#it shouldn’t be possible to move the way she does and look the way she does and BE the way that she is????

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Finer Things 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, age gap, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your mom surprises you with a visit but has a lot more in store than you could ever imagine.

Characters: Tony Stark

Note: my first day back to work but I get to work from home.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

Your phone buzzes on your textbook. It’s early. You don’t know why you’re awake, or studying for that matter, but here you are. Do you not know or are you in denial? 

Last night was strange. All of it. The dinner, the hotel, the drive home. It was all unexpected but you can easily predict the incoming phone call before you check the display. The same restlessness that stirred in you all night intensifies as you answer your mother. 

“Hi,” you squeak. 

She groans. You frown. “Sweetie,” she mumbles, “I feel awful.” 

“Mom, are you okay?” 

“No, my head is pounding. I’m not going to make the train home,” she grumbles. “I need coffee.” 

You tap your finger on the back of your phone. There’s a single-serve in her room. You saw it when you put her in the bed. 

“Do they have room service?” You suggest. 

“It’s so expensive, sweetie,” she whines. You know what she wants but you really shouldn’t give it to her. She is your mom, though. Your phone gives a short vibration but stops. 

“Uh, one sec,” you pull the phone back. ‘Call Incoming’. You shake your head. Probably some sort of robo scam. “Did you have any water?” 

“I can’t,” she snivels. “I can’t get out of bed, sweetie. Uh, I feel so horrid. Can’t you come and take care of your mommy?” 

You look at the ceiling. You really hate when she does that voice. She makes herself sound like a child. 

“I’ll bring my books,” you resign. “Might take me a while--” 

“You know, I called him. Tony. He won’t answer. He must’ve already left town.” She sighs weakly. “I’m so alone, sweetie.” 

“Mom, I’m leaving now. I have to get off the phone,” you say before your agitation grows. “Love you.” 

“Oh, I love you too. More than anything,” she purrs. 

You hang up. You do love her. She’s your mom but you don’t love the way she acts sometimes. Or that she puts so much on you. Every mood swing, every omen of bad luck, everything is your mess to clean up. Since you moved to campus, it dawns on your more and more, your mom has been more a roommate than a parent. 

You get up and pack up your books. You pull on a pair of soft track pants with fleece lining and a loose long-sleeve tee. You tuck your feet into your Ugg style boots and bundle up in your downy coat.  

As you scoop up your phone, it lights up with another call. You’re surprised it isn’t your mother begging you to bring her a latte instead of the hotel tripe. It’s not her but you’ll still get her a latte. You dismiss the private caller. 

You head out, bus pass and apathy well in hand. You get off a stop away from your mother’s hotel and find the cafe from the map app. You order her a pistachio cream and a plain americano for yourself. The hot cups underline the crisp frigidity in the air as you emerge. 

As you knock on your mother’s door, you hear her whine from inside. “Come in.” 

“I can’t, locked,” you call back. 

She sobs dramatically and you listen to her uneven footfalls. She opens the door, slumped forward as she exaggerates her hangover. You hold out the latte. 

“Oh, sweetie. You are a blessing,” she takes it and greedily slurps. “Mmm, oh, espresso, my darling friend.” 

She scurries away and the door shuts behind you. You hang your coat and leave your boots at the door. You pace around with your coffee as she goes back to the bed and hides her bare legs under the duvet. 

“So, you got home safely.” 

“Yeah,” you shrug and peek out the window. “You got advil? For your head?” 

“Of course,” she touches her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot about my new meds. They mellow me out but oof, they make me so forgetful.” 

You nod. You’re not so sure it’s just the meds. She’s always been flighty. The unpaid credit card statements are evidence enough. 

“It’s so nice, though. An extra day in town to spend together! That’s so sweet,” she preens and grabs the remote from the bedside table. She aims it at the television and it blares on loudly. The reality show crowd jeers as the host reads from a cue card. 

“Mind if I study?” You ask. 

“No, I’m just going to be watching this trash,” she giggles. “Oh, this is a delightful latte.” 

“Right,” you go to the table and unpack your bag. 

You do your best to ignore the television. It’s so loud. She always cranks it so high. You highlight and copy over key points. Your coffee goes cold before you finish it. You choke down the dregs and stretch your fingers. 

“Gotta hit the bathroom.” 

“Sure, sweetie. Ooh, how about breakfast?” She offers. 

“I could eat,” you say as you cross the room. You have to keep yourself from reminding her of her own words; it’s so expensive. 

You close yourself in the bathroom and take your time. You would rather be in your dorm, even if it would be just as loud. Gabourey no doubt has big plans for the weekend. 

You come out. The TV blares and your mother sits cradling her phone. You go to the table and sit with a yawn. “Anything look good?” You ask. 

“So... how’d you get home last night?” She asks abruptly, popping her head up. Her expression is dangerous. 

You squint, “Mr. Stark drove me--” 

“Mr. Stark?” She clucks. “Oh, all the way back to your dorm? As he left me here all alone?” 

“Well, uh, yeah. I wanted to stay but--” 

“But what?” She snips and turns her phone around, showing the image on her phone. You put your glasses back on to see it clearly. You almost forgot about the photographer last night. “Looks like you had lots of fun together.” 

You blink as if she slapped you. Is she accusing you of something? 

“He just drove me to my dorm,” you say in confusion. 

“Oh, uh huh, yeah, I see that,��� she sniffs. “I just... I’m wondering,” she sucks her teeth rudely, “why he’s not answering my messages or my calls, but then up pops this? Such lovely photos of you two.” 

“I’m... I’m not sure what’s going on.” 

“I’m not stupid. I mean, when I realised who he is, I knew it wasn’t going to be a big thing. Maybe a few nights but, sweetie, I didn’t raise you to be a slut,” she spits. 

You flinch again and your jaw drops, “what?! Mom, he gave me a ride back to my dorm. You can ask my roommates, I got there like fifteen minutes after we left here--” 

“I could ask and they’d lie to me just like you.” 

“I-I-I--” you sputter. “Wow. I can’t believe you think—when have I ever--” your adrenaline is pumping. Your own mother is jealous? Because some stupid paparazzi photos. 

“It’s here. It’s pasted all over. ‘Mystery girl with Stark’.” She taps her screen then tosses away the phone, “Urgh! Why won’t he answer me? Hm?” She looks at you with fiery eyes. “Because then he’d have to lie. That’s the only explanation.” 

Your eyes tinge hotly. You don’t get it. Your mom has her tantrums. She’s never been very immature, but your emotional punching bag, you’re not her competition. She’s always used you to make herself look and feel better. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” you stand up. “You should know that... mom.” 

She scoffs, “oh, you wouldn’t? Not after last night? All your little smiles? That tiny little voice you put on? Oh and that picture you got together? He’ll forget you too.” 

“I didn’t do anything--” 

“That doesn’t work on me,” she snaps. “Get out of my room before you make this headache any worse.” 

You stare at her. She rolls her eyes and scowls. She swipes up the phone and turns away from you. She taps her finger all over then puts it to her ear. 

“Danica, you won’t believe...” 

You don’t know what to do. You’re stunned. She’s your mom, she’s flawed sure but this is a bit much. You just turn and close your textbook and stack it beneath your notebook. You don’t say a word as she closes herself in the bathroom and sobs into her phone. 

She’ll get over it. It’s like that time she thought you stole her Dior lip stain. You don’t even use lip stain, but she was adamant. She didn’t talk to you for a week. Not until she found it in the bottom of her purse. 

You go to the door and wait a moment. She doesn’t come out. You put on your coat and your boots and leave. This is... absurd. 

Your phone buzzes as you stand in the elevator alone. That could be her but now you’re kind of mad. If she doesn’t want to talk to you, then she can do just that. You’re hurt that she would think you’re that kind of person. Although it does make you want to laugh that anyone would think you could get a man like Tony Stark, or a man at all. 

You come outside and your breath clouds round you, adding to the fuzziness of the world. You realise then that you’re crying. It’s probably just the stress of school. You know this is stupid, that it’s just another of your mom’s episodes. 

You mop away your tears and find the bus stop. You silence your phone. You wish the damn scammers would take a hint. You’re half-frozen by the time the weekend route arrives. 

You get off at the campus gates and walk the rest of the way. As you approach the front door, a whistle cuts through the air. You ignore it as you unlock the door. It’s only your name that stops you. You keep a hold of the handle and peer over your shoulder. 

“There you are. I’ve been calling,” Tony approaches in a long jacket and luxurious scarf. His hands are covered by leather gloves that creak as he rubs them together.  

“You have?” You frown. “Well, you should call my mom.” 

“Joyce? She didn’t answer,” he crosses his arms and pushes his shoulders up. “Getting cold out, huh? Think it’s going to snow soon.” 

“She didn’t? But she...” 

“You been crying, sweetheart, or you just cold?” He interrupts. 

You shake your head, “no.” You lie. “I’m just... my mom’s... hungover. She probably missed the call.” 

“Probably, huh?” He tucks his hands under his arms and chatters. “So, you going to invite me in out of the cold?” 

You stare at him. The tip of his nose is red. You should really just be honest. 

“Sure but I have to study so...” 

“I can stay out of your way, baby,” he winks. “Just wanna get the feeling back in my face.” 

“Alright,” you accept and unlock the door a second time. 

He catches it behind you and follows you inside. As you climb the stairs, you rein in your reeling mind. You stop at the top and turn to him. 

“Tony,” you murmur. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” He peels his gloves off. 

“I saw the pictures.” 

“Pictures?” He arches a brow. 

“They’re online. That guy with the camera put them on the internet,” you explain. 

He chuckles, “yeah, they always do that.” 

You stare at him. He just thinks it’s funny. 

“You can’t stay long, okay? I have a lot of work to do.” 

“Oh my, alright. Got it,” he raises his hands. “Kinda like it when you boss me around.” 

“I’m not... bossing you around. I just... I’ll be busy. You’ll get bored.” 

“Of you? Doubt it.” 

You sigh and spin away. You open your dorm and he enters behind you. You point him down the hall away from the chatter in the kitchen. As you unlock your room, you hear a squeal. 

“Ahhh, it’s him!” Racquel screeches, “Gab, get over here. I told you so.” 

You cringe and look over at your roommates. You drop your keys and groan. You pick them up as Tony turns to them. 

“Girls,” he greets cheerfully. “How ya doin’?” 

“I can’t believe it,” Virgie peeks around. Shouldn’t she be napping? 

“Everybody calm down, it’s just me, the world famous billionaire,” he snickers. 

“This is awesome,” Racquel says. “We were just opening the vodka, want a drink?” 

“At 11am?” He checks his watch, “sounds like a good start to the day.” 

He strolls forward and you star after him. Well, he’s not your problem anymore. You bend to pick up your keys. 

“Hey, sweetheart, coming?” He stops by the kitchen door and looks back. “Seems like you could use a drink or two.” 

[ashisill]

The heat of the sun

Warnings: (unprotected sex, oral (both receiving), crying, squirting, language, naked in nature, unprotected sex in nature. Slight public sex, lover boy Josh)

A week late but here she is. Slightly unedited but you’ve all waited long enough. Like always if I missed any warnings feel free to let me know. Enjoy!

~

Josh is hot. Obviously. By hot meaning he is constantly overheating. Every night the sheets end up in the floor. He’s like your own personal heater. You’re happy and warm sleeping peacefully against him. He’s busy tossing and turning trying to strip his clothes off. Which is usually why he goes to bed naked, and has convinced you to do the same. You’ll have to admit it’s quite freeing to sleep that way. It doesn’t matter what the AC is on he’ll be complaining how hot he is. You hear “how the hell are you under a blanket? It’s so damn hot in here” about a hundred times a day.

Most of the time he’s walking around the house half naked. Which is quite the show when someone knocks on the door. He runs around searching for clothes. He ends up in the most random attire.

Sometimes he startles you when all his clothes come off. Not saying that you mind, but when you find him cooking breakfast completely bare. It erupts some giggles from you. What’s even better is when he turns around completely confused.

“What’s so funny?” Josh says turning around.

“You’re naked and cooking breakfast” you giggle covering your mouth and fall over on the couch.

“Well in case you didn’t know the heat from the stove is very hot. I was practically sweating in my boxers”

“How is that even possible?” you laugh even harder.

You’re lucky you have no neighbors for miles. When you can’t find him around the house, so you head to the backyard. There he is doing his meditation, yoga, or just watering the plants. Fully clothed? Hell no.

He was sitting on a mat in the grass with his legs crossed. His eyes closed, and his body still. You didn’t want to interrupt, but you wished to join him. You watched from the back door as he didn’t move a muscle. He felt your presence, and his eyes peeked open. Spotting his stalker immediately he waved over to you. You walked outside, and went to sit next to you. He shook his head then waved his finger at you. You cocked your head to the side. He pointed at your clothes and you sighed. “Do I have to?”

He just nodded, and closed his eyes once more. You followed his silly rules, and stripped your clothes. Leaving your underwear you attempted to join him, but he stopped you once more. Your face turned red, but you followed his words. You sat down beside him and copied his actions. “Being naked is best for meditation because it frees the body of its weight. Is it getting easier for you to stay focus?”

It’s very hard for you to meditate like he does. You hear a noise, open your eyes, your thoughts trail off, and eventually you just give up. You told him about your problems, and he’s spent months trying to help. “More or less the same”

“Face me. Open your eyes”

You looked at him sitting in front of you. “Now what?”

“Knees together”

He instructed you, but you felt extremely vulnerable like this. You shouldn’t be he worships your body like a goddess. “Good girl now open” he tapped your knee.

“But-”

“Shh you’re doing so good love” he cooed. “Spread your legs for me”

You slowly parted your legs until they met the mat. Your hands touch the ground, holding you up. “Good girl just like that”

His hands tickled your ankles then he rubbed your calf. Dancing his finger tips against your knees. He teased your inner thighs with kisses and licks. With small kitten licks he began with your entrance. Working his way up, placing his mouth on your clit. He started to absolutely devour you. Your legs opened even wider as you pushing up higher to his face. His pace never slowing as he flicked his tongue ruthlessly. His hands rubbed your thighs, and all you could feel was him. You began to squirm, and he gripped your hips following you wherever you moved.

“Josh! Im gonna cum!”

He groaned against you in delight. The feeling of his tongue was almost too good. You moaned loudly into the open air. Your head snaps back, jaw dropped, your vision became blurred, and your legs started to shake profusely. He paid close attention to you. He lessened the speed of his tongue as he watched you come down. Moving to hover above you, he held the back of your head, and gently laid you against the mat. One hand rested on the back of your neck, and the other around his shaft. He pumped it lightly before lining up with your entrance

With a single thrust he bottomed put. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly. “Fuck you feel so good”

You studied him as he got lost in you. His eyes shifted down watching himself slide in and out of you.

“Oh fuck” he cried. Frantically he started fucking into you with sloppy movements. “Oh god”

You sat up on your forearms to see him better. “My sweet boy gonna cum?” You whisper.

“Please” he cried out loud. “Please mama”

“Give it to me baby”

“Shit” he hissed through his teeth. With all the strength he had left he thrusted into you. He collapsed resting his head on your stomach. You closed your eyes, and the for the first time not a single thought crossed your mind. Everything was quiet as you laid there. You don’t know where you went, but when you return Josh had moved. He was up watering the plants leaving you in your space. Your eyes opened and you lazily looked for Josh. “Why’d you leave?”

“I thought it would be best as a solo adventure. How do you feel?”

“Grounded and really really calm”

He smiled “as it should be”

Sometimes he’s only naked enough to drive you crazy. When he’s leaned up against the couch. Nothing but a thin blanket barely covering crotch. The sun seeming to hit his skin just right. It must be a tease. Your mind starts racing about the things you’d love to do to him. Yet he sits there peacefully reading his book until he notices your eyes.

“What do you need darling?”

You shrugged your shoulders. Scanning him all over with your eyes. Your mouth starts watering, and you feel core starting to leak. You’ve always had trouble getting wet, but not when it comes to Josh. You were made to believe something was wrong with you. You could never seem to get to that state. For anyone, and that includes just for yourself. It was an insecurity of yours until he came along. Eye contact from Josh alone and you’re drenched. Something about him turns you on so much that just one sexual thought has you soaked. He knows it too, and that’s exactly why he’s propped up so pretty on the couch.

He slowly slides the blanket off revealing his semi hard cock. All the while he stares deep into your eys. He pats his thigh, and gently sets his book down. “Come sit mama”

You make your way across the couch, and straddle him. Your hips hovered above his thighs. His fingers started feeling you through your panties “You’re so wet darling. How’d that happen?”

“You just looked so good sitting here” you said innocently looking into his eyes. You started sliding your clit along his cock.

“My sweet girl. Does that feel good?”.

You bit your lip and nodded your head. “I want you inside” you pouted

He laughed softly “Go ahead love. Put it in”

Sliding him through your slick one last time. You lined him up, and slowly sinked down.

“Oh god” you cried out instantly.

“Shh relax princess”. He pushed your hair behind your ears, and kissed your forehead. Putting his hands on the top of your shoulders and pushing you down farther.

“Josh” tears already threatened your eyes. He gripped your hips, and started thrusting slowly. Manhandling you in position as he bucked up into you.

“Josh!” You cried even louder.

“I’m here darling. I’m right here”

As much as you tried to stop it tears started to fall. As they reached your cheek he looked puzzled.

“Oh baby don’t cry” he wiped your cheeks.

“Please” you whined. A hand cradled your face watching you carefully. “Please don’t stop”

“I won’t my love. Look at me sweet girl”

Your eyes locked onto his. His mouth opened slightly, his breath heavy, and sweat started to drip from his forehead. “Does it feel good?”

“So good baby so good”

“You’re squeezing me pretty girl”

“Im so close”

He let go of your hips, and both hands now cradled your face. He still bucked his hips up forcefully, making you bounce.

Tears streamed all over your face. “Fuck fuck fuck” you mumbled.

“Fuck fuck fuck” he teased back. “Let go for me princess”

“Josh talk to me” you begged.

“Oh baby. You want me to tell you how I’m the lucky guy in the world? How I could never love another even in a different life. You’re mine forever, and you’re the most prettiest most perfect girl in the whole world my love. My pretty pretty girl”

You cried “I love you”

“I love you darlin, but I love this pretty pussy to baby. Let go for me. Let me have this pussy pretty girl”

“It’s yours”

“Whose is it?”

