimes the forbidden fruit was often the sweetest.

“I mean, how do you wear those skimpy little tennis skirts and swimsuits and not expect any guy to look?” he said, exasperated, but the rigidity of his body told you otherwise.

“So you don’t deny it?” you grinned. “Interesting…”

JJ let out a loud sigh.

“Look, not that it matters to you, but I can’t fucking lose this job. I’m already on thin ice,” he said, suddenly grabbing your arm as if he were about to throttle you. His firm grip and his equally stern voice sent a tingle down your spine and eventually pooled in your loins. It certainly wasn’t the aircon that was giving you goosebumps.

You scoffed and pulled your hand away, making JJ bite his lip.

“That’s not my problem!” you spat, beginning to walk away when JJ stopped you again, this time cornering you up against a door. You blinked as he wedged you between the surface and his toned arms, one leg brushing dangerously against your own to keep you in position as his pelvis was pointed towards your own. Trembling, a raspy voice emitted from his throat as he cautiously looked around.

You were alone. Just the two of you.

“…W-What is your problem?” he said through gritted teeth, eyes furiously locked onto your own. “Did you break a nail? Daddy cut your allowance, huh? Haven’t been fucked in a while?”

Pausing, your brows raised slightly upwards as your lips parted at the statement. Any other guy who would’ve said that to you would have ended up with a swift kick in the balls.

The blonde chuckled, and you couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t genuine, but out of pity.

“…So that’s it, huh?” he laughed, and you bit down on the inside of your cheek, casting your gaze to the floor. It wasn’t lost on you how a sly smugness was smeared across the boy's face, his pink lips glistening as he ran his tongue over them.

“You know, I could probably help you out with that, but I know that a guy’s gotta have a thousand dollars to —“

You cut him off by planting a swift kiss on his lips, draping your arms around his neck as you gently grazed your manicured nails across his skin. He wasted no time in pulling you in by your lower back, and you rubbed your front against his hardened cock, more than aware of the lack of material between you two.

Before he could get too cocky, you pulled away.

“If you say one goddamn word about this, not only will you be fired, but I’ll ruin whatever you and your little Pogue friends have on this island, got it?” you said, voice hushed.

JJ smirked, and saluted.

“Yes ma’am…” he snickered, and you rolled your eyes, quickly taking his hand and dragging him into the supply closet, before intertwining yourselves together again.

“Daddy’s taking me home in ten,” you breathed between kisses. “We don’t have all day.”

“Lady, I don’t want to hear about your ‘Daddy’ right now,” JJ said, lithe fingers sliding down your body to squeeze your ass, absentmindedly pressing his cock against your thighs. He wanted you; all of you, but truthfully he knew that there was one way he wanted to take you.

Mean girls deserved punishment. Mean girls deserved to be fucked like the bitches they were.

JJ let out a soft groan as you felt your way into his swim shorts, bucking his hips into your hands as you jerked his cock in a haste to put him inside of you. Pressing your back against the wall, you arched your back as you waited for him to take you…but it didn’t come.

“JJ…” you whined. “Don’t waste my fucking time…”

“Woah, there. Pretty eager, are we?” he grinned. “What makes you think we’re doing it on your terms?”

You were about to answer when JJ placed a finger to your lips, running his finger down to your chin and caressing up your jawline, holding your face still in his hands.

“Bend over.” he said, borderline emotionless, and you slowly obliged, nodding as you spun and pressed your face against the cold wall. JJ exhaled from his nose, eyes locked on your body as he stalked you, slowly kissing along your neck as he left rough love bites, tracing down to your collarbone and causing you to let out a soft, yet impassioned moan.

“JJ…You can’t do that…”

“My bad, princess,” he scoffed, pulling his lips away from the crook of your neck. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your image and all…”

He pushed your stomach against the wall, and you arched your back slightly, allowing him access to slide his fingers into your swimsuit, rubbing the outside of your folds before pushing the tip of his dick in.

JJ considered himself to be a guy who liked the fast life, but he was going to take his time with you.

Call him cocky, but he knew this wasn’t going to be your last time.

Though he had a fairly regular girth, his cock had a decent length, and you could feel a prominent vein pulse within you as he rocked his hips in and out of your desperate cunt. His hands tightened around your hips, groping at the soft flesh of your ass through gritted teeth as he revelled in the sound of your moans.

“Shit,” he groaned. “You’re so fucking wet…How long have you wanted me, hm?”

“This is nothing,” you insisted, squeezing your eyes shut as you focused on the painfully pleasurable sensation. “Don’t let it get to your head, Maybank.”

“Oh, so the way you’re gripping my cock is nothing, right? Jeez, you could’ve fooled me, princess,” he laughed, biting down on his bottom lip. “What would Daddy say if he saw his Kook princess getting railed like a whore by a dirty Pogue, huh? Shit, I bet Rafe would fuckin’ lose his mind…”

Your stomach formed knots at the statement, and you felt your legs tremble as you clenched around him. His cock was hitting each and every untouched crevice perfectly; every withdrawal and thrust of his hips making you want him more. JJ was rabid; fucking you like he couldn’t figure out whether he wanted to kill you or consume you. Judging by the way he pawed at your body, you were sure that you wouldn’t be able to walk back to the foyer (tomorrow morning was another story) without looking like you’d been in a catfight.

Mouth agape, you managed to turn your head just enough to face him - his face flushed and glassy eyed - and locked eyes before you spoke. Whether it was your biological high or something rather deeper, you were able to see the beauty in him. JJ was rugged, certainly rough around the edges, but he was beautiful.

“JJ…” you whispered. “I-I I need you to cum…”

“Already on it, m’lady,” he snickered, and angled his head to pull you into a sloppy, passionate kiss as his pace, though quick, became more shallow and disorganised - almost convulsing as he felt himself begin to come undone inside you.

JJ ran his hand through his hair, separating the clumped strands that clung to his forehead. His heavy pants soon became gentle breaths; but he didn’t let go of your body, instead beginning to trace small circles on your hips as he softened inside of you. Once the time was right, he pulled away, careful to tuck himself back into his shorts.

Although he couldn’t place it, he knew he felt different.

PART TWO

#florence writes!!#jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #obx smut #obx x reader #obx imagine #Spotify

323 notes · View notes

moviecritc · 6 months ago

Note

Hi, so I've recently watched the Thanksgiving movie with Patrick Dempsey and it was sooo good. So I wanted to ask if you could please write something about Charles dating actress!reader who stars in a horror movie but even tho he is not a big fan of horror movies he agrees to watch it for her because he wants to be the best boyfriend so could you please write it with a mix of smau with nell verlaque as face claims 🫶🏻

supportive boyfriend ⋆ charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x actress!reader

word count: 601

warnings: mixed smau and writing

a/n: i, too, am not a huge fan of horror movies (i hate them actually), also this was quite short but i hope you like it <3

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

yourusername just posted!

liked by addisonrae, charlesleclerc and 34,120 others

yourusername some pics from the set 😚😚

view all comments

user1 the bond they all have >>>>

addisonrae ❤️👻

user2 i love her so so much

user3 omg i watched the movie and it was amazing!!

user4 y/n the new scream queen frr

user5 wait tf is charles leclerc doing in her likes

user6 girl they're dating u didn't know? she went to promote one her movies to the miami gp last year, they met, become really good friends and they started dating. it was like a rom com truly user5 that's so cute

user7 anyone expecting charles reaction for this new movie? we all know how fearful he is

user8 yess he's probably biting his nails trying to come up with ideas to not see it

And he was.

He was more than proud of his girlfriend and loved seeing her on screen. He always watched her latest movies on the plane when she wasn’t around. But this was the first horror movie she’d made, and the idea of watching it terrified him. He had always struggled with that genre; his two brothers loved horror movies and insisted on watching them when they were kids, which led to Charles having countless sleepless nights.

He had tried to convince Max or Arthur to watch it before him and tell him if it was too scary, but neither of them had time. He searched for summaries on YouTube, but it was still too early for people to have summarized it.

The only thing left was to mentally prepare himself. Be very aware that it was all fiction and that nothing would come after him once the movie ended.

He arrived at his girlfriend’s apartment, greeting her with a kiss and a box of her favorite sweets along with a rose.

“Aw, thanks, Charlie,” she hugged him and gave him a longer kiss. “Come on, I’ve got everything ready to watch it.”

Y/N was truly excited, and it showed on her face. She was very proud of this project and eager to show it to her biggest supporter at last. Charles knew this and had done everything possible to stay calm. But then he saw the setup: Y/N had turned down all the lights, leaving only a few candles lit, and the movie was already on the TV. The poster showed her covered in blood with a terrified expression.

“Are you ready?” Y/N said, sitting on the couch. Charles followed suit, and she snuggled up against his chest.

“Of course,” he said immediately. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Y/N looked at him with a little smile and kissed his cheek before pressing play. The first fifteen minutes were fine; they were introducing the plot and the characters. But then the tone of the movie started to darken, and Charles shifted nervously in his seat. Y/N noticed and intertwined her hand with Charles’, placing it on her chest.

Y/N realized how Charles flinched several times during the next few minutes, so she sat up and paused the movie.

“What’s wrong?” Charles asked instantly, completely confused though secretly relieved to have a moment to rest.

“Charles, you know I won’t be mad if you’re scared to watch the movie, right?” Y/N spoke with a sweet smile.

Charles pressed his lips together and looked down, just enough for Y/N to widen her smile and kiss him, cupping his cheeks with her hands. “I’m not scared,” he said in the middle of the kiss. Y/N raised her eyebrows, said nothing, and exited the movie. “But don’t turn it off, I want to watch it, I swear!”

“Char…”

“No, let’s watch it, mon amour,” Charles insisted, taking control of the remote.

yourusername just posted a story!

[caption: guess who haven't slept a shit bc her bf is scared of his own hair]

replies

charlesleclerc IT WAS DARK AND I FELT SOMETHING IN MY FACE I WAS SCARED

250 notes · View notes

crosshairlovebot · 23 days ago

Text

bewitching mr. batchbury / crosshair x f!reader

pairing: crosshair x f!reader

description: ever since you met him and he ignored you, mr. batchbury has completely infuriated you. but as you spend time with the batchbury's as their sister's companion for the social season, your feelings for him become confusing and you cannot get the handsome silver-haired man out of your head.

REGENCY AU

word count: 8,649

warnings: none. kissing (making out, neck kisses). secret crushes. hate to love. misunderstandings. crosshair being annoying.

after writing regency hunter i knew i had to write regency crosshair too :') this exists in the same universe as hunter's piece so there are allusions to his romance :) this was so fun to write! crosshair has always been mr darcy coded to me so there's definitely an influence from p&p! i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated.

PART ONE

Mr. Carlisle ‘Crosshair’ Batchbury was completely and utterly infuriating. It did not matter that he was cripplingly handsome, uniquely distinguished by his strange grey hair, tall and lean stature, and a smattering of a port wine birthmark over his right eye – his personality was maddening.

And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Acting as a companion to his little sister, Meg Batchbury, for London’s social season, you had spent many hours in the presence of the infamous Batchbury Brothers.

After returning from the war where they had started as lowly soldiers trained under a Commodore of the Royal Navy, they had made their fortune by collecting a wealth of prize money with an unbroken streak of successful battles. The band of brothers had been the talk of the ton, their rise from rags to riches captivating every gentleman and woman – but it was the mamas and their daughters who found themselves completely taken by them. When they’d ascertained the brothers had only enlisted to secure a future for their sister, their hearts were all of a flutter – for handsome, brave soldiers who were family men made perfect husbands.

