#he wants to go fishing in a thunderstorm

[cosmicwhoresimpingismyliving]

Kent, it’s pissing it down, raining cats & dogs. A thunderstorm is happening and you say it’s a good day for fishing?????

[holylulusworld]

Lumberjack Tales - The Hairy Bear

Summary: He doesn’t want to have company.

Pairing: Lumberjack!Ari Levinson x fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, spanking, orgasm denial, possessive Ari, a hint of dark/grey Ari?

Rating: Explicit

Square filled for @julybreakbingo: Square filled: "Park"

Square filled for @eclipsingbingo: Held down

This story is part of my Lumberjack Tales masterlist

Solitude. No people. No stress. No noises. That’s how he likes it, and he wouldn’t want to change it for anything.

He chose this life. After selling his company for more money than he could ever spend, Ari bought a forest to build a huge, luxurious cabin for himself alone. He’s got everything he needs. And what he doesn’t get, he can make with his strong hands.

Some people may call him crazy. A former CEO and successful businessman turning into a lumberjack building his furniture on free terms. Ari doesn’t care. He gives a shit on other people’s opinion.

Today is one of the rare days he must drive to the only town near his private forest. Ari hates leaving his solitude and meeting people. After a bad divorce, he’s not the most social person.

But – a man gotta eat even if he’s got a beautiful garden behind his cabin and a lake filled with fish. He needs more to fill his pantry. Beer, toilet paper, and batteries do not grow on trees.

“Mr. Levinson,” Susie, the clerk from the grocery store chirps when Ari walks toward the checkout. “Is that all?” She glances at the two shopping carts filled with everything he’ll need over the next weeks. Maybe even a month, or two. “Plastic or paper?”

“Paper,” he grumbles under his breath. “Plastic is bad for the environment.” Ari shakes his head at his words. Years ago, he would’ve given a shit on the environment or nature. He was obsessed with making money, a pretty woman, and fast cars.

“Sure,” she gives him a tight smile but says nothing. “Just a minute.” She snaps her fingers at the new bag boy. “Sean, get over here. We have a customer.”

Ari would like to roll his eyes as the boy groans loudly. He was on his phone, undoubtedly making a TikTok video to share with his two followers instead of doing his job.

“SEAN!” She grunts when he doesn’t move an inch. “If you don’t come here in a second, you are fired.”

“Man, if I made my first million with my video, I’ll quit,” Sean grumbles while reluctantly starting to pack Ari’s groceries into paper bags. “You will see. I’ll get out of this shitty town in no time.”

Ari holds back a comment. He learned that it’s better to shut your mouth and not get involved with the town’s folk. Unlike the cheery clerk at the grocery store, most people in this sleepy little town do not like him.

Especially because he stopped them from clearing the forest he bought. “Cash or card?”

“Card,” Ari swipes his card over the device. “Have a good day.”

Before Sean can grab the bags to carry them outside, Ari wraps his arms around the paper bags to carry them out of the store.

“Idiot!” Susie mutters. “You had to piss him off. Now he won’t come back anytime soon.”

Sean harrumphs. “This is the only store in town. Your love interest will be back. This doesn’t mean he wants to take you out…”

Back in his cabin Ari busies himself putting the groceries and toiletries away. Only to make a list for more. Soon it will be winter, and he needs more supplies. Ari hates driving to town during winter. He tries to leave his cabin less during the cold times.

His dog lies on the carpet in front of the fireplace in the living room, yawning loudly as his owner tells him they’ll need more wood.

“Come, buddy. We go for one last round for tonight,” Ari clicks his tongue, causing his dog to jump up and follow him toward the door. The Estrela Mountain Dog walks next to Ari as he steps out of the cabin.

Ari closes his eyes and inhales the air deeply. He can already smell the approaching thunderstorm. “We need to hurry, buddy. I know how much you hate getting your fur wet.”

He flashes his dog a smile before buttoning up his red-black checkered plaid. “Let’s go, Bear. We don’t wanna miss dinner.”

“HEY! STOP! This is private property!”

You are already out of breath when the man and his dog chase after you. All you wanted was to go for a swim in the lake. How should you have known that the forest is private property? You camped in forests all your life without getting into trouble.

Now this big guy is chasing after you like a madman. “STOP! You cannot come to my property and steal…”

“Bear. Get them!” The man calls for his dog. The giant beast speeds up to outrun you. It jumps at you. Pushing against your back so you land on the ground, face first in the mud. Rain is pouring down on you, soaking your shorts and shirt. “Good job!”

The dog sits down on your back, making you groan loudly. “Get off me you beast.”

“Hold them down,” the man approaches you and the dog. He crouches down next to you to rip your baseball cap off your head. “What are you doing on my property?"

“I wanted to go for a swim, dude! I camp not far away from the lake. I didn’t know this was private property! Who buys a fucking forest!! That’s just wrong.”

“Dude?” He laughs. “Bear, we caught an angry wood nymph, not an intruder.” The man clicks his tongue, and the beast finally gets off your back. “There are warning signs, lady.”

“I told you,” You struggle to get on your knees, groaning as your back hurts from the dog’s attack, “I didn’t see a sign. I camp wherever I want to.”

“Not on my property,” he snaps at you as he gets back up. “Come on, the thunderstorm will only get worse.” He holds out his hand as you struggle to get back on your feet. The dog got you good. “I’ll show you the way back to the road.”

“Fucker,” you slap his hand away and get back up on your feet without his help. “You can’t let your dog attack people.”

“You are an intruder, and he tried to defend my property.”

“Dude, do I look like a danger to you, your dog, or your property?” You size the man up. He quirks a brow. “That’s what I thought.” While you try to rub the dirt from your knees and shin, the man huffs.

“You walk around my property with your little backpack and believe you get away with it? Lady, this is not a park. You can’t just come here and waltz around my property like you own it.”

“I got it, okay. This is your forest, and you hate people,” you wrinkle your nose as the rain runs down your face. “If you’d excuse me now. I’ll find my way out of your forest and into the next to put up my tent somewhere else.”

“In the middle of a thunderstorm?” He asks. “You’re not only a criminal but crazy too. You’ll get yourself killed.”

“Well, good thing that I’m not your problem, Mr. Property,” you turn around to walk opposite the way you came from. “Have a nice life.”

“Lady, that’s crazy,” despite his former behavior, he follows you. “The rain is going to get worse. You’re going to catch a cold or worse.”

“Anything is better than being around you,” you side-eye the man. If he gets too close, you’ll get your pepper spray out and show him what happens when he messes with you.

“Wait…wait up,” he grabs your arm to stop you from running off.

“Don’t touch me,” you try to wiggle out of his grasp. “I’m warning you! I got the black belt!”

He releases you but blocks your path. “I won’t hurt you, lady. My name is Ari, this is Bear.” Ari points at his dog. “He didn’t want to hurt you. If Bear wanted to hurt you, you’d be dog food.”

“You have a way with words, huh?” You look him up and down. “So…where is this street?”

“We can’t walk through the forest now,” he sighs and points toward something in the distance. “If you don’t want to walk through a forest in the middle of one of the worst thunderstorms this area ever experienced, you should come with me to my cabin.”

“Right,” you curl your upper lip. “I’ll go with you to your cabin so you can make a filet out of my ass. I won’t go anywhere with you.”

Ari snorts. He starts laughing as you watch him. “I don’t want to eat you, lady,” he grins. “I mean, I love to eat a lady out.” His eyes drop to your soaked shorts, “but only if she begs me.”

You look down at your soaked clothes. Your backpack gets heavier per minute and Ari is right, the rain is mercilessly pouring down on you. “I’ll take a picture and send it to my friend with our position and your name.”

“Be my guest,” Ari poses for you. He grins into the camera when you snap a few pictures to send them to your friend. “What about Bear?”

“Fine,” you snap a few pictures of the dog to send them to your friend too. “If you kill me now, you’ll get hunted down by my friends.”

“I won’t take the risk,” Ari winks at you. “Come on. I want to get out of my wet clothes and have some coffee.”

You begrudgingly follow Ari, hoping he’s not a psycho killer or looking for a basement wife…

“See, I’m not a killer,” Ari hands you another cup of tea. “After the storm calmed, I’ll drive you to town. You shouldn’t camp in the only other forest around here.”

“Why?” you take a sip before looking at him. You cannot deny that he’s not as bad as you believed he was. Ari offered sweatpants and one of his plaids to you. He shared his dinner with you and brewed tea for you.

“Let’s say the men around here a rather…hmm…how do I put it…”

“Assholes?”

“I think that sums it up,” Ari sits on the other side of the couch to give you space. After the first minutes he knew, you’re not a bad person and now he tries to make you see, that he’s not a bad guy either.

“Hmm…crap,” you sigh deeply. “I wanted to do something reckless for once and now, my friend will laugh about me.”

“You never camped before, right?” He watches you drop your gaze. “Why did you lie?”

“My friends bragged about their adventure trips, and I only ever soaked in the sun or visited museums during holidays. I bought a tent and…you know the rest.”

Ari snorts. “You’re the worst camper I ever met.”

“Fair,” you shrug and giggle as his eyes drop to your legs. He subconsciously licks his lips and shifts in his seat. “So…” you scoot a little closer to Ari, “how long are you living here…alone?”

“Hmm…?” He lifts his eyes from your legs to meet your eyes. “A few years.” Ari murmurs. “I left my old life behind to live here, on my own.”

“Must’ve been a good life,” you scoot even closer to look Ari in the eyes. “This is not a normal cabin. It’s rather…luxurious.”

Ari drops his eyes to your lips, licking his own. “I was a businessman before becoming a lumberjack.”

“Lumberjack,” you purr the word. “You mean the big guys wearing plaids and cutting wood.” This time, you lick your lips. “You must be very strong if you cut wood all day.”

“Not all day, sweetness,” Ari scoots a little closer, his thigh brushing yours. “Only if I need wood for my fireplace.”

“Hmm…” you get bold and move your hand to his bicep, squeezing hard. “Very strong.”

“Strong enough to throw you around if you come to my property and try to swim in my lake,” he moves his hand to your thigh, toying with the sweatpants you’re wearing. “I can spank you too, to make sure you’ll never break into anyone’s property again.”

Your eyelashes flutter, and your lips part. “You think I’d let you spank me for breaking into your property?”

His cheeks dimple. Ari dips his head as his hand creeps higher until he can press it flat against your mound. “I think you’d let me do anything I want to do to you.”

“Look at you,” he purrs in your ear. “Such a good girl, kneeling for me. I bet,” Ari circles you to watch you kneel in front of his couch. He pushes against your shoulders, forcing you to bend your upper half over the couch. “Hmm…what a nice ass you have.”

Ari cups the back of your neck to hold you down on the couch. He’s not too rough but makes sure you can feel his strength.

“I’d love to just fuck you, but you’d only cum all over my cock. I need you to feel the consequences of your actions in your bones.” Ari runs his free hand over your ass, humming as you start to whimper. He grips one cheek roughly, testing your reaction. “I’ll use this body to my liking, and you won’t deny me.”

You choke out a moan when the first smack hits your ass. “Yes…”

“Count, little tramp,” his features harden, and he smacks your cheek a little harder this time.

“One.”

“Again,” he slaps your other cheek, making it sting. “Again!”

“Two.”

“How many can you take?” It’s not a question. Ari told you he’ll give you ten, and you’ll take ten with pleasure if you get his glorious cock in return. You’re already soaking wet and cannot deny that the next smack pushes you closer to the edge.

“All you have to give, sir,” you whimper. “Three…”

“Good girl,” he soothingly runs his hand over your stinging cheeks. “Seven more and you’ll get something nice.”

The next smacks come faster and harder. “Four, five, six, seven,” at eight you’re out of breath and cry out in pleasured pain.

“Eight, nine,” he slaps your ass with both hands. “And lastly,” he slams his hand between your legs, hitting your clit. Your legs tremble and you soak his hand with your cum.

“Oh God…” You can’t come down from your unexpected high. Ari grabs you by the back of your neck to push you onto the couch.

You end up underneath him, whimpering as he moves one hand to your crotch to lift your butt to help him sink into you. He pokes your entrance, impatiently pushing the first inches into your weeping hole.

“Fuck, that’s a wet cunt,” he groans in your ear while conquering your cunt with one hard thrust. “Yeah, you’re a good girl.”

Pressed into the furniture by his hard body you can’t do anything but lie there and let him slowly fuck into you. Your juices soak his cock, and his balls with every deep thrust.

Ari is by all means not gentle. He fucks you for punishment, to make sure your body knows you did a bad thing. “Oh, baby. I lied,” he whispers in your ear after a particularly deep thrust. “I’m going to keep you here for my pleasure.” He thrusts three, or four more times, always avoiding hitting your G-spot.

Ari purrs your name and fills your cunt seconds later. “Aw, don’t whine, baby,” he sinks his teeth in your neck to leave another mark on your body. “This was punishment. You’ll cum when I allow you to cum.”

He groans against your neck, teeth grazing over one of the marks he left. Ari is a man possessed. After he filled you for the first time, he took his time to rub cream into your ass. He toyed with you, fingers and tongue bringing you to the edge, only to not let you cum again.

With your hands restrained to the bedpost, you can only watch him move on top of you. Your hands itch to touch him, but you haven’t earned it yet. You’ve been a bad girl, and he won’t allow you to get more than he’s willing to give.

Ari slowly thrusts into you, thick cock rubbing against your walls. “I want you to cum for me. Come on, little tramp, soak my cock. I want to fill this slutty hole up.”

“Please—” you eagerly meet his thrusts. “I need…please…Sir…A-R-I…” You shudder through your high. Your whole body sizes up and for a moment, you fear you died and ended up in heaven. This is the most intense orgasm you ever experienced, and it takes your breath away.

“Good…” Ari thrusts one last time and stills his hips. His warmth fills you again, and you wonder how many times he already fucked you before he let you come. “Good girl. So, fucking good for me.”

He collapses on top of you, exhausted and satisfied. “Fuck…” you breathe out. “Fuck…fuck…that was…”

“Damn, this cunt feels so good. I’m glad you’re a criminal wanting to break into my property. I didn’t have such a good fuck in years…”

“Well…I got two more weeks off so…” you wiggle your hips, making Ari groan. “I could just invade your property for a little longer and you can punish me again.”

Ari lifts his head to look at you underneath him. He smirks, liking your idea. While you look up at him, mirroring his smirk Ari plans to keep you forever…

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[ryuryuryuyurboat]

welcome home.

synopsis: what it's like returning home to them after a long time.

genre: fluff

characters: childe, neuvillette, tighnari, thoma, wriothesley x gn! reader (separately)

warnings: established relationship, reader is referred to in 2nd person, usage of terms of endearment (e.g. 'dear', 'babe')

a/n: first multicharacter post standing ovation where lmk if you want to see a part 2 with other chars hehe :3 likes, reblogs and comments highly appreciated!!

©2023 ryuryuryuyurboat. do not repost, translate, plagiarise, or modify in any way, shape or form.

masterlist

childe’s eyes light up like teucer’s would when presented with a brand-new mr cyclops figurine. he runs to you, picking you up and twirling you around before setting you back down, his eyes glossing over— for just a brief, brief moment, you think you see his eyes shining with tears. but it's gone when he blinks. “welcome home, babe!” is all he says, before you’re swept into yet another embrace.

neuvillette looks at you in what appears to be mild surprise, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. he finally settles on a small smile as he spreads his arms wide open. “welcome home, dearest. i’ve missed you.” you swear the raging thunderstorm outside softens into a trickle of a drizzle as you lean into his touch.

tighnari hears you even before you open the door. you feel the wind knocked out of you as he barrels into you, wrapping you in a tight tight embrace — his ears flat against the top of his head, his face buried in the crook of your neck. his tail hangs low, slowly sweeping the ground from side to side. “i missed you.” he says.

thoma has long foreseen your return. he’s not psychic, he just knows. the second you open the door, the smell of food wafts into your nostrils– hot, warm food. (is that miso soup you smell?) at taroumaru’s light barks, the chef responsible peeks out from the kitchen, spatula in hand: “ah, you’re back! welcome home, babe!” he beams, “go wash up, dinner will be ready in just a sec!”

wriothesley already has a pot of your favourite tea and biscuits waiting for you on the table, while he himself is seated in his armchair reading the latest publication of the steambird. “you’re back,” he hums, leaning back to stretch and loosening his tie. “did you miss me?”

taglist: @yinyinggie, @lynyluvr (send ask to be added to taglist!)

if you liked this, do consider dropping me a follow for more :>

[kyuummie]

pro pic - american poetry club

text:

My brother tries explaining himself; “I’m leaving for a long time, okay?” His words skitter out, rushed and unbaked.

“You’re going to kill yourself again,” I spat at him. I spoke my words sharp like paper, wobbly and cutting. The blade in my hand worms around, eager to act.

Taking steps back and forth together, his words waltzing, he exclaims, “No! Put the sword down, please!” They dance around his real ones,

and I feel his usual confident swing falter.

His words are many things. They are glass windows, a clear view of his rigid cold heart. They are murky and dark, and yet I listen to the teachings. They are a crow’s caw that perturbs the fresh morning air, waking the small animals. I sniff out his lies, and as easy as it is, anger overcasts my mind.

An unkind thunderstorm flashes nearby, and my hands are shaking. Lest he forget, I have heard this song before.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that.” I scold my intuition.

“I just want to go home!” He says, with black smoke on his tongue. There it is again.

“I will write to you, brother” He whispers.

In the end, he is engulfed by the salty sea. The fish will feed on his carcass, and the seaweed will entangle his mind in which he tied his empty promises.

His home is not of mine. I will mould myself into a new boy, a boy of his own mind.

Because this was always the way I was meant to be. Myself.

[loveshotzz]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap six/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

I Don’t Know You, But I Want To

summary: Sometimes curiosity has consequences.

wc: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters, mentions of death, hints on how Steve’s wife died, bouts of self consciousnesses.

authors note: sorry guys, you knew this chapter had to happen. i promise i’ll make up for it! enjoy a few more easter eggs from @carolmunson ‘s orange colored sky in here. I’ve had so much fun talking about these two old men’s friendship with you!

🌇 <- chapter five -> chapter seven

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The Tune:

End of June

You didn’t realize when Steve asked you to water his plants, that he meant in just three short days after the almost kiss in his kitchen. The opposite schedules the two of you seem to always work made it so you hardly got a glimpse of him before he and Bandit disappeared to Starved Rock for what you learned was their annual camping trip.

The Good Morning Tough Girl texts started the next day after your number exchange, waking you up with a kaleidoscope of butterflies twisting and turning in your stomach and a smile so big it made your cheeks hurt. It helped you get over only getting to physically see him one time through your living room window before he left. Your phone had vibrated at your feet while you watered your now flourishing Ivy thanks to the new curtains you were proud to say were installed by yourself. You chanced a glance down at your lit up screen, his name flashing with a text that said: How’d I never realize how pretty my view is from the front yard?

The corners of your mouth twitched, flames licking underneath your cheeks when your eyes caught his out your window. The big dopey smile that took over his face made you giggle as he waved eagerly, dressed nice like he had been the morning you ran into him last week. You wiggled your fingers, biting your bottom lip at the way his dark navy button up looked tucked into the waist of his black slacks. The leather belt looked nicer than the last one, the silver of the buckle blinding in the setting sun. His hair was freshly done, free of any signs of those big hands of his. The stubble on his jaw was gone again, but you learned that was never for very long. 

Another buzz: Going to dinner with a client, wish it was fish tacos with you instead.

Steve feels like he won the lottery when he can see the way your face lights up from his spot in his front yard. Eddie’s voice rings loudly inside his head, sticking to every single one of his negative thoughts like glue telling him it’s okay and he finally starts to believe it, especially when he gets a text back from you.

Maybe next time 😉

It’s thunderstorming the day you go over, the key tucked away in a lockbox by his door. He gave you access by texting the code the night before with a promise to take you to dinner as a thank you when he got back. The nerves that dance inside you feel like they did the first time you came here when you stand in front of the stained glass of his front door even though he’s five hours away. 

It’s quiet, the lively energy from a few nights ago gone with the man. The cedar of his candle still lingers thick in the air and you can’t help but inhale deeply. It smells like him. You leave your shoes and umbrella on his front porch, closing the door gently like you were scared to wake someone up. The pattering of the rain on his windows fills the silence, your shoulders dropping in the serenity. Pulling your phone from your back pocket you look through your texts with the list of the rooms the plants were in. 

Only three — his office and living room on the first floor and his bedroom on the second.  

The coffee white oak floors creak under your socked feet as you take your first apprehensive steps past the entryway. He left the watering can on the kitchen island just like he said he would, your skin pebbles when you’re brought back to the last time you were in here. The sun fights to shine through the thick storm clouds outside, making the lighting that bleeds through his windows soften everything up. The water from the sink hits the metal of the can, mixing perfectly with the rain. 

You wish he was here.

The can is heavy in your hands when you stop at the doorway of the living room, the contents inside sloshing around and daring to spill onto his floor. You curse under your breath with a pause to take in the room you only got a glimpse of before. There’s an electric fireplace, tall black steel that takes up most of the wall next to the sliding glass door that leads to his small backyard. 