“It’s yours!” Your legs started to shake as you spilled out your wetness all over his thighs. Another thing about Josh, he made you realize you could squirt. You’d convinced yourself you couldn’t, but you were wrong. He tried over and over until it happened. Then he showered you with praise, and it quickly became his new favorite thing. It’s a lot for you sometimes it can bring up emotions. Except sometimes it’s exactly what you need.

Unable to hold yourself up, you fell into him. You attempted to catch your breath, but your tears didn’t stop. You couldn’t manage words and just cried against his chest.

“It’s okay pretty girl” He rubbed your back gently letting you come down. “I know it so much huh?”

You nodded as you sniffled, and his arms wrapped around your back. “But you take it so well. Such as good girl for me darlin”

“I like being your good girl” you said into his chest. “I like it when I make you proud”

“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. I’m always proud of you baby. Always”

“I love you Josh”

I love you too my angel. Shower?”

“Josh?” You said feeling him grow inside you.

“Mhm?”

“Are you hard?”

He picked you up, and carried you to the bathroom, sitting you on the counter, and turned on the water. He kissed you as he waited for the water to warm. Picking you up once more, and placing both of you in. With your legs wrapped around his waist, he gently touch your back to the wall. He held you up by your ass, and your arms were tight around his neck. You reached down, and slid him inside. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and held on tight. Using his grip on you slid you back and forth on his cock. “Fuck Josh” you whined.

He moaned with you, and his grip tightened. “I love you my angel I love you”

“I love you too baby don’t stop. Take us there Josh”

His breath picked up “my god I love you so much. You’re my everything darling. You’re just so perfect I just fucking love you so much”

He’s getting close and you know it by the rambling. “I love you too Josh” you cooed.

“I’m gonna marry you one day, and we’re gonna have such beautiful children. We’re gonna grow old together, and I’m never going to be bored of spending time with you”

Even though the two of you were soaked you knew he was crying. His tears seeming invisible with the water than ran down his face. Still you wiped them “I’m here baby, and I love you just the same”

His gripped loosen making you jump. You squirmed till he put you down, and then you got down on your knees. “Cum for me baby okay?”

You took him whole, and started moving in and out. Sucking hard on his tip, and pulling off with a pop. Only to take him in once more. His hands wrapped around your hair, and he started moving your head. You opened wide, and let him fuck your face. Gagging hard around him, but urging him to continue. Without warning he spilled out against the back of your throat. Slowing down his thrust, and eventually pulling off.

You washed each others hair, and shared a towel. Both of you trotted off to the bedroom, and collapsed on the bed. It wasn’t long before you were falling asleep on his chest. He held the back of your head protectively like always, and gently scratched your back. He whispered more I love yous before sleep took over. It didn’t take long for you to make your way into his dream. Already eager to wake up with his sweet girl once more.



[mappingthesky]

nymphia is perfect in the most mesmerizing glittery superstar sort of way that shouldn’t be possible and it’s actually absurd to witness

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Little Things He Does

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: tiny bit of smut

He knew that you were one of those girls who appreciated the little things and for whom physical touch was one of the biggest indicators of love.

With that in mind, Lando tries to do as many of those little things every day just to make you happy. Some of those little things he isn’t even aware he is doing that you, of course, notice and which make you love him even more if that's even possible.

For example, when you’re making your way through a crowd and paparazzi is pushing their cameras in your faces. Lando is tightly holding your hand, constantly turning to check if you're okay, keeping you close to him and trying to shield you as much as possible because he knows it’s very much out of your comfort zone.

“You okay, baby?” He asked.

“Yeah, barely..”

“Just hold on tight to me, we’re almost there, okay?” He assured you squeezing your hand.

Or how while you're walking down the sidewalk, he moves you to the other side so that he's closer to the road.

“So anyway, I told her that it's not a problem, she just needs to let me know about such things earlier so that I can organize myself.” You rambled to him about work on your evening run on the streets of Monaco.

Except on your way back to the apartment you didn't run anymore because you were too tired and wanted to tell him what happened at work earlier today.

“Yeah, you did the right thing. You shouldn’t keep quiet about such things.”

“I mean I have a life outside of work too, you know?” You sighed.

“You know you don’t have to work, baby..” Lando said sliding his hand around you waist and almost imperceptibly moving you to the other side away from the road.

“Lan, don’t even start with that again. We already had that conversation.”

He kept his hand on your lower back for a while before putting his arm around your shoulder and pulling you to him.

“Or I can do something for you to go on a maternity leave..” He smirked making you burst out laughing.

Or the way he constantly holds your hand even when he’s talking to somebody and when you try to sneak out of his grip he almost instantly grips you tighter as if you’re going to run away. Or when fans ask him for an autograph, and instead of letting go of your hand, he just switches it from his right to left because he wants you close to him all the time.

Or when he has you underneath him while he’s thrusting into you. When he’s so close he lets you know he’s about to come whispering into your ear.

“Oh yes, yes, Lan, uhh” You close your eyes, your voice coming out in broken moans as he keeps knocking the air out of you.

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna cum” He stuttered whispering before spilling his hot load inside you. He was gasping for air, tingles ran through his body as he buried hos head in your neck riding out his orgasm.

He often tells you “You’re gonna make me cum” as well wanting to remind you that no one can except for you. And you love the way he becomes so vulnerable after he cums.

You could have the dirtiest sex ever the one where he’s spitting into your mouth, choking you, making you gag around him, spanking you and pounding into you like there’s no tomorrow, but once both of you finish he just wants to take care od you and make sure he didn’t take it too far.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks looking down at you and moving your hair out of your face.

“I’m fine, don’t worry” You smiled. “I loved it”

“I love you so much” He whispers spreading small soft kisses all over the side of your neck.

Or when you're in the paddock together and you're both giving interviews at the same time, you're standing a little further away from him but close enough for him to hear what the reporters are questioning you. He doesn't know that you notice how he can't concentrate on the questions they're asking him because he keeps turning his head towards your direction keeping his eyes on you to make sure they're not making you feel uncomfortable. So when the reporter asks him something he just keeps saying "sorry, can you repeat that?"

Or the way that when you're going to some kind of event or even just going out, and you're wearing a short dress or some other kind of risky outfit, he opens the car door for you and stands in front to shield you from the paparazzi until you fix your dress and are ready to step out of the car.

Or the way he always comes to apologize first when you have an argument. Neither of you can stand going to bed fighting, it's not natural for you. It doesn't matter if it's your fault or his, he's always the one who comes first and says "let's not do this".

You weren't even sure how the argument came about, but you found yourself yelling at each other for some stupid reason. You were tired and annoyed because he wasn't listening to what you were saying, he was still stressed from losing the race and you just went off on each other.

He let it take an hour for you both to calm down and give each other some space, but he didn't last much longer than that before he came into the room where you were lying on your shared bed reading a book in the dim light.

He sat next to you on the bed, and you ignored him, not taking your eyes off the book. He then gently took the book from your hands and moved even closer to you taking your cheeks between his palms.

"Let's not do this, okay? I feel bad for yelling and I'm sorry about that." He says caressing your cheek with his thumb. "I don't like when we're fighting and when we can't talk things out."

You remain silent for a few seconds to swallow the tears that have gathered in your eyes. "I don't like it either. I overreacted and I'm sorry too." Your voice cracked and the tears started to roll down your cheeks.

"Baby, hey, there's no reason to cry." He said pulling you to him and kissing the side of your head.

"Sorry, I just feel so bad right now because I know you still feel bad about the race and I feel like I didn't give you enough support and comfort but I just took it out on you for nothing."

"It's okay, baby, being with you now is the only comfort I need."

Or that one time when Lando met a little fan in the paddock who asked him about you.

"Is that your girlfriend?" The little boy asked pointing his finger towards you. You weren't with them but talking to some other fan further away from the two of them.

Lando looked in the direction the boy was pointing and nodded. "Yeah, that's y/n, my girlfriend." He said and the little boy giggled. "What?" Lando chuckled.

"She's pretty." The boy said and Lando couldn't hide his ear-to-ear grin.

He looked towards you again and said "I know, right? The prettiest."

Or the way he kisses you on the cheek. There's something about the way he does it. It just feels so special when he comes up from behind you, wraps his arms around you, pulls you to his chest and presses his lips to your cheek. Or when you're watching TV on the couch and you're lying between his legs leaning against him and every now and then he leans his head down to leave a soft kiss on your cheek.

Lando knows that you don't like too much PDA, especially in front of your friends. You're not a fan of kissing in front of them and Lando respects that, but still manages to steal a kiss on the cheek even in front of them.

Or the way when both of your are in the kitchen and you're trying to reach something from the top shelf and he does it for you before you even get to ask him to.

Or the way he keeps snapping pictures of you when you're not looking.

Or the way he keeps a funny picture of you as his wallpaper.

Or the way he looks at you as you happily jump and sing along when he surprises you by taking you to your favorite concert. He is so fulfilled when you are happy, and that is exactly all he needs, you being happy.

Or the way he talks about you in interviews.

"I live a pretty fast-paced life and I tend to put myself under a lot of pressure. Then there's the pressure of being constantly in the public eye as well. Always on the move, training a lot, it often gets to a point where it just becomes too much, you know? It tends to be very overwhelming and exhausting, but all of that disappears the second I come home to her. She makes all of my worries go away and reminds me of what's really important in life. She always puts me back on track. I couldn't do it without her."

All those little things that he does are anything but little to you.

[monstersflashlight]

Commission for @sammehshark

Request: dragon x fem reader, where the reader is a knight sworn to protect the dragon who is royalty. does that work??🥺

A/N: Hope you enjoy this!

From fury to fire

Dragon x fem!reader || teasing, hate sex (but not really), oral sex, size kink, overstimulation

Feeling him inside of you, so deep you could feel him in the back of your throat as he pounded into you chanting about how much he liked your human body, you couldn’t avoid thinking about the first time you met and how his feelings about you weren’t exactly of love (or so he said).

His father, the king, just introduced you as the new royal knight, the one who would protect the prince from now on. You knew it was unusual, a human protecting a dragon? Nobody would suspect that, and that’s exactly why they choose you. And because you were the best knight in the royal army, that too, but the surprise factor was the main reason. You would blend in as his servant, as someone there to help him, but not to protect him. And that would make you the best royal knight possible, and the king knew this. But his son wasn’t so keen on the idea.

“How can a human protect me?” He almost spit the word. The way he roared his disapproval made you feel like a bug, but it also ignited such fury inside of you that before you could realize you were walking up to him, so much bigger than you, your eyes blazing with rage.

You pressed your index finger to his scaly chest, not even caring he was your boss AND your prince. Without blinking you told him: “What better than a human,” you mocked his tone, “to protect a dragon? Is somebody going to suspect I’m the best knight in the army?”

He huffed a laugh, smoke coming out of his nose as he did. “You aren’t the best knight in the army,” he mocked, like the idea was stupid in its own.

You knew you shouldn’t. You knew it wasn’t a good idea. You knew you just got hired, and even if you were great, kicking the prince’s ass was probably not a good move. But he laughed at you, and you were beyond annoyed. So you did what you did best: you maneuvered your body around his much bigger one until he had his back to the floor and you were sitting on his chest smiling down at him.

“Well, my lord,” your tone was full of venom, “guess you aren’t better than me.” You couldn’t believe you used to have a crush in the stupid dragon. (And couldn’t believe even less that you still did.)

“Enough you two,” the king roared, a breath of fire leaving his mouth and almost setting the curtains on fire. “She’s going to be your new guard, and you are going to let her,” the king continued, stopping your bickering.

He grunted in annoyance but didn’t say anything else as you got up. You didn’t offer him a helping hand, you didn’t even say anything as he walked out of the room and you followed close. Your job just began, and you already knew it was going to be intense.

The first couple weeks were weird. He didn’t talk to you and you didn’t talk to him, you simply followed close every time he left the palace and he dismissed you as soon as you entered. You didn’t have to do much outside pulling away some of his fans (even though he insisted they weren’t his fans). It was okay, an easy job.

Until one day someone tried to stab him and you saved his life. He grunted as you stopped the attacker and diffused the situation, calling reinforcements to take him away. He seemed tense when you walked back to the palace, as if your presence alone was driving him insane.

“You should quit,” he stated as you walked him to his room, your body still thrumming with adrenaline and pent up tension after the incident.

You registered his words a second later, grunting a very loud: “No.” You just saved his life and he was acting like you were still a bug, and it started to make you angry. Adrenaline and anger didn’t mix well with your impulsive self.

You arrived at his door, and he turned around to look at you, his face impassible as he asked: “Why are you so infuriating? Why aren’t you scared of me even? I’m twice your size and you are standing there as if I was normal.” He sounded almost annoyed.

“I have loyalty to the crown, my lord,” you told him. His title left your mouth like a dart, leaving him speechless for a second.

You tried not to refer to him as my lord after he specified, you couldn’t, but you had enough. You were mad at him, and high on adrenaline, and he was being a dickhead. You protected him, he could have died, and instead of being concerned he was attacking you for doing your job. For protecting him.

You could see the muscle in his scaly jaw twitch. “Stop that.”

You couldn’t hold yourself back from teasing him more, wanting to get a rise out of him, wanting him to be as mad as you were. As desperate. “What do you mean, my lord?” You played dumb.

“Stop acting all proper and shit. Stop referring to me like that. I don’t like it.” You already knew that, but your anger blinded your brain.

“What do you like then, my lord?” Your voice was filled with amusement and teasing.

“You,” he answered simply, leaving you speechless.

Your brain short-circuited and all the anger inside of you disappeared, confusion overpowering any other emotion you could have. “Wh-what? I thought you didn’t like humans like me.” You cursed yourself, your words sounded stupid out loud.

He laughed bitterly, his claws grabbing your arms and getting you closer to the heat of his big body. “You were wrong. I like humans like you a little bit too much.” There was something in his tone you couldn’t decipher.

“What does that mean?”

He looked at you like you were stupid, and you almost felt like it at the moment. “You think I haven’t been dying to taste you since you knocked me on my ass? You think it hasn’t been driving me crazy to see you all proper and ready to fight for me every time we leave the house? You are wrong, little knight.” And then he claimed your mouth, his big wings coming around your body, cradling you into the tightest and warmest embrace of your life as he devoured your mouth like a starving dragon.

You give back as much as he was giving you, kissing him senseless as you moaned against his mouth. His hands found your middle and he urged you up, your legs wrapping around his middle as he walked backwards into the room, closing the door behind you.

And then his claws were everywhere, groping your ass, touching every inch of your body as you shivered and moaned. The kisses became frantic as you ground against the hard on you could feel against your hot center. He playfully bite down onto your lower lip with his fangs and you let out such a loud moan that he chuckled, pulling away and looking at you like he just saw you for the first time.

He kissed the tip of your nose in the most tender gesture ever, making your heart beat faster and faster. He walked to the bed, laying you down so carefully you felt like a treasure. “You are going to be a good little knight for me now? Are you going to let me give you what you deserve?” His tone was teasing, but there was an edge of intensity there that made you shiver.

“And what is that?” You asked, out of breath after such intense make out session.

“To be worshiped.”

He launched at you, tearing down your clothes and his own, getting you naked in less than a minute. His hands found your legs as he pulled them apart, burying his face in your dripping pussy. He ate you out desperately, his way too long tongue hitting every pleasure point in and out of you, his movements frantic as you moaned. Your hands tried to find some kind of grab in his head, but the smoothness of his scales didn’t allow you to. You ended up grabbing onto the sheets as you cried out his name in an earth shattering orgasm.

You had never come so fast and so hard, but he wasn’t done with you. He positioned himself over you, his big body towering over you like a god. You looked at his scaled dick with concern. “I don’t know if that will fit,” you warned him.

“It will, my little knight, you were made for me,” the tone of his voice left no room for arguing and it made your heart skip a beat.

He started slow, pressing inside of you little by little. He felt so big, so wide, you were about to be split apart. But in a good way. In the best way. He was panting over you, his wings twitching as he tried to be as slow as possible as he kept going and going… and going. By the time he bottomed out you were squirming underneath him, your mouth closing around his hand next to your ear. You bite down hard, making him curse and bulk against you, the movement making both of you groan.

And that was it. It was all it took for him to lose himself on you completely. He roared and started a frantic pace, each thrust making you scream his name as he pounded into your aching core. The scales of his dick felt smooth and soft inside of you, stimulating your G-spot until you were trembling under him with another orgasm.

He didn’t stop. He kept fucking you as you groaned and moaned, the universe fading into the background as he drove you to another dimension filled with pleasure and an incredibly hot dragon fucking you.

You came at least three more times before he looked up and roared his climax, fire leaving his mouth as he burned part of the ceiling as you giggled under him. His erratic movements making you see stars, but your body was too spent to come again.

He filled you to the brim and pulled back, staring at the point where his come was leaking out of your overused pussy. He smirked, his claw pushing the come back inside over and over as you whimpered in oversensitivity.

“My little knight wasn’t as fierce in bed as she’s in combat, are you?” He teased, kissing your soft tummy with reverence.

“You are so cocky…” You caressed the top of his scaly head, and he purred in delight, making you smile down at him.

“And you like it,” he stated, and you couldn’t deny that. “And I like you,” he said with another kiss to your hip, tickling you at the same time.

After that day everything got better. Knowing he didn’t hate you, but he was head over heels for you made it simpler (and complicated at the same time). But you two made it work. You took care of him outside the castle… and he made sure to take care of you inside it.

[chr0llossexygf]

IN RUINS

PAIRING: spencer reid x fem reader

SUMMARY: spencer reid has always had something against you. during a particular case, spencer snaps and says something he shouldn’t have said leaving you in ruins. but what happens when your in danger and he still hasn’t explained why he reacted the way he did. will he have the time?

“ what happened?” hotch says standing infront of the big white board that had some very gruesome pictures of 5 victims splayed out on a park bench. he’s standing tall and strong with his hands crossed in his dark grey suit. he’s looking at you and spencer, who’s walking in right behind you slamming the door close.