The eldest Batchbury – Hunter – was already married, much to their dismay. But that still left three viable brothers for them to sink their lacey fans and dance cards into. When they’d heard the Batchbury’s would be attending this year’s social season, cries of delight were heard across the ton.

As a favour to your friend – the eldest Batchbury Brother’s wife, you’d promised you would accompany Meg to various balls and act as her companion and confidant for the season. Meg had expressed her desire to attend this year, now that her brothers had returned home. She’d been regaled with tales of fancy parties, endless food and dancing, and wanted to experience it for herself.

“It’s…a little more than that, Meg,” you’d told her carefully, cautious of her ideas that had seemed to be formed naively. “The point of these balls and parties is for matchmaking.”

Meg had waved her hand, dismissing your words. “Oh, I am aware. But I’m not interested in such things at present.”

You’d frowned. “But attending the social season does send the message that you are interested.”

Meg just grinned ruefully and shrugged. “Then I’ll just do my best to avoid it.”

You had shaken your head, smiling along with her. You’d sighed with some relief, knowing you’d not have to try and steer her from unsuitable matches or chaperone strolls in Hyde Park and could just simply enjoy time spent at extravagant balls and luncheons.

You were past the age of eligibility and the thought of simply attending a London social season to enjoy it was simultaneously scary and exciting. To know there were no expectations on you from your own family or on Meg, it was freeing.

You had joined the Batchbury’s at their London residence, and from the very moment you set foot inside the newly acquired townhouse, your eyes were drawn to the youngest Batchbury brother, Crosshair.

You’d been welcomed enthusiastically by Meg, who had petitioned her brothers to attend the London social season, much to their behest. But they had been kind and amiable when you were first introduced. You hadn’t been sure what to expect, but you had been surprised at how large they all were, and their history as soldiers was clear with their injuries and the weathered look of their faces. You already knew Hunter, who’d just returned from his honeymoon and itching to return to the country to his wife, but Wrecker and Tech had all been a picture of politeness upon introductions, meeting you with manners that were clearly practised. But Crosshair had stood behind, arms crossed, a scowl etched into his brow with no sign of it disappearing. He’d immediately met you with hard eyes the colour of coffee that were so scrutinising you had flinched.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Batchbury,” you’d said as you curtseyed, trying not to be bothered by his gaze.

Mr. Batchbury had looked you up and down, brow remaining creased as he seemingly evaluated you before his eyes met yours for a moment before looking away from you without greeting. You’d been puzzled by his lack of manners, and then hurt by his rejection and then angry, for who was he to be judging you? He did not even know you. And from that moment, Mr. Crosshair Batchbury was a rude annoyance you endured only for his siblings, despite his handsomeness – which only added to your irritation.

How cruel, for such beauty to be wasted on someone so dreadful.

He held that same hard gaze now, watching you from the other side of the Kenobi’s ballroom. The room was filled with people, and a string quartet played a cotillion that had those on the dance floor that separated you from Mr. Batchbury bouncing lively to the music.

It was the final ball of the season, and at the request of Meg, she wanted all the brothers in attendance tonight and they were completely powerless to say no.

Being in such close quarters with the four brothers for the season meant you not only saw their brash, loud, clever and cunning natures, but also the immense love they had for their sister. Each brother was different, but it was obvious what connected them all was their strong sense of family and loyalty. You had observed it all.

Wrecker’s love was boisterous and loud and coupled with fierce hugs and booming laughter. Tech’s affection was more subtle, but you’d find it in the way he consumed knowledge with the intent to share, to provide answers to questions his family asked; prepared for any situation. Hunter’s care was gentle and warm yet with a firmness that was steadfast and immovable. Crosshair, despite your feelings towards the other less amiable parts of his personality, showed love quietly, often through gesture or merely listening. He would grumble at Wrecker’s affection, but never push it away. He would listen to Tech’s ramblings even when everyone had vacated the room. And when Hunter’s strength managed to wane, Crosshair would swoop right in, ready to support in however he could.

Seeing this kind of love juxtaposed with the other parts of his caustic, sharp and, quite frankly, snarky personality was what vexed you the most; knowing he had the capacity for such softness and kindness but chose not to use it.

And actively chose not to use it with you.

You sipped your champagne, meeting his gaze from across the dance floor, ignoring the warmth that ignited your rest at his gaze. He mirrored your movements with his own glass of brandy, and you couldn’t help but drop your gaze to his lips that lay gently on the rim of the glass and think back to that moment in the greenhouse at the Across the Stars Ball where they were anything but gentle on your own.

Prince Anakin Skywalker and his wife, Queen Padme Amidala held their annual ‘Across the Stars’ ball at their London palace and it was the event of the social season. Everyone who was everyone in the ton was invited, and that now included the Batchbury family – much to Meg’s delight and her brother’s chagrin.

Meg had been ecstatic upon receiving the invitation and begged for her brothers to accept so that she could attend. As the first ball of the season, it was the first time all the brothers would be seen by the eyes of the ton, and you watched on from your place in the drawing room as they argued about etiquette and dancing, of which they had little experience.

“If we go, we will be expected to dance and socialise,” Hunter told his brothers.

“Sounds like a marvellous time!” Wrecker grinned, rising to his feet from where he sat on the settee that he practically dwarfed.

“You don’t know how to dance, Wrecker,” Tech pointed out from the armchair, raising an eyebrow as he looked up from his book, a wooden cane he used to aid his walking lent against the side table. He pushed his spectacles up his nose. “None of us do except for Hunter, who had clandestine lessons in a garden maze with his now wife.”

The eldest Batchbury blushed, port wine stain darkening as both Meg and Wrecker giggled. You smiled too, a book open on your lap.

Mr. Crosshair Batchbury remained silent from his seat on the writing desk, where he was penning something diligently in a notebook with his non-wooden hand.

Perhaps one of the most admirable traits about Mr. Batchbury was that he taught himself how to write with his left hand after losing his right in the war. Meg told you that he had spent weeks holed up in his room alone, practising his script until it was perfect and unsmudged. It was quite remarkable, to be so determined.

Now, he observed his siblings with his steely gaze as he casually dipped the end of the quill in ink, raising and lowering the feathered tool gently in the pot, sparing it no glance.

You always wondered what he was writing in that notebook. He never seemed to be without it. It lived in the back pocket of his trousers, and you’d often found him in different places throughout the townhouse, writing in it.

Once, early in your stay, you’d seen him lounging in a bay window that overlooked the streets of London, one leg outstretched and the notebook leaning on the other he’d pulled up as he wrote in careful hand. You’d almost walked past him, but your footsteps had stopped on their own accord. The sun was hitting him just right, bathing him in a golden glow that made the silver strands of his hair glitter and the warmth of his brown skin radiate through the small alcove. He had on a cream-coloured shirt, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, the collar of it wide and its ties undone, scandalously revealing the dip in his lean chest. His left side was closest to you, and his hand was poised so the side of it didn’t drag over the graphite words he'd just penned. You could see his wooden hand rest on the book to keep it steady.

He barely fit in the small space, one foot of his long legs pressed flat against the wall opposite him and half bent at the knee. He didn’t look comfortable, but he never really did anywhere in the house. He always looked like he was trying to slot himself into the new life they’d acquired but could never really find the right position for it to work.

When you thought back to that tableau, you were sure that was the moment you realised just how handsome he truly was, and the moment your thoughts and feelings for the standoffish and biting Mr. Batchbury became all muddled.

Sensing your eyes on him, you watched him flick his gaze to yours. “What?”

You flinched as his hard brown-eyed gaze landed on yours with a piercing fierceness. “Nothing. My apologies.”

Mr. Batchbury looked at you, his eyes trailing over you before moving back to your face, studying it before he returned his gaze to his writing, pencil moving once again.

You swallowed as you watched his movements, and the words fell out of you before you could stop them. “What are you writing?”

Mr. Batchbury froze, and he looked at you with a scrutinising regard. “Why?”

“I’m just curious. You never send any letters, and whenever I see you, you’re always penning something.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and continued on, suddenly trying to bridge this distance between you that both puzzled and annoyed you. “It must be something you love.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“What you’re writing.” Your face burned, but maybe if you found a connection; a common ground, then maybe this strange dynamic between you would end. “If you return to it every day, you must love it.”

Mr. Batchbury stared at you before slamming his notebook closed and standing up. You watched him as he sent you a scathing look, eyes hard and port wine stain a deep red. He brushed past you without another word before stalking away. You were shocked and completely and utterly confused. What had you said? What had you done? But your befuddlement just returned to the anger and disdain you’d already held, but now multiplied.

Mr. Batchbury was rude and unapproachable, nothing you did would change that. So, you were done being amiable towards him. No matter how attractive he was.

Coming back from your memory to the drawing room, you shut your book and stood, making your way across the room, nearing the writing desk.

“Perhaps I could give you all some lessons? So you can dance once or twice to keep up appearances. I would suspect that the quadrille would be easily mastered by former soldiers.”

Wrecker and Meg’s eyes lit up and they spoke simultaneously. “Would you?”

You smiled at them and nodded. “I would be happy to. Dancing is the best way to spend a party.”

“And build affection between partners,” Meg smiled, reciting something you’d told her.

“Well, yes, that too,” you smiled, and you saw something grey move in the corner of your eyes as Meg jumped up darted towards you to through her arms around you. “How wonderful! We can start lessons this afternoon, so we are ready for the ball on Saturday.”

“Whatever you want, Meg,” you gently untangled her from you and clasped her hands.

She grinned, squeezing your hands before turning to her brothers, of whom Wrecker and Hunter seemed genuinely happy for her. “Isn’t this exciting? A real ball!”

“Yes. It is most thrilling,” Tech kept his eyes on his book, his voice unenthused despite its sincerity, but it made you smile. You looked towards the writing desk and saw Mr. Batchbury’s scowl had only deepened, the quill in his hand unmoving and dripping ink on the page.

“Are you not excited too, Mr. Batchbury?” you slid over to the desk, eyes drifting down to the inked parchment as subtlety as you could manage, but Mr. Batchbury swiftly closed the notebook with a soft thud, preventing you from reading anything.

“It’s rude to impose your eyes on personal writings,” Mr. Batchbury’s raspy voice hissed at you. It was like a coiled snake, and it lit up your insides in the most improper way, wrapping itself around your bones and staying there long after you left his presence. His eyes met yours in a blazing stained gaze. He was so alluring, his face all angles and silver hair kept close to his head. There was a ghastly-looking scar on the side of his head he sustained during the war. His brother Wrecker had one too. But it did not detract from his good looks, at least not to you.

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes and instead slid him a look that showed your distaste. “My apologies. I had no idea of your writings being the personal kind. But you still haven’t answered my question Mr. Batchbury, and one might say that is rather rude too.”

Your back and forth with Mr. Batchbury no doubt tired everyone to no end, but no matter how hard you tried, you simply were incapable of ignoring his remarks. Something in you needed to put him in his place, but it only seemed to spur him on more, driving the wedge harder between you both. It no longer mattered how many times Meg had to step between you two, it did not do anything to change your behaviour towards each other. You could not stand Mr. Crosshair Batchbury, and he could not stand you.

He scoffed in response. “I won’t be attending dancing lessons. Nor will I be attending the ball.”