Two large beige area rugs cover most of the wood floors in here, a cream frayed trim lining them. Bandit’s bed sits big, fluffy and dark brown nestled by the fireplace, giving him a perfect view out the window. Strands of his lighter hairs leave behind evidence that this might be his favorite spot in the house. A woven basket filled with various chew toys that look freshly tossed in isn’t very far from it. The rain comes down harder but you can still see the spots of lime green littering the grass where the rambunctious German shepherd left his tennis balls. Spoiled.

The cognac color of his leather couch set is rich, and it shines even in the dim lighting like it was freshly lotioned. It looks like the kind of comfortable where the cushions mold against the weight of your body - soft, inviting, the one in the middle looking a little more worn in than the rest. This must be Steve’s favorite spot. 

Your eyes meet the 65” TV mounted to the wall in front of it and realize why. The coffee table matches the dark color of the floors. The candle that was the culprit for the smell of his house sitting in the middle next to three remotes lined perfectly next to each other.

There’s a long, taller companion table that sits at the other doorway that leads back out to the landing of his staircase. Framed pictures, bottles of various liquors of all shades and crystal cocktail glasses cover the top of it. 

What does he think of your place?

You try to push the intrusive thought down as you make your way to the lush Monstera plant that sits in a white pot on top of wooden legs next to the sliding glass door. Its leaves hang heavy, clearly taken care of. The deep emerald of it reminds you of what Steve’s eyes look like sometimes. The soil takes what you give it greedily, barely leaving enough for the few smaller plants that rest on shadow shelves along his gray walls. A few of them make you stand on your tiptoes to reach.

Curiosity wins on your way to refill the can, crossing the room to look at the framed pictures. You aren’t surprised when you see one of Eddie and Bandit as a puppy, it looks like the first day they brought him home. Eddie’s dimples show in a bright smile as he looks at the camera with Bandit’s big bubble gum pink tongue pressed sloppily against a clean shaven cheek.

The other is of Steve and a curly haired boy at a college graduation, they both look like they were caught in the middle of laughing at something. You can’t help your own smile when you look at it. Steve looks a little younger, a little less gray in his hair like it had only just started. He’s wearing wire rim glasses, and that crisp white dress shirt you like him in so much. He looks happy.

The last one is of Steve and Bandit. A selfie taken at sunrise, Bandits tongue sticks out and you swear he’s smiling just like his handsome owner that has him pulled against his side. A part of a tent peaks over his shoulder and you wonder if this is where they’re at right now.

You’re hit with the smell of his cologne when you open his office door, your thighs pressing together when you imagine him sitting in the big black leather chair behind an even bigger, matching colored desk. Glass cased baseball memorabilia takes space on one of his walls, along with plaques of achievements from his job. There’s framed pictures of him shaking hands of baseball players you couldn’t name, but you’re sure a normal person who liked sports could. There’s a tall bookshelf on the other side of the room. The spines all glossed, bright bold wording of sports memoir’s, marketing guides, and what looks like college course advertising books.

The floor of this room is carpeted with the same color as the area rugs in his living room. Your footsteps are a little more careful as you try not to spill any water on it as you make your way to the three hanging spider plants in the window that overlooks his front yard. 

Your nose catches a hint of the cigars you know he smokes as you get closer to his desk. He must keep them in here. A silver closed MacBook sits on top of it, another baseball — only this one is signed and kept safe in a glass case. There's a Polaroid of Bandit with a cubs hat on his head with a laughing Peach barely visible behind him. The obvious closeness of the three of them makes you realize how much he let you into his world the other night. 

A world where he wanted to kiss you.

You curse under your breath when you almost spill water on the carpet, too lost in realization of what this could be.

When you reach your final destination on the second floor, you stop at his closed door. Your hand hovers over the knob, heart hammering so hard in your chest like he was waiting for you on the other side. Taking a deep breath through your nose, you exhale through your lips - willing your nerves to give you mercy. There’s a soft click when you turn the knob and the quietest noise from the hinges when you push it open.

The crisp white of his fluffy duvet that covers his king size bed, mutes the gray of his walls. The olive green throw at the end of it that matches the area rug under the bed, the warmth of the color relaxes your senses. Your breathing evens out, your heart rate slows down. 

There’s another dog bed at the foot of his that matches the one downstairs and you wonder how often Bandit really sleeps in this one at night. The lack of hair on it compared to the other one tells you not very often. Your cheeks tingle fiercely when you see the mirror you got a glimpse of his bare chest through, your eyes quickly finding the bathroom he had come out of. 

“Jesus Christ,” you grumble to yourself, trying to push back the memory while standing alone in his bedroom. 

There’s another Monstera by his window that you can see your bedroom out of. The last one on the list. You have to pass by another large dresser on your way, even more pictures sit on top of it, taking up the space that was left next to a cherry wood watch box. Another cedar candle sits behind the framed pictures, the scent lingering in the air despite not being lit.

The plants take what’s left in the watering can, and you peek out the window just to see what he sees. The navy curtains you’d hung up are half open giving you a perfect glimpse into your room, the pile of dirty laundry you plan to do after this perfectly visible. You gulp audibly.

The can swings loosely in your hand when you walk to the dresser, a smirk already forming on your lips at the thought of what these ones will tell you about him. Your eyes land on one of him in between Eddie and Peach on what seems to be their wedding day, both of them placing sloppy kisses on either cheek. The big dopey grin face doesn’t hide the tear stains. The White Chapel sign behind them tells you it’s Vegas, and the way Steve is dressed as a much sexier Elvis only confirms your suspicions. 

Next to that one is a picture of Steve, only he looks really young- fresh out of high school young. Biting your lip into a smile at the volume of his hair, he’s leaning against a maroon BMW with pants so tight you're sure they made all the girls flustered. You shake your head with a roll of your eyes before taking in the brown curly haired girl sticking her head out of the back seat window. Another girl with honey waves pushing her head out in the small space next to her, you swear you can hear the giggles that are so evident on their faces.

Thunder cracks loudly outside, bringing you back with a jump. You’re dreading the short walk home. You glance out the window wearily before bringing your attention back to the little bit of Steve scattered over the top of his dresser. Then you see it. You see her.

The frame that holds the picture is silver, the words ‘always and forever’ etched across the bottom. It’s taken somewhere tropical and Steve looks like he’s your age in it, his jaw somehow sharper, his hair blonder. His smile is so big it shows all of his teeth, a bright yellow short sleeve button up that makes his skin look golden. The top two buttons undone revealing the chest hair you’d gotten a few glimpses of. He’s glowing. 

She’s just as beautiful, big bright green eyes and dark chestnut hair that falls in effortless curls down to her chest. They look natural, like she didn’t have to do it herself. She’s tucked into his side in what looks like seats in the back of a boat, the coral dress that flows over the curves of her body makes your stomach turn. The big rock on her hand rested purposefully on his chest tells you exactly what this picture is.  

Jealousy twists green in a tight knot inside of you, guilt you weren’t expecting makes you feel nauseous when you see what’s hanging off the corner of the frame. A dark teal rubber bracelet with the words Team ALS Chicago 2022 in white font.

Lightning flashes white hot, making something gleam and catch in the corner of your eye from his watch box. Taking a closer look, the tightening of your chest at what you find makes the air leave your lungs all at once when you see their wedding rings tucked in between the soft white cushions inside the box. 

The reality of the situation hits you like a ton of bricks. Steve had a whole life before he met you. A life with someone beautiful, someone he didn’t fall out of love with, someone who didn’t break his heart, someone who, if things were different he’d still be with.

If you moved next door in that reality, you’d just be someone he’d maybe wave to from time to time, not paying any mind to the thirty year old girl already suffering through a midlife crisis next door. The girl who moved to the city with no friends and no plan. The college drop out. The opposite of the well put together woman that belonged hanging off his chest like that, with a ring on her finger that could pay off your credit card debt and then some.

How can you compete with a ghost? The nagging feeling that you’ll always be second best already stings and he hasn’t even picked you yet.

You try to blink away the tears that threaten to spill out, feeling stupid for being this upset over what started off as a silly crush, it really shouldn’t hurt this much. The cedar that comforted you feels like it's suffocating now. Like he’s here. The thought of bringing the watering can down doesn’t even cross your mind when you leave it on the dresser to make your escape.

The breath that comes out through trembling lips is shaky, still, you're proud of the fact that you haven’t cried yet. 

Tough girl. 

When you open the front door, it's windier than when you first got here, the sun starting its disappearing act for the moon. It makes the summer storm match the one brewing inside of you. You shove your feet into your shoes before pulling the door shut behind you. You lock the key back into the box, before grabbing your umbrella. Your vision goes blurry but you don’t give into it, telling yourself it’s stupid to be so upset. The buzz of your phone in your back pocket is what stops you from taking the first step off his porch. 

Steve

Found a spot with some service on our hike, just wanted to check in. Hope you got into the house okay. Bandit says he misses you.

The dam that you’d worked so hard to build breaks, tears falling down your face like the rain falling from the sky. You sniffle, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand before you reply to him for what you tell yourself is the last time. It’ll hurt less like this, it’s better for both of you this way. At least that’s what you try to tell yourself before you hit send.

Plants are watered 👍

beta’d by: @superblysubpar

dividers by @newlips

chapter seven

[ivystoryweaver]

With You part 12

<-prev next-> || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist

Summary: You and your husband adjust to life with Jake in the mix and Marc gone quiet.

Pairings: Steven Grant x gn!reader, Jake Lockley x gn!reader, Marc Spector x gn!reader. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3k

Content: fluff, some angst, spicy times (more under the cut)

Warnings: cursing, references to Marc's trama/past, food prep and talk about food (I know this can be triggering for some) sex implied, foreplay, handjob, but language is not overly explicit and is gn. Probably inaccurate DID, based on the show.

Steven arrived home from work, having narrowly escaped a London downpour. Setting his bag down right inside the door, he shed his damp jacket and kicked off his shoes, thinking Marc might pipe up and scold him at any moment.

Marc was the neat one. Like military neat. Like, don't leave a mess or mom will make you regret it, neat. Like erase your existence from your alter...from the authorities...from the world, neat.

Steven was the messy one. Scatterbrained, he'd been called by a boss or two. It wasn't so much scatterbrained as it was a bit of unaware brain sharing.

But he hadn't shared much of anything with Marc lately. Not since Khonshu had stripped him of his armor mid-fight and almost gotten him killed. That was two weeks ago.

Padding over to his fish tank, Steven placed his hands on his knees, bending forward to take a look at his tiny little school. There were four fishies now, which almost seemed appropriate. One for Steven, Marc, you and now Jake.

Narrowing his eyes, Steven scrutinized the colorful little creatures before reaching for some fish food.

"All right then, time to eat," he chimed. Dumping a few flakes into the water, he smiled at their eager nibbles, until his eyes caught his own reflection.

"You there?" He asked, not actually addressing anyone, but definitely thinking of Marc. "No? ...didn't think so."

With a sigh, Steven sauntered to the kitchen to start the kettle. The flat was dark - the thunderstorm outside made sure of it, and he worried, for a moment, about you trudging home in these conditions.

"Should be alright," he mused to himself, the way he was prone to do. "Not due home for a couple hours yet."

He stopped short when he saw a note on the kitchen counter. It was not unlike the several notes you had left for Jake, on the bedside table. Same envelope at least.

"What's this, then?" he mused, picking it up.

The letters, displayed in your handwriting, spelled 'Marc'.

"Hm. Left you a note. Best come read it," Steven tried to tell his alter. Hearing nothing, he chewed on his lip for a moment before turning the envelope over in his hand.

The contents really did belong to Marc, but Steven felt that maybe had had the best chance of actually communicating with him. So he opened the letter and began to read aloud.

"Hope you don't mind, but I'm going to be reading this," Steven said to no one, because apparently no one was listening. "If you're not going to look at it, you should at least hear it."

'Dear Marc, I can't remember the last time we've gone so long without seeing one another, or at least speaking. Even on your longest missions, it never felt like this. If I could go back to the last time I saw you huddled on the kitchen floor, I would have never let you out of my arms. I would have never ranted about what Jake should do, or how much I hate Khonshu. I would've just held on and told you the truth over and over - that you're everything. That it didn't matter to me if you wore the suit again without telling me because I trust you, and because you can make your own decisions. I've always trusted your judgment. You are the real Moon Knight and you had every right to put on the suit if you felt like you wanted or needed to. I would have told you I support you 100%, that you're needed, that you're loved - that my anger and my bright ideas about how we should march right up to Khonshu and punch his bony beak didn't matter, not when you were feeling so shut out, so displaced, so thrown backwards in time, made to feel any less than. You are not less than Steven. You are not less than Jake. Or me. And you sure as hell are not less than an ancient deity who needs a modern day human body to roam the streets of London. It is he who needs you. And I need you. I need you, Marc. I need to see you again so badly, I can't even breathe sometimes. Not at night, after Steven falls asleep, not in the shower sometimes, or at work, when someone asks after you. I need you so much. Please, this isn't about making you feel guilty. You're my husband. You are the love of my life. I know you're resting now. I know you're taking the time you need. Steven is taking good care of you. But when you're ready, please, please come back to me. I love you so much.'

Running a hand over his chin, Steven folded the letter and put it back where he found it. Peering at his reflection in the microwave, Steven waited...hoping...

But it was quiet.

The next night, you made it home first. Steven had spoiled you rotten the previous, stormy evening. He claimed he was treating you to some warm soup and a hot bath because you were drenched when you arrived home.

But you knew it was because he read your letter and wanted to cheer you up. In fact, you believed that Steven missed Marc too. They didn't always co-front - you typically were only with one of them at a time, but they did talk all the time, and what you had sworn to Marc one afternoon on the rooftop was true: he was Steven's best friend in all the world.

So, a comforting bath and cuddles in bed made you both feel worlds better.

Tonight you wanted to show Steven a little love right back. It was really too bad that you found yourself elbow deep in making vegan fajitas when you heard the front door, because you desperately wanted a big hug.

"I'm in here, babe!" You called, dripping your way over to the sink to wash up.

Steven would have normally spouted off a greeting, two terms of endearment and one fun fact by the time he reached you, but as you turned to see him leaning against the door frame, you only heard the sound of your name...in an American accent.

Your heart rate tripled - your face flamed hot...then you saw your husband's dark curls were covered by a flat cap.

Holy shit. "Jake?"

"Hola," he winked, folding his arms over his chest. Noticing your apparent distress - and automatically assuming he was the cause, the corners of his mouth turned downward.

"Mi amor?" He questioned, his eyes going wide like a child getting in trouble.

"Jake!" You breathed, rushing up to throw your arms around him.

His body sagged in relief, melting into yours until he found the strength to wrap his bigger, stronger arms around your frame.

"Oh my god, oh my god," you gasped, gripping him desperately. "You're here, I can't believe it."

Surprised but thrilled at how relieved and happy you seemed, Jake nuzzled the spot right above your ear, running his hands up and down your back soothingly.

"I hope it's all right," he whispered, his hot breath tickling your ear.

Easing back, you gazed up into his deep brown eyes. "What do you mean? Of course it's all right."

Chewing on his lip worriedly, he shrugged one shoulder adorably, still holding on to you. "It's not a bad time, is it? You're not...supposed to be with Steven? Or anyone?"

You melted. "Baby, it's your body. If you're here, you're here. You don't need my permission." Gently caressing his cheek, you shook your head in wonder. "I just - I don't think I've ever seen you before midnight."

Glancing down at his outfit, you realized you didn't recognize his clothing as Steven or Marc's. Your heart swelled, seeing this new piece of him - a faded, denim jacket over a striped t-shirt.

"And I've never seen you wear anything except Steven's PJ's or your driving uniform," you added, brushing your hand over his.

"Or nothing at all," he cheekily added, biting his lip, waiting for your reaction.

You grinned like a fool, giggling as he swooped you up into a tender kiss. He sampled your lips one at a time, sucking gently, taunting you - until you licked hotly into his mouth, sinking your fingers into his curls. This knocked the cap off his head, which made him growl in response.

Two strong hands dragged your thighs around his waist and in a few long strides, he planted you on the countertop with an 'umph!'

"Sorry," he murmured, his forehead touching yours affectionately as he squeezed your hips, settling right between your spread thighs.

"Was that an offer?" you whispered, referring to him wearing nothing at all. Peppering his smiling lips with little kisses and driving him absolutely crazy, you added, "Is that why you're here?"

Easing back slowly, he swallowed. "I just wanted to see you," he earnestly admitted, a little uncertainty creasing his forehead. "I thought...maybe we could have dinner together. Is that okay?"

He was pretty new to this whole...you thing. Being married...sort of. Making an effort to...be with you. And not just sleep beside you. So he wasn't entirely sure if he was barging in to a special evening with Steven. He also wondered if you were hoping he was Marc. Actually, he was pretty certain that the surprise on your face when he first called your name was you mistaking him for Marc, for just a second.

"Come here," you softly cooed, pulling on his jacket to drag his mouth back to yours. Brushing your lips over his, you used your legs to urge his body flush against your center. "Yes, we can have dinner together..." which reminded you - you were mid-fajita prep when Jake arrived.

Tapping him cutely on the nose, you kissed his mouth one more time. "To be continued."

As you carried on with food prep, a different energy sizzled in the kitchen with Jake, most notably because he was a different person. Marc cooked with you plenty of times. In fact, he probably cooked more often than anyone and he was pretty good at it.

Cooking with Marc was precise, detailed - he knew what he wanted to do and you willingly played a supporting role. The two of you moved with practiced synchrony, like a well-rehearsed dance.

With Steven, it was all about experimentation. As a vegan, Steven was used to substituting ingredients and making things up on the fly. He also left a huge, hilarious mess behind, and typically ended up wearing a portion of his recipe.

For this reason, you had bought Steven an apron that said, 'Team Herbivore' which made Marc roll his eyes every time he saw it. Not because of the slogan but because it had three cute little veggies with smiling faces on it.

With Jake, there was no precise exchange of places, nor an experimental mess. Jake moved right with you from behind, loosely caging you in, picking up a spoon you would set down, stirring while you reached for a knife. You chopped and he added spices. He didn't even ask.

Once your hand was knife free and scraping veggies into the skillet, he was nuzzling into your neck and humming.

You lost your concentration a few times because he was just so close.

"This okay?" He would ask periodically, slipping his hand around your waist to sway with you.

"Where did you learn to cook?" You giggled, melting at the sound of his apparent singing voice?

He paused, going a little stiff.

Hoping you hadn't hit a nerve, you turned around slowly to find him smiling wistfully. "I used to watch my mom."

Your eyes widened as you tried to figure out what to say. Marc had never mentioned cooking with his mom, or her really cooking much at all. He had mentioned going to bed hungry though.

"I know...how she was," Jake softly interjected into your buzzing thoughts. "Especially with Marc." His gaze dropped as he eased back a step. "But sometimes, she would sing in Spanish. And cook. Sometimes I helped."

Reaching for his hand, you gently squeezed. "I didn't know you guys spoke Spanish until we met," you admitted, trying your best to connect a little more with Jake. "That sounds like a wonderful memory."

"One of the few," he sighed. Almost shyly meeting your eyes, he smiled warmly. "I've never told anyone that - or anything...about her."

Using your hold on his hand to pull him closer, you slid one arm around his waist. "You can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

"Mm-hmm," he hummed back, nodding over your shoulder toward the sizzling skillet. "Better stir, mi vida."

Jake's seasonings were totally on point and dinner was delicious. The two of you cleaned up the kitchen and headed to the living room to relax. You noticed Jake sat a little awkwardly on the sofa - in total contrast to the smooth, panther like movements you were accustomed to, late at night, in your bedroom.

"Jake, you okay?" You asked him, grabbing your current reading material and settling down beside him.

He nodded unconvincingly. This was wildly foreign to him. Jake only did a few things in this world: protect, kill when he had to, serve Khonshu, sleep and fuck. He didn't even eat that often - his alters usually saw to most of the body's physical care.

"What...what do you do? At night? What should I do?" He adorably asked.

You almost laughed, it was so cute, but you didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"Well...Marc and I play card games or do puzzles. We watch baseball games or old action movies - "

"You like baseball?" He asked, his eyes lighting up.

"I do," you confirmed with a smile. "The time change is a little weird from here to Chicago or New York, but we watch some afternoon games, or we watch older games."

He nodded, absorbing the information as you went on.

"Steven and I read together, or he reads to me. We like documentaries too. Sometimes I help him study for school." You chuckled, wondering if this all sounded boring to such a night owl like Jake. "Sometimes we have word search races - like, to see who can finish the fastest."

"I do crosswords in my car sometimes," Jake shrugged, as if he totally understood the appeal. "Do you like crosswords?"

"Mm-hmm," you grinned.

It was on. The two of you found a crossword website online and printed out two copies of the same puzzle. Turning on your phone's stopwatch, the race was on.

Jake kicked your ass.

"Let's go again," he chimed, finding another crossword on the laptop. "Loser has to take of their clothes."