“ It’s her fault.” spencer says quickly moving to the other side of the room opposite you, trying to get as far away from you as possible.

you take a deep breath in trying your absolute hardest not to roll your eyes and cross your hands in annoyance and disappointment. “ it’s not my fault reid-”

“ woah woah what the heck happened?” morgan says pushing himself back in the precinct chair watching you and spencer. he looks at spencer, he sees the strong look of disgust and annoyance spencer is shooting at you. he looks at you, he notices you looking at spencer with a disappointed look.

“ she told the unsubs family we are after the unsub-” spencer spits out looking over at hotch, waiting for him to yell at you or lecture you.

“ wait spence we don’t even know who the unsub is. what do you mean?” jj says turning her head to look at spencer confusion written on her face. “ exactly! thank you jj!” you reply throwing your hands up.

“ michael miller is our unsub hotch.” spencer says completely ignoring your attempt to reason with him, his eyes stay on hotch waiting for him to snap at you or just lecture you. “ wait a minute i thought michael miller had a solid alibi.” morgan says laying back in his chair resting his arms on the arm rests. “ he does have a solid alibi it checks out-” spencer cuts you off. “ it does not check out!” spencer says.

“ yes it does! hotch we asked his dad who confirmed his son came home at 8:30 pm from football practice.” you say growing impatient looking at hotch, hotch’s eyebrows are furrowed tightly. his arms are still crossed listening to you and spencer bicker back and fourth.

“ just because his dad showed the tiniest bit of concern about his son when the fbi showed up to his doorstep does not make him a reliable source, just because you never had a dad who showed any bit of concern and now when you finally see a dad care about their kid does not mean you should not fall into their trap just because you never had a trap to fall into.” spencer spits out finally looking at you.

he watches as your expression hardens. he watches as humiliation and embarrassment fill your once determined eyes, the determined eyes who tried to reason with spencer at-least 4 minutes ago. 4 minutes, that’s how long it takes for your perspective of someone to change. he watches as your eyebrows tremble, a habit you have when your trying to fight back tears. he watches as your throat trembles too, probably trying to fight back that agonising choke you get when your about to cry.

the entire room goes quiet. spencers gaze remains on you, slowly watching your soul shatter because of his words. your gaze remains on spencer, slowly feeling your soul shatter because of his words.

the door that spencer slammed close 4 minutes ago opens, rossi and emily walking in. “ michael millers alibi checks out. we’ve got pictures of him at football practice from 5pm to 8:25pm. he wouldn’t have had the time to commit the murders.” rossi says opening the door for emily. “ also his teammates described him as an extrovert and outgoing which is not what we profiled the unsub to be.” emily says with her hands inside her pockets nodding looking at everyone surrounding the table.

“ i feel as though we interrupted something.” rossi says eyeing everyone in the room raising an eyebrow in confusion. he could feel the tension. emily could too. which is why she immediately looks over at morgan for answers. morgan looks at her for a split second before returning his gaze on you.

“ y/n-” spencer attempts. he tries to bring himself to take a step towards you, but it’s like his words somehow built a barrier between you and him that he now can’t even physically cross. or maybe he’s just scared that if he takes a step towards you, you’ll take a step back. away from him.

you swallow the gut wrenching feeling of tears crawling up your throat. you look down to your converse. “ i’m gonna go…uhm get coffee.” you say turning around immediately walking towards the door. “ excuse me.” you whisper pushing past rossi and emily.

“ oh wonder boy..” garcia says through the tv screen, her bright purple tinted lips which usually wear a bright smile on her face now wearing a frown. her tone disappointed as she presses her heart eye fuzzy emoji pen into her cheek. “ i uhm did my usual background checking on the uhm..list of potential unsubs and a uhm…scott anderson has a sketchy background. i’ve just sent his file to you my pretties.” garcia says stuttering quite a few times finding it hard to sneak her usually bubbly nicknames into the conversation after what had just happened. “ thank you garcia. jj take y/n and check out scott anderson.” hotch says looking at jj his arms finally by his side.

jj nods standing up walking towards the door “ i-i can go” spencer says turning his body towards jj. “ stay.” hotch replies his voice stern and bold. he looks at spencer his eyebrows furrowed.

jj closes the door. “ sit.” hotch says to spencer pointing to the empty seat at the table, spencer slowly walks towards the seat sitting down. “ you shouldn’t have said that spencer.” hotch says crossing his hands. “ hotch-” spencer attempts but is quickly cut off, “ i’m not finished. I get it. your worried spencer. your scared-”

“ hotch-” spencer is cut off once again. “ you may think your hiding it well spencer but your not. we know the unsub is targeting female victims which have similar features to l/n. if your too close to the case spencer-” it’s spencer’s turn to now cut hotch off. “ but i’m not too close to the case hotch!” spencer replies. he wanted the similarities between you and the victims to only be in his head because he wanted only him, himself to notice the similarities between you and the victims. you both have the same hair color, hair length, both considered to be attractive, both have similar personalities, and similar taste in clothing. he didn’t want it to be true. but now he knows that they are, and they’re not just in his head he’s even more worried.

“ your stuttering spencer. you do that when your worried or nervous.” emily says pulling a chair from the table. spencer shoots his eyes away from hotch to emily’s. his gaze softens a bit, emily’s tone wasn’t like hotchs. it wasn’t as stern or bold. it was rather understanding and gentle. “ i just cant control myself around her.” spencer says looking down at the picture of the fourth victim who had been wearing the exact same pair of converse your wearing now. “ well your going to have to learn how to control yourself pretty boy. you shouldn’t have said that.” morgan says looking at spencer. spencer sighs hiding his face in his hands. “ i just..god i’m so stupid.” spencer groans rubbing his tired eyes.

“ stupidity is what ended my third marriage.” rossi says crossing his hands leaning against the bulletin board with a small chuckle, morgan looks at rossi and laughs. “ well thank god pretty boy isn’t married. he’d be the new rossi.” morgan says tilting his head to the side looking at spencer trying to lighten the mood, spencer who still has his head in his hands. there’s a million thoughts going through his head, all of them are about you. all of them are about how he should apologize. is he even allowed to apologize? will you let him apologize to you? would you accept his apology? what if you didn’t? did he just ruin his friendship with you? no screw friendship, he doesn’t just want to be friends. he wouldn’t be as sensitive as he is to this case if he just wanted to remain friends. he’s in love with you. spencer reid is in love with you. and he just potentially ruined any slight chance of ever having you know that he loves you. just because he’s stupid and didn’t think before he spoke.

“ are you okay?” jj says both hands on the steering wheel turning around to look at you next to her, in the passenger seat. your heads turnt towards the window, your picking at your nails. a habit of yours. you turn to look at jj and nod. “ yeah i’m fine why wouldn’t i be?” you ask tilting your head to the side with a confusing smile. you know exactly why your not okay. but for some reason, you just can’t bring yourself to actually be upset over it. what’s there to be upset about? what spencer said is true. he’s not wrong. why are you making excuses for him? what he said was not okay. totally not okay. why do you have to make excuses for every male figure in your life for when they’ve done something wrong? why do you always make them the victim and you the villain. you just don’t wanna lose them right? because you know that if your the victim and their the villain they’ll never apologise and the entire relationship will disappear, it always does.

“ what spencer said-” jj is talking in that tone, that tone that she would speak in whenever something was wrong. in a motherly kind of tone. you immediately shake your head, “ it’s- it’s fine jj really, i don’t care. can we just please forget it ever happened? lets just work on the case.” you say running a hand through your hair biting your lower lip trying to stop your voice from trembling, you know when your about to cry and you have that heavy feeling in your throat? you swallow it hard. you turn your head to look at the window not waiting for a response from jj. jj clears her throat, “ no yeah of course.” she nods smiling turning her head back around.

“ this should be it…” jj mumbles stopping the car, parked infront of a 2 story cabin. you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the car door. “ it looks like no one’s home, there’s no car. we profiled that the unsub would have a van or a truck..” jj says closing the car door looking at the house. “ maybe he wouldn’t leave something so valuable to him outside, to the eye of the public. he’s possessive he thinks the entire world revolves around him he probably thinks someone would try to steal it.” you reply reaching in your pocket for your id. jj doing the same thing. you two walk to the front door, you in the front,

you knock on the door. you put your hand against your hip waiting for the door to open. “ we should ask the neighbours. maybe they’ll know-” you knock on the door again. “ scott anderson. fbi.” you say knocking on the door again. jj puts both of her hands on her waist. “ looks like he’s not home-” your cut off by the door swinging open.

you immediately turn your head around. “ scott anderson?” you ask looking at the man infront of you. you know it’s scott anderson, penelope had already sent his id picture on the drive over. he looks at you, then looks at jj. “ who are you..” he says looking directly at jj. “ i’m agent l/n with the fbi and this is agent jareau. do you mind if we come inside?” you ask smiling holding up your id.

he doesn’t even bother looking at your id. “ yeah whatever.” he moves to the side, making room for you and jj. you nod turning around to look at jj. she nods. you step inside jj following you.

“ do you live alone?” you ask analysing the house, its organised. weird for someone that’s his age. “ uhm yeah i do. what’s wrong with that?” he asks crossing his hands. you chuckle, “ no no nothings wrong with that, i also lived alone when i was 17.” you reply smiling. “ i’m 19.” he says looking at you, eyeing you up and down smiling. “ your pretty organised for a 19 year old.” jj says raising an eyebrow also crossing her hands smiling. “ guess i was just raised that way.” he replies rubbing his lips together. you nod. “ how were you raised scott..if you don’t mind me asking.” you say looking around the house. “ yeah scott how did you manage to score such a house at your age. do you work?” jj asks grabbing a picture frame. “ no i don’t work-” he turns to look at jj. “ put that down.” he snaps speed walking to jj. you immediately reach for your gun.

“ right..sorry. you don’t like people touching your stuff.” jj replies throwing her hands up in defeat. he snatches the picture frame. he grabs it caressing it gently, jj looks at you with wide eyes. you raise an eyebrow in confusion. “ scott. why do you have a picture of my colleague framed?” jj asks looking at the frame scott’s holding. your eyes widen.

“ oh god oh god. where’s y/n and jj?” penelope says aggressively tapping on her keyboard. “ what? what’s wrong?” spencer is the first to respond shooting up from the office chair just at the mention of your name. “ they’re at scott anderson’s why?” hotch says turning around, away from the white board to the tv. garcia starts tearing up, “ i-i did some deep digging and scott anderson has a blog about y/n..” garcia says in a shaky tone. no. no. no. no. no not again please.

his heart stopped for a split second. his hand start sweating. the air has been sucked out of his lungs. why is it so hard to breathe? why is there no air to breathe? there’s a million thoughts running through his head, they’re still about you. but now they’re worse. your in danger. your with the unsub. the unsub who has already killed five people. your in the same house with the unsub. the unsub who has a blog dedicated to you. and the last time you saw spencer you were teary eyed. no it can’t be the last time. no. please be safe.

his sweaty shaky hands reach for his phone. he clicks on your contact. hotch grabs his phone and immediately calls jj. spencer immediately puts the phone up against his ear. it rings. rossi and emily immediately stand up, “ penelope send us the address to scott’s house now.” emily says walking to the door. it’s still ringing. spencer starts biting his nails. his hearts pounding. the ringing of the phone case is haunting him. what is happening on the other side of the phone. why aren’t you answering. you always answer the phone. why is it still ringing? y/n why aren’t you answering.

“ god damn it!” spencer shouts into the phone as it keeps ringing. morgan stands up, “ hotch we gotta go.” he says standing up shoving his phone into his pocket.

the ringing stops. spencer’s heart stops. his breathing stops. everyone in the room looks at spencer waiting for any kind of confirmation. “ y/n you’ve gotta get out of there with jj!” spencer says stuttering with a shaky voice. hes scared. hes so so scared. hes never been more scared in his life. it’s quiet. why is it quiet? why aren’t you answering? what’s wrong. god y/n.

“ hey mom.” you reply. spencer takes a deep breath in. he stops biting his nails. he wipes his wet fingers on his pants. his hearts racing. your in danger. why are you calling him mom if your not in danger. oh god. he feels like he can’t breathe again. he can’t focus. he can’t do this. he can’t do this. he can’t do this without you. breathe spencer. she’s in danger spencer. she’s all that matters.

“ y/n. god i…” he chokes. “ you already figured it out didn’t you.” he says his throat feeling scratchy. he hears you giggle on the other side of the phone, your laugh erupts the butterflies in his stomach. under any other circumstances he would absolutely hate the butterflies in his stomach and would be mad at you for making him feel such way. but now they bring a sense of comfort, they make him feel normal for a split second. that this is not that big of a deal, he’s just calling the girl he really likes and he got butterflies from hearing her beautiful laughs.

“ yeah of course. i called aunt lizzie for her birthday mom i’m not stupid.” you respond. god your voice is so beautiful, but he can hear it. he can fear the slight fear in your voice. maybe other people wouldn’t hear it, but he can. spencer can. and it’s killing him. it’s tearing his heart apart. it’s making his legs shake. “ d-did he hurt you- is he gonna hurt you?” spencer says gripping his jeans tightly. he hears you laugh again, “ yeah mom.” you say.

he feels his legs going weak.

[thewickedjazzy]

Level 2: Senses [mirror sex] for Kinktober.

ᡣ𐭩soft dom! osamu dazai x afab! reader.

ᡣ𐭩Synopsis: an argument with dazai boils over, as he pushes you to your limits, proving with every touch that the café girl has nothing on you—or your trembling legs.

ᡣ𐭩Warnings: nsfw, 18+ mdni, smut with plot, soft dom! dazai, praise kink, mirror sex, power dynamics, mention of cum, rough sex, sweaty sex, slight bondage, aftercare...etc.

ᡣ𐭩Word count: 2.1k. animated dividers by @/toastray.

ᡣ𐭩-check Kink Coin to unlock bonus fics´-

“why do you let her hang all over you?” the words spill out before you can stop them, harsher than you intended. but you can't swallow them back. not when the frustration has been building for days.

you stand in the low-lit corner of dazai's bedroom, arms crossed tightly over your chest, staring him down. does he know? does he care? every time you see her at the café—fingers tracing the edge of his sleeve, her gaze shameless and sticky, like she’s entitled to every sliver of his attention—it sets something off inside you. something you hate to admit.

dazai stands a few paces away, his hands shoved into his pockets, staring at you like you’ve just accused him of something absurd. maybe you have. maybe you haven’t. “are you really this upset about her?” his voice is calm, too calm, and the restraint in his tone makes your stomach knot.

“shouldn’t i be?” you counter, feeling the heat rise to your face. your pulse pounds in your ears, “why do you let her act that way? why don’t you stop her?”

silence again. does he even have an answer? maybe he’s not bothered by it because it doesn’t mean anything to him. or maybe—maybe it means everything, and you’re the fool standing here, questioning him like it’s not eating you alive.

dazai tilts his head, his chocolate eyes studying you, and for a moment you wonder what’s going through his mind. is he amused? bored? does he think you’re being ridiculous? after all, neither of you has ever voiced your feelings for one another.

“and why does it bother you so much?” his voice lowers as he steps closer, the calmness giving way to exasperated disbelief. “do you really believe i’d choose her over you?”

his question stings. why is he turning this on you? isn't he the one who’s been too indifferent, too careless, always letting other women linger too close? you draw in a shaky breath, your heart tight in your chest. “you don’t push her away,” you say, voice wavering even though you try to steady it. “that’s why i think...” your words falter, caught in the knot of your throat. “It’s like... she has something i don’t. something you want.”

his laugh is soft, but it feels more like a sigh, like he’s disappointed you even think that. “what could she possibly have that you don’t?” he’s closer now, his fingers ghosting over your wrist, tugging you gently toward him. “no one else gets this close to me. not like you do.”

and there it is—proximity, his words, slipping through your defences like water through cracks in stone. you hate how easily he pulls you in, how effortlessly he makes your doubts feel small. but still, the question remains, the doubt stubborn.

“then why don’t you push her away?”

“because,” his grip tightens slightly, his thumb brushing across your pulse point. “you look so pretty when you're mad”

before you can respond, his hands move lower, tracing the outline of your waist slowly. he doesn’t smile, doesn’t smirk like you’d expect. instead, he leans in close, his breath ghosting over your ear as he speaks.

“you want me to prove it?” he murmurs, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your neck, making your heartbeat quickens with every carefully chosen word. “you want me to show you why you never have to be jealous?”

you hate how easily he can always dissolve your anger with his touch, how your body betrays you, melting against his as he begins to undo the buttons of your shirt. the soft rustle of fabric is the only sound between you, each button undone pulling you further into the moment, despite the storm raging in your chest.

your shirt falls to the floor, leaving your bare breasts exposed to the cool air. his hands linger on your shoulders for a moment before sliding down your arms, his touch featherlight and you can’t help but shiver under his gaze, feeling his now dark chocolate eyes drink in every inch of you.

“look at me,” he says softly, though his tone is still soft enough to feel intimate. “god, look at how beautiful you are.”

he steps behind you now, guiding you toward the full-length mirror standing across from the bed, its antique frame intricately carved, reflecting both of you in the low amber light—his tall frame towering behind you, hands moving with a slow, possessive ease over your skin.

you swallow hard as his fingers trail over your bare shoulders, down the curve of your spine, before hooking into the waistband of your pants. his breath makes your skin tingle as he slowly pulls them down, leaving you completely exposed.

“do you think i’d touch her like this?”

why does this feel so good when you're still mad at him? the question echoes in your mind as you bite your lip, your eyes wandering to your reflection, seeking answers in your own gaze.

“you’ve always been mine,” he murmurs against your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below it. “no one else gets this close. no one else even gets a chance.”

his fingers trail down your arms, wrapping loosely around your wrists before letting go. you watch him through the mirror, your breath hitching as he pulls a strip of his familiar white bandages from his pocket.

you open your mouth to say something, but he’s already wrapping the bandage around your wrist, securing it with a tenderness that feels almost too intimate. his eyes meet yours in the reflection, his voice a soft hum. “this is what you don’t understand,” he whispers. “no woman in the world would ever get to see me like this. no one but you.”

he finishes wrapping one wrist and moves to the other, his touch is a soft, golden warmth, like the sun’s first rays after a cold night. “you’re the only one who gets to wear these,” he continues, his tone deeper now, more affectionate. “the only one who gets to see the parts of me that no one else does.”

once your wrists are bound, he slips them behind his neck, pulling you closer to him, your back pressed against his chest, the heat of his body seeping into yours. he holds you there, his fingers exploring the curves of your body, tracing the lines of your stomach, your breasts, teasingly moving lower and with a swift move, he slips off his pants and dress shirt, pressing his hard cock against your ass through his boxers.