“But you must!” Meg pleaded to her brother, but his coffee-coloured eyes only remained on you.

“What a shame,” you said, no disappointment in your voice at all. “But perhaps it’s best. No one will want to dance with someone so impudent and rude as you are anyway.”

Mr. Batchbury’s lip curled in a snarl before he pushed his chair back roughly, wooden legs screeching on the floorboards, snatched his notebook and stalked out of the drawing room.

“Must you provoke him?” Meg sighed. You watched the room’s remaining brothers share a glance at each other that you could never decipher.

You dropped your shoulders, suddenly feeling bad that you’d upset Meg. She was so lovely, like a little sister. You looked at her sullen face, her blonde hair swept into a braid and tied with a red ribbon – the Batchbury’s had seemed to adopt it as their family colour. She was so full of light.

“I’m sorry, Meg,” you said sincerely before holding out your hand. “Shall we learn the quadrille?”

That afternoon was spent teaching Meg and Wrecker how to dance a slew of dances that would be performed at the Across the Stars Ball including the quadrille, the cotillion, the scotch reel, the Naboo country dance and the waltz. Tech played the piano, unable to dance due to his injuries, and you paired with Hunter, who made the perfect partner for your instruction since he knew the dances already. Wrecker and Meg laughed as they stepped on each other’s feet and spun around. Their laughter was infectious, and you and Hunter and Tech laughed along too until you were all laughing so hard that you were unable to dance, and Tech was unable to play.

You caught your breath, hand on your chest as it heaved inside the confines of your corset, smiling at Meg as she pantomimed how ridiculous Wrecker had looked only minutes ago when you thought you saw a flash of grey hair up in the balconied eaves of the townhouse’s small ballroom. You frowned. Surely you were imagining such things.

It seemed as if the entire population of London was in attendance at the Across the Stars Ball, their ballroom was full of gentlemen and women, debutantes as well as members of the aristocracy and even parliament. Everyone was dressed in their finest gowns and suits coloured in rich navies and purples, gold and silver embellishments, fitting into the celestial theme perfectly. You swore you saw the elusive Duchess Satine Kyrze who rarely ventured from her country estate in Mandalorshire and even laid eyes upon Prince Reginald from the far-off Kingdom of Kamino, or Rex as he preferred to be called – the ton’s gossip mill had come to the conclusion that he was a close friend of Prince Skywalker.

You watched along with Tech as the Batchbury siblings – minus the youngest brother – took to the floor. Hunter and Wrecker took turns dancing with Meg, much to her delight and the scrutiny of the ton, but the Batchbury’s cared little for impropriety and more for their sister’s happiness. After lessons this week, they had taken to the dances fairly quickly and you smiled as they performed the steps as if they’d been doing them all their lives.

Hunter switched out with Wrecker, needing to catch his breath. You smiled at him.

“Are you missing the wild seas yet, Hunter?” you joked.

Hunter returned your smile. “Not even the decks of the Marauder could’ve prepared me for this.”

You laughed before Hunter excused himself for a drink. You sipped your champagne, listening to the whispers from those around you as they discussed the Batchbury’s debut at the most anticipated ball of the season.

“They’re a little…odd.” The voice dripped with pretentiousness from behind you, her tone all nasally.

You watched Wrecker lift Meg up and spin her around in an improvised turn that was not part of the choreography, both laughing loudly with glee. They were having the time of their lives.

“Odd is putting it kindly.” This voice blubbered with pompousness. You gripped your champagne glass tightly.

“This is why I believe we need to stop just anyone from acquiring fortunes, because this happens. Common people have no place here.”

You just about broke your glass, and your shoulders raised as you were seconds away from turning around and dressing the pair of snobs down, but Tech put a hand on your arm to stop you.

“Pay it no mind,” he said evenly, his hands returning to the top of his cane in front of him.

“But they’re being so cruel,” you protested, shoulders sagging.

He shook his head before pushing his glasses up his nose. “It is nothing we are not used to. It no longer affects us. We know who we are, and that’s all we’ve ever cared about.”

You softened your smile at him. You knew how the Batchbury’s had grown up in destitution and had endured many hardships to get to where they were now. You had grown fond of them all since joining them as Meg’s companion, and it just wasn’t right that people thought they were undeserving of their fortune. Out of anyone, they deserved to be happy and live without worry. You wished all of the ton believed that too.

You placed your now empty glass on a passing tray before turning to Tech. “I’m taking some air.”

“Leaving so soon?”

You whipped your head to see Mr. Batchbury in all his handsome glory. Similarly to his brothers, he was dressed in a dark grey tailored suit embroidered with silver thread, unintentionally matching his hair. His front pocket held a red pocket square, like all his brothers as a representation of their family. He towered over you, his trousers accentuating his long legs as they tucked into his shiny black knee-high boots. You flushed as he looked at you, the corner of his mouth upturned in his infuriatingly attractive smirk.

“Mr. Batchbury,” you stammered out. “I’m surprised you’re here.”

“As am I,” Tech blinked behind his spectacles. “You have expressed your distaste for these events, Crosshair.”

Crosshair scowled out at the dance floor, his eyes finding Meg and Wrecker. Hunter was held up somewhere, no doubt the bar was filled with people of the ton wanting to make his acquaintance, much to his discomfort.

“Yes, well, I don’t like being left behind,” Crosshair spoke bitterly, grabbing a glass of champagne from a tray. He sipped it, grimacing at the taste. You knew he hated champagne. “Is there nothing stronger?” he complained.

“There’s a bowl of punch on the other side of the room that has been spiked with a liquor that tastes like an oil lamp, if that is more to your taste,” you said dryly.

“Funny,” Mr. Batchbury drawled before downing the rest of the champagne. The string quartet finished the music, and everyone gave a gentle applause. People moved on and off the dancefloor in a sea of bodies as they prepared for the next dance of the evening.

“Care to dance?” Mr. Batchbury held out his left hand towards you. You looked up at him in shock, mouth agape.

“I’m sorry?” Had you heard him right?

Mr. Batchbury rolled his eyes and emphasised his outstretched palm. “A dance. Would you like one?”

You looked at him incredulously. He wanted to dance with you? The man who did not hide how much he disliked you and your presence in his household with his family. The man who did not acknowledge you at all and when he did, did so with such disdain that it was tangible. And yet he held out his gloved un-wooden hand towards you.

You looked at Tech who watched the interaction with interest, a look on his face you couldn’t decipher. You crossed your arms at Mr. Batchbury. “Is this a trick?”

“Would you give me an answer,” he hissed, growing impatient and agitated.

You studied him for a moment, trying to find any mischief or dishonesty in his gaze, but found none of it. Was he truly asking you in earnest? You couldn’t fathom it. It crossed your mind to reject him, to say no and humiliate him in front of everyone but something tugged in your chest. He’d come here of all places, even though he vehemently expressed his dislike for balls and intention not to attend. Even though he never seemed to feel comfortable in this new life he had and to dance with you in front of everyone was making a spectacle of himself.

And Mr. Batchbury, you had learned, did not do anything he did not want to do, and it seemed as though he did indeed wish to dance with you, but you could not place why. No one had asked you to dance in such a long time, and you doubt Mr. Batchbury made a habit of asking anyone to do anything at all, much less dance with him. It simply seemed…cruel to reject his offer – and you could not deny the part of you that actually wanted to dance with him; to be close to him in a way that wasn’t through argument.

Your inconvenient crush on the youngest Batchbury brother should not be encouraged…but it would be nice to dance.

Cautiously, you placed your gloved hand into his, his fingers wrapped around yours securely, but not tightly. His palm felt firm and strangely comforting against yours as he led you onto the dance floor and you watched the side of his face in fascination. He looked at you when you reached your position on the floor and dropped your hand. You looked up at him, his hands behind his back, and he stared down wordlessly at you, his eyes studying you intensely. You averted your gaze, landing on Wrecker and Meg in the next row, who were watching you both with curious expressions.

Your eyes slid back to him when the music began, and you met his bow with a curtsey. His eyes never left yours as he took your hands gently in his and performed the first step, moving towards each other and passing by the shoulders. He was poised and effortless in his movement, which surprised you.

“I thought you did not know how to dance,” you whispered, not sure why your voice decided to lower so.

Mr. Batchbury didn’t answer, the corner of his mouth twitching like it was about to smile. You frowned as you came together again.

“You didn’t attend my lessons with your family,” you whispered again a little louder.

You almost tripped over your own feet when you saw Mr. Batchbury’s mouth lift into a small, amused smile. Your frown deepened which only seemed to make him more delighted. What could he possibly be smiling about? You held his hands as you spun in a slow circle, his thumbs gently resting on your knuckles, brushing yours. You watched him, the way his whole face seemed to change just at the lift in his expression. The way the crease in his brow went away, the smile lines on his face deepening and his eyes filled with mirth. It was breathtaking.

Your mind then went back to the flash of grey hair you saw up in the balconied eaves of the Batchbury’s ballroom and it all became clear.

“You watched, didn’t you?” you asked, though you knew you were right. “From the eaves.”

Mr. Batchbury was silent for a moment, his smile falling back into that pensive line, as if he was annoyed you’d seen him and caught on to his little game.

“And if I did?” he countered, passing by your shoulder again. He hardly ever answered a question directly and it drove you to such frustration. You rolled your eyes.

“Why would you not come down and learn properly? Are you embarrassed, or do you simply hate me that much?” you held hands again, moving down the line on the dancefloor.

Mr. Batchbury scoffed, a light puff of air from his nose. “I don’t hate you.”

“Could’ve fooled me, sir,” you snapped back, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

The dance continued, and you moved towards him and turned so your back was to his front, and one of his hands found your waist and the other held your hand. You lay your hands on his as you both moved in a circle with some other couples. Your chest tightened as you felt his hands on your body as he pulled you close to him. You felt his hand rest in the dip of your waist, and you were so aware of the way his fingers flexed against your palm. His touch ignited your body in ways you never believed was possible and you tried to control the heat that rushed to your cheeks and up the back of your neck. How could he illicit this response from you when you were constantly at odds? It was nonsensical.

You were hoping he couldn’t tell your fluster when you felt him bend down to your ear, breath tickling you there.

“I do not hate you.” His voice was like gravel, and you felt the vibrations of his low voice move down into your bones. It flared through you, goosebumps prickling across your skin, and you fought off a shiver that threatened to travel down your spine. You spun away from him, returning to face him once more.

Mr. Batchbury looked at you with that same pensive, almost emotionless expression, and you felt the irritation in you rising as you passed by his shoulder again, circling him.

“You always ignore me when I am in the room, and if by some miracle you do acknowledge my existence, you reject any civil conversation with me with caustic barbs and scowls. You all but yelled at me when I innocently inquired about what you write in your notebook. So, please explain to me why I should believe you don’t hate me when it’s clear that you do.”

Mr. Batchbury’s expression remained impassive despite your blunt claims, fanning the flames of your ire until they were ablaze with fury. You wished he was not so handsome, that his touch and proximity did not affect you so – it made this all the more difficult and confusing. You returned to your place and watched as he passed by your shoulder, circling you. You waited for his response, waiting to see how he came to his own defence, but it did not come.

He had nothing to say, and that hurt even more. For it meant he truly did hate you.

You laughed humorlessly, shaking your head, feeling tears begin to prick your eyes and you tried to hide your hurt as the music came to a close, thankful your dance was over.