You gasped, pretending to be offended. "Mr. Lockley," you playfully scolded.

Hearing you call him Mister anything had him shutting the laptop and scooping you up in his arms, almost racing to the bedroom. "Fuck it," he chuckled. "I surrender, I'll take off my clothes."

You howled with laughter as he deposited you on the bed and kicked off his shoes. Next came his socks - then he went for his belt. Shit, he wasn't kidding.

Crawling backwards on the bed, you settled back to enjoy the show, propped up on a pile of pillows.

Jake had peeled off his jacket while you were cooking, so once his pants were loose, he tugged off his t-shirt. You licked your lips at the way his abdomen flexed at the motion, and almost mewled at the way the shirt's collar mussed his curls. Then he paused, checking for a reaction before removing his pants.

"Don't let me stop you...Mr. Lockley," you teased, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

The corner of his mouth curled as he pushed his pants and boxers all the way down. Leaning forward to kick them off his feet, a loose curl fell across his forehead.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him naked and ready for you. Climbing onto the bed on his hands and knees, he hovered over you, reveling in the way your eyes devoured him.

"Your turn," he purred, teasing you with a nibble to your lips.

Running your hands all over his smooth skin, you felt between his legs, teasing his length with your fingertips.

Hissing in pleasure, he more than willingly allowed you to have your way, licking wickedly into your mouth while grinding into your palm.

"Do you really read and study all the time, mi vida?" He groaned out, rolling his hips in time with your strokes. "Or is this more your idea of fun?"

"Definitely this," you breathed against his mouth. "A fucking lot of this."

Spending the evening with Jake was a balm to your tender heart. You had seen him since the night Khonshu healed him - since your first night together - but only late at night, for a quick conversation, or for a repeat performance.

So spending an entire, domestic evening with him, ending up between the sheets for hours, before falling asleep draped across his naked body - you were in heaven. Maybe Jake really was going to ease into your life - actually be in a relationship with you.

Your heart swelled with love for your husband - for all the lovely, wonderful parts of the system he was. You would have to grab some extra ingredients from the store and plan another vegan fajita night for Steven, since Jake enjoyed the first batch. Not that Steven minded, angel that he was.

Which only left Marc.

Even with your heart so full and alive, there was still a gaping hole. As always, you tried not to put the other two in the middle of any situation, or treat them like messengers to try to get to Marc. But they were more than ready with updates.

Steven had confessed to reading the letter, and trying to talk out loud to Marc several times a day. Jake said the same, finally asking you if maybe it was his fault that Marc was so absent - so silent.

The three of you agreed that Marc just needed some time. As always, you decided not to take it personally. This was about him.

You beat Steven home again the following evening, and this time, waiting on the kitchen counter, was an envelope bearing your name.

next->

@stormydaysxx @laaundromat @kindlover @deezisnotreal @stevenknightmarc @imonmykneessir @marvelouslovely-barnes @evilbubu @usualsworld @rivalriotrenegade @wordacadabra @this--is--music @i-still-dont-like-your-face @avengersinitiative2012 @lockleywife @poppyflower-22 @thursdaywritings @scoliobean @peregrine-nation @local-mr-frog @ren-ni @valkyrie05x @randomhoex @tsukkie-daisuke @flyestvenustrap @spxctorsslxt @cicithemess2000  @bitchotine 

dividers by saradika

[ilguna]

☼ the great war pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; your relationship has been rocky with finnick lately, and each time you think you can let it go, it comes back full force. it isn’t until you’re injured on the way to storm the capitol, are you able to slow down and fix what’s wrong.

warnings; swearing, blood mention, ehh gore, weapon use, death/death mention, torture mention, emotional/mental abuse, cheating, use of derogatory names such as whore, slut, etc.

wc; 8.3k

notes; based off of the taylor swift song!!

part two.

--

Lately, you’ve spent a lot of your time reflecting on what could’ve been, instead of focusing on what is. It’s a process that you’re no stranger to. It’s a defense mechanism you turn to when you know a big storm is coming. And in this case, you’re facing two fronts, neither of which you actually want to look in the eye of.

There are a few events you’ve lived through that have permanently damaged the way you think and operate around problems. Which is why you like to hide in the past, hoping it’ll offer more comfort than the present, when it’s far from it. Your actions and life-changing decisions are usually made on a whim, done to inflict pain on another person after they hurt you.

Some of those times are obvious, starting when you volunteered for the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games at seventeen, with absolutely no experience that would help you. It was done out of spite, hatred directed at your grandfather when he told you that you had no future working for District Four.

Your labor would have no real worth, because you’d be doing it for free beneath him. It was the ‘least you could do’ after he ‘rescued’ you from the group home, when he could’ve let you get lost in the system. He wanted you to work for him on the docks for the rest of your life, and you knew that if you agreed, you’d never get out.

So, you made a rash decision. When the Capitol escort asked for any volunteers following the original reaping, you jumped at the opportunity. You thought, ‘either I’ll die in the arena or I’ll come out a winner’. As long as you wouldn’t be working under that hateful man, you would accept your fate as it came.

To this day, you still call it one of your biggest mistakes. You’d been contemplating volunteering for weeks leading up to Reaping Day. Training had crossed your mind several times during that period, and you never got around to doing it. You got stuck on a fence, until your grandfather eventually pushed you to one side. You made the decision a couple weeks too late.

The Hunger Games went like they normally did, except nothing was in favor of Four that year. District Two had a distinct advantage from the beginning when it came to favoritism during the Tribute Parade, and for the longest time, you think their mentors were tipped off on what the arena would be, due to their costumes. 

While they usually dress for masonry—that year they looked like they belonged in a dust storm. A prophecy of what was to come. They proceeded to get the highest scores, the best audience reaction, and a perfect position when they came out of the tubes. One of the tributes from Two, the boy or the girl, were destined to win.

The arena was a sandy desert, and they had placed the Cornucopia right smack in the middle of it. There were cacti, tumbleweeds and rocks, but almost no coverage from the sun as far as the eye could see. You were a fish on dry land, and you were supposed to die.

The only reason why you won was because of a fight you had with the girl from Two, the only other surviving tribute after the twentieth day. You had suffered through strong and unwavering record-breaking heat, and shivered your way through terrifying thunderstorms that drowned everything in sight and left low visibility. The Gamemakers were going to extremes during the end, desperate for a quick winner.

Xanthe had run across you while you were trying to cool down in the shade of a cactus, applying aloe vera to your worsening sunburns. Your skin hurt no matter what you did to get some relief. You wasted two bottles of freshly cold water, donated by a sponsor to pour it on tender skin. The aloe vera worked for so long before your skin was just slimy. And no matter how hard you begged, sunscreen seemed to be off the table due to expense, or banned from being sent completely.

She tried to sneak up on you from behind, but you were ready. You knew that she had been tracking for a while, it was just a matter of time before she finally came across you. She swung her sword, you dodged, and then tore her apart with your knife. For a girl that had spent most of her life training for this very moment, she was too slow. 

And it cost her life. 

It took about fifteen minutes before you immobilized her. There was no coming back from an injury that severe. Once she was on the ground, you gave her a quick death, and then collapsed beside her. With your knees pulled to your chest, hyperventilating because of how hot the air was, you listened to the announcement of your win. 

The arena ruined the way you work entirely, especially after your district partner turned on you on the third day. During the fight, they claimed it was because you knew what you were doing, and it was scaring them. If they eliminated you, they’d be one step closer to the end.

It also taught you not to trust the people that surround you. The doctors that rescued you out of the arena had to strap you down because you were convinced they were going to kill you. When Finnick and Mags tried to gently guide you in the right direction with the interviews, you said that they were trying to control and silence you. 

And when you got home, it worsened. You were repeatedly told that you had to wait for your victor house to be ready, so you were instructed to stay with your grandfather in the meantime. He drove you crazy. Every single hour, almost on the exact same minute, he hounded you, claiming that you owed him part of your winnings. And if you didn’t pay, he would never leave you alone.

Between him and the Capitol cameras following you everywhere in District Four, you broke. Your complacency went out the window, as you threatened to turn your grandfather into a forgotten memory and told the paparazzi that you’d bring them to the wrong side of town if they didn’t get lost. 

No one took you seriously, of course. It wasn’t until you were in the middle of strangling your grandfather, did the district have to step in. Finnick was instructed to be on your elbow, no matter where you went, because you didn’t seem to mind him. He kept everyone at a distance, and ensured that you moved into your victor house five weeks before it was due to be ready.

By the time the Victory Tour came around, you’d begun to settle down. You cut contact with your grandfather permanently, and the mayor had him removed from your victor benefits, leaving him penniless. You begrudgingly went on tour, partially enjoyed the Capitol banquet, and then you were free.

Well, as free as you could be until the next Hunger Games came around in July, which is when another life-altering event took place. With you taking over for Mags, it opened new chances for President Snow. He let you have the first day, so the Tribute Parade went without a hitch, as you followed Finnick’s instructions while learning the usual protocol.

On the second day, the first training day for the tributes, you were pulled to the President’s Mansion, and told that you’d be joining the small group of victors that did his bidding. It was horrible news to receive, but you didn’t react that way, surprisingly. You took it and left. 

The whole situation alone was enough to kick up a lot of past problems. Finnick was apologetic, of course, telling you that he knew it was a possibility, but he thought that he would hear it first, at the very least. You didn’t blame him, it’s not like he was the one that suggested it to Snow.

Either way, for the longest time, physical touch gave you the chills. It didn’t matter who accidentally brushed against you, or put a hand on your shoulder. The fact that you didn’t know their intentions was getting to you. You never would have guessed that half of those Capitol citizens had the heinous thoughts they did.

Well, there was one person you didn’t mind, and that was Finnick. He was a year older than you, going through the exact same thing. He taught you some trade secrets that he’d gotten from the other prostitutes, and told you to use it to your advantage. If you wanted money, jewels, clothes or expensive and exotic foods, then you should press for it, because they would give you anything you wanted. 

It’s the only reason why Finnick has survived as long as he has in this industry. If he wasn’t getting what he wanted, he would’ve found a way out by now. 

Three years after you won, you went through a rebellious phase, and you got a boyfriend. By then, Annie had already won, and failed to take the attention off of you, like you’d hoped. She wasn’t stable, at all. The Capitol refused to focus on her, which meant no cameras, a short Victory Tour, and then she was swept under the rug. She wasn’t even recommended to take over mentoring.

It drove you up the wall. You understood why they did what they did with her, but it wasn’t fair. You wanted her to be your relief, the key to your freedom, and you would’ve had it, too, if she was just a little stronger than she is. 

When you first started dating your ex, Vaughn, it was perfect. He isn’t a victor, just one of the many district workers from the boats. He worked early morning shifts that ran into the evening some, but left his nights open so that he would have free time outside of work. 

You met him one night by accident at the market. You were running an errand for Mags before it got late, because she was going to host breakfast for all the victors at her house to discuss the upcoming Quarter Quell the following morning. It was four years away, but she wanted everyone to be prepared for the worst. Anything could happen. 

Vaughn had bumped into you as you were taking a step, almost knocking you over, if he hadn’t caught you first. He apologized profoundly, said that he hadn’t seen you next to him, and helped you straighten out your canvas bag with the goods inside. 

You don’t remember exactly what sparked the conversation. You think he may have recognized you as a victor, asking why you were on this side of town. Everyone knows uptown goods are more expensive and only slightly better in quality, which is why you don’t mind going downtown to shop for groceries. Especially since you know the people better.

You two got to talking, surprisingly had a lot in common, and agreed to hang out in the near future. From there, you hit it off, and quickly became attached at the hip. You vaguely recall Finnick getting uptight about it, but if he had something to say, he swallowed it, because he never told you.

Now, looking back, it’s obvious that he didn’t want you to date Vaughn. You’re sure that’s one of his own many regrets. If he had just told you how he felt back then, you wouldn’t have been put through two years of hell that have ruined your brain chemistry. 

Like you said, Vaughn was perfect. He knew you had victor responsibilities in the district and never held them against you. You’d usually take care of it in the morning, that way you could spend as much time with him as possible at night. And when the Hunger Games came around, he kissed you goodbye and wished you a good trip.

When you came home with no winner, he wasn’t there to greet you at the train station. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. You spent three days looking for him all over District Four. And it took you waiting at the docks during shift change for you to catch him.

He was livid.

Vaughn started screaming at you in front of everybody, causing feet to slow, as men and women stood conflicted on whether or not to intervene. While his voice became louder and his motions more aggressive, you never flinched. Your expression didn’t change from confusion, as he called you every name off the top of his head associated with infidelity.

He called you a cheater, a liar, an adulterer, a whore, a slut.

It wasn’t until he started advancing on you, face turned a deep shade of red, did you place a hand on his chest to keep him back. You told him if he stepped a foot closer he would regret it, because you’d teach him how you like to solve problems when they appear violent.

That got him to snap out of it. He finished what he was doing on the dock, several passersby asked if you were okay, and you brushed them off. Your threat to injure him wasn’t a joke, you were fully capable of doing so if there was a need to. 

When he was done, you found a private street that was dead and dim. You told him that if he tries screaming at you, you’d walk and that’d be the end of it. So, he needed to explain to you why he was upset because you couldn’t understand the allegations. You were loyal. You are loyal.

You don’t know who did it, maybe one of the other victors in the village, or maybe it was speculation from someone in town, but he was informed that you had more than just mentoring duties in the Capitol. They didn’t use the word prostitute, they called you an escort. Which is almost the same thing, but it’s not exactly.

You were quiet for a while, trying to figure out who sabotaged you this way, and repeatedly drew up blanks. When you tried to tell him that you had no choice in the matter, and it was ordered by President Snow and you couldn’t just back down, he wouldn’t believe you. No matter how many times you explained it to him or if it was done in different ways, he thought it was bullshit. 

Even after you told him that you weren’t the only victor put in this position, he was insistent that you were cheating. The fact that you didn’t tell him of your duties beforehand solidified it in his mind. As long as you were a prostitute, you’d be cheating on him, and he wouldn’t see it any other way.

He wouldn’t hear you out, so solving the problem wasn’t even an option. You were forced to let it go, assuming this would be the last you’d hear about it, and it’d be brought up again in a year when the Hunger Games came around again. 

It’s clear it affected your relationship. For a while, he was distant and quiet, and he wouldn’t engage with you if you were in the mood. He stopped spending as much time with you after work, it didn’t matter if you had made plans, he’d bail and apologize later on. Although, none of them seemed sincere.

The more time grew on, you were sure that you’d be breaking up. When you tried to get him to talk out his feelings, he brushed you off and told you that he was busy. By November, you were getting ready to tell him you’d rather be single than be waiting on him everyday. 

He changed one weekend, and the two of you went back to normal. Vaughn went right back to hanging out with you, treating you to dinner, spending the night at your house. It was like the past four months didn’t happen at all. It was weird, and you were hurt by it, but chose peace over answers.

Which wouldn’t matter in the end, anyway. The Victory Tour came around for the most recent victor in January, and conversations came back full-force. He wanted to have a discussion about everything that happens in the Capitol, and got increasingly upset by the details. You were trying to be honest, and all it did was make things worse.

And then he scared you. Vaughn took a deep breath, the red in his face slowly diminishing as he told you it was okay. He’d already spent time making it even between you two, and he’d do it again next year when you went to the Capitol. He said that he’d repeat the process as many times as necessary until President Snow changed his mind.

In the three weeks you were away, he met a girl and slept with her. And then he proceeded to have a relationship with her for the next four months. He was moody and distant because he was ‘managing’ two girls at once, and he couldn’t handle it. When he came back to you in November, it was because he’d finally broken it off with her, believing that he’d made things right.

You didn’t know how to react to that information. You’re pretty sure you lost a little bit of yourself, going back on years of emotional progress. You couldn’t trust him anymore, and you made the mistake of telling him that. Vaughn promised you he’d do better, that he was all-in from then on, and he’d never touch another girl.

It seemed like it from the outside, and you even believed it. The truth is, for the next year and a half, he subtly tortured you. He didn’t do better, he was worse. Instead of cheating, he threatened to do it whenever you made him angry. He held the fact that he had no issue doing it at any time if he truly wanted to, and you wouldn’t be able to stop it. He dangled that girl above your head to keep you in place, and for some unknown reason, you let it work.

He made you miserable, but you didn’t want to leave him. You wanted it to work out with him. Besides, you were starting to see Capitol citizens back off when they realized that you had a district boyfriend. To them, you weren’t in pristine condition. You were dirty, you were being touched by someone that wasn’t like them. 

You hoped that if you held on for a little longer, President Snow would retract the agreement, and everything would go back to normal with Vaughn. Before he found out that you’re a prostitute.

When you came back from the Capitol after the Seventy-Third Hunger Games, you found out that he’d begun cheating again. It was the final straw with him. You thought he didn’t mean what he said about doing it every year, especially when you had been in a good spot. He warned you, though. He told you exactly the type of person that he was going to be, it was your fault you didn’t want to take his word for it.

The good news is that you’ve learned from this experience. Unfortunately, you learned from it in the exact same way you did with everything else you’ve lived through. 

You can’t trust the surface.

The breakup with Vaughn was messy and irritating. It took two weeks for him to finally understand you weren’t kidding when you said that you weren’t going to work it out with him. You didn’t want to put up with his bullshit. You were sick of feeling ashamed and upset all the time. You had to move on.

Of course, during the process of him accepting this, he never left you alone. It didn’t matter what time it was or what you were doing or where you were. He always found his way to you. You could’ve been in the middle of the district with Mags, you could’ve been at home with all the lights off or with Finnick in his house—he would come knocking on the door to talk to you.

It wasn’t to beg, either. It was to reason, which made the situation a hundred times worse. You might’ve entertained the idea of him apologizing and getting on his knees and telling you that he was stupid and he didn’t know what he was thinking. Instead, he fed you the exact same lines that he had before about getting even with someone else.

He was persistent. And it wasn’t until Vaughn showed up at Finnick’s house for the fifth time, demanding to see you, did Finnick snap and get the message through your ex-boyfriend’s skull. You didn’t want to be with him anymore because he was scum. You had better things to spend your time on, and he wasn’t on that list. 

Finnick was a lot meaner when he explained this to Vaughn, cursing like a true resident of District Four would. You remember standing behind the door, watching Finnick lose his patience, his tanned skin turning a deeper shade of red with every passing minute. 

Finnick had made you feel safe and seen.

Lately, it seems like you and Finnick can’t see eye to eye, anymore.

A lot has changed in regards to your relationship over the past year and a half. For a while, Finnick had been dating Annie when you’d been together with Vaughn. He broke up with her shortly after he stood up for you that night. And then for the longest time, the two of you were single, pouring your energy into the upcoming Seventy-Fourth Games.

Unfortunately, all effort was wasted, as it was a relatively short mentoring trip. The boy died during the bloodbath, and the girl was gone when Katniss Everdeen dropped the tracker jacker nest on the Career camp while they were sleeping. Your distractions were gone in the matter of a couple weeks, when you’d been hoping to have them for a little while longer.

Even worse, President Snow refused to allow you and Finnick to go home, despite how early your tributes had died. So, the idea of going back to District Four and rotting away in your house was out of the question. The only good news was that the clientele was slow, most likely enamored by the girl from Twelve that was defying the fate of those who came before her.

It left a lot of freetime, which you mainly spent on the couch with Finnick, watching the Games slowly roll on. There’s not much to do inside of the apartment, and it wasn’t like you could leave the Tribute Center, as much as you wish you could’ve. Snow had you on lockdown unless you were going to an appointment. 

It was boring at times, but you never felt lonely. You and Finnick were close—best friends, even. Although, it seemed as if you perceived each other differently, because being locked in a place together sealed the nail on a coffin you didn’t know you were laying in.

Finnick decided that he was going to ask you to be his girlfriend. However, he didn’t act on it until months later, during Katniss and Peeta’s Victory Tour, when he was sure that you’d had enough time to heal from the wounds that Vaughn inflicted. It was perfect timing, too, because you were beginning to think the same thing. 

Now, almost a year into your relationship, you’re starting to doubt whether it was the right choice to say yes to him. Especially since there seems to be unresolved feelings on both of your sides.

“Jackson, set up a two-person, round-the-clock rotation on Peeta. I need to have a word with Soldier Everdeen.” Boggs suddenly barks, sliding his communication device back into his pocket. Judging by the look on his face, the conversation with President Coin must’ve gone in the wrong direction. Or he didn’t hear what he was hoping to hear.

If you had to guess, it’d likely be the fact that Peeta shouldn’t be here with Squad 451—also known as the Star Squad—because he tried to kill Katniss. A few short weeks back, he, Annie and Johanna had been rescued from the Tribute Center in the Capitol. Following the abrupt ending of the Quarter Quell, half of the victors that were left alive had been split between District Thirteen and the hands of the Capitol.

Luckily, you, Finnick, Katniss and Beetee had been rescued out of the arena. Those remaining were taken and tortured, and in some cases, not. For example, they let Enobaria go completely because of her affiliation with District Two. And they never bothered to lay a hand on Annie, much to Finnick’s relief.