“you feel that?” his voice is thick now, his lips brushing against the back of your neck. “that’s yours. i’m yours.”

you tilt your head back, gasping as his breath caresses your skin, mingling with the intoxicating scent of him. “mine?” you whisper, the word tasting unfamiliar yet invigorating on your tongue.

“every inch of me.” his fingers glide across your skin until it rests between your thighs, where you want him the most. you feel your breath catch in your throat, a jolt of ecstasy shooting straight to your core, fueling an overwhelming desire that wraps around your lower stomach.

his tongue teases your bottom lip while grinding his clothed, hard cock against your ass, lifting you slightly with one arm to press your back firmly against his chest, and he devours your mouth, hot soft tongue slipping in to tangle with yours, groaning deeply, utterly intoxicated by your taste.

“ ’sam—ahh-” your sentence got cut by his middle and ring finger dipping between your folds and leaving in an instant.

“fuh-kk” he hisses, “look at you so beautiful.” he tilts your gaze until it locks on the mirror. “never met anyone who’s as beautiful as you, look at your pretty face,” the brunet continues to rasp as his lips drag across your flesh, placing small kisses into the crook of your neck while pumping into your folds gently curling his long slender finger before pushing another one just to slightly brush them against your sweet spot, watching you with half-lidded lust drunk eyes in the mirror as you whimper in pleasure.

dazai groans, fumbling behind you as he hastily shoves down his boxers only to nudge his tip through your slick folds, fingers slip from your cunt to circle around slit to smudging both your juices with his precum, before he pushes deep inside you drawing a broken gasp from you in which he quickly silence pressing his slick-coated fingers between your pretty lips, knowing exactly what you're supposed to do. your tongue swirls around his digits, gladly tasting of both your arousals as you suck on his fingers, mind short-circuiting savouring your combined slick essence.

dazai keeps placing wet kisses along your neck and collarbone keeping your toes off the ground with both his arms placed under your breasts as he juts his cock deep inside you almost reaching your womb.

“umph—fuck..i love your tits,” he coos, catching your reflected gaze and watching how beautiful you look getting fucked by him, with both your arms tied behind his neck as he bounces you on his cock. his eyes lockes on your delicious breasts admiring how they jiggle with each thrust of his hips, “love how soft they are, how they bounce when i fuck you,”

“nngh—hah please- k-keep going fuck—yes mngh,” your eyes roll back, body is all numb by now, completely ignoring the sting in your arms, as all you can focus on is his brutal pace, feeling your slick run down your thighs.

“look at your pretty pussy yeah?—uh fuck-look how it sucks me in, so eager for my cock hmm? i could fuck you—ungh..all the time.” he growls between words, losing his mind, as you struggle to take him at this punishing fast speed.

“fuh-ck yes ’samu nghh, feels so good ahh right there—goddamnit ’m gonna cum gonna cum aah-” you're particularly screaming by now, legs trembling as he holds you tight against his chest and you can feel the droplets of his sweat sliding down your back, your breasts bouncing, eyes crossing in a blissed-out haze.

“yeah? you're gonna cum hmm? my pretty sweet girl is gonna cum? fuuck fuck..yes yes��squeeze me like that—ngh cum on my cock baby...c’mon give it to me.” he keeps chanting in your ears as his tip keeps assaulting your g-spot.

“y-yess—fuck ’samfff” your cry got muffled by his hungry kiss, tasting all of him, too brainless and fucked out to focus on the constant twitching of his cock between your spongy slick walls, hips snapping faster and faster, filling his bedroom with the filthy lewd noises of his balls slamming against your folds as he rides out his orgasm filling you with his thick ropes of white seeds.

your lips barely manage to form a muffled squeal against dazai's wet lips before pleasure shoots through your veins, toes curling from the intensity of your full body orgasm, body trembling and writhing, gushing all over his cock.

dazai finally pulls back slightly, breath unsteady only connected to you by a string of your swapped spit.

one of his hands presses against the mirror trying to steady himself as he catches his breath. he then pulls out of you letting your mixed arousal drool down your thighs and soak the wooden floor. he places a soft, wet kiss on your lips before releasing your wrists from behind his neck, allowing them to fall to your sides.

he gently lets your feet touch the floor, loosening his firm hold around your waist. but just as he's about to let go, you stumble instantly, your legs trembling as you nearly fall. “hey hey baby, you okay?” he quickly catches you again, pulling you close to him with a reassuring grip.

“y-yes just t-ired” you manage to breathe out.

in one smooth motion, he spins you around so you're facing him. “sorry, i might've overdone it a bit,” he teases, brushing a strand of hair away from your flushed face. his hands linger on your waist, keeping you close as your legs slowly regain strength.

“so,” he tilts his head as he leans down a bit, “do you still think I want that girl from the café?” he raises an eyebrow, watching for your reaction, clearly amused by the idea.

his fingers trail lightly up your sides, pulling you closer again as if to remind you exactly where his attention lies. “because, sweetheart,” he adds with a smirk, “if this hasn’t convinced you yet, i can still go for another round.”

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetbutterflix @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguro @writingandmusing @corruptedwrathkitsune @thedamselzelda

[itneverendshere]

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (five)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: angst

part one; part two; part three; part four

Rafe could still feel the salt air on his skin, even if he was a thousand miles away from that damn island. It sticks to him, the way the Outer Banks does. Like he could never really shake it off, no matter how fast he ran or how far he got.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not for him, not for you.

The bus rattles down the highway, windows fogged up from the heat inside, condensation mixing with the dirt. It stinks—of sweat, of old clothes, of people trying to disappear. Like him. Rafe sank deeper into his seat, arms crossed over his chest, hat pulled low so no one got a good look at him.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have to do this.

They were going to ship him off like a stray dog. Get him out of sight, out of mind.

And Rafe almost did it. For you. He was this close to turning back and going along with it, just to make sure you were safe, make sure your parents didn’t take it out on you. But he knew he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t let them win. Couldn’t let them pull him out of your life just like that.

The bus jerked as it hit a pothole, snapping him back to the present. There was an old guy sitting across from him, his head lolling to one side as he snored. People getting out, getting on, moving like ghosts through the aisles. No one looked twice at him, which was exactly how he needed it. He couldn’t take risks of someone recognizing him, not yet. Not while he’s deranged mother could still ship him back wherever she wanted.

You’d think he’d be scared. Rafe didn’t have a car, a plan, not even a place to sleep that night, or the next.. But scared? At this point, he was drained. Tired of running in circles, tired of people telling him who he was, and what he should be. Tired of feeling like he didn’t belong anywhere, except maybe with you.

But that was over now.

And fucking god, he hadn’t slept since. Not a minute. Not since he left. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was you. Lying there in his bed, so peaceful, so damn beautiful, tucked under his arm like you always did. You looked at him that night, just before you drifted off, and smiled like everything was fine. Like you had tomorrow. Like you had forever.

But Rafe knew. He knew it was the last night he’d hold you, the last night he’d wake up next to you. And he didn’t say a fucking word. Didn’t tell you he was leaving. Didn’t tell you that he had no choice but to go. He just watched you sleep, memorized every inch of you—how your hair fell across your face, the way your hand clutched his shirt in your sleep, the way you always stole the blankets.

He could’ve woken you up. Could’ve told you he was running, that he had to leave. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Rafe just couldn’t watch your heart break. 

He glanced out the window, watching as the big trees blurred past, the town behind him fading as the distance grew. He didn’t know where he was headed. The only thing Rafe knew is that he couldn’t go back. Police would be looking for him, no doubt. Tony would get them on his case, only for the sake of keeping the money from your parents. Your dad would find another way to keep him as far away from you as possible. He’d probably already planned to shut down any chance of you hearing from Rafe, anyway. 

And your dad? He’s probably already planning to shut down any chance of you hearing from him.

Rafe shifted in his seat, pulling his hoodie tighter around him as the bus slowed down at another random stop. Somewhere off the highway, another town that looked just like the last one. The bus groaned as the doors creaked open, and a few people shuffled on. His stomach growls. Haven’t eaten since… well, he can’t remember when. But food wasn’t the priority right now. Staying off the radar for a while was. That, and trying not to think ‘bout you.

But you were all he thought about. All he could think about was you, still wrapped up in those blankets, still asleep, still not knowing it was goodbye. It was driving him out of his mind.

The bus shuddered to a stop again, and he saw a sign out the window. Lincolnville. Some small-ass town that probably only got one diner, one bar, and a bunch of people who didn’t care about strangers. Perfect.

Rafe grabbed his bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder as he made his way to the front. The driver gave him a half-assed nod as he stepped off the bus, gravel crunching under his boots. The air was cooler there, crisp and clean, like a different world from the sticky humidity of Kildare.

It was also quiet. Too quiet. Just the sound of the bus pulling away, leaving him behind with nothing but the clothes on his back and a couple of crumpled bills he saved up from work, in his pocket. He glanced down the road and spotted the diner. Neon lights flickering, the kind of place that was open 24/7 but never full. His stomach growled again, and he figured he might as well get something in him.

The bell over the door jingled as Rafe stepped inside, and it was exactly what he had expected. Old-school booths, sticky linoleum floors, and a waitress who looked like she had been working here since before he was born. She eyed him as he slided into a booth by the window, but didn’t say nothin’. Just grabbed a menu from the counter and plopped it in front of him.

“Coffee?” she asked, barely looking at him.

“Yeah, sure,” Rafe muttered, running a hand through his hair, after taking the hat off. “Black.”

She shuffled off, and he stared down at the menu. It was all the same greasy food he’d seen a hundred times before, but it’d do. He ordered a burger, something cheap, and leaned back in the booth, staring out at the empty street.

He thought about you again. Wondered if you were okay, safe. If you’d figured it all out by now. Maybe you did. You were the smartest person he’d ever had the pleasure of loving. The only one really. He wondered if you were still thinking about him. 

The waitress sat the coffee down in front of him, steam rising from the cup. He took a sip, the bitterness waking him up just a little. But it didn’t stop the thoughts from spiraling.

Rafe would figure it out. He always did. And maybe, one day, when the dust settled, he’d come back for you.

Time feels different out here, like it slips through his fingers faster than Rafe can keep up. But maybe that’s just how it goes when someone is trying to leave their past behind.

He ended up in a place called Huntsville. It’s about as far from the Outer Banks as he could get without leaving the South. Small town, but big enough where people mind their own business. There’s something peaceful about that—being able to disappear into the background, no one asking too many questions. Just another face in the crowd.

He got a job working at a garage off the highway. Nothing fancy, but it pays the bills. He was lucky enough to find the place when he did.

The owner, Jerry, took him in because he had experience working on engines back home, thanks to his old boss’s obsession with boats and making him learn how to fix them. Jerry didn’t ask much, just showed Rafe what needed fixing and let him do his thing. He’s got a gruff way about him, but he’s fair. Sometimes, Rafe thinks he knows he’s running from something.

Most days, it’s just him and the smell of oil, grease, and old tools. He doesn’t mind it. It’s simple. Clear. He fix what’s broken, and it works again. Not like life. Not like the mess he left behind.

He lives in a run-down apartment above the garage, just a one-room deal with a bed, kitchen, bathroom, and a busted TV. But it his, you know? He doesn’t owe it to anyone. No one can take it from him. He makes more than enough to keep the lights on, and keeps some food in the fridge, and that’s good enough. He never needed much to survive. 

He's changed. The baby face he used to have? It’s gone now. Got a scruff of a beard that he can’t be bothered to shave most days. His hair’s longer, falls into his eyes when he’s working. Somedays he feels like shaving the whole thing off, but it doesn’t really matter. He likes it that way—keeps people from getting a good look at him. He’s leaner too, but stronger. Not the gym kind of strong, just the kind that comes from hauling parts and wrenching on cars all day. His hands are even rougher now, calloused from hours of work.

Sometimes, Rafe catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and hardly recognizes the guy staring back. It’s weird, though. He thought if he could change what he looked like, maybe he’d stop feeling like he was still stuck in the same old skin. But that shit doesn’t go away. No matter how much dirt you pile on top of it.

Every now and then, someone’ll ask where he’s from. He usually just says “down east,” keep it vague. The southern drawl gives him away, though. He can’t help it, still talks like he never left the island. He figured it didn’t really matter here—nobody was going to connect him back to Kildare. Back to you.

And that’s the part he still hasn’t shaken.

You. No matter how far he goes, no matter how many miles there are between you, you’re still there. In the back of his mind, in the dreams he has when he’s dead tired from a long day. He tried to let you go. He had to. But it’s like something inside him refuses to forget.

He tried to visit you once. Maybe a year and a half after he left.

You’d gone off to college like you always talked about, following your dreams, doing the things you said you would. He wanted to see you, just one last time, see if you were okay. He figured maybe he’d catch you on campus, just watch from a distance, y’know? See if you were still thinking about him, if you missed me like he missed you.

He didn’t tell a soul where he was going that day. He’d packed up early, threw on an old flannel and a baseball cap, and drove for hours. His heart felt like it was going to give out the whole time, like it was trying to talk him out of it, but he didn’t listen. He couldn’t. All he could think about was seeing you again.

He had to know.

He pulled up to your campus, parked the truck a few blocks away where nobody’d notice him. It was a hell of a lot bigger than he imagined, all these buildings, students walking around like they had somewhere important to be. He felt out of place the second he stepped foot there. His boots scuffed against the concrete, and all he could think about was how different your world was from his now.

He wandered around for a bit, keeping his head low, his cap pulled down over his eyes. He didn’t want anyone seeing him, didn’t want you seeing him. Not yet. He wasn’t ready for that. 

Then he saw you.

You were sitting outside with some friends, books spread out on a table in front of you, the sun hitting your face just right. Your laugh carried over to him, soft and sweet, and jesus fucking christ, it was like a shot to his chest.

You looked... free. Like everything was finally falling into place for you. Like you didn’t have a single worry in the world.

He couldn’t move. Just stood there, hidden in the shadows of some tree, watching you. You were so beautiful it damn near took his breath away. You were smiling and it hit him then.

He’d been holding onto this idea of you—of who you were when you were together—but maybe that wasn’t you anymore. You’d moved on. You had a life now, one that didn’t have space for a guy like him.

You were really doing what you always said you’d do. Living your dreams. Being somebody.

He thought about what would happen if he stepped out from behind that tree, if you saw him. You’d probably cry, maybe even run up to him, throw your arms around him like old times. But then what?

He knew you. Knew how you were. You’d ask him where he’d been, what happened, and before he knew it, you’d be trying to figure out how to fix everything for him. That’s who you were. You’d sacrifice everything, drop all the shit you’d been working so hard for, just because you thought you could save him.

He couldn’t let you do that.

So he stood there, taking it all in—how happy you looked, how light you seemed without him. It hurt like hell, but a part of him was relieved too. You were okay. Better than okay.

You were doing fine without him. He could live with that.

He drove back to Huntsville that night, the road ahead of him hazy with tears he refused to let fall. By the time he got back, it was late, the town quiet, the lights in the garage flickering like they always did.

Rafe parked the truck, and just sat there.

He hadn’t seen you since. Never tried again. You were better off without him. Shit, maybe that’s what he needed to believe to keep going. Because if he didn’t, if he let himself think about how good it felt to see you again, even from a distance, he’d never be able to stay away.

And hell, maybe that’s why he’s been stuck here, never really able to shake it. Even now, when he closes his eyes at night, he thinks about what it would’ve been like if he’d stayed. If he’d found some way to fight instead of run. But he was too scared.

Scared that you’d grown to hate him for what he did. 

He tried to move on. There’ve been other women. Just passing flings, nothing serious. They come and go, and none of them stick around long enough to really matter. Not that Rafe ever let them. It’s easier that way—keeping things light, keeping things simple. But every time he looks at one of them, he’s thinking about you. Every time they smile at him, he’s thinking about your pretty grin, about the way your eyes lit up when you two were alone, just you and him, like the world didn’t exist outside of those walls.

But he knows he can’t get that back. Fuck, maybe he doesn’t deserve to. He left. He ran. And that’s on him. He didn’t tell you, didn’t give you a chance to follow him.

The morning is already sweltering by the time Rafe gets to the garage. Another scorcher, sun beating down like it’s trying to fry him alive. Sweat clung to him before he even started working, so he decided to strip his shirt off, letting the heat hit his bare skin. His shoulders are broad now, tanned from long hours out in the sun, grease smeared across his chest and arms from a morning spent elbow-deep in some busted old engine. He runs a hand through his hair—it's shorter than the day before. He’d cut it himself last night and shaved the beard too.

First time in months he’d even thought about doing it. He grabs a rag, wiping the oil from his hands as he bends against the open hood of the car.

“Rafe!”

Jerry’s voice snaps him out of it, the old man waving him over from under the hood of another car. “Need a hand with this transmission. You gonna help me with this, or you gonna stand there daydreamin’?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it,” Rafe mutters, shaking his head and bending back over the engine, grabbing a wrench from the toolbox and heading over. The work is good for him. Keeps his mind off everything, keeps his hands busy and his head clear.

Jerry grunts, sliding further under the car on the creeper. “Pass me that ratchet, will ya?”

He grabs the tool from the bench and hands it over. “Here.”

The old man doesn’t even look up. Just keeps working as he rambles away.

“Transmission’s shot to hell, but we’ll get it runnin’ again. Always do.” He grunts again as he tightened something, then mutters to himself, “Damn thing’s been makin’ more noise than my wife at a family reunion.”

Rafe can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, well, you tell her that, not me.”

Jerry’s laugh rumbles out from under the car, "Boy, if I told her that, I’d be sleeping in this garage for the rest of my life."

Rafe smirks as he watches him  work. Sweat trickles down his back, and he wipes his forehead with his arm. The summer heat’s brutal, like there’s no air left to breathe.