You curtseyed as he bowed, chastising yourself for getting upset at how he treated you. He did not deserve to mould your feelings in this way. You shook your head again, face aflame and tears threatening to spill down your cheeks in front of everyone – in front of the person you loathed the most yet whose eyes haunted your dreams. You quickly walked off the dance floor without another word. You ignored the calls of your name from Meg and instead made your way towards the doors that led to the gardens.

When you made it outside, the cool air prickled your skin, and you took a deep breath, closing your eyes. There were small droves of people outside among lanterns, their chatter an even din to your ears. But you needed to be further away. Stray tears falling, you went down the steps and into the gardens, away from the ball and the people.

The Queen and Prince’s staff had not placed the lanterns everywhere, and soon you left them behind as you walked through the well-kept gardens towards the glass building which could not be anything but the greenhouse, your feet crunching softly on the gravel pathways. You wrapped your arms around yourself and looked up at the sky as you walked, at the constellations that littered the blue night with glowing dots. You smiled tearfully at the reminder that you were only a small part of something much bigger, and nothing could truly matter so much when the stars existed. Even if it felt like the opposite.

When you reached the door, you pushed it open and closed it quietly behind you. The temperature was much warmer than it was outside, and you could feel the heat seep into your skin. You walked further in, marvelling at the various plants that grew and seemed to flourish in this environment, some of them you’d never seen before in your life. There were fruit trees and shrubs, flower bushes and others. The greenhouse was lit inside, giving the plant life an orange glow in the night. You walked around stone fountains and admired the stone statues, letting the ball and its people slip away.

You didn’t know why you were so hurt by Mr. Batchbury’s actions and lack of words. Something about him flared up a part of yourself you didn’t like. You hated meeting his barbs with cutting remarks, it was exhausting. You hated ruining your time spent with the Batchbury’s, so aware of their youngest brother and primed for any words that may be sent your way. You spent almost every waking thought fixated on Crosshair Batchbury and no matter what you did, nothing could sway your mind elsewhere. Always thinking about his stupid words that fell from his pretty lips and his even more stupidly handsome face with those searing brown eyes that spread fire through you when you looked into them.

You kicked the edge of the fountain with a frustrated sound coming from your throat and then sat on the edge and put your head in your hands. You felt more tears fall down your cheeks and you sniffled, wishing you had a handkerchief.

You could not deny it to yourself any longer.

You were completely enamoured by Mr. Crosshair Batchbury, and the hurt you felt was because you wanted him to like you. You kept fighting with him because it was the only way he would look at you with those pretty eyes of his. Ever since that first introduction, you wished his attention to be filled with the love, care and kindness you knew he possessed. But his handsome angled face would only ever send you daggers. So, with nothing else to do, with no explanations to why he did not like you, you just kept arguing with him, over and over again. But nothing ever changed. Whatever you did, whatever you said would never win him over, and you were exhausted.

You deserved better than that.

You heard footsteps running inside and you quickly straightened, eyes wide. You wiped your face and hoped your eyes weren’t so red. The footsteps stopped and you turned to your right and scoffed when you saw the source of all your hurt, confusion and desire standing there in all his glory.

“What do you want, Mr. Batchbury?” you asked, but did not want an answer. He looked at you, beautiful brown eyes trained on your face, and you watched them search your features for something. You laughed humorlessly and kept talking.

“Wanted to see if I finally cracked? If your words, or lack thereof I should say, finally landed their blow? Well, they did, sir. They did. You win. I’m not playing this game with you any longer, I am tired of it.”

“What game?” he croaked out, standing there all tall and handsome with a crease in his brow you wanted to press away with your thumb. Oh, how you wished he’d just been nice to you. It would’ve been so much easier.

You stood up and smoothed your gown. “Our arguments. I don’t want to have them anymore.”

He looked at you, incredulous. “The ones you started?”

“I did not start anything!” You hissed at him, balling your fists. “You did!”

Mr. Batchbury took a step closer to you, his voice deepening with disdain. “Please enlighten me, because I distinctly remember you disliking me from the moment we met, and nothing could change your mind.”

You rolled your eyes before narrowing them at him. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Batchbury, seeing as though you were the one who decided I was not up to your standards upon our introduction.”

Mr. Batchbury reeled back. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you spat, taking a step towards him. “You looked me up and down and decided that was it, you’d seen enough of me. And now I simply plague you by existing. Shall I reiterate my words from the ballroom?”

“I know perfectly well what you said.”

He was so close to you now and you had to crane your neck to meet his eyes. When you were this close, you could see the uneven outline of his port wine stain across his eye, the deep red a contrast to his brown skin. You watched the way the colour flared with his emotions, and you wanted to place your fingertips over it, feel if it was as hot as his anger. He scowled down at you, his shoulders broad despite his lean frame. He was intimidating to most, and he knew it – but he never scared you. This attention that he gave you in these moments only solidified your wish for him to look at you in other ways. For those burning eyes of his to look upon you with love and not disdain. You drew yourself up as tall as you could, meeting him in every way except the way you wanted to, hoping your voice didn’t tremble.

“So, you do not deny it? That you took one look at me and decided I was not worthy of your company.”

Mr. Batchbury’s face softened ever so slightly. If you had blinked, you would’ve missed it. “That’s not what happened.”

You smiled only to hide the immense hurt that only seemed to cut deeper with every moment he continued to look at you like that. “Oh, please, spare me.”

Mr. Batchbury’s eyes searched your face. What did you look like to him right now? You must look unkempt with the mess of your emotions. You were not good at hiding any of them, all the anger and hurt seemed to show up in the creases of your face and across your skin. Did he feel bad about the mess he had made you? Did he feel anything which was not frustration and vexation towards you? You could not imagine it. His face had softened marginally since the beginning of this spar, but the only thing it could be is pity; pity that you believed such things, pity that you couldn’t take the arguments anymore.

Pity that you felt for him in ways he could never fulfil.

You felt your eyes brim with tears, and you took a step back, putting distance between you. Being so close to him was not helping in any such way. This had to stop.

“You know, sir, just because you are rich, tall, and a handsome war hero does not mean you can treat people like they no longer matter. You and your family are wonderful people. The love you have for each other is truly remarkable and if I ever had a family, I would hope they are as close as yours is. I love your brothers and sister dearly, but it does not take away from the fact you have continued to provoke and anger me, and I will no longer allow it.”

Something shifts in Mr. Batchbury; he straightens and his once steady feet falter as he looks at you, like he’d just been knocked off balance. You stare at each other, his eyes wide and yours full of hurt and surrender. He blinks, processing your words, and you realise what you’ve just let slip from your tongue.

Handsome. Handsome. Handsome.

Wonderful. Wonderful. Wonderful.

The words linger in the air between you both, and you feel yourself stiffening as your mouth opens slightly, before closing again. You could not take the words back. Your secret was out; he knew what you really thought of him.

Despite all the insults and affronts towards him, you did think he was wonderful and handsome, and the love he showed his family made a different kind of warmth seep through you. Not the warmth of anger, but the warmth of admiration and love.

Mr. Batchbury seemed to recover from the weight of your words, shifting on his feet, but his eyes never left you. You watched his face soften, harden then soften again, the creases around his eyes and mouth betraying his usual stoic face. You watched as he took a tentative step closer to you, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke.

“You won’t, will you?”

You felt the breath of his words tickle your face and you looked up at him, heart beating so fast you were sure he could hear it in this quiet, empty corner of the greenhouse. You swallowed. What was he doing? His words sounded like a challenge, but his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it; softer than it had ever been towards you.

But you’d been burned by him before, and you stood your ground, on guard for the insult that would surely follow. Your voice was low with your response, mustering up as much challenge as you would with his eyes looking down on you.

“No, I won’t.”

You were unprepared for his next words, delivered in that same softness as before but not coated in an uncertainty that puzzled you and caught you off guard. “What will you allow then?”

You blinked up at him, eyes moving between his. Were they even softer than before? Your eyes trailed down his face and watched the way his lips pressed together. You quickly met his gaze once more, your reply coming out strained. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Mr. Batchbury voice was unnervingly gentle as he said, “Will you allow this?”

He silently lifted his gloved hand and put the end of it between his teeth. You watched the movement, eyes trained on his mouth as he pulled it off and let it drop from his mouth to the floor. Then he took your hand in his bare one softly, and his wooden one cradled your elbow. Your breath hitched at the touch. His eyes left yours only for a moment as he pinched the seam of the tip of your silk glove, just above your middle finger. Then his gaze returned as he tugged, slowly pulling your glove from your arm until it was bare. Your chest began to rise and fall rapidly as you moved your eyes between his and his movements in quick darts.

“What are you doing?” Your voice rushed and breathless.

His voice was calm, if not slightly bored as he dropped the glove to the ground. “Seeing what you will allow.”

Mr. Batchbury began to do the same with your other glove, repeating the movements carefully. You blinked up at him, your heart racing and your stomach flipping over itself once you felt his hand move across the bare skin of your arms and hands. His palm was not rough, but it was not quite smooth, either. It was dry, warm, and large and completely engulfed your own hand, and you imagined his other hand would’ve felt the same if it had not been lost. His hand was a working one; a hand that had held rifles and pulled on ropes; a hand you knew held his sister’s when she was little; a hand that learnt how to write when he lost his other; a hand that carried around his leather-bound book tightly; a hand that had held you close to him when you had danced; a hand that removed your gloves so artfully you felt the sensations move through your entire body.

A hand that was, in fact, gentle with you in ways his words had never been.

You stared at him, and he looked at you as he held your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture that seemed almost instinctual. He’d done that during the dance too, you realised. You thought it had been done absently, but what if…it was intentional? You searched his face and saw a vulnerability you had never once seen grace his features. It made him look boyish, and something in your chest bloomed before you realised what you were doing.

You were holding hands with Mr. Batchbury in a greenhouse, and his skin was warm against yours.

You shook your head, face aflame. “This isn’t proper,” you choked out.

His voice was soft once more. “Do you want to stop?”

You looked at him. You had lamented only moments ago of how you wished he would show you the kindness he showed his family, and now here he was, holding your hand. How did he move from throwing barbs towards you, to such gentle gestures? How had the hostility between you shifted so quickly into softness? Your surrender to this game between you, your secret feelings towards him that had finally revealed itself after hiding them behind venom-soaked words. Something in that had changed the way he looked at you, how he spoke and how he held you.

What did it all mean?

But as he looked at you, finally looking at you with something other than hate, you couldn’t bring yourself to push him away.

“No,” you whispered.

His eyes softened once more, and it was an expression you’d grown very fond of in the past minutes, and you found yourself getting lost in the tourmaline of his eyes. They were the colour of a fireplace, of cinnamon sticks in hot cider – and maybe that was Mr. Batchbury to his core. Sweetness on the edges of the tart acidic warmth that permeated you as you consumed it.

You wanted to reach up and touch his face, see if the stubble that lined his jaw was rough against your fingers, you wanted to trace the line of his port wine stain, and see if his eyes closed with the touch, or if they stayed trained on you.

You felt your cheeks heating as he continued to look at you. What did he see now when he looked at you? Still the mess of anger and hurt? Or the unhidden feelings of enamour you had hidden for so long?

You felt his hand on yours squeeze before he swallowed, and slowly moved his face closer to yours. It was a cautious kind of movement that left room for you to push him away, but you couldn’t – or wouldn’t. And instead, the thump of your heart filled your ears as his lips inched closer to yours, both your gazes dropping to each other’s lips. He paused and you felt the breath of your name over the lips.