In all honesty, it’s probably not a great idea that Peeta’s here, but not much can be done about it, now. What Coin says, goes. You found that out when she told you that she was assigning you to this mission. Haymitch informed you that she was tired of listening to you and Finnick squabble all the time.

You’re not sure how your arguments have been affecting her, considering that you have spent maybe an hour with her, out of the months you’ve been in Thirteen. At the time, you were just thankful you were being let out of the cement tomb.

Boggs and Katniss begin to walk away from the Squad, leaving you with Jackson, the second in command. She makes a list on paper, pairing people together in silence, before announcing it aloud. To no one’s surprise, you’re made to be with Finnick. 

He wastes no time turning to you, “I wonder what made them decide on Peeta.”

“It’s not like they can send Johanna, she failed her final test.” You tell him, looking off at the train station. “I’m sure she’s feeling really useless right now, but they can use her elsewhere.”

“That’s not who I meant.” Finnick says, causing your face to twist.

You turn your head to look at him, finding his eyebrows pushed together. You squint at him, watching the distant look on his face grow. You clear your throat, “What? You think Annie would do better?”

He looks at you, the expression on his face fleeing, “This again? Really, (Y/n)? We’ve been fighting about this for weeks.”

“You’re the one that’s been talking about how worried you are about her state of mind. Of what she’ll do without you nearby.”

“I already explained to you what I meant, I thought we agreed to not bring it up again.”

You shake your head at him, “I didn’t agree to anything.”

“Well, I remember telling you that I wasn’t going to argue about it, because it seems like you just want to be upset by it.”

“I’m upset by a lot of things when it comes to you and her.”

“I know.” Finnick closes his eyes, sighing. “Can we please not talk about this right now?”

“Fine, if that’s what you want.”

“I want you to trust me.” He says, taking a step to walk away. “And for the record, I was talking about Haymitch, (Y/n).”

He leaves, heading for your shared tent. You cross your arms over your chest, looking at the ground, pushing the dirt around with the top of your shoe. When Jackson announces that she needs a couple volunteers to help Peeta set up his tent, you’re the only one that willingly agrees to it, wanting to keep your hands busy.

Leeg is ordered to help you. The two of you work together to shove the poles through the thin fabric, being careful not to puncture it. Peeta stands nearby, hands at his sides, watching you do this, expressionless. Behind him stands Messalla and Mitchell, guarding him.

It isn’t long before Katniss and Boggs return, both sporting the same unsatisfied look, meaning that conversation must’ve gone sour, too. Katniss’s face screws tightly, “What time is my watch?”

Jackson looks up from her paper, eyes narrowing into a squint as she stares at Katniss for a long second. “I didn’t put you in the rotation.”

“Why not?” Katniss asks.

“I’m not sure you could really shoot Peeta, if it came to it.” 

Katniss raises her voice, “I wouldn’t be shooting Peeta. He’s gone. Johanna’s right. It’d be just like shooting another of the Capitol’s mutts.”

You can’t help the way your lips curl with disgust. You stomp the last stake into the dirt, securing the tent to the ground to keep the winds from blowing it away. Leeg gives you a nod before she goes to talk to Messalla and Mitchell.

“Well, that sort of comment isn’t recommending you either.” Jackson says back.

“Put her in the rotation.” Boggs tells her.

Jackson blinks, shaking her head. She writes on the paper. “Midnight to four. You’re on with me.”

The dinner whistle sounds, cutting off the conversation from proceeding any further. In silence, you all follow Boggs to the canteen. For the first minute of the walk, you’re by yourself, until Finnick shows up. Nothing is said between you two, but it’s clear the annoyance is still present.

One by one, you collect your dinner, which looks more appetizing than what you were eating in Thirteen. There, all food was calculated to give you the most amount of nutrients without feeding you too much. You can’t say that you were hungry after dinner, but the portions were disappointing.

The squad gathers together in a circle to eat, you sit on the ground with your legs crossed to make it easier to hold the tray. Finnick starts by standing beside you, picking at the food. Eventually he crouches down, offering you part of his tray.

“I’m good.” You murmur.

Finnick lets out a sigh, “(Y/n)...”

You abruptly get to your feet, not wanting to listen to a lecture. You take a few steps away, dropping the partially empty food tray into a bucket that’s already halfway filled with other squads’ trays. 

While avoiding eye contact with Finnick, who’s gotten to his feet, you look at Boggs. “I’m turning in for the night.”

“Goodnight, (L/n).” Boggs nods.

You give him a smile that’s weak at best, and then turn to head to the tent that you share with Finnick. You flip the fabric open, step inside, and almost zip it completely shut behind you. And even though it’s late, and the pillow feels nice after a long day, you can’t force yourself to fall asleep.

In fact, you can’t sleep at all.

You spent the hours waiting for your shift to guard Peeta tossing from side to side, recycling the same thoughts you’ve had since you were sent on this mission; if dating Finnick is the best idea. Or rather, if Finnick is actually in love with you.

It seems like a ridiculous thought on the surface, but every time you go over what’s happened this past year, and compare it to what you already know about relationships, it becomes serious. The way Finnick acts reminds you of someone you try hard to forget.

You felt secure with Finnick in the beginning—for maybe the first couple of months—but as soon as the Quarter Quell was announced in the winter, it was like the center of his world shifted. Where you had just begun to hold the key to his heart, it was suddenly taken and regifted.

Finnick was worried about how Annie would react to the news and the possibility. He wanted to preserve her feelings and her mental health, so he began to work to get her on the same level as you and Mags, at the very least. Except, it was clear he had other expectations in mind, when he constantly brought up the idea of volunteering because she’s so fragile.

In the end, you let him win. When reaping day rolled around, you took one for the team and volunteered for Annie so that Mags wouldn’t have to. You cherished Mags far too much to let her go back, and you were hoping that Finnick would finally shut up about it. 

There was no gratitude from Annie, there was barely any acknowledgement from Finnick. Due to this, the loathing started, but can you really be the one to blame for it? You did something selfless for someone that had started to pull away the person you’d just begun to call yours.

The Capitol praised you for your act, you were quickly overshadowed. You weren’t the only fan favorite victor that was coming back this year. Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria, Brutus, Beetee, Wiress, Finnick, Johanna, Chaff, Seeder, and Katniss and Peeta? Not to mention some of the lesser known but touched the hearts of the older Capitol citizens like Blight, Cecelia and Woof.

It was surreal, being thrown back into activities you hadn’t touched in years. You’d gotten so used to mentoring your tributes, that it wasn’t until you touched some of those weapons or life saving stations did you realize you were rusty. Or they had new protocols that could save a tribute faster than your old school techniques.

Either way, you knew you were in frigid water with Finnick during the interviews. You had poured your heart out, telling the citizens that you had found new meaning to life, and you were excited to see it through. You wanted the opportunity to grow old like Mags and have children like Cecelia. And you were hoping to do this with Finnick, under the assumption that he loved you the same way.

When it came to Finnick, he took his interview down a completely different path, destroying the idea of love you set up between you two. You were hoping if the tribute lineup had another set of lovers, they’d protest harder. He didn’t care for this. He went on to talk about the most important people in his life, where Annie was mentioned by name, and you were implied in there somewhere.

The seeds of doubt that were planted in the winter finally began to sprout in those three minutes. You were reminded of Vaughn, who took that girls’ feelings into consideration when he was cheating on you. You didn’t matter at all, because you were already in a relationship with him.

And there you were, going through the same process again.

The problem just continued to snowball, getting bigger by the day. The arena was fine for the most part, but as soon as you were rescued from the arena and brought to Thirteen, you never heard the end of it regarding Annie. It was the topic of every conversation you had with him.

How cruel it was that they took her from Four and brought her to the Tribute Center. They better not be torturing her because she can’t handle it. How could they use her as a weapon against him. What he would do if he ever got his hands on the doctors that touched her.

You were relieved when they finally sedated him and medically induced him into a coma because he was driving you crazy. Even Haymitch saw it, and while he tried to offer his own words of wisdom, it was useless in the situation that you’re in. You know that Snow took the people he loved, but you watched your ex-boyfriend take matters into his own hands to get back at you. 

You repeatedly got cheated on, managed to get out of the relationship, only to get with Finnick to watch the same warning signs start. 

He was worried sick when they sent the volunteers on the mission to retrieve the victors from the Capitol. He was restless waiting for them to land. He ran to her in the hospital.

And you watched from the corner of the room as they slammed into each other in an embrace that was not appropriate for exes. Between then and now, there have been dozens of fights you’ve had with Finnick over her and their uncomfortable friendship. He thinks that you’re exaggerating, and of course, you think that there’s something else going on there.

He won’t even hear you out anymore, acting like you enjoy having this fight every other day. The truth is that you’re tired of bringing the topic up and not seeing an ounce of change in his actions. It makes you question whether or not you’re making the right choice by staying with him.

It would be so much easier to let go than to continue to waste your breath.

Finnick must decide that it would be better if he slept outside tonight, because he never comes inside to join you. You feel a little guilty for this, but only because he only has the fire outside to keep him warm. He’s a grown man though, so he can make his own choices.

“These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not. Back and forth. Back and forth.” Peeta says, breaking the recent silence. 

You’ve been listening to one of the soldiers cry since you decided to go to bed. If you had to guess, you think it’s Leeg. She just lost her twin sister yesterday or the day before, and Peeta has been sent as her replacement. It was a mislabeled pod that sent out blades instead of insects. The good news is she died quickly.

“I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me. After that, I always thought of you as… an ally.” Katniss responds.

“Ally.” Peeta says the word slowly, like it’s foreign on his tongue. “Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.” He spits. “The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.”

Some heavy breaths have been taken in the surrounding tents, as they accidentally disrupt those who have managed to fall asleep.

“Then you should ask, Peeta.” Finnick’s voice is nearby, practically outside of your tent. “That’s what Annie does.”

“That’s what Annie does.” You mock quietly, which is most definitely heard by him, because you can see the way his head turns to the side briefly, before focusing back on the fire in the center of camp.

“Ask who?” Peeta says. “Who can I trust?”

“Well, us for starters. We’re your squad.” Jackson tells him.

“You’re my guards.” Peeta points out.

“That, too.” She agrees. “But you saved a lot of lives in Thirteen. It’s not the kind of thing we forget.”

A silence follows as he digests this. You roll over in your sleeping bag so that your back is facing the light from the fire. You close your eyes, feeling your eyebrows push together as the annoyance washes over your body at the mention of Annie coming from Finnick’s mouth.

You just want to be done with this.

The following day is agonizing to get through without picking a fight in everything that Finnick does. It’s partially caused by the fact you didn’t sleep much. You were able to doze off sometime after Katniss and Peeta’s conversation came to an end, but awoke shortly after from a nightmare you had regarding Annie and Finnick.

With it being time for you and Finnick to take over for Katniss and Jackson, there was no time to fall back asleep. You spent four hours staring into the flames, brushing off Finnick every time he tried to get you to talk to him. At eight, Boggs woke everyone up for breakfast, and you were released from your duty of guarding Peeta.

Still, there was no time to sleep as Gale, Finnick, Katniss and you were swept away by the camera crew to shoot the glass windows of buildings for their clips. It didn’t last long, you were out there just past eleven. By the time you came back to camp, the soldiers from Thirteen were sitting with Peeta, playing a game called “Real or Not Real” where Peeta would ask a question and they’d have to answer whether or not it happened.

This went on for a while, until Jackson broke everyone up into a different watch, splitting you from Finnick. She does this so that Peeta has access to a soldier and someone that knows him relatively personally. You get paired with Messalla, who is thankfully more talkative than you are, because you can feel yourself shutting down more by the hour.

Unfortunately, you get stuck in your head for the rest of the day, lips almost completely sealed. If you pretend you’re not bothered by how close Annie and Finnick are, it’ll eventually become true, right? If you don’t let conversation about Annie get to you, then you won’t get fired up enough to get in a fight with Finnick. You two will be okay.

However, the only downfall of pretending was that every time Peeta had a question about District Four or what happened with Annie, you quickly deflected it, forcing Finnick to answer it. Which only continued to rub you the wrong way, despite the fact you had to remind yourself that it’s your fault.

It’s spineless, but it’s better than having an argument. It was clear in your actions that you were angry or at the very least upset, yet you never verbalized it. You let Finnick’s mood dampen until he could hardly stand to be around you except for dinner. And even though you sat side by side outside the tent, and it was pretty obvious you had something to say to him—you never did.

This time, you want to take another approach. All those arguments have brought you nowhere, and you’re tired of going in circles. If you try to talk about this with Finnick again, he’ll get defensive, you’ll get angry, and once again, you’ll be back where you came from.

So, you’ll just shut up and be quiet.

The next afternoon, Boggs informs the whole squad that you’re all needed to stage a propo a few miles out. Peeta claims that it’s because Coin and Plutarch are unhappy with the footage, and he’s right. It’s no one’s fault except for Thirteen, though, for practically wrapping everyone in bubble wrap. 

You’re not actually on a mission, you’re behind the front lines. You move camp every couple days to be close, but you’re never in real danger. Except for when pods are mislabeled and accidents happen, like with the Leeg twin. 

Nothing changes today, though. On the way to the area to film, Boggs tells everyone the block they specially set aside for you to play with is relatively out of danger. There’s even a couple of active pods they left behind for you to trigger. One of them should spray gunfire, and the other releases a net to trap the invader.

The group of you are made to suit up in heavy armor just for precaution’s sake, including the camera crew. Cressida talks to Boggs about how she’s planning on using more smoke bombs and adding gunfire as a sound effect to please those in Thirteen. Each person is given a gun, or allowed to take their specialty weapon, including Peeta. Boggs makes sure to tell him that his gun is loaded with blanks. 

Peeta shrugs. “I’m not much of a shot anyway.” He says, and then spends most of the journey in silence. Katniss and Jackson seem to keep a close eye on him, afraid that he’ll fly off the handles. At the halfway point, he finally speaks with irritation. “You’re an Avox, aren’t you?”

You glance over your shoulder to see that he’s talking to Pollux, face screwed tightly. “I can tell by the way you swallow. There were two Avoxes with me in prison. Darius and Lavinia, but the guards mostly called them the redheads. They’d been our servants in the Training Center, so they arrested them, too. I watched them being tortured to death. She was lucky. They used too much voltage and her heart stopped right off. It took days to finish him off. Beating, cutting off parts. They kept asking him questions, but he couldn’t speak, he just made these horrible animal sounds. They didn’t want information, you know? They wanted me to see it.”

When he’s finished speaking, he looks around and notices that everyone has stopped walking, staring at him. No one knows what to say, he asks, “Real or not real?” Silence. This upsets him more. “Real or not real?!”

“Real,” Boggs says slowly. “At least, to the best of my knowledge… real.”

Peeta’s shoulders fall. “I thought so. There was nothing… shiny about it.” He sighs, wandering away from the group, talking to himself. 

It’s quiet for a while while this information is settled in your mind. Only the sound of glass crunching beneath your boots fills the still air. Until Finnick clears his throat slightly, looking over at you.

“They must’ve done the same thing to Johanna.”

You hum, giving him a quick shrug. You wouldn’t say that. What they did to Johanna was completely different because Peeta and her are far from similar. Johanna has no one she loves, and she lacks the same compassion that Peeta has. She’s strong mentally, which is why they waterboarded and electrocuted her. It’s why they shaved her head to take away her individuality.

With Peeta, he cares more deeply about the people around him. He has a driving character. It was more meaningful to show him people that were familiar and to take away the ability to help them. Peeta’s the type of person to save others first, sometimes over himself. And he’s very memory-reliant, he likes to reminisce, which is why they made it hard for him to do without getting confused.

“Don’t you think?” Finnick asks, once he realizes you’re not going to respond without being prompted.

“No.”

“No?” His face twists.

“They’re different people. It’s clear the Capitol took different approaches.”

Two different people. You and Annie. You and Finnick.

“What about Annie? Do you think they—”

You sigh through your nose. “They didn’t have to do anything to Annie because being in the Capitol was torture enough. She can hardly leave the house without having a meltdown—something that you coddled. Snow didn’t have to lift a finger. You know this.” You snap.

Finnick doesn’t speak for a couple minutes. “That was unfair of you to say that about her.”

You roll your eyes and turn your head away from him. Maybe if you’d stop speaking to me about her, you think bitterly. Every conversation you have, she’s brought up. The doctors at Thirteen have told you two that she’s fine, and the memories she’s recounting are from when she was rescued out of the arena. Which was five years ago. 

They know this because the technology she’s recalling has been discarded. They use different machines now. And the medical team they used then have since retired, because there’s a strict contract on how long they can work for. Finnick doesn’t want to believe this, he just wants to listen to Annie because she’s the victim.

You’re not blaming her for being traumatized, you’re blaming him for enabling it. Again.

The air is tense, but you’re right around the corner from the residential building the prop will be taking place in front of. Boggs pulls out the Holo to show you a projection of the street. The gunfire pod is about a third of the way down the street, above an apartment awning. Bullets should be enough to trigger it.

When it comes to the net pod, it’s at the far end, almost around the next corner. This makes several people perk up, everyone volunteers to set off the pod, except for Peeta, who doesn’t seem to be interested. Katniss gets skipped, and she’s sent to Messalla to fix some blemishes on her face.

Boggs takes this time to direct everyone, Cressida sets up Castor and Pollux to capture the perfect angle. Messalla throws a couple of smoke charges to set the scene, with Cressida calling, “Action!”

Together, you walk down the purposely hazy street, which vaguely reminds you of the Block back in Thirteen. You blow out a couple of windows as you were told, but Gale has been assigned the real target. When he hits his designated pod, everyone ducks for cover. You settle for crouching behind a pale green wall with white florals painted on. 

A hail of bullets sweeps back and forth. As soon as it’s finished, Boggs orders you forward. Before anyone can move, Cressida declares she needs close-up shots, meaning you’re forced to reenact your reactions one-by-one. Thankfully, your position was fairly captured, so she excuses you, but tells you not to move a muscle.

The others have to fall to the ground, dive into alcoves and grit their teeth. Katniss presses her lips together in discontent, yet she participates anyway. The good news is that there is one terrible actor in the squad, and that happens to be Mitchell. Castor plays back the new footage of Mitchell grinding his teeth and flaring his nostrils.

It turns mostly everyone into a giggling mess. Even Boggs, who firmly orders, “Pull it together, Four-Five-One.” Only to turn away and smile to himself. 

You watch as he pulls out the Holo, checking the location of the next pod to be safe. He lifts the device in the air to get a better look at the projection. He takes a step back on the orange paving stones.

An explosion splits through the air.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Where Did The Years Go?

Yan Scaramouche x GN Reader.

Synopsis: You said you understood him. So why do you plan to leave him too?

Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulation, Scara is in his Kabukimono era, thoughts of murdering the Reader, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 800.

*~*~*~*

Dendrobium could only grow in areas where Celestia is blind. Kabukimono knew that, almost more than he knew anything else. The Dendrobium blooming next to a grave long since abandoned, much like the rest of this island, has no one to watch over it, no one aside from you and him. The seven red flowers sprouting in the tomb were unloved by this world, much like Kabukimono once used to be before he found a home within you, his beloved. 

The flower had many names, unlike the unmarked, broken stone that hid some sort of rotting human beneath the soil. The Flower of Poison because of the stamens which are indeed poisonous to mortals unlike himself, intended to keep pests like mice away from the inner parts. The Flower of Death was another ominous title since the flowers are said to bloom only when an Inazuman is said to cross over to the other side after passing on, be it from old age, disease, or some slow and painful death they either did or did not deserve. Sometimes, when you are feeling guilty enough, you visit this grave too, and sit down to meditate, contemplating what your mother is doing in the afterlife if it even existed. Perhaps this was why you were given a Vision, the shade of that of the tea you often brewed for both Kabikumono and yourself, a bright green color that dared not dwindle. The Flower of The Other Shore is also a common label for Dendrobium because when a soul passes the river they are said to be greeted by a field of them. Kabukimono ponders for a moment, leaning down to pick out a petal, playing with it between his thumb and pointer finger, stopping when he hears you call out his name, followed by the slightly loud note of a bell. He leans back down and buries the petal within the soil of the grave, bowing before hurrying off in the direction of your home.

Today’s dinner is a combination of what you both managed to gather. Kabukimono gathered the fish and seaweed, while you cooked the rice from the small field outside your home, along with some Lavender Melon. Your meals are often like this, Kabukimono found out a few days into him becoming a resident here for the time being, that what you ate depended heavily on the weather and the harvest. He promises himself that one day he will treat you to a meal and life so grand that you will never go back to foraging all day to just be barely given enough to scrape by. 

Seven months have passed since he first arrived here, according to you. He hopes that this life will continue to get better and that he will be able to give you the life you deserve.

“Kabukimono,” The saying of your name is unusually deflated like it has been the past week or so. “I… have to tell you something, alright?”

“Absolutely! Tell me anything, anything at all.”

What comes out of your mouth is not what he wanted to hear at all. “I… I’m leaving Yashiori Island.”

“...Huh?” He looks down at the small bowls that are in the center of the two of you. His side, as usual, has more food than yours, because you keep saying you cannot bear to see him go hungry. “Why?”