“Speaking of wives,” Jerry starts, sliding out from under the car, cleaning his hands on a dirty rag. “You ever think about it? You know, settlin’ down? Gettin' yourself a girl, maybe even kids someday?”

The question catches him off guard. He huffs out a breath, avoiding Jerry’s eyes as he fiddles with a wrench, trying to act like it doesn’t mean much to him. “Nah, not really.”

The older man raises an eyebrow, giving him one of those looks like he’s not buying it.

“Don’t gimme that. Every time we go down to Smitty’s for a drink, you start lookin’ all mopey. Especially after a couple beers. Start talkin’ about this girl you left behind.”

He tenses. He doesn’t like where this is going, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to talk about you. Not here. Not now. He sets the wrench down with a clink and leans against the car, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “That was a long time ago.”

“Maybe.” Jerry shrugs, grabbing a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighting it up. “But from the way you talk about her, she still rattlin’ around in that head of yours.”

Rafe stays quiet, staring at the oil-stained floor, the cigarette smoke swirling in the humid air. He can’t deny it. You’re always there, no matter how far he runs, no matter how hard he tries to forget.

Jerry takes a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling slow, like he’s thinking about something “Look, I ain’t tryin’ to pry, but you ever think about goin’ back? Maybe fixin' things with her?”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Nah, she’s better off without me. She’s got a whole life now. College, friends, probably some new guy too.” His voice sounds bitter, even to him, but he can’t help it. “No reason for me to go screwin’ that up.”

“Maybe. But from the way you talk, sounds like she was pretty important to you. And if she was, maybe you oughta stop runnin' and try to figure out if there’s still somethin’ there.”

It’s not that simple. It’s never that simple. He left for a reason. 

“Besides,” Jerry continues, a little grin tugging at his lips. “I ain’t never heard you talk about another girl the way you talk about her.”

Rafe shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t talk about her.”

“Oh, you do,” Jerry chuckles, flicking his cigarette butt onto the ground. “You just don’t realize it. Especially when you’re a few beers deep. Start mumblin’ about ‘the girl.’ Always ‘the girl.’ Like there ain’t no other one that ever mattered.”

He’s never meant to say anything. Those nights at the bar, when the drinks start flowing and the memories start flooding back, he tries to keep a lid on it. But sometimes, it slips out. And it’s always you.

He pushes off the car, grabbing the ratchet again, trying to ignore the mess of feelings inside him. “That’s just the way it is.”

Jerry nods, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “Well, you do what you gotta do. Just don’t wait too long. Life’s funny like that—if you don’t grab what you want when you have the chance, sometimes it’s gone before you know it.”

He knows the old man’s right, but what the hell’s he supposed to do?

Show up at your door, after all this time, after all the silence, and what—ask you to throw it all away for him? For a guy who ran at the first sign of trouble?

They work in comfortable silence for a bit, the hum of the fans and the clang of tools filling the space. He likes it better this way.  But then the sound of tires crunching on gravel gets his attention. A car pulls up outside, engine smooth as silk. Not the usual beat-up trucks or clunkers they got in this place.

Jerry’s voice is muffled, back under the car. “Go check that out. Might be my 4 o’clock appointment.”

He stands, stepping over some scattered tools as he makes his way toward the open garage door. “Yeah, I’m on it.”

As he gets outside, the sun hits him full force again, baking his skin. He squints against the glare, but his eyes are already on the car parked just outside.

“Damn,” he whistles, low under his breath.

It's nice. Real nice. Some high-end, foreign model he didn’t see around these parts. Glossy black paint, chrome accents. Clean, like it’d just rolled off the lot. Whoever owns it has money. More than anyone he has ever known in this town.

He steps closer, his eyes running over the curves of the car. He can almost feel the engine purrin’ from where he stands. He hasn’t worked on a car like this in a long time, not since—

But before he can finish the thought, he hears a voice.

“Uh, excuse me?”

It’s soft, hesitant. 

Wait a fucking minute.

His body moves before he can think about it, and when he finally locks eyes with the person standing a few feet away, he nearly passes out on the spot.

He must be hallucinating.

It’s you.

[syluslnd]

Hello it is me again !! Again love your writing so bad ♥️♥️♥️♥️ can I have the reader thinking sylus is cute and stare at him and he is weirded out by how she thinks he is cute and try to prove otherwise by teasing her , or another prompt that sylus so soft when she worries about him that she can’t sleep and wait at his house and try to search for him in N 109 - zone and she pumps at him and he scold her lightly that she shouldn’t get herself out of trouble

Thank u again LOVE U ♥️♥️♥️

Sylus reaction to you calling him “cute”

You're lying down in bed, feeling relaxed, eyes lazily following Sylus as he changes into his pajamas. The way he moves, with that effortless confidence, catches your attention more than usual. There's something about the contrast between his usual intimidating presence and the simple act of getting ready for bed that makes him... cute. You can't help but stare, completely absorbed in the sight of him.

Sylus, always keenly aware, notices your gaze lingering on him. He pauses mid-motion slipping off his shirt, and turns to face you an eyebrow raised in that teasing, dangerous way he does. "What are you staring at, kitten?" His voice is light, playful, as if he already knows the answer.

Without thinking, the words slip from your mouth. "Nothing... you're just so cute."

The moment the words are out, you realize your mistake.

Sylus's expression shifts in an instant. His teasing smile fades, replaced by a darker, more calculated look. His eyes narrow and there's a dangerous gleam in them, as though you've just thrown down a challenge you didn't mean to. "Cute?" he repeats, his voice lower now, like he's tasting the word, finding it absurd.

You sit up slightly, realizing the shift in the air. "I didn't mean-"

But Sylus is already moving toward the bed, his expression serious yet laced with mischief. "You think I'm cute, huh? Sweetie, you're going to regret saying that." His tone is dripping with mock offense, like he's ready to prove you wrong in the most teasing, torturous way possible.

Before you can react, Sylus pulls you onto his lap with one swift, effortless motion.

You're straddling him now, your body pressed against his and his grip is firm, leaving no room for escape. His eyes darken and his lips hover near your ear, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers,

"Let's see how 'cute' you think I am by the time I'm done with you." One of his hands slides down, slipping inside your shorts with a practiced ease, his fingers immediately finding its way inside your panties.

A gasp escapes you, your body already reacting to his touch but he doesn't stop there. His other hand moves to your chest, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your tank top, his thumb brushing over your nipple with maddening precision.

The dual sensations make you shudder and Sylus's lips curl into a smirk against your ear.

"Still think I'm cute, kitten?" he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. His fingers move with deliberate slowness, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm but not enough to give you what you need.

You try to suppress a whimper but it's no use. Every part of you is hypersensitive, his touch overwhelming as both hands work you over at the same time. His fingers inside your panties tease and explore, sending waves of pleasure through you, while his other hand kneads your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipple in time with the rhythm he's setting below.

"You're so responsive" he whispers, his voice dark and velvety, filled with satisfaction as he watches you struggle to keep control.

"Is this what cute feels like to you?" His lips brush your earlobe and he bites down gently, the added sensation making you jolt in his lap.

You try to respond but the words die on your lips as his fingers dip deeper inside of you, his pace quickening just enough to push you closer to the edge. Your hips instinctively move against his hand but Sylus holds you still, his lips grazing your neck now, planting soft, taunting kisses.

"Answer me" he whispers, his voice a mix of command and teasing. "Still think I'm cute?"

Your breathing is ragged, your body trembling against his and all you can do is shake your head, barely able to form a coherent thought. But Sylus isn't satisfied with that. He slows his movements, drawing out the sensation, keeping you on the edge just long enough to make you whimper in frustration.

"Say it" he commands softly, his voice full of wicked amusement. "Tell me l'm not cute."

You can barely manage a breathy response, your voice shaking from the pleasure he's drawing out of you. "Y-you're not cute..."

Sylus chuckles, his lips finding your throat as he rewards you with a harder, more purposeful touch, his fingers working you with expert precision. "Good girl” he purrs, the teasing tone back in his voice as he pushes you closer and closer to the brink.

[lupinqs]

SAFE AND SOUND (3/3) ━━ pazzi

☆ ━ summary: in which azzi fudd forms an unexpected alliance with paige bueckers as they fight for survival in the hunger games.

☆ ━ word count: 16.6K

☆ ━ warnings: violence, angst, death, really depressing ending

☆ ━ links: part one, part two, my masterlist, ao3 link

☆ ━ author’s note: hi!!!! so actually turns out that deleting this made me much more productive and motivated and i wrote this in like a day and a half be proud. it’s a very action packed chapter, lots of things happen, and i hope you enjoy it. might make you a little depressed but we all need some angst in our lives!

THE MORNING creeps in gently, sunlight slipping through the canopy of trees above, dappling the forest floor in soft patches of gold. Azzi stirs faintly, her awareness coming back to her in pieces. Her body feels warm, cocooned in a strange, comfortable stillness. When she opens her eyes, everything comes into sharp, startling focus.

She’s still lying across Paige’s lap.

Her first instinct is panic—her mind racing to all the reasons why this shouldn’t be happening, why she should’ve moved the moment Paige fell asleep. But then her body shifts slightly, and she feels Paige’s arm, the uninjured one, slung loosely over her side, her fingertips brushing lightly against Azzi’s ribs. Paige’s breathing is soft and even, her chest rising and falling against Azzi’s back.

Azzi freezes, unwilling to move just yet. Her head tilts slightly, enough to let her eyes flicker upward. Paige is waking, her body stirring beneath Azzi, her fingers twitching against the brunette’s side.

Then, Paige lets out a small, sleepy sound—something between a sigh and a groan—and rubs at her eyes with her free hand. She looks bleary but not broken, not like last night. The color has returned to her cheeks, and her features seem softer, less drawn. When she finally looks down at Azzi, she smiles, slow and dopey, her voice raspy as she murmurs, “Hey.”

The word is so simple, so casual, but it sends a terrible rush of warmth through Azzi’s chest, lighting her nervous system on fire. Her stomach flips violently, and she suddenly feels much more awake.

“Hey,” she replies, her voice a little quieter than she meant it to be. She shifts her body, sitting up so she and Paige are face to face.

As soon as she does, Paige’s smile fades quickly, replaced by a waterfall of surprise. Without warning, her hand comes up, cupping Azzi’s face. The motion is so sudden that Azzi flinches, blinking in confusion. “Holy shit,” Paige breathes, her fingers skimming lightly over Azzi’s cheek. “It’s so much better! The cut—it’s, like, completely gone!”

Azzi’s heart stutters in her chest, her breath catching. Paige’s fingers are warm against her skin, and she feels their faint pressure as they ghost over where the gash had been. She doesn’t feel any pain, no sting, no soreness. Azzi’s own hand flies up to her cheekbone, her fingertips brushing the spot where she remembers the cut vividly.

Smooth skin.

There’s maybe the faintest hint of a scratch, but that’s it. Nothing like the deep wound she fell asleep with.

“Oh my God,” Azzi whispers, voice barely audible.

She pulls away slightly, her mind racing. She looks at Paige again, who’s now staring at her with a mixture of amazement and something else—something unreadable. Paige’s grin stretches wider, lighting up her face in a way Azzi doesn’t know if she’s ever seen.

But Azzi’s not done yet. Her gaze darts down to Paige’s injured arm, her heart thundering with a possibility that maybe—just maybe—

Without thinking, she grabs Paige’s wrist, startling the blonde. Paige lets out a surprised, “Azzi—” but doesn’t pull away, watching as the younger girl begins peeling back the makeshift bandage of leaves.

Azzi’s movements are hurried, frantic, her hands shaking as she works the wrapping free. She’s not careful, probably pulling harder than she should, but Paige doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even wince.

When the last of the leaves fall away, Azzi freezes.

The gash that had once been so deep and gruesome, red and angry, is now reduced to something barely noticeable. The skin has knitted itself back together, leaving behind a faint pink line, the kind of thing you might slap a Band-Aid on and forget about.

“No way,” Azzi breathes, her voice breaking on the words. Her eyes dart up to Paige, wide and disbelieving.

Paige stares at her arm for a moment before laughter bubbles out of her, light and bright, filling the quiet air between them. Azzi blinks at her, caught between confusion and awe, before the sound tugs at her lips, coaxing a grin from her that she doesn’t even realize is there until it’s too late.

Their eyes meet, and Paige’s laughter softens into something gentler, warmer. The grin she gives Azzi is the kind that burns its way into her chest, leaving her breathless and weightless all at once. Azzi watches as Paige’s hood hand brushes lightly over the faint line on her arm as if to check that it’s real. The brunette feels her muscles tighten with something she can’t even name—relief, maybe, or something warmer, something deeper.

Then, Paige surprises her.

Before Azzi can process it, Paige shifts, leaning forward and wrapping both arms—injured one included—around Azzi in a hug that’s all at once clumsy, tight, and utterly genuine. It catches Azzi off guard, her body stiff for half a second before she melts into it. She shouldn’t, she knows she shouldn’t, but she lets herself sink into the embrace, her arms coming up to circle Paige’s waist.

Paige’s face presses into her shoulder, and Azzi feels the soft puff of Paige’s breath against her neck. “I kinda thought we were goners,” Paige whispers, and her voice is thick, the words carrying more weight than Azzi expects.

Azzi doesn’t respond—not verbally. Instead, she tightens her arms around Paige, letting the gesture say everything she can’t. She hates how much she’s missed this kind of closeness, how safe it feels, how terrifying it is to want it.

Eventually, they both pull back slightly, though Paige’s hands linger on Azzi’s shoulders, her touch warm and steady. Azzi freezes as she realizes how close they still are, their faces only inches apart. Paige’s breath brushes against her cheek, and her eyes are impossibly blue, locked onto Azzi’s like they’re the only two people in the world, like there’s not a million cameras probably latched onto this very moment.

Azzi’s gaze moves before she can stop it, flicking down to Paige’s lips. Her heart pounds, her breath hitching audibly, and it feels like the air between them is crackling, charged with something she knows better than to name.

She can’t help it, though. She sees Paige’s eyes drop too, following the same path, lingering on Azzi’s lips for just a beat too long.

Azzi swallows hard. She knows how wrong this is. She knows what lines she’s already dangerously close to crossing.

And yet, when Paige leans in just a fraction, Azzi finds herself leaning too—

Abruptly, she pulls away, standing so fast that it startled Paige, who blinks up at her in confusion. Azzi’s pulse races, and she runs a hand across her face, her voice tight and shaky as she says, “Um, we should probably move. Y’know, we’ve been in the same spot for way too long now.”

Paige tilts her head slightly, her brows furrowing, and for a moment, Azzi’s sure she’s going to press the issue. But then Paige nods slowly, her expressions smoothing into soma thing neutral, though her eyes still carry a hint of something unreadable.

“Yeah,” Paige says softly, shifting to stand. “You’re probably right.”

Azzi busies herself with their things, not trusting herself to look at Paige again just yet. Her hands tremble slightly as she gathers the remaining supplies, her thoughts a chaotic tangle of relief and regret and something dangerously close to longing.

THE MORNING feels hopeful, almost bright, despite the heavy clouds overhead. They’re stocked on fruit, and their water supply is steady. Paige, miraculously, looks fine. She’s walking with surprising ease, considering what her body endured just last night. Her arm—while not perfect—is functional, and the exhaustion that clung to both of them like a second skin yesterday seems less oppressive today.

Azzi’s head, too, feels remarkably clear. No throbbing pain, no sharp aches to send her reeling. It’s almost enough to make her believe that they might finally catch a break.

And then the rain comes.

At first, it’s refreshing. The jungle is humid, suffocating even, and the coolness of the droplets feels like relief against Azzi’s overheated skin. But it doesn’t take long for the drizzle to evolve into a torrential downpour.

The rain is relentless. It pounds against the canopy overhead, slips through gaps in the foliage, and soaks them both to the bone within minutes. Azzi can barely see through the water streaming into her eyes, blinking furiously and swiping at her face every few seconds. Beside her, Paige does the same, muttering something under her breath that Azzi can’t hear over the sound of the rain hammering the leaves around them.

The ground beneath them turns treacherous quickly, the dirt path dissolving into thick mud. Every step is a calculated risk, and Azzi finds herself walking slower, her shoes squelching loudly with each movement. She glances over at Paige to see if she’s managing any better, but Paige looks just as miserable, if not more so.

The storm intensifies, thunder rolling through the sky in low, ominous waves. Lightning flashes briefly, illuminating their surroundings in stark, silver light. It’s unsettling, almost unnatural, and Azzi can’t help but feel a prickle of unease crawl up her spine.

It’s when Paige’s foot catches on something—a root, a rock, Azzi doesn’t know—and she goes down hard, that the tension breaks.

Paige lands with a wet, squelching sound, arms flailing uselessly as she tumbles into a thick pile of mud. Azzi freezes for a moment, startled, before the sight of Paige sprawled out on her hands and knees, covered head-to-toe in muck, sends an unexpected laugh bubbling up in her chest.

She tries to suppress it, she really does. But the combination of Paige’s indignant expression and the sheer absurdity of the situation—it’s too much. The laugh escapes before she can stop it, loud and abrupt, cutting through the sound of the rain.

Paige looks up sharply, her face a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “Are you serious right now?” she exclaims, her voice rising over the storm. She’s already clawing at her arms, trying desperately to scrape off the mud, but it only seems to smear further.

Azzi bites her lip, attempting to stifle another laugh, but it’s no use. Paige just looks so utterly disgusted, her mouth twisted into a grimace as she uses the rainwater to wash herself off. The more she tries, the less successful she seems, and Azzi can’t stop herself from snorting.

“It’s not funny!” Paige snaps, though there’s no real venom in her tone. She wipes furiously at the Capitol-provided suit she wears, which is now a patchwork of soaked fabric and dark brown stains. “This is disgusting. Disgusting!”

Azzi shakes her head, wiping at her eyes again as more rain streams down her face. “It’s a little funny,” she says, though her voice is tight with the effort of holding back her laughter.

Paige glares at her, but there’s no heat behind it. The corner of her mouth twitches slightly, and Azzi knows she’s close to cracking too.

The thunder growls again, closer this time, and Azzi feels her humor wane, replaced by a thread of worry. The storm isn’t letting up—it’s only getting worse. The rain is so heavy now that she can barely see a few feet in front of her, and the paths they’ve been relying on are rapidly turning into rivers of mud.