“Yes,” you breathed back.

“I have never once hated you,” Mr. Batchbury whispered before he pressed his lips to yours.

You had never kissed anyone in your life, and all your knowledge came from novels or chatters overheard from servants. But this kiss wasn’t like anything you have ever heard or read. It started off sweet, tentative a little unsure as you both tried to figure out what to do and what felt good. He pulled you closer, so you were pressed up against his chest, and his arms went to your hips whilst yours draped themselves over his shoulders. He lifted you so your feet were on top of his, and you pressed your tip toes into the tops of his boots as the kiss deepened, both of you finding your footing as you grew used to the ministrations. He smelled like the fireplace his eyes matched, and you breathed him in as Mr. Batchbury’s lips claimed yours. Your body was on fire as felt his tongue at the seam of your lips and you couldn’t hold back a moan as you tasted him. He tasted of the champagne he’d downed earlier, and you could feel the hardness of his frame against you, like nothing was close enough.

“Enchanting,” you thought you’d heard him say between kisses.

The kisses you’d heard about had never detailed the kind of passion and want this kiss held. The greenhouse’s heat coupled with the heat of this embrace was making you hot all over, your body tingled with the need for more. And as the kiss went on, you both became more frantic, gasping between each kiss. His hands moved up and down your back, holding you securely against him and your bare hands grasped at the short strands of his silver hair that lay at the nape of his neck. He groaned as you tugged at them and kissed you harder, his hot mouth slanting over yours as he pulled you in deeper, bodies pressed together like nothing was close enough.

“Mr. Batchbury,” you breathed as his lips left yours to move down your jawline to your neck. You pressed your hand against his cheek and felt the stubble, confirming the roughness of it you had imagined. God, you wanted him everywhere – improper be damned. How could something that felt so good be so improper? Why were people denying themselves this for the sake of propriety? You feared you could never get enough of this, of him.

“Crosshair,” he insisted, just like his lips as they pressed into your skin, nipping at your exposed collarbones.

“Crosshair,” you repeated before he swallowed your breath with his lips once more.

He let out a groan that you felt vibrate into your lips and chest and something about that sound, the deepness and loudness of it in the bubble you both had made, brought you back to yourself, and you remembered where you were and realised what you were doing.

You pulled away, chest rising and falling, eyes wide and cheeks burning. Your face was so close to his, and you took him in. His eyes were blown, brown irises bright, and his mouth parted with swollen lips. His port wine birthmark was a deep red as his skin flushed. You felt his chest press into yours as he breathed hard, and he blinked at you.

In his face, you saw a man who’s kissed you senseless, who held you to him, who’d touched your bare hands, and had been so gentle, all you had ever wanted him to be with you and yet, you felt yourself freeze.

Was this real? Or another cruel game at the expense of your feelings? One where he told you he never hated you, kissed you until your knees buckled then spat cruelties later on? Was he lulling you into complacency so his acid tongue would burn you when you weren’t expecting it?

The thought hit you like a twelve-horse carriage and the guard you’d foolishly let down flew back up. You’d lost your mind; taken by your fantasies. Mr. Batchbury was never gentle with you, no matter how much you wished it – why would he start now?

You couldn’t be sure. But you were not going to be hurt by Mr. Batchbury again – your heart couldn’t take it.

He rasped out your name, your kisses still lying in his throat and you felt yourself jolt before wrenching yourself out of his embrace.

“I have to go,” you strained out, already feeling your eyes burn with tears.

You watched his expression change into one of shock and then indignation. “What?”

“This shouldn’t have happened,” you choked before turning away from him and running back through the greenhouse the way you came, leaving Mr. Batchbury behind.

i hope you enjoyed this FIRST installment!! bc ofc! what is a regency romance without a steamy encounter!! ANYWAY stay tuned!!

(i am travelling for a bit so part 2 will be posted sometime in december! thank you for your patience!)

🏷️ @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @moodymisty @nahoney22 @freesia-writes @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @bobaprint @crosshairsnose @jesseeka @thegalaxys-edge @chopper-base @shredderwest @leavingkamino @r2d2staser @beckbucket @pb-jellybeans @mylifeisactuallyamess @padawancat97 @littlecrowtime @jedipoodoo @ezras-left-thumb @lovelycurls @literallydontlook @burningfieldof-clover @queencousland101 @clonethirstingisreal @skellymom @hopelessromantic727 @rebel-ezra @lulalovez

if you weren’t tagged it’s bc it wouldn’t let me/your blog didn’t exist

TAGLIST FORM

#larissa writes #crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader fic #regency au #crosshair bad batch fic #the bad batch crosshair fic #regency au fic #the bad batch fic #bad batch fluff #tbb crosshair #crosshair bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #the bad batch fic au

119 notes · View notes

ohbo-ohno · 9 months ago

Note

hey hey heyyy saw this and thought of youuu

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT83xLH3c/

(completely sfw don't worry) but like, Imagine for one reason or another you desperately need to get married (maybe to qualify for your medieval grandpa's will) but no one wants you for whatever reason so you promptly go down to the gallows where this murderous ex Soldier was to be executed and you are just "he'll do" not aware that he comes as a package deal with his partner who didn't get caught 👀

are you. are you joking. oh my god

thinking about a woman who's got a terrible home life. i feel like either her parents want to marry her off to some guy who's like 80 or they treat her like a workhorse and are super abusive

and to her, quite literally Anything is better than the life she's stuck in. and for a woman in this time period the only real way to escape is to get married. and since no one will marry her (she's poor and everyone knows how her family is).... well there's really only one choice

she definitely proposes to soap, not ghost. the man getting dragged to the gallows is perfectly at ease - shoulders rolled back, easy smile on his lips, you would never think he's being led to his death. there's something in his over all demeanor that makes it almost easy to jump from the crowd and shout a proposal

he's excited, almost ferally so. he grabs your wrist and holds tight, doesn't let you get even a full armlength away from him. that's when you start to think maybe this was a mistake, but it's far too late now. he's also weirdly insistent about the two of you going to a very specific room in a very specific hotel (or whatever they used to be called)

you get a bit more scared every second that goes by, but you're well aware what a man expects on his wedding night - you grew up on a farm, you know how animals mate. it's scary, of course, but you know you'll have to bear it

except when you get to the room, he doesn't try and take you. you know he wants to - there's a tent in his pants that makes your face flame - and he keeps you flush against him. he sits at the table? you're in his lap. you try to go to the bathroom? he stays so close to you that you decide it's not worth the potential humiliation.

he talks your ear off the whole time - tells you how pretty you are, goes into frankly excessive detail about what he likes about every single part of you, tells you how he wants to "stuff you full", says things like "'m not so bad, kitty, know ye must be scared but i'll take care of ye, don't worry" and "just wait til he gets here, then we can get started" and no matter how much you ask who he is he refuses to tell you

he has his mouth pressed against you throat (switching between licking, biting, and talking about how he can't wait to see what's under your skirts) when the door opens, and you realize that you've truly made a mistake

the new man who walks in has to duck beneath the door frame, he's so massive. had he been the one walking to the gallows, you never, ever would have proposed. he's got to be twice the size of you, his face covered, the rest of him filthy and covered in dirt

(((if i had the energy i'd write dialogue here, but anon i am sleepy)))

soap would be soooooooo happy to present you to ghost, is literally drooling and beaming as he grabs you by the hips and hooks his chin over your shoulder, big hands stroking across your stomach and skirts as he says isn't she so pretty?

anyways. you're getting railed that night. hope you like being on the run with two criminals who have absolutely no intention of crossing over to the light side!!

(ghost fucks you first, bc soap needs to learn to be patient with his new toy, but he lets you suck his cock while he waits for his turn. when soap fucks you next, you're laying on ghost's stomach and he wipes away your pretty tears as johnny does his best to break your back. the next day johnny laughs when you're walking with a small limp, and ghost makes him apologize with his tongue <3)

#side note with old weird laws:#there's definitely smth you could do with that old rule that pregnant women didn't get executed #asks and answers #ghoap x reader #bo writes

248 notes · View notes

weirdmorefics · 6 months ago

Text

My Birdy Took Flight

A/N- I am aware I really need to write my asks and my Spencer Reid story but I am currently obsessed with Simon Riley okay!

Simon Riley x Sniper Reader

Readers pronouns- She/her

TW- Swearing, falling, injuries, and military inaccuracies but I mean it's COD and they have a zombie game so are going to attack them too? lol

Summary- Who knew the complete off-the-books mission would go off the rails and leave you with the worst rope burns of your life. The injuries however were not the scary part it was having to face Ghost and admit you fell out of the heli.

Word Count- 1991

This mission was completely off the books, asshole Shephard did not care at all that Kate had been taken hostage and would not send reinforcements for help. I've been working with Price and Kate since I was a recruit they are my family. There was no way I was leaving Kate to be killed. The plan was simple enough I stayed in the heli for overwatch while Price, Gaz, and Farah worked their way up the line. Things were going smoothly I've worked with Nik before he is one hell of a pilot. Things however took a turn for the worse an explosive hit the copter and I fucking fell out. I'm sure Nik and Captian thought I died for a moment but I was bloody hanging from the rope. I am lucky my sniper skills are still top-notch when I'm hanging upside down though I would prefer not to test it again. After that hiccup, we recovered Kate and she luckily had no physical injuries.

We returned to base that night and Price insisted I go to the med bay to get checked out. To quote his words, "You look like shit kid, get the hell to med bay before I drag you myself."

The medic rushed to treat me, but something told me that was Price's doing. They wanted to keep me here for observation due to my concussion from the explosion impact. I begged them not to I'd sleep way better in the barracks I hate the sanitary hospital smell, I even prefer the smell of gunpowder. The medic would not take no for an answer I wanted to fight them harder but they said they preferred my anger to Price's wrath. The medic left shortly after and would return sporadically to do random vital checks. At least I knew the concussion wasn't that bad as it didn't beckon me toward the darkness like other times. Though my raw skin kept me from finding any peace I honestly kind of miss the darkness. I spent the night tossing and turning the pain and clinical setting keeping sleep a far distance away from me.

The clock ticking was mocking me as I watched it hit four am. How are hospital settings supposed to help you heal when there is so much beeping and someone always coming into your room? Speaking of which I heard the door creak yet again didn't they just take my vitals ten minutes ago! I can't take this without thinking I launch the flat uncomfortable pillow at what I assumed would be the intern medic yet again only to lock eyes with Ghost looking as shocked as I did.

"That's one hell of a greeting darling," he says in his usual deep voice. My eyes are still wide with shock that I just hit my superior with a pillow but he takes this opportunity to speak again. "Heard you took flight today, Gaz was telling everyone."

I wince at the thought of everyone knowing I failed to hold on during the explosion and try to change the subject to avoid thinking about it, "Aren't you supposed to be on a mission with Soap?"

"Just got back. Johnny and Gaz are out celebrating," he responds.

"They are out celebrating at four am?" I question.

"You know Johnny no one can outdrink the Scott," he says like it's the most obvious thing the world.

"Well, why aren't you out there celebrating with them?"

"My birdy took flight and thought it only decent to check up on her," any other time I would have dwelled on the fact that he said 'my birdy' but he placed his hand on my welted ankle and I could not suppress the groan. His eyes quickly shift to concern and he rips the scratchy hospital blanket off me.