“There is not enough food. Not enough… anything. The thunderstorms are getting much worse too… I can’t live here anymore.”

You think this is the first time you have been scared of Kabukimono, because that new expression he is wearing is utterly terrifying.

“I… I’m sorry, Kabukimono. I’m… leaving for Inazuma City soon.”

He smiles, and in the blink of an eye, he is standing up and then your foreheads are touching, his hands grabbing your shoulders so tightly you could feel them almost dislocate. 

“No, you’re not, because that’s awfully selfish of you! My [First] would never do such a thing, right? They wouldn’t leave me alone to starve and cry and be covered in filth.”

Being aware that you are unaware of his non-human nature, yet acknowledging your uncontainable empathy, makes employing this strategy even simpler. It works every time you want to leave.

“Here, you can have my portion for tonight, alright? Just… Just don’t leave me. Please?” After a moment of silence, along with the tears that trickle down your cheeks, he knows he has one, at least for now. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me, [First].”

When you don’t answer again, looking to the side, to the bag of your essentials, Kabukimono wonders if that grave would have enough room for two and not just one.

But he dismisses it because surely, you’ll be with him forever, right?

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Grimmjow finding out his s/o is afraid of storms because they lost their parents (who died while out fishing) on a stormy night?

Grimmjow x Reader

He thought it was weird. Hiding under the bed like a scaredy cat in the middle of the night over a little rain.

They had been sleeping in bed when the storm suddenly came up. Grimmjow had to admit, the first boom of thunder was loud. Why did the human world always have to be so noisy? Though startled a wake, he didn’t make a big scene and just planned to go back to sleep, but when he rolled over he saw [Y/N] wasn’t there. Thinking, for a moment, that they had disappeared, Grimmjow looked under the bed when he heard sniffling. “What the hell are you doing under there?” He asked, hanging off the side of the bed.

“I…I don’t like thunderstorms….” They stammer out.

“Who does?” He asked. Jumping off the bed to crouch down and stare at them. The blood rushing to his head while he was hanging off the side. “Being under the bed isn’t going to help that though?”

“It just makes me feel safer.” Despite their words, they still yip and tuck into themselves tighter when another blast hits.

“Safe? What do you need to be safe from? It’s just loud.” At least, that was what Grimmjow thought. He didn’t know much about the human world, but he knew that thunderstorms were just loud.

Wait….could you fight a thunderstorm? Should he just go out there and fight it for them?

“No! No they aren’t safe! My parents….” They tell him a very sad story about how their parents had been caught up in a storm like this while out on a boat on vacation and were never heard from again.

‘Oh. So that’s it.’ He thought. Sure, it sounded sad, but Grimmjow didn’t have any parents. As an Arrancar they just came to sort of….be. He had no point of reference for what they were feeling, and felt it was kind of stupid to be upset about something that happened so long ago.

But then he suddenly remembered Shawlong. Nakeem. Di Roy. They were his friends. His family. Or as close as Hollows or Arrancar could get to any of that kind of stuff.

Grimmjow moved from crouching by the bed to laying beside it on the ground. [Y/N] opened their eyes from being closed to tight and asked what he was doing. “What’s it look like? Sleeping.” He told them with his own eyes closed. “You’re bed ‘s too soft anyway. And I’m not gonna deal with it if you’re not up there. If you want to keep hiding under there, go ahead. But I’m going to bed.”

Though his eyes were closed he heard them shift closer. Their hand wrapping around his arm by his side, holding it close. He tried not to move, nor react when they would flinch through the night as the thunder still came. Eventually, it rolled away. And they both went back to sleep, under the bed and beside it, for the rest of the night.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

Warm Drinks with Steven Grant

(I hope it's still available 😁)

2024 Fall Blurbs

Autumn has been Steven’s favorite time of year forever, because he loves cozy sweaters and warm toned lighting and the prospect of sitting inside all day curled up with a good book and some seasonal snacks while a thunderstorm rages outside. Now, he loves these colder months because he’s learned how to use your beverages to tell him all he needs to know. He knows you so well, as he has to do is peer into the mig next to you on the table or propped dangerously close to the edge of an armrest to know how your feeling, the time of day, even if you have to do the dishes, based on your mug and the drink it holds alone.

If it’s early and you’re well rested, there’ll be green tea in your mug, flavored depending on what struck your fancy while grocery shopping. If the mug is one he knows is often pushed to the bag of the cupboard, he knows you’re yet to wash the dishes and your favorite mugs, the ones you reach for every day, are still sitting in the sink. Some mornings, when you haven’t slept well or you know you’ll need an extra boost of energy, you’ll have coffee instead, the scent delicate enough where it seems to mingle seamlessly with all the other scents Steven equates with you, like vanilla and clean laundry.

In the afternoons, if you’re really needing a pick me up, you’ll have another green tea, but if you just want something warm and comforting to sip on, you’ll reach instead for one of the many varieties of herbal teas you keep in the cupboard, more than any two people could possibly seem to need, but the two of you manage to go through packets at a shocking speed and always make an adventure out of choosing a new variety at the store.

When it’s grown dark, despite being relatively early still, there’ll be peppermint tea in the mug you keep next to you, switched out from earlier in the day if you had time to do the dishes, and on days when you really need something comforting or just want a little extra joy, you’ll make a hot chocolate instead, piling it with marshmallows and whatever other toppings you can find or keeping it plain. Steven has yet to figure out what the toppings mean, or if they mean anything at all besides your energy levels or desire for something more saccharin than the plain drink.

Your fingertips are perpetually singed, from fishing out teabags and checking the temperature of the water and grabbing the mug without using the handle, and Steven finds it, like everything else about you, absolutely adorable. It’s one of those things that is so simple, so silly, but Steven is delighted every time he notices.

Really, he’s delighted whenever he learns something new about you, finds a new freckle or learns a new habit or notices a new quirk that he hadn’t before. He could fill a book, a novel, an encyclopedia with everything he knows about you, about knowing you so well he can tell the weather and your mood and countless other things about your day just by glancing at the mug grasped in your hands, ignoring the handle in favor of absorbing the warmth from the drink.

[naomihatake]

In search of freedom (Ch. 5)

5. I've found heaven in hell

⠀⠀➺ fic masterlist

⠀⠀➺ Chapter 4 ; Chapter 5 ; Chapter 6

⠀⠀⠀⠀She's been searching for freedom her entire life and everytime she thought it was laying right in front of her eyes, she was mistaken. She was running around the East Blue, seeking herself and her dreams, meeting people she never forgot. No matter how much she traveled, she could only catch a glimpse of peace before realizing everything would crumble at her feet.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Maybe it was destiny that brought her on that ship with three strangers — foolishly, that's what she tried to believe when the moon shined beautifully and hope settled in her chest, squeezed by the same ribcage where feelings were blooming.

Pairing: female!reader x OPLA Zoro Roronoa

Warnings for this chapter: alcohol, angst, arguing, tension, tarot readings

Word count: 7,9 k

Theme song: fic spotify playlist (click on the link)

A/N: I genuinely hope this chapter is as good as I wanted it to be, but I'm not so sure about it. I tried my best, but I'm certainly proud of the last scene of this chapter. Yes, we finally got to Baratie and Zoro's fight with Mihawk. I'd be very happy to hear your opinions, so let me know what you think <33 Not proofread yet.

The reader is referred to as "Witch" because I have no intentions of using "Y/N".

One card fell from her tarot deck from the moment when she started shuffling it: Death.

Nope, she immediately thought to herself. 

The witch let out a theatrical sigh and let the cards back in their place, half of her mind completely ignoring the meaning. 

No way I'm occupying my mind with such trouble now of all times. I couldn't even sleep last night. 

She could think about that later, after she gets a few hours of peace. They were lucky enough to escape from the Marines just a while ago. The answer she received after she came back to her room at the first hours in the morning — when she had just finished her night shift — was ambiguous enough. All she wanted was to breathe some fresh air. 

The witch got up from the bed and was ready to leave the girls' room while pulling a large shirt over the tight tank top hugging her curves, leaving it unbuttoned. The hot weather made her choose some shorts in favor of the usually large pants she preferred. The low heels of her boots created a strong sound with each step on the Going Merry's floor. 

"I still can't believe Luffy was the one to get us at this floating restaurant in the middle of the sea using his nose only," she chuckled at the navigator. 

Nami was glancing one last time into a small rounded mirror she held between her fingers before closing it and shoving it into a bag. 

"Add food to the equation and he could take over my role."

"Well, well, that's quite exaggerated. He might have an affinity for sniffling foods, but you can feel a thunderstorm. That's a big difference," the witch winked. 

"You're flattering me," Nami grinned. 

The witch opened the door of their room and they were instantly greeted with the rays of the sun. She squinted her eyes and walked on the deck with two knives and a gun sitting at her hips. Luffy was already on the dock of the restaurant created in the form of fish with an open mouth. Baratie was written in red neon lights on top of the suspended balcony of the restaurant. 

"Do you think there are marines here?" Usopp asked as he leaned against the railing of The Going Merry. 

"There are skulls on the flags of other ships. If marines are here, they're probably not for business. I wouldn't start yelling about it in the middle of a place filled with pirates," the witch commented. 

Any other words died on top of her tongue when her eyes fell on the swordsman who just left the galley. Maybe the witch should've been more careful while staring so insistently, but gosh, wasn't he always a sight? The dark bluet-shirt clinging onto his chest for dear life, accentuating the muscle lines and — god fucking dammit — the jeans squeezing his legs made her gulp. The signature swords were secured against his left hip. 

She averted her eyes before she could get caught ogling at the crewmate she grew fond of. It was a pleasure to blame it on the doses of alcohol in her veins, but it wasn't the case that time. She was wide awake and sober, so the nature of her thoughts was worrisome, to say the least. 

She was still dealing with the possibility of feelings. A concerning topic for an inexperienced person in the domain of romance. 

Another trouble she didn't want to think of. Maybe Zoro isn't that wrong for drinking with every occasion he gets. 

What made it worse was the lack of attention he gave her, as if she was just a ghost. 

Maybe she was overthinking it. 

Truth be told, she wasn't exactly wrong. Zoro did intentionally look away so he could save himself from embarrassment. He turned away before he swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers curling tighter around the hilt of his sword. He must've gotten insane to start avoiding people. 

"Let's go! I feel like I could die from hunger," Luffy jumped from the ship straight on the dock. 

The witch found the right thing to focus on: the restaurant looked amazing. Not only did it smell so divine her stomach learnt how to talk, but it was also splendid. For a second, the witch wondered if that was a place for pirates and not for some rich business people — they could certainly be found there. Dozens of tables and the constant chattering of people, waiters and waitresses walking around and rushing from one side to the other — it was so lively. 

The fishman greeting the people coming in smiled warmly at them, even if a little strained — a habit he got from his job. 

"You mean there's no free table for our captain, the soon to become King of the Pirates?" Usopp smiled proudly, pointing at Luffy. 

She found it hard not to laugh or chuckle at the interaction between Luffy and the poor fishman who said twice already that there will be an available table in three weeks. When the witch saw Nami shove her hand in her pockets, it was obvious what tactic she'd use. Obviously, it worked, even if Luffy and Usopp were cheering, walking down the stairs ahead of them. 

The witch looked around, wary of any possible threats or drunk people who would get mad about the smallest thing, like the way they looked. Everyone seemed so caught up in their own thing and it eased her mind, some anxiety leaving once her shoulders fell. 

However, there were certain gazes following her silhouette. It was probably because of each confident step she made, the elegance she carried, the force she proved to have with every sharp glance she threw around. Her fingers twitched to grab a hold of her dagger. She figured out there were no imminent threats yet. 

At the table, she found herself between Zoro and Nami. She was conscious the moment she intentionally sat a tad bit closer to the swordsman who comfortably spread his legs after he tried to fit his swords. Sometimes, when she'd shift in her seat, his knee would brush by hers and goosebumps would erupt on her skin. She allowed herself to enjoy the proximity, the way her gaze would linger on his figure when he talked, the low timbre of his voice soothing her soul. 

She had to get used to that idea. 

It ached. Her heart would thump painfully in between her ribs each time it felt like he was ignoring her. He didn't say much to her since morning and something inside of her was bleeding, despite the lack of crimson liquid tainting her clothes. 

The witch hated him for every cold glance thrown her away or, worse, each time he didn't even look at her when she spoke. To protect herself, her lips got sealed for a long while. 

Her attention was piqued by the fight between two marines who seemed unable to swallow up their pride, threatening each other with death, while a beautiful lady sat at the table, looking at them with fear visible on her expression. 

The roll of her eyes and the exasperated exhale she let out spoke for her as the witch rested her elbows on the table and held her face with a hand. 

"Do people always act like that over stupid things?" Usopp frowned. 

"They act worse," the witch scoffed, amused. "The average pirates aren't any better either, you know."

"Bold of you to say that when you're a pirate yourself," Nami shook her head. 

"I've never claimed I'm a lady, so," she shrugged. 

A waiter with blonde hair dressed in a clean black suit appeared by the men's table. There was a specific customer-friendly smile plastered on his face while he tried to calm the waters. 

One of the two men pulled his pistol out just to have his arm being hit by the waiter's feet. In a few seconds only, the other man received the same treatment, getting a strong blow right in the stomach. The blonde waiter rolled on his feet and right after his feet collided with the man's face, he prompted his hands on the table to pin the other pink-haired marine to the floor with a kick in the crown of his head. 

"Good fighter," Luffy pointed out with excitement bouncing in his tone. 

As if nothing ever happened, the man's fingers grabbed at the plate he abandoned on the table and smiled again. 

"No cause for alarm, folks. Please enjoy your meals." 

A normal occurrence, most probably. 

The waiter came to their table with a few long steps. From up close, his handsome features washed away the obvious forced smile plastered on his thin lips. 

"Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambiance is the food. My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?" 

His voice was tinted with harshness and he was definitely in a bad mood, visible despite the professionalism he tried to stick to. 

Luffy grabbed one of the small loaves of breasla on the plate the waiter just placed down in front of them. 

"One of everything, please," their captain spoke with his mouth stuffed. 

"What's wrong with the ambiance?" the witch asked, confused. "Not to flatter, but this place is splendid." 

Something in that man's head misunderstood it as you're splendid, apparently, since his eyes shone like crystals when they settled on the witch's figure. 

Maybe her mouth spoke before she had time to think it over. Bad decision. 

"It became splendid the moment you walked in, perhaps," he smiled effortlessly, his voice dropping an octave. 

Wait… what?

"Thank you?" she blinked owlishly. 

It sounded more like a question. Not the first compliment she received and she also had to admit that most of the men who flirted with her were absolutely gross. This one was decent, even polite — hell, someone could've taken courtesy lessons from him. 

The energy shifted. Or, better said, the man next to her shifted. Zoro just crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Sanji with a glare meant to send daggers through his face. The waiter didn't even bother to look at Zoro. 

"Is there anything I could bring for these two beautiful ladies?" his smile widened visibly once he spotted Nami right next to the witch. "Would you care for an apéritif to start? Or perhaps some drinks, like one of our signature cocktails? Maybe a glass of Umeshu? You know, something sweet for someone sweet."

His wink was flawless and it would've been perfect if not for Nami's retort. 

"Something wrong with your eye?"

Nami was frowning, taken aback by the comment and equally amused. 

"Very good question," the witch nodded. 

Nami tried her best to stifle a laugh when she realized she was backed up. Usopp was hardly holding back his laughter

"Forgive a man for being blinded by such beautiful ladies," he grinned as if he'd fallen in love not once, but twice in the same minute. "So?"

"Water, please," Nami answered. 

"Still, sparkling, mineral? With ice or without? Cubed or crushed?" 

"Regular water in a regular glass. Thanks." 

"A beer for me."

Zoro's voice was threatening and low, sharp gaze still focused on Sanji. 

"A beer for me. I usually have two, but…" Usopp didn't have enough time to continue as he's been interrupted by Luffy. 

"A glass of milk for milk for me!" the straw hat said with his mouth still stuffed with bread. 

Sanji's head turned towards the witch with a smile curling his lips. 

"One of the special cocktails you mentioned, please."

The witch didn't intentionally use that kind voice. It was a habit whenever she talked to strangers to soften her tone and smile out of courtesy and politeness. Probably, her kind gesture has been misunderstood as flirtatious. 

"Any preferences? We have plenty of options you can choose from." 

His smile already reached his ears and she could feel a specific swordsman straightening his back by her side. 

"Nothing too strong, if you may." 

"Of course." 

"Are you done yet?" 

Zoro made all of them turn their attention to him and while usually he wouldn't like it, at that time he couldn't give a single fuck about it. All he did was arch his eyebrow at the waiter and telling him to fuck off as politely as he could, with no cuss words falling from his mouth yet. If Sanji continued to gravitate around their table with that flirtatious smile on his lips, the swordsman might burst a vein on his forehead sooner rather than later. 

Sanji wasn't exactly satisfied to be rushed, but he turned on his heels and left. The witch was still looking at Zoro from the corner of her eye, trying her best to understand what just happened. 

He seemed fine minutes ago. Not too talkative, definitely, but not… so mad either. What has been with that scowl on his face ever since Sanji appeared? He couldn't be enough of a man child to be jealous of someone's flirting—

I'm getting delusional lately, the witch cut off her own thought process. 

"Mad about something, Zoro?" Nami smirked devilishly. 

"Everything's fine." 

Everything was, in fact, not fine. 

The witch was engulfed by her thoughts, fingers pressing and rolling the fork between her fingers after their food was served. She had to admit she was hungry and was trying her best to savor the pieces of meat tickling her taste buds, but it was almost impossible to ignore the shallow sensation in her stomach. 

"Was there anything wrong with your tarot?" 

Nami, who was by her side, turned her head and offered the witch her entire attention. Maybe she's been playing with her food for long enough to get their attention. 

"Not wrong, just something I would've rather not know," she said after swallowing. 

"What did you see?" 

She shook her head softly with a light chuckle leaving her lips. 

"I pulled the Death card." Quickly enough, she realized she shouldn't have started with that. 

"Who's dying?!" Usopp almost choked on his food. 

"It's metaphorical death," she clarified. "The ending of a cycle and a new beginning, whatever that might mean this time," with a shrug, she proved her own uncertainty. 

"Doesn't sound that bad," Zoro commented while he curled his fingers around his glass of beer. 

The young woman still remembered each element of the first tarot card she saw before they left The Going Merry. The skeleton dressed in silver armor on the white horse, holding a flag with the number 'XIII' and the people kneeling in front of it, their clothes painted in golden, blue and white. 

"It usually implies a hard step to take in order to advance. Change doesn't come unless you allow it and transformation is supposed to help you evolve, not regress. Each time, it doesn't come easily and it shakes up your reality first. Simply put, who the heck knows what might happen in the next few days," she clicked her tongue. "Anything is possible."

"What use do those readings have if you can't even find out what's really going on?" Nami arched her eyebrow. 

Fate spoke for itself. 

The witch's eyes fixed on hers, regret hanging around her heart. 

"They give enough clues, I just have to figure them out."

She felt bad for keeping to herself the other two cards she pulled: the ten of swords and the four of pentacles — betrayal reasoned by protecting yourself. The witch knew who this was about and she didn't mutter a word about it, finding it improper to do so. 

"And did you?" 

"Not entirely yet," she bit at her bottom lip. 

She knew her words were probably just passing by the ears of her friends. The witch was well aware they had no reason to believe in such things or listen to her. They could take her words into account or completely ignore them; it didn't really matter, as for her the reality remained the same. 

What mattered was that she knew only half of the upcoming events. The other side was hidden somewhere in shadows and life lessons the cards decided she had to learn on her own. 

"I won't need food for a year," Nami commented after she leaned back against the cushions, sighing. 

"We should do a toast. Come on, grab your glasses." 

The witch's fingers curled around her glass of cocktail with a soft smile. 

"To the best crew sailing on the sea and to our victory!" 

"No, I'm sorry," Nami furrowed her eyebrows. "What victory exactly?"

The witch didn't even get to bring the glass to her lips, Nami's question sinking deeply into her bones. 

"I don't know how many naval battles you guys have been part of…" 

"Two dozen, at least," Usopp interrupted her before taking one more sip from his beer. 

"Plenty," the witch placed her untouched glass back on the table. "It was a disaster, I'm well aware of it. We could've died before reaching a day of sailing with The Going Merry." 

"Then I suppose you agree we were unprepared and uncoordinated," Nami turned towards her. 

There's never been such tension lingering around the navigator since the witch got to know her. The orange haired woman was easy going and talkative, she was skilled and was so strong. Someone used to the harsh world they lived in and yet she seemed absolutely stupefied by the mention of said victory. 

Nami was tense and uncomfortable as she continued to shift in her seat, surprised wide eyes glaring at Luffy. 

"You didn't think to mention your grandfather was a Marine? And not just any marine, a vice-admiral! I don't know about you, but I didn't sign up for that." 

"You raided a marine base," Zoro spoke calmly. "Of course that'll make you a target." 