“We need to find some kind of shelter,” Azzi says, her voice louder than she intends. Paige nods, still wiping at her arms, though her movements have slowed. The disgusted look on her face has softened, replaced by something more serious.

They trudge onward, their progress painfully slow as the rain continues to batter them from all sides. The lightning flashes more frequently now, illuminating twisted trees and thick undergrowth that seem to press closer with every step. Azzi keeps her eyes on the ground, watching for roots and rocks, hyper-aware of how easy it would be to slip and fall just like Paige did.

She tries to focus on the practicalities—the weight of the fruit in her bag, the amount of water they have left—but it’s hard to ignore the growing unease settling in her chest. The jungle feels different today, more alive, more threatening.

Another flash of lightning lights up the sky, and Azzi catches a glimpse of Paige beside her, her hair plastered to her face, her lips pressed into a thin line. Despite everything, Paige keeps moving, her steps determined even as the mud sucks at her boots.

Azzi doesn’t know how she does it. Paige should be weak, drained, barely able to stand after everything that happened last night. But somehow, she’s still going, her stubbornness as unyielding as ever.

Azzi wipes at her face again, sighing heavily as she steps over another puddle. The rain continues to hammer down in torrents, so relentless that it’s hard to distinguish the sound of thunder from the pounding water. Every step Azzi takes sinks her deeper into the mud, her feet dragging like dead weights. Beside her, Paige is muttering under her breath, her words barely audible over the roar of the storm but unmistakably irritated.

“This is—fucking—” Paige grumbles, her arms flailing as she tries to scrape off more mud. “It’s like—ugh, it’s everywhere. On my arms, in my hair—I think it’s in my mouth now.” She spits exaggeratedly, her face twisted in dramatic disgust.

Azzi can’t help but laugh again. It’s short and quiet, but in a moment like this, where everything is miserable and soaked and uncertain, Paige’s melodramatic whining is almost comforting. The blonde glares at her without any real anger.

“Glad you’re enjoying this,” Paige says, shooting her a mock-offended look as she wipes at her arms again. It doesn’t help—her hands are just as muddy as the rest of her.

Azzi shakes her head, water dripping down her face and neck. “I’m not enjoying it,” she says, but there’s a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Paige just rolls her eyes, continuing to groan dramatically. Azzi snorts at her again. Leave it to Paige to care about mud when we might die out here.

The thought sobers her quickly. It’s true—if they keep going like this, they might die out here. The storm is bad. So, Azzi begins to scan their surroundings, her eyes darting through the dense jungle, searching for something—anything—that might offer them shelter. The rain is too heavy, the lightning too frequent. They need to get out of the open, and they need to do it now.

“Over there,” she says, pointing toward what looks like a hollowed-out tree, it’s wide base dark and inviting. It’s hard to tell through the rain, but it seems big enough for the two of them to crouch under.

Paige turns to look, wiping at her eyes with a muddy hand, smearing her face in the process. Azzi can’t see her expression clearly, but she hears the faint note of relief in her voice when she says, “That’s good.”

They move toward the tree, their progress slow and awkward. The mud sucks at Azzi’s shoes with every single step, and she has to fight to keep her balance. Her muscles scream in protest, but she grins her teeth and keeps going, focusing on the tree ahead. It’s closer now, just a few more steps—

And then the lightning strikes.

The world erupts in a flash of blinding white light, so close that it feels like the air itself is splitting apart. The crack of thunder follows instantly, so loud and violent that it reverberates through Azzi’s chest. She freezes, her arms instinctively flying up to protect her head as the tree they were heaving for explodes in a shower of sparks and flame.

The heat from the blast is searing, even through the rain. Azzi stumbles backward, her foot slipping in the mud. Her heart is racing, her ears ringing from the thunder. For a moment, she thinks she might fall, but then she feels a hand on her waist, steadying her.

“I got you.” Paige’s voice is close, low and reassuring. Azzi’s heart is still pounding, her breath coming in shallow gasps, but the solid weight of Paige’s hand against her side anchors her. She glances up, sees Paige’s face—mud-streaked, rain-soaked, but focused—and feels a flicker of calm.

The tree in front of them is burning, the flames licking hungrily at the wet bark. The rain hisses and steams as it clashes with the fire, but the flames don’t falter. Azzi stares at it, transfixed, her mind racing with the sudden, visceral realization of how close they came to being struck.

“Okay,” Paige says, breaking the silence. Her voice is shaky but steady enough. “Yeah, not here.”

She grabs Azzi’s hand without waiting for a response, her fingers sliding against Azzi’s in the rain. The contact is slippery and uncertain, but Paige’s grip tightens, refusing to let go. Azzi doesn’t resist. She lets Paige pull her forward, her legs moving on autopilot as her mind struggles to catch up.

They move quickly, the burning tree fading in the background as they put distance between themselves and the lightning strike. Azzi’s boots slide and stumble in the mud, but Paige’s hand remains firm, guiding her forward. She focuses on that—the feel of Paige’s hand in hers, the shared determination to keep moving, to find someplace remotely safe.

Eventually, they stumble upon a rocky overhang nestled between two massive boulders. It’s shallow but wide enough to sit under, the stone providing some relief from the relentless rain. Paige drags Azzi under it, both of them collapsing against the cold, damp rock with matching sighs of exhaustion.

Azzi leans back, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. Her entire body feels heavy, weighed down by the rain and mud, but for the first time in hours, she feels a sliver of safety. The storm still raged around them, the rain pounding against the rocks, but here, under the overhang, it feels distant.

Paige is a mess. Her suit is soaked, clinging to her skin, and the mud—God, the mud—is smeared across her arms, her face, her hair. She looks beat, her shoulders slumped and her head tilted back against the rock.

Azzi glances down at herself and realizes she’s not much better. Her suit is plastered to her skin, and her legs are streaked with mud, but at least she’s not actively dripping in it like Paige.

For a moment, they sit in silence, the sound of the rain filling the space between them. Azzi closes her eyes, letting the tension drain from her body. Despite everything—the storm, the mud, the fact that she’s currently an active tribute in the Hunger Games—there’s a strange sense of peace in this small reprieve.

She feels Paige shift beside her, hears her let out a low, frustrated groan. “This sucks,” Paige mutters, her voice heavy with exasperation.

Azzi opens her eyes and glances at her, watching as Paige wipes at her face again, accomplishing nothing. A quiet laugh escapes Azzi.

Paige turns to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says, shaking her head. The corners of her mouth twitch upward. “You’re just… a little muddy.”

“Oh, really?” Paige huffs sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “I couldn’t tell.”

Azzi doesn’t answer. Instead, she just shakes her head again, softer this time, still smiling, and pushes herself up, crouching low under the rock. Her legs are stiff and protesting after hours of trudging through the jungle, but she forces them to cooperate.

“Wait—what’re you doing?” Paige’s hand shoots out, her fingers curling around Azzi’s wrist in an instinctive, almost panicked gesture. “Azzi—”

“Relax,” the younger girl says, waving her off. “Stay here.” She gently shakes off Paige’s grip and ducks out from under the rock before Paige can argue further.

The rain is like a wall, slamming into her with unyielding force the second she steps into it. She just grits her teeth and ignores the discomfort. There’s a cluster of broad-leafed plants just a few steps away, their thick, wavy leaves glistening with water, and Azzi makes her way toward them.

She rips two of the largest leaves from their stems, the action quick and forceful, and then hurried back to the overhang. The cold of the rain is seeping into her bones by the time she crouches back under the rock, but she doesn’t care.

Paige is staring at her with a mix of confusion and mild exasperation, her muddy face tilted slightly in question. “Seriously, what—”

“Let me help,” Azzi interrupts, cutting her off before she can spiral into another round of complaints. She sits down across from Paige, their knees almost brushing in the cramped space, and holds up one of the dripping leaves like it’s some kind of peace offering.

Paige opens her mouth as if to argue, but whatever she was about to say gets lost somewhere between her brain and her tongue. She closes her mouth again and more, her movements jerky and unsure.

Azzi leans in, taking one of Paige’s arms in her hand, and starts to work. The mud is caked into the fabric of her Capitol-issued shit, streaked and smeared from hours of trudging through the jungle. Azzi drags the leaf along Paige’s arm in slow, deliberate strokes, watching as the dirt gives way to the dark, water-resistant material.

Her movements are careful but firm, focused entirely on the task in front of her. Or at lea at, that’s what she tells herself. But she can feel Paige’s eyes on her, following every motion, and it’s impossible to ignore the weight of that gaze. It feels like a spotlight, unrelenting and all-consuming, and Azzi’s stomach twists in response.

When she moves to Paige’s abdomen, dragging the leaf over the curve of her stomach, she feels the contraction of muscle beneath her hand. The reaction is instinctual, a reflex, but it sends a jolt of awareness through Azzi all the same. Her fingers tremble slightly, and she exhaled through her nose, trying to steady herself.

Get it together, she thinks, but her heart can’t seem to listen.

The tension between them feels tangible now, a living, breathing thing that presses against Azzi from all sides. She doesn’t look at Paige—not directly. She can’t. Instead, she focuses on the mud, on the leaf, on the way her hands move as she works.

When the first leaf grows too dirty to be useful, she tosses it aside and grabs the second. This time, she starts with Paige’s neck, wiping away the dirt that’s settled there. The curve of Paige’s throat is warm under her touch, even through the rain, and Azzi’s chest tightens painfully.

Their eyes meet, just for a second, and it feels like the world stops spinning. Azzi’s breath catches, her heart stuttering in her chest, and the intensity of Paige’s gaze is almost unbearable. She looks away quickly, her face burning, and focuses on the mud again.

She moves to Paige’s face next, ghosting the leaf along her cheek and chin, brushing away the streaks of dirt that have clung to her skin. Her movements are slower now, as if she’s afraid to press too hard. The mud doesn’t come off entirely, but she gets most of it, and the sharpness of Paige’s features emerges from beneath the grime like something carved out of stone.

When she’s done, Azzi tosses the second leaf away and leans back slightly.

The silence between them is deafening.

They’re so close now, their knees touching, their breaths mingling in the damp air. Azzi’s heart is racing, pounding against her ribs like it’s trying to escape, and she’s sure Paige can hear it. This moment feels like the one from this morning, after Paige hugged her. Azzi doesn’t move, doesn’t dare look up.

That is, until Paige shifts.

The air between them tightens, and before Azzi can think, before she can process, Paige leans in.

The kiss is soft, a tentative press of lips that feels more like a question than an answer. Paige’s mouth is warm against hers, and Azzi’s mind is screaming at her that this is reckless, dangerous, stupid, but it doesn’t feel like any of that. It feels…relieving, like the first deep breath after holding herself underwater for too long.

Paige pulls back slightly, her lips still hovering close enough that their breaths mingle. Azzi’s eyes flutter open, and she blurts the first thing that comes to her mind. “This is dumb.”

Paige’s hand comes up to the back of her neck, her flinders sliding against damp skin. Her voice is low and steady when she replies, “Yeah.”

Azzi exhales sharply, her chest aching with the weight of her own reckless feelings. “We’re so stupid.”

Paige’s gaze flicker to her lips, then back to her eyes. “Completely.”

The words hang between them, fragile and dangerous, and Azzi feels like she’s teetering on the edge of a cliff. She’s acutely aware of everything—the rain, the heat of Paige’s hand on her neck, the rapid thrum of her own heartbeat—and it’s overwhelming.

But then Paige says, “But we’re here,” and everything shifts.

The words hit like a punch to the gut, simple but profound. They’re here. Here. In the middle of the Hunger Games, in the middle of every kid’s nightmare, in the middle of something that shouldn’t exist but does. They’re competitors, but also allies, the only two people that have each other’s backs here even if that sentiment is precarious and might not last much longer. Azzi likes Paige, and Paige likes Azzi, and both of them are far closer to death than survival—that’s just the odds. And, yes, Azzi knows that this might all end up in flames and they may have to kill each other in the end—but Paige is right. They’re here.

And maybe that’s enough.

The kiss that follows is different. It’s deeper, hungrier, the kind of kiss that feels like diving headfirst into something you know will destroy you. Azzi’s hands find Paige’s shoulders, clutching at the fabric of her suit like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth, and Paige pulls her closer, her fingers tightening against Azzi’s neck.

For a moment, the rest of the world disappears. There’s no rain, no arena, no Capitol, no audience watching their every move. There’s just this—this moment, this connection, this fleeting, fragile thing that feels like both a beginning and an end.

THE GAMES wear on, and they don’t talk about it. Azzi tells herself it’s for the best. They’re still here, after all, still breathing, still surviving. A kiss isn’t supposed to matter when everything around them screams of death. It’s a distraction, a risk, a mistake. Even so, it’s hard to forget, and even harder not to do it again.

Paige doesn’t change. She’s still sharp-witted and too bold for her own good, cracking jokes in moments that should be far too tense for humor. She makes Azzi’s head spin sometimes, flipping from cocky grins to quiet, almost tender observations without warning. She pokes fun at Azzi’s serious nature, but it’s never mean-spirited. Somehow, it’s endearing. Azzi’s started noticing the way Paige’s lips twitch into a half-smile before she delivers one of her little quips. She notices a lot about Paige now, and that realization is almost as dangerous as the kiss itself.

Their relationship shifts, subtly. It’s in the way Paige seems to lean closer when they’re hidden away in the dark, their shoulders and sides pressing together. It’s in the way Azzi doesn’t pull away, even when her brain screams at her to keep her distance. They’re touchier, sometimes accidentally, sometimes not. When Paige’s fingers graze hers during the rare moments of silence, Azzi doesn’t flinch. And late at night, when Paigemd breathing evens out into the soft rhythm of sleep, Azzi sometimes catches herself wondering what it would be like to kiss her again.

But she doesn’t.

She won’t.

Because this isn’t a life where things like that make sense.

Sometimes, she lets herself imagine, though. Not often, but enough. In another world, they’re teammates, not tributes. Maybe they’re playing for some great basketball dynasty, Paige with her impossible confidence and Azzi with her perfect precision. Maybe they’d have a future, not this fragile thing that feels ready to shatter under the weight of the Capitol’s gaze and the threat of the other tributes. Maybe they’d have moments that aren’t stolen, conversations that don’t feel like whispers against the roar of inevitable death.

But they aren’t in that world. They’re here, in a nightmare where every breath is borrowed time, and any dream of a life beyond this arena feels laughable.

So, Azzi doesn’t let herself dwell. She focuses on survival—on the sharp edge of reality that keeps them moving, keeps them alive.

They’re good at it, too. A formidable pair. Azzi’s calm, calculated strategies balance Paige’s impulsive, quick-thinking instincts. Together, they’ve avoided the larger, deadlier alliances. They stay on the move, never lingering in one place for too long. Besides quick glimpses, they haven’t seen any of the other tributes since the boy from Eleven nearly ended them both. It’s odd, and the arena has begun to feel emptier, quieter, but not in a way that offers peace. It’s the calm before the storm, and Azzi knows it. Every night, the anthem plays, the sky lighting up with the faces of the dead. Every night, the number of tributes dwindles.

There are only a handful left now. Most of them are the ones everyone feared from the start—the stronger, deadlier tributes. The Careers from One and Two who have trained their entire lives for this. Other than them, Paige, and Azzi, there’s a couple other straggles, but not many.

The odds aren’t in their favor.

Paige doesn’t seem to care. Or maybe she’s just better at pretending.

One night, it was calm—not too hot, not too cold, no rain, no storms, no tributes. Just them, staring up through the foliage at the stars. Paige’s voice had cut through the silence, asking, “D’you think there’s any point in dreaming about it?”

Azzi’d glanced at her, frowning. “Dreaming about what?”

“You know.” Paige gestured vaguely, her fingers twitching like she’d wanted to grab something she couldn’t reach. “The after. If there even is one.”

Azzi hadn’t answered right away. She didn’t know how. The idea of an “after” felt—and still feels—laughable, like trying to picture sunlight while drowning in darkness. But Paige’s eyes were on her, waiting, and Azzi felt the weight of her gaze like a physical thing.

“I don’t know,” she’d said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I try not to think about it.”

Paige had hummed softly, tilting her head. “Yeah. That tracks.”

Azzi’s frown deepened. “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.” Paige shrugged, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “Just… you’re the smart one. Uh, like, practical. Always thinkin’ about what’s right in front of us. Makes sense you wouldn’t waste time on something as stupid as hope.”

The words had stung, even though Azzi knew Paige didn’t mean them that way.

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” she’d responded almost hesitantly. “Hope, I mean. I just—” She paused, glancing away. “I don’t think it helps. Not here.”

Paige didn’t respond right away. And when Azzi looked back, Paige was watching her, something soft and unreadable in her expression.

“Maybe not,” Paige said eventually, her voice low. “But it’s all I’ve got.”

The words sat heavy between them then, and they sit heavy within Azzi now as the sun beats down on her relentlessly, a furnace of heat filtering through the thick canopy of trees. The air is humid, suffocating, and Azzi can feel sweat trickling down her back, soaking into the fabric of her suit.

Paige is ahead of her, as always, sword in hand, cutting through the undergrowth with steady, practiced swipes. Azzi doesn’t know how Paige does it—keeps going like she’s made of something indestructible, some alloy that doesn’t bend under pressure. But then Paige glances back over her shoulder, her lips quirking in that half-smile that’s almost a smirk, and Azzi remembers: she’s just as scared as she is. Paige is just better at hiding it.

“Still with me, princess?” Paige calls, her voice light and teasing as she says that nickname that Azzi pretends to hate but secretly doesn’t mind.

Azzi doesn’t answer, just raises an eyebrow and gives the blonde a look that says keep going. She’s already tired, so she’s saving her energy for walking, for survival, because the more she thinks about it, the more she’s realizing that every step could be her last.

That’s when it happens.

A scream, distant but piercing, rips through the jungle. It echoes through the trees, sharp and desperate, before cutting off abruptly. Azzi freezes, her heart slamming into her ribcage, and she sees Paige go still, her grip tightening on her sword.

And then, Azzi hears it.

A low rumble, like the growl of some monstrous creature. It grows louder, swelling into a deafening roar that shakes the ground beneath their feet.