"Ghost!" I shout at him for having the audacity to rip the blanket off me. He has no right to barge in here and act like he's in charge, he may be the boss of me in the field but he is not my doctor and I do not care for showing off my nasty ass wounds to my team members.

He does not acknowledge my shout at him in the slightest instead his full attention is on my rope-burned ankles."What quack treated this," he growled.

"I'm fine," I try to yank my foot out of his grasp but he holds tighter.

"Yeah because the skin falling off your ankle looks spectacular," he says sarcastically.

"Wow you sure know how to treat a girl," I roll my eyes.

"Haven't heard any complaints," he says nonchalantly as if that innuendo wouldn't have Soap applauding.

"Seriously, it's fine. Go celebrate with the team," I assure.

"If you think I am letting you let your ankle get infected you are off your rocker. I am going to need names, sweetheart," he commands.

The nickname glides out of his mouth so easily it's as if he had said it a hundred times. I want to stay as calm and collected as him but I unfortunately stutter, "What names?" God, it's a good thing I'm a sniper and not a spy because I would be dead.

"Of the idiot docs who treated this," he speaks as if it's obvious.

I sigh, "It's not their fault... I didn't tell them. Price only knew about the concussion and I just wanted to get out of here as soon as possible."

"Ah so you're the idiot," he growls.

"Can you not be mean to me I did just fall out of a heli."

"Shut up you lived," he rolls his eyes, gently places my foot down, and turns to leave.

"Please don't take your anger out on the medics," I beg.

"Oh trust me darling I will be taking my anger out on you," he growls yet again.

I shiver, "Where are you going then?"

"To get some medical supplies for your dumbass. No one way I'm letting a medic treat you when you will just lie to them."

"What makes you think I won't lie to you?" I tease well aware that I am in no place to be teasing.

He chuckles an evil kind still it's one of the best I've heard, "Me and you both know you aren't capable of it."

He exits the room and I am unsure if I want to slap him or rip that mask off and kiss him... I am definitely incapable of either. I may be able to beat Soap, Gaz, and even Price on the mat but no one can best Ghost. I, unfortunately, hear him shouting at medics for a damn first aid kit... so much for him taking out his anger on me.

He returns rather quickly but does not speak as he meticulously places the first aid supplies by my bedside.

He pours some alcohol on my rope burn and I hiss loudly, "shit a little warning would be nice."

"You would have just fought harder. Need to clean the debris out who fuckin knows how old that rope was."

"Aw is Ghosty worried about me," I pout.

"Thought I told you and Johnny to stop calling me that, you want me to make this hurt worse than it already does?"

I roll my eyes at him and in response, he presses the gauze harder than necessary. "You asshole!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I can see his wicked smile through his balaclava.

"Yeah sure," I huff. "You know..." I smile mischievously. "This would go a lot faster if you just kissed it better."

"Oh really," I could hear the grin in his voice. I was expecting him to make some snide comment in return instead he finishes wrapping my ankle and lifts his mask to rest on the bridge of his nose.

I am sure my eyes widen to the size of saucers. I feel like a Victorian man seeing a woman's ankle. His grin widens it could only be compared to the Cheshire cat's smile. He gently lifts my ankle to his lips but does not stop there. He places delicate kisses all the way up to my thigh. I think I have officially stopped breathing. Then my heart decides to do the most embarrassing thing ever. It speeds up so atrociously fast that the monitors start beeping incredibly loud. That's it I have officially died there is no coming back my face is melting off from how flushed I am.

Ghost sits back and laughs and I mean properly laughs, I have never seen him like this. "This is a good look on you birdy all red and flustered, all for me too." He pulls his mask back down but I can still see the smile in his eyes.

"Shut up! I am a highly trained sought-after sniper, I don't get flustered!" I feel like that would have sounded better if I didn't stutter each word.

Ghost glances at my heart rate monitor, "Your heart says otherwise."

A medic comes in as the dumb machine won't stop beating, "Are you alright? You're looking quite flushed and your blood pressure is higher than it was when you first came in."

I swear I could see the smugness radiating off Ghost. God I want to strangle him.

"She's fine thanks to me," his eyes squint at me and I know he has a huge grin under that balaclava. He then turns to the medic, "Don't you know the 141 are notorious liars and the worst patients! Next time call me down here as soon as she is being treated."

The poor medic flinches at Ghost's rough voice and can barely whisper, "Yes, sir"

I mouth, 'I'm so sorry," to the medic he looks appreciative.

The medic flees as soon as my blood pressure normalizes. Ghost roughly throws his body onto the uncomfortable hospital chair and groans.

"What are you doing? Shouldn't you be going back to the barracks," I glance as he makes himself comfortable well as comfortable as one can be in a torn hospital chair.

"In a rush to get rid of me birdy?"

"Is that name going to become a thing," I roll my eyes.

"Only for me, if anyone else has the nerve to call you that I'll gut them," he replies.

"Even Johnny?"

"Especially Johnny," He grins.

I smile, "Seriously Ghost you should go sleep in your own bed that chair cannot be comfortable. I'd be in my bed if they would let me escape."

"I know you can't stand hospitals, I won't let you be sleepless and cranky alone."

"Fine, then at least share the bed with me, I forbid you from sleeping on that fifty-year-old chair."

"The fact that you think you can forbid me from doing anything sweetheart is laughable. Are you sure you want me to be over there might make your heart monitor scream again?" He makes his way over to the bed despite his words.

I roll my eyes, "I'll manage."

He lays on the small hospital bed and takes up ninety percent of it but I don't mind it because it doesn't smell like hand sanitizer and blood anymore it smells like him.

"Goodnight birdy," he kisses the top of my head and my heartrate monitor instantly starts beeping annoyingly again.

"Goddammit," I groan and he just laughs.

"You would make a terrible spy with all those emotions, you're lucky the red face works on you." he chuckles.

"You're just jealous of my amazing sniping abilities you must point out my flaws," I poke his chest.

"You ain't got no flaws birdy except the fact that you're stubborn as hell. Now go to sleep before I knock you out myself."

"Yes LT.," I fake salute him and he rolls his eyes.

Sleep comes so much faster in the med bay when you aren't alone, I wish falling asleep would always be this easy.

#simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #ghost simon riley #ghost simon riley x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #call of duty x y/n

117 notes · View notes

thousandyearphantombunker · 5 months ago

Text

The Owl House Critical Post, scroll away now I don't know if I am being too harsh in this post but I wrote it anyway so if you don't wanna read something potentially upsetting this is a warning (to those who decide to read please tell me if I'm being too harsh)

I remember initially hating how the show handled its villains, they all felt like jokes, they never felt like threats or like they provided a meaningful challenges for the main cast, they never had any real depth or complexity. but i bit my tongue, I was told that I was basically a dumbass for complaining that Bump openly breaks a law that's supposed to be punishable by death so that Luz could fulfill her witchy fantasy and that he wasn't arrested. the show could've had him make the multiclass student thing be something underground- boom it lets luz live out her fantasy but doesn't ignore what was established about the setting and creates potential stakes if these underground classes ever got discovered! That already made me angry but the cult thing is what I wanted to complain about- i only had basic ass knowledge about cults and TOH fails at portraying that crap, most people in the EC can just quit and do so in a way that makes it feel like they're just quitting a job, it doesn't feel like they fear losing their friends or sense belonging and community, they don't feel like they're anything but jokes. Leaving a cult is scary, often times cults will send their followers into the real world and set them up to have bad experiences so they'll come running back, they'll hire thugs to scare them into staying or position them in away so that they suffer (sending them out without money or the skills to survive), they humiliate those who begin to ask questions so that they stay in line. guilt tripping, putting members against each other, cutting off contact with the rest of the world! The show only adds the whole 'forced to fight on a mountain' thing for flavor! Everytime it brings up actual stuff cults do it feels like it's more for flavor than actually writing this topic with sensitivity- look at how they treat Lilith! Imo It feels like the show insulting people for ever trusting belos, treating them like they're braindead and could've just realized fairly easily that he was evil. It's the most egregious with hunter who was basically fucking born into the EC. the show is also pretty black and white, which is curious for a show that gets praise for its portrayal of religious trauma. You think the show would be more grey. I did deeper research into cults and just got SO tired of people talking about how good the show was at conveying such a heavy topic. The titan reveal also doesn't help- Luz is told by an all powerful deity that she is the chosen one basically and is told that old man is evil and needs to go down- isn't that the same justification that belos uses for his actions- not saying belos should've gotten redemption or forgiveness but this feels wrong. He deserved to die don't get me wrong but using this justification feels gross. What's even worse is that the titan made Philip's life harder on purpose- ah yeah that brainwashed cult victim would totally change his mind especially if you make his life harder- yeah I would've preferred if belos was depicted in a flashback just having a bad time on the boiling isles and cherry picked those bad experiences to justify his actions. Also I hate that the show just writes belos off as greedy and glory seeking when it could've conveyed a message about how people can get absolutely get warped by religious dogma. I do wonder though if I'm being too harsh because TOH is for kids and I was told it would be hard to portray this stuff in a way kids could understand. I can come up with ways to make the breaking the law openly thing less egregious but I am struggling to think of ways the show could have handled the cult thing, I am aware that maybe I'm accidentally saying stuff that is kind of bad faith but this is my truth. I feel like TOH wasn't good at villains and it sure as hell didn't write cults well

#toh salt #toh critical #lilith clawthorne #hunter toh #emperor belos

144 notes · View notes

firefirefruit · 3 months ago

Text

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Thirty-Eight

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Notes: I just graduated!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HOORAAAAYYY! I'm finally FREE NOW TO WRITE AS MUCH GOBBLEDUPFANFICSASIWANT AND IM SO HAPPY! SIHV is no longer under hiatus ;ppppp (not proofread properly as i was so excited to update everyone on this story hahahahdsjs)

Chapter Thirty-Eight: A Doctor’s Steady Hands

“Is it this one?”

I unhook my head from beneath a curved plane of metal, wiping the machine oil from my face with my sleeve. I examine the mishap of tools in Bepo’s paws, scrambling to keep them all hooked between his claws.

“Uh, yeah, that one,” I say, nodding at the screwdriver with the yellow handle. Bepo carefully flexes his cushioned paw to pluck one out from the other, then proceeds to stuff the rest of the tools – and the equipment box, mind you, in the front pocket of his overalls.

Swiftly, I disappear under the side of what used to be Law’s beloved ship and begin to assess the damage. A soft curse comes out of my mouth, incredulously asking myself how Luffy could have damaged this beautiful piece so badly.

Sighing, I begin dismantling damaged parts with a hard-set scowl indented on my face – a scowl I haven’t been able to get of rid for about a week now. Gramps always used to tease me for being so transparent with my feelings, how I’d always wear my heart on my sleeve – and even thinking back on that memory doesn’t help with sobering up my mood, either.

I sneak a look at Bepo who’s looking incredibly out of place at the makeshift workshop we’ve made for ourselves. He looks down, staring down at his paws with a frown set on his face – almost as if he wants to ask me something but doesn’t know when the right time would be. Guilt pangs in my chest, knowing that Bepo doesn’t know what to do with how I am right now. It’s a pretty big personality shock to him, seeing how much I’ve changed compared from when I was a happy-go-lucky kid; a young tweenager with hope in her eyes, now turned young adult with angry fine lines peppered into her skin. It must have broken whatever pretence he had of me in his head.