The witch only let out a soft sigh and straightened her back with a frown. She was equally worried, but… 

"I understand where you're coming from, Nami, but it wouldn't have helped us with anything to know about Luffy's relatives or their status. We're already haunted for merely having a map in our possession."

At their table Sanji appeared again, with a gray plate with a paper in between his fingers this time.

"Your bill, sir."

Luffy pulled his lips together and glanced at Nami before taking the pen and scribbling something. 

"Thank you," he smiled up at the waiter. 

Sanji took the plate and almost instantly, a mischievous grin splayed on his face. 

"No, thank you," and with that, he walked away. 

Whatever that was supposed to mean. 

Luffy turned towards his friends once again, confident in his opinion. 

"I'm not saying it's good that the Marines are on our tail, but we showed them that they can't just roll over us. This crew, our crew, can handle anything." 

The witch gently smiled at him and leaned her elbows on the table again. 

"We could use your optimism, Luffy, but it's harder than that. At any given time from now on, the simple fact that we're after One Piece is enough of a reason for a Warlord to come after us because right now, we're an easy target. Not to mention the relationship between the Marines and the Warlords. Remember that these seven pirates aren't anyone's toys and if we ever encounter them, it will not always have something to do with the Navy."

"What makes you talk about the Warlords?" the navigator gulped. "They'd be an ever bigger pain in our asses. Average pirates are merciless already—"

Nami stopped herself from talking and looked away. An unusual reaction met with silence from the witch.

"Luffy isn't the only one with relatives—"

"Who the hell is Monkey D. Luffy?" a hoarse voice boomed. 

The witch could feel a headache appearing along with the old chef who was hobbling because of his wooden leg. She finally gulped the entire cocktail. 

Why was Luffy always getting into trouble? 

"I need a drink," Nami exhaustedly threw her head back. 

"I need dozens of drinks," the witch sighed heavily. 

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

Maybe it wasn't a camaraderie thing to do to their captain, but they were now occupying some seats on the terrace of the open fish mouth. The witch was in between Nami and Usopp on the large couch, with their backs facing the sea, meanwhile Zoro sat on a chair, at the other side of the table. 

The witch had a whiskey bottle from which she poured herself shots once in a few minutes. Usopp had three straws in his mouth and he drank a sweet cocktail from a bowl. Zoro warned him with a chuckle, but he didn't listen. 

Nami, on the other side, was silent as she stared into her empty glass for longer than expected. The witch found it worrisome — she was used to her own phases, but it hurt to watch her friend struggle with something she didn't entirely share. Nami's issue was known by them and yet there was something the witch just grasped onto, a tale told by her tarot. 

"The next drink is on me," the navigator got up from her seat. 

"Nami," the witch's fingers curled around her friend's. 

She squeezed Nami's hand gently and looked up at her with concern in her eyes. The witch rubbed her fingers over her knuckles in a silent plea, her eyebrows knitted together.

You're not alone, her touch said. It's alright. We can make it alright. 

Nami swallowed down hard and barely squeezed the hand who held her before slipping away from them. 

The witch poured herself a shot and gulped it down quickly. 

"Why are you in such a hurry as well?" 

Zoro's voice made her chest burn worse than the alcohol. 

"I'm not going anywhere. I'd just rather not talk," she mumbled as she rolled the small glass between her fingers. 

"You know something that I don't," he concluded quickly. 

Usopp, who sat like an obedient child and listened, blinked curiously. 

"I know a lot of things that you don't, Zoro," she responded with sorrow. 

Saying one single word about Nami while she was gone felt unfair. 

When the orange haired woman came back to them with a bottle in her hand, her conversation with Zoro somehow turned into a guessing game. Usopp, who obviously didn't take the swordsman's warning into account, went to the dance ring and moved like a sea slug — or that's what Zoro said. 

"Are you in?" Nami asked. 

"I'd rather not," the witch lowered her gaze. 

It was easy to admit she didn't want to share anything about herself. Still, she knew better than that; with some shots, her tongue would loosen up bit by bit. 

Her eyelashes fluttered lazily and her gaze fell on the glass she held. The corners of her mouth were slightly curled downwards and she seemed aware of the effect alcohol would have on her. She will succumb into sorrow or happiness, depending on which one clouded her mind first. The lack of answers coming from someone who adored to share experiences and explain was strange. 

Nami looked at her from the corner of her eye and accepted the situation as it was. She'll get the witch to talk one way or another. Something was fishy about her behavior — it was poking Nami's senses. 

The witch leaned against the cushions and turned her head towards the sea, pushing reality out of her awareness. Zoro's and Nami's conversation sounded muffled from her perspective, caging herself willingly in her head. 

Zoro was sitting right in front of her and the witch still thought of him. Her feelings were confusing and analyzing them was a full time job. Maybe it was time for her to accept her situation and deal with the heart aching for him. It was impossible not to think of him, especially when his deep voice sounded like a melody. 

She swallowed a lump in her throat and blinked away the overwhelming sensation settling in her chest. Maybe the present could give her peace. 

"You're unfair, Roronoa," she crooked a teasing grin and turned her head towards him. 

"How's that so?" 

His gaze burning holes into her shouldn't affect her as much as it did. Those black oceans shining shamelessly told her everything she had to know, it made hope bloom in the center of her soul. 

Maybe there was a chance. A tiny little chance hidden in his mesmerizing eyes. 

"She's telling you entire stories, but you don't even bother to elaborate."

He clenched his jaw and scoffed. 

"That's not part of the game," the side of his mouth curled upwards. 

"Now that I think about it, she's right," Nami smirked. 

"Just drink."

With that, they raised their glasses and both glanced at the unusually silent witch. 

"I didn't play the game," she excused herself. 

"That's why you have to drink. You listened and didn't share," Nami arched her eyebrow. "Are you also unfair, Witch?" 

It was Zoro the one who poured whiskey in her empty glass. 

"You two are so sneaky," the witch laughed softly and complied. 

The alcohol burnt her throat and it was the alcohol getting to her head that brought questionable curiosities in her head… How would his lips taste? Would he make her burn harder? A one single touch from him would both ruin and put her back together. 

Alright, I have to find something else to think of. 

Hastily, the witch who sat by Nami's side gulped down another shot of whiskey and got up from the cushions. An idea creeped in her mind when her attention fell on the group of four musicians whose music Usopp danced to. 

"Where are you heading to?"

"Killing some time," she winked at Nami. 

With light steps, she walked to the guitarist and asked for his instrument after he just finished playing. With a nod, he handed her the guitar and she grabbed a chair to sit on. Her legs crossed and she positioned the guitar in her lap easily, like second nature. Gentle fingers tapped the wooden object and her lips curled — it was perfect — before her grip on the neck of the guitar tightened. Her other hand was busy testing the chords, tingles running down her spine at the sensation. 

She hasn't felt that in too long. 

The alcohol was also a reason for her bold action, but the witch didn't care. The fingers of one hand pressed against the strings, while she played with the other hand, giving life to the guitar. Lively sounds rang through the air and the other musicians quickly picked up on the notes. A classic, an old shanty pirates would sing when drunk after victories, but it was more beautiful when she played it. Even her humming and the rare times when her lips would part to let sweet words fall from between them, it was alluring. 

Zoro's attention never left her figure. Her eyes sparkled with freedom and the smile on her face was that of an angel. She was life itself, stuck under soft skin and hidden in her heart. The dim lights of the terrace — the open fish mouth — bathed her in white and warm gold. Her happy face, the smile lines, the crinkles of her eyes, the jovial energy surrounding her; all of these things charmed him over and over again. The longer he looked at her, the worse it got, because he didn't have the courage within himself to avert his gaze from her. 

"You should just admit it," Nami said. 

He didn't look at her when he let out a low "Hm?" 

"Don't you think she's pretty?" 

His head snapped towards her. 

"What are you talking about?"

"Which one of us are you trying to fool, Zorol; me or yourself?"

Uncomfortably, the swordsman shifted in his seat, clenching his jaw. 

"I think you're confused," he responded  with fake confidence while he crossed his arms over his chest. 

"No, you are confused," Nami scoffed. "You were jealous back then, when Sanji flirted with her."

"You're quick to jump to conclusions."

"If Usopp would be here, he'd agree."

"Unfortunately, he's too drunk to even walk straight, so I suppose he isn't here to support your theory." 

"Speaking of him."

Nami just spotted Usopp who came back to their table with a man behind him. A strange man, judging by the hilt of the sword as tall as him — and he wasn't short by any means either. 

"Which one of you is Monkey D. Luffy?"

Zoro turned his head lazily, arching his eyebrow. 

"I don't recall such a name."

The witch's peace has been entirely destroyed by the new appearance, an unwelcome guest. She could spot him easily because of his big elegant hat with feathers and the sword with precious stones on the hilt. 

It was her turn to stand proudly in front of a Warlord she's only heard about from her deceased father. Her back was straight and her chin up high, gaze sharp. 

When the man turned his head to her, there was no mistake it was Dracule Mihawk, his golden irises shining with boredom. Even his perfect posture betrayed the obvious superiority he had in front of some mere children. 

"I didn't know your father had raised a liar. He was honest, from what I recall." 

The witch knew she was her father's splitting image, but how could he know— 

The only thing that stopped her eyes from widening in surprise were the nails digging painfully into her palms. 

"I don't know any Monkey D. Luffy and I certainly have no clue what you're talking about." 

"I have business with your captain. If you know what's good for you, you'll hand him over." 

"I don't know either," Nami responded from her seat. "Right, Zoro?"

"You're Dracule Mihawk."

The swordsman got up from his chair and for a moment, the witch wondered if he was insane or more delusional than her, because there's no other way he stood without a worry in the world in front of him. 

In front of someone who could slice entire ships into pieces. 

"Zoro?" the witch whispered, horrified. 

The man in question stepped by Mihawk and walked slowly, steadily, as if the Warlord was his prey. 

"It pains me to inform you that tomorrow… you're going to die."

Oh, Gods, please don't. 

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

The witch was left speechless. She couldn't find strength in her legs and she had to sit on a chair when all of them gathered in the valley of their ship.

Zoro wasn't a sane man. He needed to be locked up or someone had to get that stick from up his ass before he had a chance to die out of stupidity. 

She shook her head countless times while Zoro and Nami argued, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips and squeezing her eyes shut. 

"Why do you even care?" the swordsman's cold tone rang in the air. 

"Because you're my friend, you idiot."

Nami sounded close to losing it all. 

The witch already lost it one hundred times. Her heart wasn't beating, her breath was shallow and she was pinching the bridge of her nose to hold back from saying or doing something rude, something she would later regret. The tension in the room weighed on her chest and she wished it was all just a nightmare. 

"You said you don't have any friends," Zoro responded sharply. 

The woman's eyes snapped open. He was more insane than she thought. She wanted to yell, but no raw sound filled with pain left her chapped lips. The witch could only remain rigid while Nami left the room with loud stomps. 

"You're insane, Zoro," she muttered between gritted teeth. 

The witch was tugging painfully at her own strands of her in order to stop the overwhelming feelings from spilling out of her like a tornado. Her shaking fingers curled into her hair and gripped, the burn on her scalp bringing her back to the cabin of their ship. 

"This is a suicide mission." 

"It's his dream," Luffy smiled, "we can't—"

"Zoro, you're gonna die!" she shouted out of the sudden after she snapped her head towards the swordsman. 

She sank her nails into her palms until the sting was painful enough to keep herself stable. It was not to her liking to be pessimistic, to admit that someone wasn't able to do something, but what he wanted to do was not the most intelligent idea. 

"This isn't good, this won't end well at all and you shall know it," the witch continued. "You can't seriously believe you'll get out of there better than half-alive."

The swordsman didn't need to respond in order to answer. His unmoving gaze and straightened back told enough: he wasn't going to change his mind at all, no matter what anyone said. 

She knew it meant a lot for him to become the strongest swordsman in the world, but in his current state he wasn't able to defeat Mihawk. Out of all the people he could've dwelt with, Zoro chose him, that monster of a man. 

"Did you not listen to me when I said 'He cuts entire ships with a mere flick of his wrist'?" she furrowed her eyebrows. "Did you suddenly forget when I clearly warned you all the warlords aren't some mere toys for the big guys in the system, they do whatever the fuck they want!" 

She cussed herself for letting out so many emotions, but she seriously couldn't hold back anymore, no matter how worried Usopp seemed, or how confused Luffy was. They had no clue what Zoro was getting into—

"That's exactly why I'm dwelling with him and not someone else," the green-haired man spoke firmly. 

"Oh, so your dream is to get cut in half by a sword taller than you?" her irritation slipped. 

"Do you really think I trained my entire life to get cut without putting up a fight?"

Even if she didn't want to admit it to herself, one side of his heart was hurt. This entire time, every time they spoke, she openly told him she believes in him, that she trusts him even if it would be her downfall. It sounded like she's been lying this entire time. 

"You know very well I never meant that you're weak, but you're not stronger than him! That's your idea of a swordsman? You can believe, you can even hope for the best to happen, but the happiest situation would be a quick death. And the worst? A torturous one." 

"I didn't take you for someone who wouldn't understand what the pride of dying in a duel means."

"Fucking hell!" 

The witch's tight fist hit the table placed in the middle of the cabin with a quick and hurried motion, her feelings indeed getting the best of her that time. It didn't come to mind the last time she ever acted so harshly. 

He turned her words against herself and he was a professional at doing so. She knew what kind of pride swordsmen and pirates carry, she knew what they considered noble because she's spent years of her life listening to men and women talking about such things. Her father did the same, thought he could get out of any problem, until it brought him his death. 

"Maybe you should have more faith," Usopp intervened in a small voice. 

He was hesitant, the surprise obvious on his face — none of them expected that their most collected crewmate would lash out like that. Luffy was also silent, confused, obviously trying to find a way to get into the thick heads of his friends somehow. The argument escalated quickly and the tension wiped away any ounce of peace. 

The witch's eyes were fixed on Zoro's and they burnt holes through his face. He's seen just as many emotions a night ago, when she told him about her past sailing experiences, about the life she left behind as she desperately tried to find freedom. And if freedom felt like that, he wondered if she really wanted it. He succumbed to the flames of hell in her eyes, but snapped himself out of it. 

She was angry at him, he figured out quickly. 

He didn't like that gaze. He'd do almost anything for her to stop looking at him that way, as if she wanted him away from her, as if his very presence brought her suffering. Almost anything. 

"You see just what you want to see, Zoro. You're deliberately ignoring our worries, thinking we have something against you, thinking god-knows-what about how we're not your friends or whatever the fuck's going through your head—"

I'm worried for you, she swallowed a lump in her throat. 

"Just because me and Nami are trying to stop you, it doesn't mean we're assholes keeping you away from your dream. We might be assholes, but we want you to be alive, not six feet under the ground!" her voice raised slightly at the end again, her breath shallow. 

"You're worried about her, not about me. I don't need your worry." 

"Zoro—" this time Luffy tried to intervene. 

"You're impossible," she faintly spoke, like a ghost. 

She gave up. 

She buried her face into her own palms and sat on a chair, her elbows prompted on her knees. She had so much faith in Zoro, she could barely even point out how many feelings swirl in her heart when it comes to him, but she was aware he was mortal. He could die at any given time. 

"Right, Zoro. Go die with pride filling you up the same way that man's sword will," she bitterly mumbled. 

I hate you, Roronoa Zoro. You and your stupid pride, along with the fucked way I feel about you. I hate it all. 

The poor woman was exhausted, her heartstrings twisting into knots, making it hard to ignore the pain running through her entire being. His name rolled on her tongue so many times in only a few minutes and it made her situation worse, that one word made of two syllables cutting through her chest. 

The witch regretted her words immediately, but didn't say anything for a while. 

Usopp nudged Luffy into leaving the other two alone and it was probably one of the few times when the straw hat understood subtleties without any questions. 

"Take your time and clean your swords, Zoro, we'll be waiting outside," Luffy spoke. 

The witch heard two pairs of steps that walked away, her face still buried in her palms. She gulped and took in a few deep breaths before she moved from her seat, straightening her back and moving to the window of the cabin, hands gripping at the edge of the wood. 

She didn't throw a glance at Zoro. Silence stretched between them while the witch focused on the stars shining in the night sky. 

I shouldn't have been here in the first place, she thought to herself, twisting the blade deeper into the wound. I shouldn't have accepted to come with you. I should've stayed in Syrup Village and left with another ship, to go somewhere far away from you. I should've known better that there's no way in hell I can grasp at the mere notion of freedom.

There's no place for me in heaven and there's no place for me in hell either. I'm stuck here, in this body, with these feelings and this swordsman in this galley. 

I should've known. I should've known I was damned to die on my feet, with a bleeding heart and my back turned at you. I should've—

She gulped down harshly, blinking away the tears. 

I want to stay with you all so badly. 

"Zoro," she whispered his name again. 

Tears stung in her eyes at the sound of his name. It felt like it was the last time she could hear his name repeatedly, the same name carved with silver on her heart. 

"Be careful," she continued, her voice faint. 

"Why do you care?" his bitter tone resounded in her eardrums. "Everyone seems deadly interested in my actions lately."

Only then she turned her head towards him and her ribcage protested when the prisoner that was her heart beat so harshly. 

"I don't need a reason. I simply do. Please, Zoro."

Like the idiot that she was, she begged him to stay alive. A confession was hidden between her chapped lips — she picked at them with her nails and there was blood surfacing on top of the skin. Her tongue swiped over her bottom lip, the metallic flavor tickling her taste buds. 

Judging on the way his jaw ticked with tension, he grasped onto enough of her words. Or maybe he refused to do so — who knows? 

"Don't throw your life away. You'll never fulfill your promise if you die today. Be mindful. Don't rush when fighting, don't get angry if he pushes on your buttons and irritates you. Be wise, Zoro."

It was a lost fight on her side. There was nothing she could do to stop him, so at least she had to give him the best advice she thought of. 

When he finally looked at her, her breath hitched. His brown eyes saw through her soul and she wondered if he could also feel how much she cared for him, the way she cared for him. She liked everyone on the ship equally, but her affection for him took a different path, one she's never walked on before. 

He didn't say a word, letting everything sink in. 

Maybe there is a chance he gets what I meant. 

"Be careful."

This time, her voice trembled but she didn't look away. She stood there, staring at him as if it was the last time she saw his eyes open. 

She turned towards the window again, nails digging into the wooden frame. She refused to look at him when she figured out tears could spill over her cheeks like a river if he continued staring at her, burying himself further into her soul. She only wanted him to be safe, because nothing was greater than that. If all of them could be kept away from harm's way, she would have days filled with peace.

Too bad such a thing was impossible in that unforgiving world. 

Behind her, Zoro moved around and left the galley. After a few minutes, he came back with a bottle of oil for his swords. He dragged a chair and sat down at the table, more silent than usually. With utmost care, he took one of his black swords and unsheathed it, leaving the scabbard on the table. He poured some oil on the blade and used a piece of cloth to spread it even from tip to hilt. 

The witch only dared to throw glances with an aching heart. She couldn't bring herself to leave, to stay away from him for too long now more than ever. She swallowed hard before making a tough decision. 

Wordlessly, she moved from the window. Her heavy steps echoed in the room until they stopped right by Zoro's side.

"Can I help?" 

Calm, just like she always tries to be, she spoke with fear clinging to every nerve in her body. She would blame herself for the rest of her life if they would part ways like that. More than her fears and worries, he mattered. He deserved all the pain she was capable of harboring inside her poor heart, he was worth the fight with her own self. 

The swordsman didn't expect her gesture. He supposed she would storm out of the room, that she would scold him or try to stop him, just like before. He guessed she was more sane than him, even if he couldn't bring himself to care enough about that. Her reaction pained him in ways he couldn't explain. 

His fingers pressed the piece of cloth against the blade of his words. He thought of being petty, shutting her down. Why couldn't she believe in him more? Was he that weak? 

He nodded. Like the stupid man that he was, with no need for spoken words, he accepted her help. He watched her blank face, devoid of any life, as she took another sword from the table, following his exact steps. 

Except, her hold on the white sword was gentle like a feather. A careful grip, so it wouldn't slip from her hand, but gentle nonetheless. He stopped whatever he was doing, focusing on the woman who rested her hips against the table, close to him, so close, but, oh, so far away. Zoro watched her unsheathe his Wado Ichimoji and place it on the table. Her hand reached out for the bottle of oil and her other one took advantage of the opportunity, taking the piece of cloth from his own hold. 

Their fingers touched. Hers were cold, but they still burnt his skin. Electric shocks traveled through his body and his chest tightened. 

She poured some oil on the material and then left the bottle on the table, gripping at the hilt of the sword again. She moved the piece of cloth over the blade carefully, as if she's done it before countless times. Left, right, left, right. Everytime she exhaled, her breath was trembling, despite the slow pace of her gestures. 

He paid more attention to the hands holding his sword: they were shaking when she placed the sword on the table. She poured some more oil on the cloth and dipped the tip of her index finger in the same spot. With the same finger, she drew on the blade a symbol Zoro didn't recognize.

With each stroke of her fingertip, she traced lines and connected them in a barely visible symbol: an arrow pointed upwards. 