“Azzi,” Paige says, her voice tight.

Azzi turns, and her stomach drops.

Water. A wall of it, surging through the jungle like a living thing, uprooting trees and swallowing everything in its path.

“Run,” Paige breathes, and then they’re moving.

Azzi’s legs scream in protest, but adrenaline pushes her forward. She can hear the flood gaining on them, a relentless, crashing tide. Her feet slip on the muddy ground, and she nearly falls, but Paige grabs her arm, yanking her upright.

“Faster!” Paige shouts, and Azzi doesn’t waste breath responding. She pumps her legs harder, her lungs burning, her vision narrowing to the path ahead.

The water is impossibly fast. Even so, for a moment, Azzi thinks they might actually have a chance to outrun it. But then she hears the sharp crack of a tree snapping right behind them and knows it’s too late.

The flood hits them like a battering ram.

Azzi is thrown forward, the force of the water slamming into her back and knocking the air from her lungs. She tumbles, weightless and disoriented, the world spinning in a blur of green and brown and white. Her mouth fills with water, and she chokes, coughing and sputtering as she’s dragged under.

She thrashes, clawing at the water, trying to find the surface, but the current is too strong. It pulls her deeper, twisting her around until she doesn’t know which way is up. Her lungs scream for air, her chest tightening, and panic claws at her throat.

Paige.

She forces her eyes open, the sting of the salt water blurring her vision. She can barely see? but she reaches out blinding, her fingers scrabbling for anything, anyone.

Nothing.

Azzi’s chest feels like it’s about to burst, and she kicks harder, fighting against the current. Her head breaks the surface for a split second, and she gasps, sucking in precious air before she’s pulled under again.

She doesn’t know how long she’s in the water. It could be an hour, it could be twenty seconds. Every bit of it is a battle to stay afloat, to keep breathing. Her arms ache, her lungs burn, and she’s starting to lose strength.

And then, suddenly, the current slows.

Azzi’s head breaks the surface again, and this time she manages to stay up. She coughs violently, spitting out water, and blinks the sting from her eyes. She’s in a wide expanse of still water now, the flood having pushed her into what looks like the shallow bay area near the Cornucopia.

For a moment, all she can do is float there, gasping for air, her body trembling with exhaustion.

Then she feels it: hands, grabbing at her.

She flinched, her instincts screaming to fight, but then she hears it—a breathless, desperate gasp.

“Az.”

Relief floods through Azzi, so overwhelming it’s almost painful. She turns, and there she is—Paige, her hair plastered to her face, her eyes wide and frantic.

Azzi doesn’t hesitate. She grabs Paige’s arm, and together they start swimming, their strokes uneven and shaky but determined. The water is shallow enough now that they can touch the bottom, and they half-swim, half-stumble their way to the edge.

They collapse onto the sand, their bodies tangling together as they sprawl out, too exhausted to care about anything but the fact that they’re alive.

Azzi’s face ends up pressed against Paige’s chest, her lips brushing against her collarbone. Paige’s arm is draped across Azzi’s back, her fingers digging into Azzi’s shoulder as if she’s afraid to let go.

For a moment, neither of them moves. They just lie there, gasping for breath, their bodies trembling from the adrenaline and the cold. Azzi can feel Paige’s breath against her forehead, her lips ghosting over her skin.

It should feel awkward, but it doesn’t.

Eventually, Azzi pushes herself up, her limbs heavy and uncooperative. She sits back on her heels, dragging Paige up with her, and they both sit there for a minute, staring at each other, eyes tracking their faces, because they almost just died.

Then, Azzi’s eyes catch on something in the water.

A body.

It’s floating face-down, the lifeless form a girl with dark hair fanned out around her head like seaweed. Azzi recognizes her—the girl from District Five.

Her stomach churns, and she realizes she must have missed the cannon while she was underwater.

“Jesus,” Paige mutters hollowly.

They stare at the body for a second longer, the weight of it pressing down on them. It could have been them. It almost was.

Paige shakes Azzi’s shoulder suddenly, snapping her out of her daze. She gestures across the water, her eyes narrowing.

Azzi follows her gaze and sees them—four figures moving along the shore. The tributes from One and Two—the Careers.

Azzi’s heart sinks. They’re too good, too strong. Azzi and Paige might be fighters, but they can’t take four-on-two, not against tributes who’ve spent their whole lives training for this.

“They haven’t seen us yet,” Paige whispers urgently.

Azzi nods, her mind already racing. Her bag is floating a few feet away, and she grabs it, pulling it toward her. She slings it over her shoulder, her movements quick but careful.

Paige holds out her hand, and Azzi takes it without hesitation.

They run.

Azzi’s legs scream in protest, her lungs burn, but she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t look back. The Careers might not have seen them yet, but they will soon, and Azzi knows they won’t get another chance to escape.

The jungle swallows them, the dense undergrowth closing in around them like a shield. They don’t stop running until they’re sure they’re far enough away.

When they finally collapse against a tree, Azzi’s legs give out beneath her. She slides to the ground, her chest heaving, her body trembling from exhaustion and fear.

Paige sinks down beside her, her head falling back against the tree trunk. She doesn’t let go of Azzi’s hand—in fact, her grip tightens.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks.

But Azzi can see it in Paige’s eyes—the same realization that’s clawing at her chest.

Their time is running out.

THE TWO DAYS since the flood have been maddeningly quiet, the kind of stillness that creeps under Azzi’s skin and refuses to leave. The arena is suffocating in its silence, the oppressive heat of the jungle seeping into her bones. She and Paige have walked the same endless stretches of sand, weaving between trees with the cautious precision of prey unwilling to draw a predator’s gaze. Seven of them are left now. The endgame is close enough to taste, and Azzi knows their strategy of running and hiding won’t be enough anymore. Not with the two pairs of Careers prowling.

The boy from Ten doesn’t concern her much. He’s a shadow, a rumor that exists only when the cannon fired for someone else. No, it’s the Careers that are the problem—their brute strength, their careful hoarded Capitol supplies stacked neatly at the Cornucopia, their unwavering confidence that they’ll outlast everyone else simply because they always do. Azzi and Paige have talked endlessly about it since they were nearly flooded right into them.

Azzi doesn’t want to kill. She knows she can, knows she’s capable. She’s done it before—once, the boy from Eleven. Every time she thinks of it, it makes her sick. The sound of the dagger slicing through the air, the way it dug right into his neck, the sharp taste of bile in her throat afterward. She doesn’t want to do it again.

Paige had argued the opposite, suggesting that if they just separated them, they could easily take them out and be done with them like that.

But Azzi had shaken her head, throat tightening at the thought. “They’ve got good. Water. Supplies,” she’d listed. “Take that away, and they’ll destroy themselves.”

It had taken hours to agree on the plan, both of them stubborn in their positions. It had only settled when the parachute came—a gift from the sponsors, with a sleek, silver explosive device tucked inside. The Capitol, it seemed, wanted a show. And, as much as Azzi hates being part of their entertainment, she can’t deny the relief she’d felt when she realized they wouldn’t have to improvise. Destroying the Careers’ supplies is the cleanest option, even if it means risking everything to pull it off.

The plan itself is simple in theory, far more dangerous in execution. Paige is the distraction, something Azzi hates the moment it was suggested. They’d fought tooth and nail about it, neither of them wanting the other to be the bait. But Paige was resolute, and she eventually won. She usually does.

Azzi knows Paige isn’t stupid—reckless, yes, but not stupid. But that doesn’t stop the knot of anxiety from tightening in her chest as they crouch in the jungle now, hidden by the thick underbrush that separates the sand from the Cornucopia. She can hear the Careers talking in the distance, their voices low and confident. It’s almost mocking, the way they laugh like this is nothing more than a game to them.

Azzi forces herself to focus on the task at hand. She’s got the explosive device in a pouch at her side, her daggers strapped to her thighs, and an ache in her chest she can’t shake. If this works, if they destroy their supplies and the Careers are weakened enough to fall… what then? Azzi knows exactly what then. It’ll be her and Paige, and the boy from Ten if he’s still hiding out there.

She promised her family she’d come home. Jon and Jose had cling to her when she left, their eyes wide with fear she couldn’t soothe. And her parents looked at her with so much hope. She had promised to try to win, to try to survive, to try to do everything she could to return to them. But that promise feels like a weight crushing her now because surviving means watching Paige die. Or worse—doing it herself.

She can’t think about that now. Not when Paige is standing in front of her, close enough that Azzi can feel the heat radiating from her skin. Paige grips her sword tightly, her jaw set with determination.

“Please be careful,” Azzi says, her voice quieter than she means it to be.

Paige nods once. “I will.”

That’s not good enough, though. So, Azzi grabs her arm, forcing her to meet her gaze. “No, Paige,” she says firmly. “I’m serious. Please, be careful. Promise me you won’t do some stupid reckless shit.”

Paige’s eyes soften just enough to make Azzi’s stomach twist. She takes a long moment before nodding again, slower this time. “Okay,” she says gently, sincerely. “I promise.”

Azzi nods, exhaling a shaky breath. She feels Paige’s fingers brush against hers briefly, a fleeting moment of contact that lingers like a ghost. “You be careful too,” Paige murmurs.

“I will,” Azzi replies, sounding steadier than she feels.

Paige takes a small step back, and for a moment, neither of them moves. Then, Paige straightens, the sharpness returning to her expression as she says, “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”

Azzi doesn’t respond, her throat too tight to form words. She watches as Paige turns and bolts away, her blonde ponytail the last of her that Azzi sees before her form disappears completely into the dense jungle. Azzi’s chest tightens as she stands there, still, her eyes fixed on the spot where Paige vanished.

She doesn’t let herself dwell on the what-ifs. She doesn’t think about what could go wrong or the countless ways this plan could end in disaster. She just hopes—prays, even—that this isn’t the last time she’ll see Paige.

She takes a deep breath, and then locks in, though there’s not much to lock in on yet. Because she has to wait. The Careers need to be far enough away, taking Paige’s bait. If they’re not, this entire plan is dead on arrival—and possibly Azzi along with it.

She tells herself to breathe, but each inhale feels razor-sharp. Her mind flickers to Paige, somewhere out there, leading the Careers away. Azzi can’t see her, and she doesn’t dare imagine what might happen if Paige doesn’t pull it off. She pushes the thought down, locks it away. Focus.

Finally, after what feels like forever, she decides it time. The clearing appears empty; the only sound of the faint rustle of leaves in the warm breeze. Azzi steps out onto the sand, her shoes sinking slightly into the grainy surface. She moves quickly, but each step feels painfully exposed, the weight of the jungle at her back like a thousand watching eyes.

The supplies are piled high against the Cornucopia’s base: food, water, medical kits, weapons. The lifeline of the Careers. Azzi’s heart races as she pulls the small explosive device out of its pouch. Her fingers tremble slightly as she sets the timer, forcing herself to breathe evenly. She gives herself a good thirty seconds—enough time to get back into the cover of the trees. Her heart is a drumbeat of panic as she activates the device, the red light blinking like a countdown to chaos—which, it is.

She throws the explosive right into the pile and doesn’t wait around to watch it roll. Instead, she bolts, sprinting back toward the foliage. The sand shifts beneath her feet, slowing her down, but she reaches the edge of the jungle just as the timer hits zero.

The explosion is deafening, a fiery burst of destruction that lights up the clearing like a second sun. Azzi clamps her hands over her ears, the shockwave rattling her skull even through her precautions. The Cornucopia groans as part of its structure collapses, supplies reduced to flaming shrapnel and smoke. The air reeks of burning plastic and charred food.

Azzi crouches low, her chest heaving as she stares at the destruction she’s caused. Relief floods her for half a second until—

“No!” the word rips from behind Azzi, the voice of a boy. She spins around, and, sure enough, the boy from One is there, eyes flashing with anger and disbelief as his gaze shifts between Azzi and the destroyed supplies. He’s holding a spear, and it glints in the light of the sun and the flames. “You fucking bitch—”

And then he’s striking, lunging forward with the spear aimed at Azzi’s midsection. She twists her torso just in time, the blade grazing her side but leaving her untouched. She counters immediately, grabbing one of the daggers strapped to her thigh and slashing toward his exposed forearm. Her blade catches skin, opening a thin gash.

He grunts, and Azzi doesn’t wait for him to recover. She lunged, aiming a dagger at his ribs, but he anticipates the move and sidesteps. His elbow catches her temple as he pivots, a glancing blow that sends her stumbling back.

“That all you got?” he asks, his tone mocking but full of clear and raw anger.

Azzi ignores the sting in her head, forcing her focus back to the fight. He’s strong, she knows that. But she’s strong too, muscle built up from years of basketball and working in Nine. So, she moves fast, feinting left before striking right, her blade carving a shallow cut across his bicep.

His face hardens. He doesn’t respond this time, just swings the spear in a brutal arc aimed at her legs. Azzi leaps back, but the tip catches her thigh, ripping through fabric and skin. She hisses at the sharp pain but doesn’t slow down, tossing a dagger aimed at his chest.

He moves out of the way just in time for it to not be deadly, but it still slices his shoulder, blood staining his suit. And then she’s driving forward with her other knife. He blocks this blade with the shaft of his spear, the clang of metal reverberating in her ears.

He swings the spear again, aiming lower this time, a precise jab at her legs. Azzi shifts to dodge, but her injured thigh slows her down just enough. His foot catches her left knee with brutal force, a perfect strike to the vulnerable joint.

The pain is instantaneous, sharp and sickening. She feels a pop and a snap, the joint or muscle or something twisting in a way that shouldn’t be possible. She crumples to the ground with a sharp scream, clutching at her knee as waves of agony shoot up her leg.

She sucks in shallow, panicked breaths, her hands shaking as she grips her knee. It’s wrong, all wrong. It feels loose and tight at the same time, everything out of place. Her vision blurs with tears, but she forces herself to look up.

He’s standing over her now, the tip of the spear pointed at her throat. “Weak little bitch,” he spits. Clearly, he’s taken the supplies thing personal.

Azzi’s mind races, desperation clawing at her. She fumbles for one of her daggers, but her fingers feel clumsy, the pain overwhelming her focus.

“Fucking pathetic,” he continues, pressing the spear closer to her neck. “I almost feel bad for you.”

The sound of her own heartbeat fills her ears, drowning him out. She tightens her grip on the dagger in her hand, her fingers slick with sweat and blood.

With a burst of adrenaline, she twists her body, throwing her weight to the side and slashing upward with the blade. The dagger slices into his side, deep enough to stagger him.

“Damnit!” he shouts, stumbling back.

Azzi forced herself up, her injured knee screaming in protest. It feels like it could give out at any moment, but she doesn’t care. She can’t care. She lunges again, aiming for his chest once more.

He recovers quickly, batting the blade away. His other hand slams into her shoulder, sending her sprawling onto her back.

He doesn’t hesitate, taking the opportunity. He’s on her in an instant, pinning her to the ground with the weight of his body. Azzi struggles, her daggers slipping from her grasp as his hand clamps around her throat. His face hovers inches above here, his breath hot and ragged.

She can feel the spear’s tip pressing against her ribs, and panic claws at her chest. This is it. This is how she dies.

But something ignites within her—a desperate, furious refusal to give up. Because she can’t give up. She made a promise she’s not about to break. Her fingers grope blindly, finding the hilt of one of her knives. With a surge of strength she didn’t know she had left, Azzi drives the blade upward, burying it in his neck.

The boy jerks, his eyes widening with shock and horror. Blood erupts from the wound, hot and sticky, sprawling across Azzi’s face, her neck, her suit. He gurgles, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as the life drains from him.

A cannon rumbles through the arena as his body goes slack above her. She shoves him off with a pained grunt, rolling onto her side as her chest heaves. Her knee pulses with pain, her skin slick with his blood, and her ears ring faintly, but she’s alive. Somehow, she’s alive.

She lies there for what feels like forever, her chest heaving as she stares up at the sky. She can feel his blood drying already, itching against her neck and face and collarbone. The boy’s body is a dark, crumpled heap a few feet away, his lifeless eyes still open.

She forced herself to look away.

She can’t stay here. She knows that. The others will have heard the cannon. They’ll come looking.

With a grown, she pushes herself onto her elbows, her knee screaming in protest. The pain shoots up her leg and settles in her hip, making her vision swim for a moment. She grits her teeth, swallowing the cry that threatens to spill out. She can’t afford to be weak now, no matter how much her body is begging her to lie back down and give in.

Her hands tremble as she grips the ground, dragging herself upright. Her left leg barely bolds her weight, and she nearly topples back down. But she steadies herself, forcing her injured leg to bear just enough to limp.

The jungle calls to her, offering safety in its shadows. She just has to get further in. She can think about her knee later.

She’s only managed a few steps when she hears it: rustling. The sound is faint at first, like the wind moving through the trees. But it grows louder—faster—until it’s unmistakable. Footsteps. Someone is running.

Azzi freezes, panic gripping her chest like a vice. She doesn’t have it in her to fight again—not now, not so soon. Her hand flies to the hilt of her knife, tightening around it as she turns toward the sound. Her breath catches.

Of course, with her luck, it has to be another one.

She steels herself, setting her stance as best she can despite the throbbing pain in her leg. Her teeth grind together, and her muscles coil tight, ready to spring. She’ll die here if she has to, but she’ll take someone with her.

Then she hears it: “Azzi!”

The voice cuts through the jungle, desperate and raw. Her grip on the dagger falters for just a moment as the sound registers. She knows that voice.

Before she can fully process what’s happening, Paige crashes into view.

She looks wild, disheveled—her little braids and ponytail half-undone, her face pale beneath streaks of dirt. Her chest heaves as if she’s run miles, and her eyes dart frantically before landing on Azzi.

Everything in Paige seems to shift. The terror in her expression melts into something else—relief, disbelief, and something deeper Azzi can’t name. Paige’s lips part as if to speak, but instead, she staggers forward, her voice breaking as she says, “Oh my God.”

And then she’s running.

Azzi barely has time to react before Paige is on her, arms wrapping around her so tightly that Azzi can’t breathe. She feels Paige’s hands clutching at her back, her shoulders, her hair—like she’s trying to hold all of Azzi at once.