Regardless, he still showed up today. Hell, he even offered to be my little work assistant, completely aware of my recent bad temper - still willing to be there for me. It doesn’t help matters that I’m unhelpfully being gossiped about by Usopp to physically anyone he could talk to.

‘I don’t know, I’m kinda worried, ya know?’ Usopp mutters not-too-secretively in the bullseye centre of our temporary camp. ‘Ever since Zoro stormed out of that weird lake magic, they’ve both been acting off…’

‘And not to mention, ever since she turned into that scary Luffy form, she’s been so different,’ Usopp urges. ‘I don’t know if we can trust her from exploding into that-that… THING again. WAAA, I’M SCARED!’

Nami slaps him on the back of his neck, the sound ricocheting against the jagged stalactite ceiling as she eyes him down, anger in her eyes. ‘Oh, shut up, will you? Raya’s still Raya, and she’s one of us. Get that into that thick skull of yours.’

“Yo, Raya!” Franky’s voice echoes from a few miles ahead of me. His large body is somehow perfectly cramped beneath the belly of the Polar Tang, his fists slamming into the metal simultaneously as his head twists 180 degrees towards me. “We’re finally working together, huh? I can’t lie to you; it’s making me feel hella excited!”

I don’t know how he managed to do it, but a surprised laugh breaks out from my mouth; I didn’t know I meant so much to him, it almost makes me feel bad for not working with him sooner.

“Me too,” I say whilst my hands get busy removing each screw from the disfigured plane of metal. “I’m sorry we haven’t done this sooner, Frank.”

He rolls his eyes at me and bats a mechanical hand with a grease cloth clamped over it. “Are ya kidding me? You’ve been through hell and back, Raya. Take it easy. I’ve got an insane number of blueprints to work with you soon.”

I shake my head, turning back onto my partition of the work. He’s too forgiving, sometimes. Too carefree… I wish I was like that.

“Did I just imagine things?” A cool voice reverberates behind Bepo and I. “Did Raya’s face finally do something other than scowl?”

I twist my head so fast I hit my head against the ship, scowling at the figure who made me jump about eighty feet out of my own skin. Law looks down at me with a sly smile twitching at the ends of his mouth, his tattooed arms folded together against his chest.

“No, there it is again,” he continues. “That scowl. I must’ve imagined things.”

“C’mon Law, don’t tease her.” Bepo sighs.

Law turns to stare at his first mate, his mouth slightly ajar. He quickly closes it again, noticing I’ve been smirking at him like a kid who just got some well-deserved payback. “Well, you’ve never ordered me around before.”

I furiously rub at the sore spot on my head, still giving him a shit-eating grin, before my eyes lower to his clothes. Blue work overalls overlay a white shirt on his torso, a huge pocket resting at his belly. I raise a brow, not expecting anyone besides Franky and Bepo to be working with me today.

“Did I mess the memo? I didn’t know we were roleplaying as mechanics today.” My lips twitch into a faint smirk, making Law dismissively scowl at me.

“Well, I prefer to be around my possessions from now on. Since, you know, the last time I trusted you with one, you’d engaged with some more… interesting excursions,” he snaps.

That made me shut right up. I turn around and get busy, ignoring the heat growing on my face.

Bepo eyes the both of us with suspicion. “What? What was that supposed to mean? Law?”

Before Law can wave him off, another voice enters the workshop cavern with a tinge of irritation laced in his words.

“Oi, Trafalgar. Where you want me to put these?”

My heart instantly stops from hearing that cursed voice. I can just tell by his footsteps that they’re his. Fuck.

I don’t look around, pretend to be all cool and nonchalant while I’m actually screaming inside, but no one can excuse the fumbling my fingers are doing, my hand unable to unscrew a section I easily did a few moments ago.

Law faintly turns his head and side-eyes the samurai with a raised brow. “Why are you shouting, Roronoa? We can hear you just fine.”

I breathe in shallowly, feeling a minute sense of fear from his presence. My eyes train on the plane of metal above me, not daring to look in his direction.

‘You don’t scare me, Kozuki.’

You don’t scare me, Kozuki. It rings in my head constantly, even when my eyes grow heavy, my mind startled awake, in one of the dragon’s sleeping holes.

You don’t scare me, Kozuki. But you should be scared of me. I grit my teeth, jaw clenching then unclenching. That’s what he meant, right? He’s threatening me.

“You roped me into bein’ your work slave, this is what you’ll get,’ Zoro retorts, his eye piercing Law’s. Law only smirks in response and rests his frame against his tattered ship.

“No brain, only brawn. I’m not surprised,” Law smoothly bites back. I choke out a laugh, yet immediately shut up when I see Zoro’s eye drink in my crouched frame.

I quickly get back to work, my fingers deftly peeling off the unscrewed plane of metal. There’s an odd silence between all three of them, and I can just tell that Zoro’s still pinned his lion-like gaze on me.

“Are you just going to stare with your mouth wide open,” Law remarks, his feet suspiciously stationing themselves over my crouched body. “Or are you going pass those boxes to Frank?”

I hear Zoro bristle, seeming to be taken off guard. "You’re making things up," he grumbles, though the fluster in his voice betrays him. He finally shifts his gaze from me and turns his attention to the boxes at his feet, nudging one of them with his boot.

"Could've fooled me," Law replies, the smirk never leaving his face. There's a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he watches Zoro struggle to find a retort.

Zoro’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, it looks like he's about to snap back with something sharp. But instead, he just exhales heavily through his nose and lifts one of the boxes as if it's nothing. "Whatever. You could’ve picked someone else for this," he mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

As he starts walking towards Franky, I can't help but glance at him from the corner of my eye. There’s something different in the way he carries himself today, an edge to his movements that makes my heart pound just a bit faster. It’s not fear—not exactly. It's something else, something furiously too intimate to be just anger.

"Don't drop those, Roronoa. We don’t have spares," Law continues to mock, earning another jaw-tick from Zoro.

As his shadow becomes more and more smaller, I finally let out the strained breath I’ve been holding, my hands a little steadier now. But, still, the weight of his presence lingers, those same tan muscles my hands stroked over being a mere few steps away makes it harder to concentrate.

"Well, this is cozy," Law says, his voice low as he crouches down closely, his eyes flickering with mischief. "Maybe we should do this more often."

I shoot him a look, trying to suppress the small smile tugging at my lips. I skid the plane of damaged metal across the rocky floor, thrusting it with enough force to hit it against his thick-soled boot. "Don’t push it, Trafalgar," I mutter, though the corners of my mouth betray my nonchalance.

In all of a sudden, Bepo crouches next to Trafalgar and imploringly looks at me. “Look… Raya. Can we please talk?” He whispers, his eyes nervously shifting towards Franky’s direction to make sure he’s not paying attention. His gaze flickers over to Zoro, who finds purchase on a rocky crevice right in the centre of the workshop, his arms folding to his chest tensely, tanned muscle flexing. I watch him intently, realising that he looks to be asleep - almost as if he’s taken the perfect chance to doze off. A bit too much of a perfect chance, in my opinion.

I sigh, rubbing the raggedy cloth against my oil-stained cheek as I look away. I knew it, of course, that this conversation was inevitable. Bepo, knowing the entire truth – and Law, in direct extension – were both biding their time to gauge me out for more information.

I hand Bepo the screwdriver, silently gesturing for the small wrench that prods out of his belly-pocket. Impatiently, Law quickly picks it out and deposits it in my hand before Bepo even realises what’s happening.

I don’t know what comes over me but when I look, and really look at my childhood friend’s desperate eyes, I soften my tone.

“Of course, we can,” I mumble, my eyes lowering, avoiding his deeply troubled gaze.

“Keep working,” Law mutters lowly. His eyes train on Franky who once in a while looks over to compare his progress with mine. Zoro’s eyes are still closed, his breathing paced, but there’s still something suspicious about the way he’s holding himself too tensely for my liking.

I turn my head to the millions of nuts and bolts I’ll have to begin laboriously undoing, sighing inwardly. I love workmanship, but man, sometimes it can be boring.

“Keep talking, Bepo,” Law continues.

Bepo fiddles with his work shirt, looking down with a frown on his face. There’s a small beat of silence, the only sounds made are from Franky slicing a metal piece with his laser eyes, before Bepo looks back up at me.

“What happened, Raya?” He swallows, searching for the right way to word the questions that hungrily race through his head. He curses a little to himself. “G-god, that’s an open ended question, I know, but… so much has happened, and now you’re part of Luffy’s crew? Why was– well, Gramps targeted? And-and… what the hell did you transform into before?”

I pause, letting Bepo's questions hang in the air. My fingers keep working, twisting the small wrench, though my mind is racing faster than my hands. The questions he’s asked are the ones I’ve been dreading, but also the ones I knew I couldn’t avoid forever. They’re the kind of questions that dig deep, uncovering layers of the past that I’ve buried under years of anger, fear, and guilt.

I can feel Law's gaze on me, and I know he’s just as curious, though he’s better at hiding it. Franky seems to have disappeared in the pursuit of more materials in a different cavern, leaving a different type of silence, one more threatening, in his wake. Even Zoro’s steady breathing, despite his seemingly relaxed state, feels like a pressure pushing me towards answers I’m not sure I’m ready to give.

But Bepo deserves the truth. Maybe they all do.

I clear my throat softly, choosing my words with care. "It’s… a lot. Look, when I was a kid, I had no idea what was really going on; I just knew that every time the Cp-0 came knocking on our door, we had to relocate to a different island and build up our workshop again. Gramps… he knew things, had secrets that I didn’t understand back then that I think I’m slowly uncovering. He tried to protect me, but in the end… He got taken."

I can feel the weight of their attention, even though no one’s directly looking at me. Law’s quiet demeanour, Zoro’s stillness, Bepo’s concerned eyes—they’re all listening, even if they’re trying to be subtle about it.

“That’s the same thing that happened to-”

“Penguin, I see,” Bepo finishes Law sentence, his mouth pursed into a fuzzy, sombre line.

I nod, playing with my fingers. "As for why I’m with Luffy now… I didn’t plan it. I was trying to stay low, to avoid getting involved in anything that could draw attention to me. But things don’t always go as planned. Luffy… well, you know how he is. He promised me that we’d go finding Gramps if I did join him.”

Bepo looks like he’s putting all the pieces together, his eyes searching the tattered ship for answers. Distantly, his voice comes out, slightly uncertain.

“So, that’s why Law went to ask Luffy for an alliance.”

I nod again, not knowing what else to say.

Bepo nods, slowly, trying to process my words, but I can see he’s still deeply troubled. His gaze flickers to the metal I’m working on, then back to me. “But why the alias? Why are you hiding yourself from them?”

I grit my teeth, my eyes trained to a stray bolt, my sentences coming out in quick-paced bullet points. “I don’t want to be known by that name anymore. I hate it. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

Law quirks up a brow. “Quite the opposite, Raya. You know that could put them in danger, right? If they’re not prepared with what’s coming after you, it could be incredibly detrimental.”

I pause. He’s right, of course. I’ve been so focused on hiding, on keeping my past buried, that I hadn’t fully considered the consequences of keeping the truth from them.

I push that thought away and my resolve tightens. “You saw what I transformed into. I’ll keep the people coming after me at bay, without the crew even realising what went awry.”

“If you were part of my crew, I’d instantly throw you out,” Law coolly says, his torso shifting against the Polar Tang.