"It's a rune meant for protection," she explained softly as she sheathed the sword. "It's associated with strength and honor. It doesn't matter if you don't believe in it, because I do and that's enough." 

It was true: he didn't believe in such things and never did. The swordsman never found it reasonable nor did he ever try to figure it out. It didn't mean he denied her beliefs — no, but he was indifferent towards it. 

However, he couldn't act indifferent towards the witch, which he found at that point to be straight up painful. It was painful to look at her and see torment in her deep eyes, it hurt to see sorrow painted on her angelic features when none of them was dead. 

The witch did the same gesture with the other two swords, carefully holding each one of them, as if they were her own treasures, not his. 

"Come back alive," she whispered. 

If he wouldn't have been so close to her, her voice would've sounded like a breath. 

"That's all I ask of you. If you wish so, then no sword will cut through you. Blades can cut steel, but nothing can cut will."

What was she mourning when she said those things? Who did she think of? he wondered. 

May the gods protect you tomorrow, she hoped. They've taken so many away from me along the way. 

Tag list: @emelia07 @dimplewonie @tfamidoingwithmylife @murnsondock @the-skys-musical-echo @conspiracy-crows @hallow33nz @ramae17 @gaslysainz @bunntsu @katt58 @katiemrty @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @freyademartel @boofy1998 @ponyboys-sunsets @melsunshine @loveyluv7 @waddlingwanderer @untoldshortsofthefandoms @mizzy-pop

[meeravandaseera]

Similarities of Folklore in H2O: Just Add Water

Previously I did a post on Cleo's bathtub transformation and how it's a previous motif in some legends. I now want to dive into the rest of the folklore that can be fished out of the show. Many parallels are not directly the same, but still share some interesting origins. First, let's look at the powers.

Edited and cropped "Sous la Vague" or "Les Baigneuses" by Nicolas Auguste Laurens in 1898.

1: Cleo's hydrokinesis can be found in many waterpeople. Almost all humanoid water deities across the world are able to bend water to some extent, many of would would be countless to name in one post. For instance, Poseidon/Neptune was said to be able to control the seas. Triton could calm and raise the waves of the sea with the blow of his conch shell. Aside from water deities themselves, other waterpeople were able to control water. According to "Scaled for Success: The Internationalisation of the Mermaid" on page 108, the Filipino sirenas were said to be able to control water "by manipulating water levels and/or create whirlpools to swamp their prey". According to "Mermaids: The Myths, Legends, and Lore" on page 180, the Filipino kataws control the waters around the Philippine Islands, namely its "tides, currents" and even the "movements of the aquatic creatures". The Asturian xanas were in charge of keeping rivers and fountains calm according to: Mitología Asturiana - Marsellaviana on Freehostia under the llavanderes or washerwomen entry http://marsellaviana.freehostia.com/mitologiaasturiana/seresmitologicos.html

One xana in particular was able to flood as she supposedly flooded the town of Gayangos and created an entire lagoon and the lakes in the area according to: La leyenda de la Xana de Gayangos - La Cantabria Burgalesa https://lacantabriaburgalesa.wordpress.com/2016/12/03/la-leyenda-de-la-xana-de-gayangos/

Asturian llavanderes, basically mythical washerwomen, were able to summon floods and create whirlpools according to the aforementioned Marsellaviana site.

Another mermaid is the seewief or seewiefken of German folklore in Minsen. She once got caught in the net of some fishermen and got tormented, yet she eventually escaped. In revenge, she cast a curse and created storm floods in the years of 1164, 1362, 1717 and 1962 that hit Minsen. This is told according to: The Minsen Mermaid Statue - a Seewief from the Middle Ages https://mermaidsofearth.com/mermaid-statues-mermaid-sculptures/public/minsen-mermaid-statue-seewief/ (This sourced some other sites, but they are gone), Die Sage from Minsener Seewiefken - NAKUK https://www.nakuk.de/wiki/seewiefken/, Seewiefken - Wangerland https://www.wangerland.de/poi/seewiefken and Das Minsener Seewiefken Vom Fluch der Meerjungfrau - NWZ Online https://www.nwzonline.de/kultur/minsen-das-minsener-seewiefken-vom-fluch-einer-meerjungfrau_a_50,6,796560382.html

Yet another is the zeemermann of the Saeftinghe legend in the Netherlands. A zeemermin once got caught by a fisherman who refused to let her go. Her husband swam after the boat, yet to no avail. He cursed Saeftinghe and flooded the land. It was said that only Saeftinghe's towers would remain. Now, the land, it's called the drowned land of Saeftinghe. This is told according to "The Mermaid Atlas - Merfolk of the World" by Anna Claybourne on page 31 and Wandelen in het verdronken land van Seaftinghe - JNM https://jnm.be/nl/activiteiten/wandelen-in-het-verdronken-land-van-seaftinghe

~~~

2: Rikki's fire power: Waterpeople can be associated with fire, the sun or warmth despite inhabiting the water. (Added note: Originally, I did not acknowledge that). In Thai folklore exists the so-called Phi thale ผีทะเล sea spirit who is able to appear as a mermaid or a beautiful woman who can lure sailors to their demise. Sometimes a Phi Thale takes form as a St. Elmo's fire, basically a weather phenomenon caused by electrical discharges during thunderstorms. It seems to appear like faint luminosity or "fire" and in context of the Phi Thale it might, for example, take place on a ship's mast as shown on the illustration, but one is not absolutely shore. St. Elmo's fire also appears in many other forms like on church towers. Phi Thale description is from: What is a Phi Thale (ผีทะเล)? - PAHUYUTH https://pahuyuth.com/en/glossar/phi-thale/ and information on the Saint Elmo's Fire - Britannica https://www.britannica.com/science/Saint-Elmos-fire

Illustration from "The Aerial World" by Dr. G. Hartwig in 1886 on page 310.

Sulis is a Celtic water goddess from the United Kingdom who is still associated with the sun and is thus both a water and solar deity. She was also associated with the hot springs in Bath according to Sulis, Goddess of Celtic Mythology | Characteristics & Depictions - Study. com https://study.com/academy/lesson/sulis-celtic-goddess-mythology-history.html?srsltid=AfmBOopQslCH2QEArMfaq5VE7QDgXuMQS3z55jnppUGbVGlpA3E7ldu2.

The lakes of the Catalan freshwater-maidens called the dones d'aigua were said to boil if a stranger would dive into them, yet this is only said on Wikipedia without a source and until I do not have found any good source for this, please do not claim it as fact.

The Portuguese water-maiden Maria da Manta meaning "Mary of the Blanket", Maria Gancha namely "Mary Hook", Maria Ganta meaning "Mary of the Grid" or as in the Miranese language, Mariamanta, was said to live in wells. While her appearance varied a lot, some would say she possessed eyes made of fire despite living in the waters of wells according to: Maria Gancha - Portuguese Creatures and Legends Galore https://portuguesecreaturesandlegendsgalore.wordpress.com/2020/02/14/maria-gancha/

 Illustration for "Las Supersticiones De La Humanidad" by Jose Coroleu in 1881.

Melusine from French folklore is sometimes said to grow wings when she flies away in the legend and therefore is sometimes considered to be a literal dragon-maiden either with one or two fishtails and sometimes only with a serpent tail depending on the version. She is both considered a watermaid and a dragon-maid in different versions because of that.

Illustration from "Le Roman de Mélusine" in ca. 1450-1500.

An enchanted xana could also turn into a cuélebre, namely a snake-like dragon, in order to be disenchanted. Her savior must perform some tasks so that she would be able to be free from her spell, turn back into a xana or a normal human being and be freed from being bound to her lair. This disenchantment is really complex and one can find a wide sea of different methods. One source of mine is: Some thoughts on Asturian Mythology - David A. Wacks https://davidwacks.uoregon.edu/2014/12/12/asturian/. In spite of that, both of these dragon-turned watermaids didn't emit fire from their mouths. I still included them because it shares a little of the fire aspect due to their dragon forms.

~~~

3: Emma's ice power: Plenty of waterpeople live in colder waters, but do not possess the power to manipulate water and turn it into ice. The only mention one ever heard of are the Filipino kataws who can also turn water into ice according to this Wikipedia article https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kataw_(Philippine_mythology) that sourced "Mga Engkanto: A Bestiary of Filipino Fairies. Philippines: eLf ideas Publication. 2003". It's probably a privately published book as I can only find a Blogspot post about its concept idea. Would like to confirm the source, but as of now one does not have the book.

~~~

"The Last of the Fairies" by Ida Rentoul Outhwaite (1888-1960)

4: Simply the moon or the full moon: Waterfolk has a relationship to the full moon. There is no moon pool or a direct moon spell affecting waterfolk, yet Catalan dones d'aigua tended to only show up on full moon nights where they would come out of their caves to dance, to comb their hair and to wash their laundry. Some would only sing on full or new moon nights, maybe they got spell-bound by the moon? Who knows. This is told according to: Les dones d'aigua - Elisenda Vilaró Móra http://www.elisendavilaromora.com/2012/03/les-dones-daigua/, Llegendes del riu i les done's d'aigua - Turisme Les Planes D'Hostoles https://turismelesplanes.cat/localitzacions/el-riu-i-les-dones-daigua/, Llegendes: Dona D'Aigua - Generalitat de Catalunya Departament d'Educació https://agora.xtec.cat/ceipcamins/4t/llegendes-dona-daigua/, Llegenda de les Dones d'Aigua - Mapes de Patrimoni Cultural https://patrimonicultural.diba.cat/element/llegenda-de-les-dones-daigua, Les dones d'aigua en la tradició popular - Mitologia Catalana Blogspot https://mitologiacatalans.blogspot.com/2016/09/les-dones-daigua-en-la-tradicio-popular_23.html and Mitologia Catalana - Isaac Baley https://www.isaacbaley.com/mitologia-catalana.html

One xana was said to be only present on full moon nights, dancing in the forest. This is said according to: La leyenda de La Xana: una historia de amor en Asturias - Crónica Asturias https://cronicaasturias.es/blog/la-leyenda-de-la-xana-una-historia-de-amor-en-asturias

Atargatis is one of the earliest waterfolk deities aside from the kullulû of Mesopotamia. She's an Assyrian fertility and mermaid goddess, yet was also described to be a moon goddess according to "Mermaids: The Myths, Legends, and Lore" on page 78.

The selkies were also said to go ashore on full moon-lit nights to shed their sealskins and dance at the seaside.

~~~

Illustration by Hugh Thomson for "Highways and Byways in Devon and Cornwall" in 1897.

5: The granting wishes ability from episode 5 "Hocus Pocus" on season 2: In the Cornish legend of Lutey Curry and the merry-maid, the merry-maid was said to have given Lutey three wishes as he had helped her go back into the water from being beached ashore. He wished for the power to heal the sick, the power to "defuse wicked spells" and to have his powers passed on after his death according to "Mermaids: The Myths, Legends, and Lore" on page 102 and Curses, Vengeance, and Fishtails: The Cornish Mermaid in Perspective https://www.academia.edu/31865439/Curses_Vengeance_and_Fishtails_The_Cornish_Mermaid_in_Perspective

The Scottish ceasg or maid-of-the-wave was also said to grant one three wishes if one caught her and then released her again according to #FolkloreThursday: The Ceasg - Steampunklibrarian Blog https://steampunklibrarian.blog/2021/09/30/folklorethursday-the-ceasg/ and Gaelic Folklore (5): Ceasg - Nicovleeuwen https://nicovleeuwen.blogspot.com/2019/06/gaelic-folklore-5-ceasg_7.html

~~~

6: The shapeshifting from mermaid to human is something prevalent in folklore, but not at the simple touch of a water drop. Instead, primarily only if the lower half is fully submerged, basically when fully going into a water body. Most waterfolk only have a fishtail that they can discard and wear later on again like a piece of clothing, but some do fully shapeshift like the mermaids of the show do. According to "Mermaids: The Myths, Legends and Lore" on page 181, the fishtailed yawkyawks from the mythology of the Kuninjku people in Australia could go ashore and "sprout legs and seem to be wholly human".

~~~

Edited “Unter-Wasser-Philosophie” by Erich Schütz for Mocca in 1934. Yawkyawks were said to have green hair resembling green algae in freshwater streams and rock pools, called man-bak in Kuninjku according to Yawkyawk (Ngalkunburriyaymi) - Maningrida Arts and Culture https://maningrida.com/artwork/683-23/.

As the show is set in Australia, the waterfolk of Australia is another part to consider. Here's a list of the Indigenous Australian watermaid ones. I won't skim through the entirety of their lore due to the fact that there are barely any parallels between them and the show, aside from the yawkyawks who could shapeshift into humans:

< Yawkyawks (other terms: ngalkunburriyaymi, ngalberddjenj (both possibly from the Kuninjku people) ngalworreworre (Wugularr community) from the book "Mermaid and Serpent - A Story from Wugularr Community", and ngalkodjek (Darnkolo people) as from: Owen Yalandja: Ngalkodjek Yawkyawk 2019 - ARTKELCH - Contemporary Aboriginal Art https://www.artkelch.de/en/artists/owen_yalandja_216/works/ngalkodjek_yawkyawk_1827

< The pearl-givers or the mermaids of the Keppel Islands of the Woppaburra people are found in "Among the Mermaids: Facts, Myths, and Enchantments from the Sirens of the Sea" on pages 98-99.

< The Ji-merdiwa from the Burarra people near the Blyth river can be found on: Mermaids tales appear in myths across the world- Arnhem Land included by Anna Whitfeld - ABC News https://www.abc.net.au/news/2018-06-11/mermaids-across-the-world-arnhem-land/9846210

< Wíwa spirits (mermaid spirits) from the Kunibídji people and Djómi and Bábbarra, and the other successor Djómi spirits: Our Bedtime Stories Episode 8: Djómi (Mermaid Story) - ICTV Play https://ictv.com.au/video/item/5508?lp=1, Djomi ( Fresh Water Spirit) Bábbarra Women's Centre https://babbarra.com/design/djomi/

< The karukayn of the Gurindji people as told in “The Penguin Book of Mermaids” on pages 224-225

< and the Muli Kanybubi from the Marri Ngarr Yek Dirrangara people as told in “Muli Kanybubi Tjitjuk Kawuny Na Yagatiya - The Two Mermaids’ Dreaming Place”. 

More resources on the Indigenous Australian watermaids: Mermaids in Folklore & Australian Indigenous Culture - troublemag https://www.troublemag.com/mermaids-in-folklore-australian-indigenous-culture/ and H2O: Just Add Water and myth of mermaids in Australia - Anglophone Literatures Blog https://blogs.phil.hhu.de/anglophoneliteratures/2022/04/04/h2o-just-add-water-and-myth-of-mermaids-in-australia/ 

Whether intentional or not, the lore is pretty deep.

(If any sources are not able to be viewed, consult an archival site)

Re-published and re-polished from the edited original entry on reddit via r/JustAddWater: https://www.reddit.com/r/JustAddWater/comments/1f934vx/similarities_of_folklore_in_the_show/

In the original entry, I had wanted to include these depictions that can be seen here, but it got removed. I am not shore what the culprit was, but it may have been the second or latter depiction of Melusine as I did not edit it back then since I thought it would be tolerated because no chest was directly visible. On the un-edited version of the depiction, her chest was already obscured by a light spot that looks like as if the paper had been ripped.

[usagii-bun]

𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇 ( NAMOR X READER ) PT.4

in which you find a child floating in the water and you save them only for your acts of kindness to get misinterpreted by the father who is also the king of an underwater civilization.

PLEASE READ THIS FIRST : this is a story i am writing on wattpad but my wattpad version is more in detail, slightly different and has an oc ( alora ). It has 6 chapters thus far and still work in progress if you want you can check it out with the link below or use the linktree link in my bio to access wattpad but if you feel more comfortable with x reader I'll try and get all the chapters I have currently published over here in a few days

hiraeth ( namor ) wattpad | oc version!

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4

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IT WAS NOW EVENING, the sun dipping below the horizon kissing the ocean goodbye, the sky a purplish-orange color adorn with a few grey clouds as Huracan and you were still outside enjoying the last bits of the day before it was time to go back in.

You had came to term with the fact that Huracan staying with you was only going to be momentarily. You grew attached to the child due to the loneliness that you felt from staying by herself for months in isolation, away from others due to your health issues.

You wondered if Huracan was also lonely and just wanted some company but your mind now questioning if Huracan has a family, what if they are waiting for him? Worried about him and in search of him, thinking of the worst things that could have happened to him. This left you to ruminate over

your thoughts as your gaze fall on the sky, that is becoming darker and darker.

There was thunder clouds looming above you due to the hot weather you experienced today, the clouds were forming and becoming aggravated with each second that passed by— this alarming you as you walk back to the tidal pool to retrieve Huracan and putting a stop to your fleeting thoughts.

"C'mon, Hura. We need to get back in." You say, watching as the boy breaks through the surface of the water— eyes sparkling with life as he listens to you instantly, emerging from the pool only to latch onto your arm, his skin turning back into a shade of blue as you both walk home.

The rain came down. It suddenly came down heavy causing you to gasp in shock when the harsh rain pelted down onto you, you turn towards Huracan to notice that he had his eyes closed— enjoying the rain water that got soaked into his skin while you on the other hand felt a shiver tingling down your spine even though the air was warm.

Knowing that if you had to stay in the rain for way too long— you would definitely get sick but watching the boy enjoy the fresh water that falls onto him , you decided to wait a few minutes because seeing his face brighten up from just the simple feeling of rain water against his skin made you realize that the simple things in life is what makes living much better, it made you feel at ease with yourself.

A bright flash of purple and then a loud crackling noise followed by a hiss came from above you and Huracan shocks you at the loud noise and the thunderstorm that has finally brewed up, the rain became even heavier causing your heart to beat faster.

"Let's get back inside, we don't want to become fried fish today." You say, laughing at your lame excuse of a joke which Huracan didn't understand fully but he did understand that you wanted to go back inside from the way your body had stiffened slightly.

He was about to agree but then the sight of a shiny, shell that was a bit closer to the ocean water grabs his attention— he wanted to get that shell so that he could give it to you, forgetting that you wanted to go back in as he leaves your side, alarming you as he runs down the bank to go and retrieve the shell.

"Huracan!" You shout out alarmed, the rain pelting down heavily, the sky above you becoming dark— the only source of light now coming from the lighting that viciously flashed from above and the few outside lights from your house.

You slide down the steep slope to get to the boy only for your flip-flop to get stuck into something and in turn crashing into the youngster causing him to also fall and let out a small yelp.

"oh gosh, Hura! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to!" You cried out, you moved to his side to see that you had slightly bruised his knee cap, crimson escaping from the bruise as guilt consumes you from being so unconscious and not watching where you walked.

Huracan didn't feel much pain from the small bruise, he was about to tell you it's okay but you tore a small part of your shirt to help stop the bleeding. A small amount of blood covered your finger tips when you wrapped the small piece of cloth around his tiny knee cap, tightening the cloth around it.

A throbbing feeling around your ankle became prominent as you gazes down at your leg, to find that you had slightly twisted your ankle due to your flip-flop getting stuck onto something— that being the whole reason you slipped.

A small cry leaves from your parted lips, the thunderstorm viciously going on above them as the rain fell down. Your body was drenched in rain water, making you shiver adding more to the pain you felt in your ankle.

"Y-Y/N!" the young child cried out grasping onto your shoulders, he gazed at you to find that tears were also trailing down your cheeks with the rain water, your hands covered in wet sea sand and dabs of blood.

This made tears to form in Huracan's eyes, he was now scared and worried about you, the person that took care of him like he was their own child— he didn't know what to do to help you, making him feel even more worried and scared as the thunder flashed and rumbled.

Your body that trembled suddenly went stiff, your blood running cold— you felt like you and Huracan were being watched.

You were right.

The sound of something fluttering, similar to the sound of a rattle snake mingled with the harsh noises of the rain, lightning and the waves that crashed close by.

The fluttering sound stops , it suddenly goes eeirely quite, Huracan's whimpers go silent and before you could comprehend whether you was just feeling paranoid —something grasped the collar of the shirt you wore and pulled you harshly away from Huracan, throwing you to the other side away from him.

You heard Huracan scream your name out, your body feeling extremly numb, the world around you spinning while terror sunk into every firbe of your being.

Your neck twists to the side to see what had thrown you so viciously away from Huracan, fear laminating in your eyes, your gaze being met with the tip of a sharp spear, your body flinching away from it in terror but it was now pressed against the side of your neck in a threatening manner to slice your head off clean.

The lightning struck again, giving you a better vision of what was being hostile towards you , your eyes widening when your gaze falls on a man— his entire being radiate regality from the way his body oozed confidence to the jewelry that was adorn upon him. His chest covered in some sort of metal that was beautiful crafted, the same type of metal also adorning his biceps and wrists.

She also noticed that he had pointed ears, adorn with jewels just like the rest of him.

You shakily raise your hands, to say you was no threat or harm but this act seemed to make the man even more infuriated when he spotted dabs of blood smeared on your finger tips and then seeing blood around the area where Huracan was.

"How dare you take my son away and harm him?"

Shit. Was the first thought that came to your mind, you was right, Huracan did have someone to go back to— your thoughts being cut short when the cold tip of the spear pressed even closer to your neck that you could feel the pressure tearing slightly into your skin.

Your words were stuck in your throat from fear, you couldn't formulate a response except for a shaky breath to escape past your lips, your body trembling from pain and fear.

Due to your lack of response that made the King even more agitated, his spear was about to press into the side of your neck but tiny hands wrapped around his arm, holding it in place before he could slash at you.

"Father, please don't!" the young child cried out in his own language, this alerting the king who turns towards his son— the furious look that had adorn his face moments ago was replaced by one that was filled with worry.

"Huracan, my child. Are you alright? Did it hurt you?" his voice venomous when he says the word it , you didn't understand what they were saying but from the side glare the man had passed to you, you knew he had said something about you.

"No! Do not bring harm to y/n, she had saved me! Please do not harm her, she didn't do anything wrong. If you want to punish someone, father— it should be me, I should have never left Talokan." The boy sobs out, hearing Huracan's broken voice made your chest hurt— your eyes squeezing shut to prevent any tears from escaping as everything around you started to spin, the world around you becoming blurry as all the pain you felt physically and emotionally became blunt.

Your vision being filled with black dots that became larger until your eyes closed completely, body slumping into the sand— the fear you felt along with the pain made you fall unconscious this grabbing Huracan's attention, the boy letting go of his father's arm to rush towards you.

A cry leaves past his parted lips, his hands reached out to hug your cold body against his.

"Look what you have done, father. You killed her!" The boy says inbetween sobs, you was far from dead but to Huracan seeing your still body, no warm smile on your face and your eyes that twinkled with care and affection was no longer there— you looked dead to him.

K'uk'ulkan looked down at you. His son held onto you so gently, the rain easing down — the thunderstorm slowly clearing up.

"Hura.. she's not dead." The king says while his inner voice says  'well not yet'. He didn't trust you, this human but the way his son held onto you like his own life depended on you— he could not just kill you after he found out you had saved his son.

"You have to help her then or else I'll hate you forever." Huracan suddenly spat out— eyes shining bright with anger and saddness, his words stung K'uk'ulkan , his heart aching at the words his son spewed at him. An expression of hurt forms on K'uk'ulkan's face, a soft sigh leaving past his lips.

He glances down at your unconscious form that laid on the sand, his son's words floating around in his mind. He bends down towards you, taking in your features— noticing your skin has gotten paler and your ankle was swelling.

He was not keen on helping you, a surface dweller, he had hate for these disparage creatures but seeing how his son has become attached to you, clinging. He couldn't just kill you.

With one last glance towards your unconscious body, he looks back towards the raging ocean as he signals for Namora to come to him. He turns away and looks down at his son, his heart softening when he sees the tears on his cheeks as he sighs lightly.

'I'm only doing this for you my child.'

PART 5

[valley-of-headcanons]

the chill zone || sam x scared!farmer oneshot

only an idiot would fish in thunderstorms when you're afraid of them. apparently you're an idiot. sam has to take you into the chill zone.

warnings: fluffy, friends-to-lovers arc, thunderstorms

requested by: me >:)

Sam jumped out of his bed when he heard a knock at the door. His mom was out of town on a girl's day, and his father had taken Vincent to the city for the day. Sam opted out, wanting to stay home and write for his band, but he ended up just laying in bed all day. Until a very frantic knock rang out across the house.

Opening the door, he saw you, freezing and shaking. Was it from the cold or fear? It didn't matter, he needed to get you inside before you froze to death or fainted.

“I think you might be a little wet,” he laughed, leaning against the doorway, trying to be a little bit snarky before seeing your expression. He's never seen that look on your face. “Hey, come in. Don't want you dyin' out there or anything.”

“Th-Thanks ... I'm not really good with thunder and stuff ... I thought it was just gonna be raining today, but I was proven wrong apparently.” you laughed nervously, stepping onto the mat.

You two stared at each other before Sam remembered that he should probably be helping you. “Towel! Towel, yeah, let me go get that- you don't have a change of clothes on you, do you? Wait- why would you, that's stupid, that would be wet too- do you want one of my shirts?”

All you could do was nod as you leaned against the doorway, flinching at a small crack of thunder.

He ran throughout the house like a mad man on a mission, grabbing two towels, one of his shirts, and some basketball shorts you could tie up to your liking. He handed them to you, before noticing how your hands were shaking. “Will you be good to get to the bathroom?” he said, his voice beginning to soften a little as he realized how bad of a state you were in.

You shook your head. “I'll be okay, I-I promise,” you smiled weakly as you slowly made your way over to the bathroom. He quickly rushed to his bedroom to clean up a little bit while you were changing, not wanting to look like a total slob. His mom would be very impressed.

As you stood in the doorway, Sam looked back at you with a soft smile. “You made it out alive, I see.”

“Yeah ... when do you think the thunder will clear up?” you said, a frown beginning to form against your lips.

“Overnight, I think ... hey, I've got an idea!” Sam said with a determined grin, looking around his room before finding a decently quality speaker. He connected it to his phone before turning it all the way up. “What kind of music do you listen to?”

“Uhm ... I don't really care, I'll listen to whatever,” you said, walking over to him and peering over his shoulder.

He looked through his music before settling on something that might calm you down just a tad bit. Switching on some lofi music, he sat down on the edge of his bed before offering you two blankets. “Here, relax. Let all those worries away, you're not allowed to be upset in the chill zone,” Sam said, referring to his room.

You laid back against the wall, curled up in the mountain of blankets engulfing you. “... Thank you, I really appreciate it,” you said, having to speak in a louder voice so that he could hear you. That speak was doing a pretty good job.

“Don't sweat it, we all need help sometimes,” he said with a gentle smile, placing a hand on your shoulder. He slowly took his hand off before leaning back against the wall beside you. He closed his eyes as he listened to the soft beats of the music, perfectly covering the dangerous sounds of thunder outside. It was truly the chill zone.

You closed your eyes soon after he did, your head slipping from the wall to his shoulder soon enough. Neither of you knew, you were asleep at this point. Nothing could bother you two, it was a moment of mutual bliss. Everything was okay, all of your fears were put to rest.

[featherandferns]

fluff for 4

4. Please, I know exactly what I'm doing.

based on true, traumatic events (content warning: spiders)

feel free to request: prompt list

not funny - prompt 4

You’re not a very fearful person. Snakes you can deal with, wasps and bees are no problem, fire and thunderstorms never bothered you much. As a child, you prided yourself on not having a fear of the dark. There was never the need for a night light by your bed. Your only weakness – the only thing that you were truly scared of – is spiders. I mean, why? Why do they have to look like that? Why do they always seemingly run towards you, instead of away? Why are they so fast and why are they always, always were you never want them to be?

Considering you are so flippant about other phobic things; you’d expect your fear of spiders to be mediocre and casual. Maybe a little shriek before attacking it at a safe distance with a broom. But no. Your phobia was debilitating. One time you found a spider in your bedroom, chilling in the corner of the room, and you slept on the sofa for a week. The only reason why you returned to your bed is because your mom demanded it.

When you wake up randomly in the night, there’s an arm weighting you down on your stomach. Grunting, blinking awake, you wonder why your body felt the need to bring you around. Then you tune into the fact that you need to pee. Sighing, you wriggle out of JJ’s hold. He sleepily mumbles something in his sleep, into the pillow, and you can’t help but smile. He’s weirdly cute when he’s asleep; lying on his front, face mushed against the cotton of the sheets.

The chateau is familiar enough to you that you don’t flick on any lights as you make your way to the bathroom. It must be nearing sunrise, as there’s that pre-sun glow starting to brighten the sky, illuminating your path somewhat as it inches through the windows that nobody ever bothers to pull the blinds on.

When you make it into the bathroom, however, you do flick on the light. Squint against it as you close the door, groaning.

“Stupid fucking bladder,” you grumble. Roll your eyes as you pull the seat down (“stupid fucking men”).

All is going as well as a late-night toilet break can go until you move to grab at the toilet roll to wipe. A burly, black, beady-eyed bastard is staring you down. Then it’s like he feels the need to perform. Runs around the loo roll several times – around and around – and you feel your stomach drop straight into the porcelain bowel. Shrieking, you shoot up, yanking up your pyjama shorts and darting away from the spider.

Wide awake, you hyperventilate as you stare at him, unable to remove your gaze. He seems to take it as a challenge. Starts climbing up the walls. Starts wandering towards you.

“JJ!” you scream. You don’t care how hysterical you sound. All you can think about is the fact that you’re essentially trapped into this tiny bathroom with a huge, fuck-off, borderline Australian spider who looks like they could speak to you in English. “JJ!”

JJ calls out your name. The door flies open and you screech again. “Jesus Christ! What is it? Are you okay?”

His eyes are wide and frantic as he scans you up and down, as if searching for an injury. There’s still a sag to his face that comes from freshly rising. A part of you longs to feel guilty, but there’s bigger fish to fry and way bigger spiders to kill.

You point a shaking finger at the wall.

“What?” JJ panics, following it, glancing around.

“The spider! Look at the fucking size of it,” you say.

JJ stares at the spider. His heaving chest begins to slow as he processes what’s going on.

“Did you seriously wake me up to deal with a fucking spider?”

“It’s huge!”

“It’s harmless!” he replies loudly, gesturing to it. It darts further up the wall and you hold back a screech. He rakes a hand through his bed head. “Jesus Christ.”

“Can you get it?”

“Seriously?”

“Yes! I can’t sleep knowing it’s here.”

“We’re on the pullout! That’s like three rooms away!”

“I can’t sleep knowing it’s here!” you loudly reply.

The others are probably awake now too but honestly, thank God. They should evacuate with that fucker in the house. You glare at it, as if daring it to move again.

JJ seems to be on the spider’s side, as he glares down at you, too. He mumbles cusses under his breath, complains about being dragged out of bed, as he ducks down to dig through the bathroom cupboard under the sink. Tosses things around as he searches for a cup, coming out short.

The spider seems to be in a hurry to get somewhere as it crawls along the wall, nearer to the toilet, close to the ceiling.

“JJ!”

Sighing, he gets back to his feet and glances around. Slams the toilet lid closed and stands atop of it with a grunt.

“What—”

“Please, I know exactly what I’m doing,” he says dismissively down to you.

Then turning to the wall, he begins to raise his hands. Oh no.

“Come on, little fella,” he mutters, reaching his bare fucking hands out to the spider.

You feel like throwing up.

Somehow, by some miracle, JJ clasps it in his hold. You shriek as you dart out the way, pressing yourself tightly against the wall outside the bathroom, as JJ carries the spider out the room and down the hall. He’s still talking to the bastard. You collapse against the wall with a sigh, closing your eyes. Too much adrenaline, too early in the day.

“Don’t you wanna say goodbye?”

You yelp out, eyes shooting open, to find a shit-eating grin on JJ’s face. His clasped hands are held out in front of you. You feel your lip tremble as you try and push back against the wall, aiming to put as much distance between yourself and the spider as possible.

JJ’s sniggering now as he holds his hands out nearer to your face. “Come on! Kiss him goodnight at least!”

“Stop it!” you blubber.

His humour immediately dies the moment you start to cry. “Hey! Woah, woah, it’s just a joke, alright? There’s nothing in here. Hey!”

He drops the act, not even making a show of opening his hands, instead pulling you into his chest and stroking your back reassuringly.

“M’sorry. Thought it’d be a funny joke,” JJ says meekly into your hair.

You reluctantly hug him back. “I’m not putting out for a week because of that.”

“A week? Come on, baby! It was a dumb joke!”

“Fine,” you sigh. That is a bit dramatic. “A day.”

[small-sinclair]

Hi I love your Sinclairs Brothers X reader oneshots and I was wondering if I could make a request of poly Sinclair Brothers X reader where the reader wants to have a baby and they ask the Sinclair Brothers if they want a baby as well and I was wondering if it could be fluff with a slight angst it's upto you have a lovely day/night ☺️

Of course!

It'll be a bit angsty but it'll have a happy ending! I'll have this as an a/b/o prompt because I love writing those! I love the Sinclairs as that :3 . Didn't like how this turned out, though, but let me know if you liked it!

a/b/o Sinclairs x fem!reader

Tw: Reader is not a wolf, sexal activities mentioned, infertile reader

Welcomed reader: @sketchy-rosewitch

After getting married to all three, you were trying to create a family.

At first, Bo was so excited that you wanted a child. He lifted you up and spun you around, kissing you all over. He loved the idea of having a family and kids running around the house and yard. Growing a pack was a life long dream!

Then you asked Vincent, and he didn't act like his twin. He was hesitant with the idea of being a father, and it scared him. What if his children couldn't look at him with the same love as he has for them? What if he ended up like Trudy? Then he saw your smile and you telling him about different baby names, and his heart warmed to the idea. Much like his brother, having a little pack of his own and watch them grow... it didn't sound that bad.

Finally, you asked Lester, and he was blushy and gushy. He thought you were joking, but when you told him about your dream of having a lot of kids, he was over the moon. He thought he would be a good father, be something his own parents weren't. He liked the idea of teaching his kids how to hunt and fish, to survive in the forest without needing help.

At the end, the Sinclair Pack was all ready to become a larger family, and you were nothing but excited.

You've been trying for months on end with the brothers. Every month, week, day; whenever they were in heat, when you felt the mood with one of them, when they felt the mood with you; taking pain, pleasure, both, soft, rough, a bit of everything; quick or long-- you tried. Tired and tried and tried, but nothing worked. Every time you thought it was it, nothing happened. But still, you tried. All of you tried.

Then a feeling came over you when you looked back on your family history, and you hoped you were wrong. If you're wrong, then there has to be something more you can do! If your right... how are you going to tell Bo? He always wanted to be a father! How are you going to tell Vincent? He always wanted to rock his child to sleep during thunderstorms! How are you going to tell Lester? He always wanted to teach his kid how to fish and hunt!

The blanket forts, the sleepovers, the school events, the report cards, soccer and baseball games-- all of it was slipping through your fingers like sand in an hour glass.

Please, be wrong, y/n. You have to be wrong, you thought to yourself as you sat in the Gynecologist's office in a blue and white medical dress. You had your hands folded as you looked at the posters of mothers and babies. I want to be wrong.

You told Bo that you'll be in town to get something, and you weren't lying. You came for town for a doctor's appointment and strawberries from the farmer's market. You didn't want to tell them that you'll be here because you were afraid of what they might do, and you don't think they needed to be here for this. If it's nothing, then you shouldn't worry, right? You have to keep trying over and over until... you just want a family, your own little pack.

The sound of the door clicking snapped your thoughts, and you looked up hopeful as the female doctor entered. "Hello, y/n," she said sweetly. "I'm Dr. Haley. How are you doing today?" IN her hands, she had a large paper packet and a clipboard. You knew what was going to be said before her words came, and your words started to crumble.

And so it begins.

***************

Bo's leg never stopped bouncing as he looked at the clock. He saw the truck coming back from town, but you didn't stop. He could smell something off as the truck kicked up dust in the wind, the breeze carrying your scent down hill to the open garage doors. He knew Vincent could smell it because he poked his head up from the basement tunnel, signing at him in questions and wonders.

"I don't know, Vince," Bo answered looking back at the house. "I didn't do anythin' to her... she just came back like this." He looked back at Vincent, who had his arms crossed, nodding up to the house. Bo closed his eyes and lowered his head. "Text Les and tell 'im t'get 'ere. I got a feelin' 'is is an everyone problem."

And he wasn't wrong as he got closer to the house.

He paused in his tracks as he looked at the home, and his stomach started to turn as he started to smell pain mixed with anxiety.

He could hear your muffled cried from upstairs from outside, making him and Vincent freeze in there tracks. They looked at each other then sprinted the last block towards the house, your sobs burning like sharp whiskey in the back of the throat. On the other side of town, they heard Lester's truck speeding up as if he could hear you from the other end. Bo didn't like this smell as he bolted up the porch steps growing stronger, and he nearly ripped the door off its hinges, again.

Vincent looked around the living room, hearing Lester's truck dying in the drive and his boots crunching the gravel. Bo's head snapped up at the steps and started towards your room. Lester's heart hammered in his chest as he listened to your cries, and it tore the Beta apart. He felt lost and confused, but that all changed when fear took over. Did he do something to upset you? Is this his fault? It didn't help that the twins were thinking the same thing, nervous and fear mixing together in an unholy concoction.

The brothers' boots echoed up the steps like an army storming through the house, Lester taking the lead somehow. If you weren't crying, you would yell at them to take their boots off at the door, but you hugged Bo's pillow as you wore Lester's gator shirt and Vincent's sweatpants.

"Darlin'?" Lester asked, not bothering to knock as he entered the room. "Why are you crying? What's wrong? What happened--?"

Bo pipped up from behind. "Who do we gotta kill? Who's gonna die?"

You tied to look up at them but looked back at Bo's pillow. His kids would've loved pillow fights--

You let out a loud sob, causing your Alphas to cringe at the noise, the Beta's eyes falling over you.

This was breaking their hearts as they filed in one by one, each taking their place on the bed: Lester near your stomach on the left, Vincent on your left, and Bo on your right. Bo takes the pillow from you and tossed it behind him. He pulled you up to lay against his chest. Lester sat up and wiped your tears away, his heart breaking with every fat teat that touched his fingers. Vincent smoothed your hair and arm, bringing you hand up to his waxed lips. The urge to protect you from these three grew louder and larger, their desire to keep you from the horrors outside the town.

What happened, sunshine? Vincent signed against your skin. What went wrong?

You got your breathing back to normal, your hand finding Vincent's once more. You swallowed hard and let out a shaky breath. "I went to town today and got strawberries."

"That's good," Bo said, his fingers brushing through your hair. He tried his best to remain calm, the worse running through his head.

"And I went to the gynecologist's afterwards," you squeezed Vincent's hand.

Lester's eyes blinked, his head going empty. "The what?" he asked, lifting his brow.

Bo answered for you. "It's where a woman doctor looks over the female body."

It didn't hit Lester at first, and he blinked a couple times. He's so cute when his mind has to go over words again. After a while, it hits him. "Oh! Oh, okay, okay." He looks at you. "Go on."

The scent of mixture anxiety and fear circled and hit the three like a freight train. Vincent leaned against your neck and nuzzled against the nook, trying to mask that smell with his. The smile burned his eyes and they started to water. The smell soaked through his mask, making his skin burn, but he didn't move. He wanted you to be comforted as his little human, his little muse.

Bo followed Vincent's lead, kissing your hair then up and down your right arm, taking in the smell as he tried to mask it with his own. "Tell us... what happened? Y/n, sweetheart," Bo kisses your ring finger, the promise ring he gifted you as a mark of his, "tell me."

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I can't have kids."

"No one's ready for kids," Bo answered. "Kids just kinda happen."

"No, Bo." You felt yourself chocking up again. "I can't have kids. I physically can't have them." You looked in his eyes as you felt tears falling again. "I'm infertile. Something's-something's wrong with me." You sobbed out the last part as you hugged him tightly, breaking all of their hearts. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that-that I'm use-useless now-!"

Lester hugged your side tightly as the twins covered you in their arms, all three holding you close. "Ya ain't useless," Lester said as he tried not to cry with you. "Who told ya 'at? Who said 'at?" When he heard you cry, he started crying, too. He wished he could take your pain from you.

"Ain't useless," Bo conformed, kissing your hair. "Never been useless. Far from it, y/n--"

"But-but you and Vince and Les want-want a family--"

"You are our family," Bo stopped your words hard. "You've been our family since you got here!" He felt Vincent tighten his arms around his brother and you, burying his face into your shirt. "We don't need kids to be one."

Lester nodded in agreement. "Yeah!" He wipes his tears away. "You are family. We-we don't need a kid to make-make one."

Vincent makes a noise in the back of his throat, his arms running over your other arm to your shoulder. 'You are far from useless, my muse. You are the glue to this little pack.' He leans close to you and kisses your cheek with is real lips, tasting salty tears. 'We love you. I love you!'

Bo kisses your neck then your lips. "It's okay, y/n. It'll be okay."

"But, you wanted--"

"I want you to be happy," he answered for himself. "I want to care fer ya an' love ya an' protect ya. Shit," he gestured around him, "we all want that."

Lester took your hands and kissed over your knuckles. "An' if ya want a family wit' kids an' all, shot," he flashed you a bright, loving smile, "I don' mind adoptin'!"

'Your heart makes this a family, a pack,' Vincent planted another kiss over your skin. 'Not children.'

Bo repeated his words against your skin, "You are our family," he planted a kiss to make the words stick. "Nothin' an' no one will change that. Fertile or not." He placed your hair behind your ear. "You're my home."

"Our home." Lester kissed your knuckles again.

'Our pack,' Vincent signed as he leaned against your neck.

As the sunsets over the dead town, you were safe between your alphas and beta, there arms holding you close as they talked over anything and everything. You don't know what they saw in you or why they wanted you around, but you're thankful for them. They were your family, and they were yours.