I let out a dry laugh. “Even if you tried to recruit me, I wouldn’t join you. Stay humble, doc.”

Law's expression remains neutral, but there's a glint in his eyes that shows he’s not entirely unaffected by my retort. He crosses his arms and leans back against the ship, seemingly unbothered, but I know him well enough to catch the subtle tension in his posture.

“You’re being obtuse, Raya. Not to mention incredibly selfish,” he bluntly states, not even trying to sugar-coat his words. “And if what Bepo’s told me about you is true, then that’s uncharacteristic of you. This'll affect everyone around you, exactly the way your Gramps had been. Taken, by a lifeless vessel, with two bulbous eyes.”

He leans in closer, his eyes now glinting more angrily, his voice lowering to a whisper. “At least your Gramps knew what he was getting into. He had a choice. And you, Raya, are not giving the same one to your crewmates.”

Fuck. Not once, but twice this asshole's statement rings true to me. If something were to happen, if the past I’ve been running from finally catches up to me, they could be caught off guard, unprepared for the shitstorm that I've happily brought along on board

I take a deep breath and meet Law’s eyes. “I never said I was a good person.”

Law's gaze hardens, Zoro’s body twitches, and for a moment, the air between us feels thick with tension. His eyes bore into mine, searching for something—maybe regret, maybe resolve. He doesn’t find either.

“I did some reading earlier,” Law breathes out coolly. “Of a person named Tyr. Tyr was ordinary. Incredibly so – mainly kept to himself, worked at a local mine, brought back food to his table without amiss. He didn’t have to work so hard, callous his hands day after day to scrounge up such measly coin to survive, but he did. He did it for his wife and two children, because he loved them so deeply, and he couldn’t see them suffer.

But that same Tyr also had no awareness of his lineage. Who he was didn’t concern him. He was a bastard’s child, no last name, his mother withered to dust during his childbirth. Until one day, a group of men dressed in black barged into his house and attempted to drag his wife and children away. You know what happened to that same old Tyr?”

I hold in a breath, not even daring to look at him. Even Zoro’s feigned equal breathing stops for a moment. I don’t respond, don’t even want to know about Tyr’s fate, but Law keeps on going.

“He turned into exactly what you are, Raya,” he says, his words quickening, tumbling out of his mouth with no regret. “And you know what he did?” Law leans in, his breath hitting my cheek coldly. “He was so consumed with his power, so lost in his own bottomless, consumed soul, he killed and tortured not only those men, but his two precious children and the wife that he adored more than anything.”

I can feel the blood draining from my face, the wrench slipping slightly in my grip – but Law keeps on going.

“So the thing about ‘Retribution’ is that you can be good. Dish it out to the deserved, change those who are able to be reformed. You can reign it in Raya,” he breathes out.

His eyes then darken, pinning me under his wrecked ship. “Or you can go off the rails. Go so off the rails, you’ll only be able to see red and red alone, and that power will quite certainly consume you, turn you, into the embodiment of Hell, just like good-natured, ordinary Tyr did. You’ll torture everyone, anyone, in sight, without even being aware of your own actions. Because all you will think about in that head of yours, echoing in every sick crevice, is of revenge, revenge, revenge. Pain, pain and even some more. So, if you don’t think you’re a good person now, what will you be when you transform?”

The silence that follows Law's words feels suffocating, like a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. Tyr. The image of him, once a loving family man, transformed into a monster by the same power that now courses through my veins, is impossible to shake. My hands begin to shake.

I can feel the pain in the air, not just from me but from everyone around. Bepo’s usually soft and comforting presence is tinged with anxiety, his paws fidgeting restlessly as he waits for me to respond.

And Zoro… my heart thumps harder, unable to swallow the lump in my throat as I catch his gaze. He isn’t even trying to feign sleep anymore. He stares at me, only steps away, his fingers itching as if to unsheathe his sword and plunge it into me.

Realisation floods into me, my skin prickling in shock as I turn from Zoro to Law. “You brought him here on purpose, didn’t you?” I whisper.

Law’s expression doesn't change, but the flicker of something in his eyes confirms my suspicion. He knew. He knew that Zoro would be here, that he would want to hear everything. A part of me wants to be furious, to lash out at him for orchestrating this, but another part—a deeper, quieter part—knows that this was inevitable. I just didn't want to face it.

Zoro’s gaze is piercing, unflinching, as he stares at me. The air between us is palpable, like a live wire crackling with trepidation. His hand hovers near his swords, and for a moment, I can’t tell if it's a reflex or a genuine threat. The thought chills me to the core.

You don’t scare me, Kozuki.

I know he’s not one to draw his blade without reason, but the way his eyes bore into mine makes it clear that he’s weighing every word, every movement, every breath.

You don’t scare me, Kozuki, but you sure as hell should be worried about me.

Law finally breaks the silence, his voice as calm and steady as ever, his fingers still remaining comfortable against his lap. As if seeing what was going through my head, he twitches his head behind to Zoro, and mutters out, “He didn’t know I was roping him into this, and neither did Bepo. If you want to lash out, do it to me. Not them.”

I swallow hard, the chill between us almost suffocating. My eyes flick between Bepo, Zoro, and Law, each of them representing different facets of my life—my past, my present, and the uncertain future that looms ahead. Law’s calm, calculating demeanour clashes with Zoro’s barely restrained fury, and Bepo’s concern only amplifies the weight of it all.

Zoro’s gaze pierces through me as those damned words echo through my head again, unyielding. ‘You don’t scare me, Kozuki.’

“What the fuck, Trafalgar,” Zoro suddenly manages to bite out, the veins in his hand flexing in tandem to his rushing thoughts.

“You deserved to know,” Law says, his gaze still stuck on me. “Out of your entire crew, you’re the one who’s least likely to be reckless with danger. And this time, that danger is Raya.”

“I listen to Luffy, and Luffy only.”

“Bullshit. Look at you - your hands are itching for a sword.”

Zoro grits down on his teeth, his gaze on me slightly wavering, almost as if he’s feeling a sense of guilt wash over him. My mouth slightly opens in surprise – maybe a little bit of betrayal surging through me as I understand Law’s statement rings true to him.

I bark out an incredulous laugh, looking at both men. Bepo seems to be in looking between Law and I, torn on whether to stand by his captain or his childhood friend.

“So, what, you’re going to kill me?” I bite out, my hand tightening so hard I feel the wrench tear into my skin. “Throw out the rotten fruit? Go on, I’d like to see you try.”

“No.” Law steps forward until he towers over me, dark eyes flickering down to my face. Zoro almost growls out seeing how close Law is, how our bodies almost touch but both of us are too busy to hear him.

As I release a breath, the wind slowly begins to pick up around me, as if challenging Law to fight. My hair flits upwards into the air with small embers of fire that seep through many miscellaneous strands of brown. My eyes remain on him, sizing him up, wondering how it would feel if I could just plunge this wrench into his chest and taste his blood.

My eyes widen slightly at my intrusive thoughts, shock paralysing me and rooting me to the floor. Never in my life have I…

Law only observes me with a curled down frown, his ink black hair whipping from the rising wind.

“It’s happening, isn’t it?” He murmurs lowly, lips pursed only ever so slightly. “You thought of something unsavoury.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I rise my chin up at him.

He kisses his teeth and grabs my wrist, his tattooed fingers curling over my skin tightly, as if knowing I would try to slip out and run away. A blue light seep from beneath his finger pads, my tan skin consuming its colour like an incubus. A sound, almost faint, whirls around me; a feminine voice uttering out words in a language that was definitely not born from the grounds of earth.

“Don’t fuck with me, Raya. Stop it with the dumbass defiant act,” he warns, the light underneath his hand glowing with more colour.

“Then why don’t you be a lovely doctor and move your hands away,” I retort.

Zoro growls at Law with outrage and boulders his way past Bepo - who looks like he’s about to pass out – and grabs him by the same glowing wrist that lays on me.

“Take your fucking hands off her before I cut them off,” he murmurs lowly, his eyes slitted demonically.

Law, outraged, whips his head around at Zoro. “What do you think you-“

But it’s too late. The glow in Law’s hands and fingers grows larger, bigger, taking up all the air in the room until even the fire that lights up the stalactite ceiling disappears.

It feels like the world around us has taken a deep breath and gasped out, snuffing our vision out.

It’s dark, almost like a black void has consumed me. There’s nothing but black, black, and black, assaulting my vision in drowning shades. My head turns this way and that way, my eyes hungrily, desperately, searching for something, and the sounds of someone scrambling on the floor resound in the chillingly silent cavern.

“L-Law! What’s happened?” Bepo desperately calls out, his heavy footsteps aimlessly thundering around me. I let out a strangled gasp, my eyes subconsciously widening almost as if trying to consume something, anything that I can see.

I hear Law from below me, on the floor, his heavy boots struggling to find purchase to stand up. Whatever he was casting threw him to the ground, his groans an outcome of his power.

A hot breath flattens against my skin, prickling my hair on my neck, making me instantly look up and try to figure out the source.

“Calm down,” Zoro mutters to me, his breath tickling the shell of my ear, my face coming into contact with what could be his hard chest. His rough fingers curl over my wrist, held so tightly it feels like he won’t dare to let go.

Unable to think, I comply and breathe in slowly through my mouth. Law sounds to be standing on his feet, slightly stumbling in blindness, before he growls out,

“You fucked up, Zoro.”

I furrow my brows together, my head whipping to Trafalgar’s direction, but before I can respond, Law bites out another remark.

“Look down.”

With nothing else I can do, I lower my head and my eyes come into contact with my wrist. A small, faint flicker of blue light encircles around my skin like a cuff, laying on my skin so tightly it almost becomes even painful to twist it.

It flickers again as it gains more energy, more colour, until the thin ring of light transforms into a shackled cuff. It glows in the darkness, giving light to my surroundings, my breath catching in my throat as I look around. My eyes instantly lock on to Law, who has his jaw clenched tightly. But a slight twinge of sardonic humour glints in his eyes as he turns to Zoro, who’s looking furiously at him, his grip on me unrelenting.

“Law? What-what did you do?” Bepo squeaks out, his eyes bulging out of his skull. “What just happened?!”

“What the fuck is this?” I demand, staring down at my wrist.

Law sighs heavily, ignoring both Bepo and I. He doesn’t look away from Zoro’s intense gaze, almost frowning in betrayal. “Roronoa, do you really think I would’ve killed her?”

I hear Zoro’s teeth grit together almost too painfully before he says, “You were too close to her for my liking.”

Law rolls his eyes, trying to clear the surprised glint in them. “Well,” Law muses, his finger pointing at Zoro’s wrist. “You won’t be having that problem anymore.”

Immediately, we all look down to Zoro’s wrist.

A faint twin blue flickers against his large wrist, gaining more and more light to restrict his skin into a painfully tight circle. He moves his wrist reflexively, hissing out a curse as it also drags my wrist in his direction. I topple over with a yelp, my elbow barraging into his chest.

Instantly, my face falters. I look closely at the cuff around my skin, the way it sections out into a pattern of interlocked chains, growing and growing to meet Zoro’s. Zoro’s face contorts into a horrified realisation that mirrors mine, his wrist – and in extension, mine - tugging in front of his face as if to test the theory out.

My head whips up as I murderously look at Trafalgar.

“Oh, you did not do what I just think you did,” I snap.

Trafalgar only smiles at me, devoid of any humour. “He should’ve moved out of the way.”