Azzi’s dagger clatters to the ground as she sinks into the embrace, too stunned to do anything else. It hits her then—the sobs shaking Paige’s body, the wet warmth of her tears against Azzi’s neck. Azzi realizes, distantly, that she’s crying, too.

Paige pulls back just enough to cup Azzi’s face in her hands, her thumbs brushing blood and tears away from Azzi’s cheeks. Her eyes burn blue with something so real, so raw, that it slices through Azzi like a knife.

“I—oh my God,” Paige stammers, her voice trembling, her words stumbling. “I—I saw the explosion, and I was so happy. And then—fuck—I heard you scream. And then the fucking cannon went off, and I thought—” She cuts herself off with a choked sob, shaking her hand as her hands tighten on Azzi’s cheeks. “I thought one of them killed you. I thought—I thought I lost you, Az.”

Azzi swallows hard, her throat thick with emotion. “I’m okay,” she says, her voice slow and soft, as if she’s not only trying to convince Paige, but also herself. “I’m okay.”

Paige stares at her like she doesn’t quite believe it. Then, suddenly, she pulls Azzi in again, her hands still framing Azzi’s face as she presses their lips together.

The kiss is nothing like their first. It’s desperate, messy, full of too many emotions for Azzi to untangle. She can taste the salt of their tears and the metallic tang of blood—hers, his, she doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter.

For a moment, all of the danger, the pain, the fear—it all disappears. Here, in Paige’s arms, Azzi feels something she hasn’t felt since the Games began: safe.

It’s stupid—so stupid. They’re in the middle of a killing field, and only a few people stand between them and having to kill each other. But Azzi can’t bring herself to care. She kisses Paige back just as hard, pouring everything she has left into it.

When Paige finally pulls away, her hands move to wipe at the blood smeared across Azzi’s face. “God, Az,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Where’s all this blood from?”

Azzi sighs, nodding toward the boy’s body a few feet away. Paige’s eyes follow her gaze, and her expression hardens for a moment. Then, she looks back at Azzi, her tone firm, almost protective. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

The question snaps Azzi’s brain back to the sharp, searing pain in her knee. She grimaces, glancing down at it. “My knee,” she says. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s bad.”

Paige glances down before kneeling slowly. Her hands ghost over Azzi’s leg as she inspects it carefully. The fabric of her suit is a little torn, but there’s nothing visibly wrong with Azzi’s knee. Paige nods as she stands back up, her expression steady despite the worry in her eyes. “Okay,” she says. “We can handle that. It’s okay.”

Before Azzi can respond, a cannon fires in the distance.

The sound tears through the air, sharp and defeating, and both of them jump. Azzi stiffens instinctively, her hand twitching toward her dagger before remembering it’s on the ground. Her pulse races, the adrenaline kicking back in despite her exhaustion.

“Who—?” Azzi asks, her voice tight.

Paige exhales shakily, her shoulders slumping. She doesn’t look surprised. “It’s probably the girl from One,” she says quietly, glancing toward the trees as if expecting someone to burst through them. “We were fighting.”

Azzi blinks, confused. “You didn’t—”

“No,” Paige cuts in, the words thick. “I didn’t finish her. I couldn’t.” She hesitates, pushing a loose blonde hair that’s escaped one of her braids out of her face. “I heard you scream, and—I left her. She was bleeding out already, and I just… I had to find you.”

Azzi stares at Paige, her chest tightening painfully. There’s so much weight in those words, in the way Paige’s voice cracks ever so slightly at the end.

“You left her,” Azzi repeats, slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige more, her eyes meeting Azzi’s with a raw, unflinching honesty. “Yeah,” she says. “I left her.”

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The jungle around them seems to press closer, the silence thick and oppressive. Azzi’s mind races, trying to process what Paige has just admitted. It’s reckless—so reckless—but also…

God, Azzi doesn’t even want to finish the thought.

“Paige,” she starts, but the words catch in her throat.

Paige shakes her head quickly, cutting her off. “Don’t,” she says sharply but not unkind. “Don’t say it, Azzi. I know. I know it was stupid. I just—I couldn’t. Not when I thought you—” She falters before looking away, her jaw clenching.

Azzi swallows hard, her hands twitching at her sides. There’s so much she wants to say but doesn’t know how. Instead, she leans closer, her forehead resting tentatively against Paige’s.

“‘M here,” she says softly but steady. “I’m here, and I’m okay. And so are you. We can figure out the rest later.”

Paige closes her eyes, letting out a shaky breath before nodding.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “Okay.”

But even as she says it, Azzi can see the weight Paige is carrying—the guilt, the fear, the overwhelming relief. And she knows that no matter what they tell themselves, things will only get much harder from here.

EVERY STEP feels like a dagger twisting into Azzi’s knee. Her weight shifts onto Paige more than she’d like, and though Paige doesn’t complain—not once—Azzi feels the guilt pooling in her chest with every labored step. Her breath comes in shallow gasps, her body screaming at her to stop, to sit, to just give up. But Paige is steady beside her, one arm looped tightly around Azzi’s waist, murmuring, “You’re doin’ good. Just a little further, Az.”

Azzi wants to believe her, but each step feels like she’s dragging herself closer to fucking collapse. She’s not sure if Paige’s words are meant for her or Paige herself, and the thought makes her stomach twist.

When the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of purples and oranges, Paige stops them. “We can rest here,” she says, and Azzi doesn’t argue. She sinks to the ground with a quiet groan, letting her back rest against the rough bark of a massive tree.

They settle under a canopy of vines, a natural curtain that offers some semblance of cover. Paige drops down beside her, leaning back against the tree with a sigh. Azzi shifts, resting her head on Paige’s shoulder, too exhausted to fight the impulse. She half-expects Paige to pull away, but instead, Paige’s fingers find their way to her hair, gently tracing one of her braids. The motion is soft, almost absentminded, but it sends a strange comfort through Azzi.

They’ve stopped pretending. There’s no point anymore, no space left for lies or walks. Not when the whole world is pressing down on them, when every breath feels borrowed.

Azzi closes her eyes briefly, trying to will away the relentless throbbing in her knee. When she shifts closer to Paige, her knee protests, but Paige doesn’t move—doesn’t complain. She just wraps an arm around Azzi and holds her tighter. It’s selfish, Azzi thinks, to let herself take this comfort when she knows what’s waiting for them at the end of all this. But she’s too tired to pull away.

The moment is interrupted by a faint sound above them. Azzi’s eyes snap open, and she follows Paige’s gaze skyward. A parachute, small and shimmering in the fading light, drifts toward them.

“Thank God,” Paige breathes, sitting up straighter. She reaches for it as it lands gently in the dirt beside them, her hands fumbling with it’s the clasp before opening it.

Azzi leans closer as Paige pulls out a neatly wrapped piece of fabric, some sort of compression wrap meant for her knee. Relief washes over her, but it’s short-lived as Paige pulls out a slip of paper and hands it to her.

Azzi reads it silently, the words sinking in:

Not much longer now. Please take care of yourself. Hang in there, kid. —Cyrus

The word yourself is bolded for emphasis, and Azzi knows exactly what her mentor is trying to say. It’s a warning, a plea. He’s telling her to focus on her own survival, to stop letting caring about Paige’s.

Azzi swallows hard, crumpling the note in her hand. She knows Cyrus is right, knows that every second she spends leaning on Paige, letting Paige patch her up or fight her battles, is another second she’s getting closer to losing everything. But she just doesn’t know how to stop.

“Good guy, your mentor,” Paige says softly, breaking the silence. She gestures for Azzi to stretch her leg out. “Let’s get this on your knee, yeah?”

Azzi nods, not trusting herself to speak. She bites the inside of her cheek as Paige works, her hands careful but firm as she wraps the fabric around Azzi’s swollen knee. Every touch sends a jolt of pain through her, but she doesn’t flinch. Paige’s brow furrowed in concentration, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“This’ll help,” Paige tells her, her voice low and sure. She ties off the wrap with a small, satisfied nod. “It will. Just don’t push it too much, aight?”

Azzi exhales, leaning back against the tree again. “Yeah,” she murmurs.

Paige leans back, too, her movements slow and careful, as though every second spent near Azzi is precious. Azzi watches her through heavy-lidded eyes, the pain in her knee dulling slowly. Paige settles beside her, tucking Azzi close under her arm like she’s trying to shield her from the rest of the arena.

Boom.

Another cannon.

The sound splits through the silence like a gunshot, making Azzi’s whole body tense. She squeezes her eyes shut, her breath catching in her throat. Fuck.

Beside her, Paige lets out a sharp exhale. It’s not fear exactly, but something close to it. Something raw and pained. Before Azzi can even begin to process it, Paige pulls her tighter, her grip firm and almost desperate, as if she’s afraid Azzi might slip away from her—might decide to get up and leave (as if Azzi even could). Paige’s voice is low and taut when she murmurs, “Final four.”

Azzi’s head aches. She doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to consider what it means for them. For Paige. For her. But she knows Paige is right. They’re down to four.

They sit in silence, the weight of the cannon settling between them like a third presence. And then, as if the arena itself is mocking them, the anthem begins to play.

The two of them glance skyward, the shifting lights reflecting in their tired eyes. The faces of the fallen appear one by one, each accompanied by a grim silence. Today was a long day, clearly.

The boy from One flashes first, obviously. It makes Azzi’s chest burn a little, knowing she’s the reason he’s in the sky now.

Then, the girl from One—just as Paige suspected. Azzi spares a glance at Paige, who doesn’t flinch. Her expression is unreadable.

Finally, the last face: the boy from Ten. He’s the most recent, the cannon they just heard.

When the anthem ends, the night seems quieter than before. Oppressive. Azzi leans back against Paige’s chest, her weight sagging into her like she’s trying to press all of her fear into Paige’s body, hoping Paige can somehow bear it for her.

“That leaves us and the pair from Two,” Azzi says quietly. And then, after a beat, she adds, “They’re gonna work together.”

Paige nods, jaw set. “So are we.”

Azzi doesn’t reply, because what’s the point? She knows Paige means it, knows Paige will fight tooth and nail for her. But the sinking reality of their situation presses against Azzi’s chest like a vice.

They stay like that for a while, not speaking, just existing in the fragile quiet. Paige’s fingers brush over Azzi’s hair again, gentle and rhythmic, and Azzi lets her eyes flutter shut. She’s so soft, Azzi thinks, so careful with her. It feels cruel to indulge in this, but she can’t help it.

And then Paige starts talking, unable to keep the thoughts in her head, the words spilling from her like a dam breaking. “We’re gonna figure somethin’ out,” she says, her voice laced with a frantic kind of hope. “We’re gonna do it. ‘Cause you can’t die. And I can’t die. We gotta live. Together. So—y’know, maybe they can bend the rules or something. The Capitol and the sponsors love us. We’d give great publicity if we both won. Two victors. Some kinda Romeo and Juliet shit. It could work.”

Azzi’s chest burns at the desperation in Paige’s voice. She knows it won’t happen—knows it can’t happen. The Games don’t work like that. The Capitol doesn’t bend rules. But she doesn’t have the heart to tell Paige that. Not when she’s clinging so tightly to this fragile thread of hope.

So, Azzi stays quiet, letting Paige’s words hang in the air like a lifeline she can’t bring herself to grab. Instead, she tilts her head to, her eyes meeting Paige’s—brown on blue. The moonlight filters through the vines, illuminating Paige’s face in soft silver hues. She looks beautiful.

And then, without thinking—without over analyzing it the way she does everything else—Azzi leans in and kisses her.

It’s slow at first, tentative, as though Azzi’s afraid Paige might pull away. But Paige would never, and when she doesn’t, when her lips press back against Azzi’s with a tenderness that feels like it might shatter her, Azzi deepens the kiss.

She lets herself get lost in it, pouring everything she can’t say into the way her lips move against Paige’s. It’s not just a kiss—it’s an acknowledgment of all the things they’ve been too afraid to say aloud. It’s a promise, fragile and fleeting.

Paige’s hands come up to cradle Azzi’s face, her fingers brushing along her jawline and sending shivers down Azzi’s spine. She tastes like the berries they’d shared earlier, like desperation and warmth and something that—if they were absolutely anywhere else—Azzi might call home.

Azzi’s hands find their way to Paige’s shoulders, then her hair, tangling in the soft blonde strands as she pulls her closer, like she’s trying to memorize the feeling of her.

Because she knows this can’t last. She knows this moment is borrowed, that the Games will rip it away from them sooner rather than later.

But for now—for just this one perfect, terrible moment—Azzi lets herself believe in the impossible.

THE MORNING dawns heavy and gray, the air thick with an electric tension that seems to press against Azzi’s chest. She sits propped against the base of the tree she and Paige slept on, absently adjusting the wrap on her knee as Paige moves around under the vines, collecting their things. Even without any announcement from the Capitol, Azzi knows—this is it.

Today will be the last day.

She doesn’t know how she knows. It’s not like the Gamemakers have explicitly said so. But the weight of it is undeniable, a silent agreement between the arena and the remaining tributes. If they don’t find the pair from Two soon—or if the pair from Two doesn’t find them—the Capitol will force the confrontation. They always do.

Azzi knows Paige’s mind is still churning, trying to devise some kind of impossible scenario where the two of them make it out together. Where Paige’s relentless optimism wins out against the Capitol’s cruelty. Azzi wants to believe in it, hope for it. She really does.

But she can’t.

Her knee is a liability now, and she knows it. The wrap helps her walk without wincing, but she can’t run—not like she needs to if they’re ambushed. The odds were already slim before, but now? Now they feel closer to nonexistent.

Azzi adjusts the wrap one last time, fingers lingering on the fabric as a wave of guilt washes over her. She promised her family she’d try her best, that she’d fight as hard as she could to get back to them.

She wants to. God, she wants to see them again so badly. Her parents. Her brothers. But Paige wants to see her family, too—her little siblings, Drew, Ryan, and Lauren, whose stories have become so vivid in Azzi’s mind she feels like she almost knows them. Paige has talked about them so much during the long, quiet nights in the arena, her voice soft and full of longing.

And Azzi knows the pair from Two probably has families waiting for them, too. People who are praying just as hard as hers are. It’s a horrible truth she can’t escape: none of them deserve this. But the Capitol doesn’t care about who deserves what.

The sky grows darker as the morning drags on, the clouds thickening and swirling in ominous patterns. Paige notices it first, pausing mid-motion as she stuffs the last of their things into a bag.

“You see that?” she asks.

Azzi tilts her head back, squinting up at the sky. A storm brews in the distance, jagged lightning flickering at the edges. The wind picks up, carrying with it the faint scent of rain. Azzi’s stomach churns.

“They want it to end,” she says quietly. Her voice falls flat with resignation. “This is how they force us to face them.”

Paige glances at her, and Azzi sees something fragile in her expression. Fear, maybe. Or something close to it. She tries to mask it with a sharp nod, her jaw clenching as she grabs their bags.

“Then we’ll give ‘em what they want,” Paige mutters determinedly.

Azzi doesn’t say anything as Paige steps closer, looping an arm around her waist. She doesn’t really need the help today—not like she did before—but she doesn’t protest. Instead, she leans into Paige’s steady presence, letting herself take comfort in the closeness.

The first drops of rain fall as they set off, light at first but steady, and Azzi can feel the storm building. The wind howls through the jungle, pulling at their suits and hair. It’s not hard to guess where they’re heading, even without any explicit direction.

The Cornucopia.

It’s always the Cornucopia.

Azzi doesn’t bother asking if Paige is thinking the same thing—she knows she is. Anyone that’s watched the Games before knows that’s almost always where they end.

The pair trudge forward together, moving slowly to avoid putting too much strain on Azzi’s knee. Paige’s hand stays firm on her waist, her grip protective but not overbearing. The terrain grows harsher as they go, the jungle thinning out and giving way to open stretches of land that make Azzi’s heart race. She hates being this exposed, hates the idea of someone—them—watching from the trees, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Paige’s voice pulls her out of her spiraling thoughts. “We’ll make it,” she says, sounding more confident than Azzi knows she really feels. “We’ll find a way.”

Azzi doesn’t respond. She just presses her lips together, letting Paige’s words hang between them.

They walk for what feels like hours, the storm growing angrier with each passing minute. The rain comes down harder now, soaking through their suits and making the ground slick beneath their feet. Azzi’s knee protests more and more with every step, but she doesn’t stop.

When they reach the edge of the jungle, they’re immediately crouching low behind the underbrush, trying to stay as hidden as possible. The clearing ahead is a trap—they both know it—but there’s no other choice.

Paige drops their bags just inside the jungle’s cover, her movements hurried and sharp. She pulls out two of Azzi’s daggers, handing them over with trembling hands. Azzi takes them silently, the blades cold and reassuring against her wet palms. Her thigh straps and waist sheath are already full, but these feel different—more immediate. She grips one tightly and tucks the other against her belt.

“You ready?” Paige whispers, though her voice barely carries over the pounding of the rain.

Azzi nods, the gesture more instinct than thought. Her knee throbs beneath its tight wrap, but she does her best at ignoring it.

Ahead, the sand of the clearing is slick and reflective under the rain, the shallow saltwater lake churning with the storm’s fury. The Cornucopia, half-collapsed from yesterday’s explosion, looms like a broken monument of death. The air smells metallic, a mix of wet earth, blood, and the storm’s electricity.

“We don’t move til we see ‘em,” Paige murmurs firmly, despite the tremor in her hands.

Azzi watches the clearing, her heart hammering in her chest. The silence feels oppressive, broken only by the occasional boom of thunder. She doesn’t hear the arrow until it’s too late.

Suddenly, Paige cries out beside her, a sharp, startled sound that cuts through the storm. Azzi’s head whips around just as Paige stumbles backward, clutching her shoulder. An arrow juts out of her flesh, its shaft trembling as if mocking their failure to notice.

“Paige!” Azzi gasps, lunging to grab her before she collapses. But another arrow zips past, this one so close that Azzi feels the air shift by her ear. She ducks instinctively, dragging Paige down with her into the mud.

“Shit,” Paige mutters, her tone tight with pain. Her free hand digs into the wet earth, her face pale as she tries to steady herself.

“Let me take it out,” Azzi says. The words tremble as they slip past her lips.

Paige gives her a tight nod, biting down hard on her lip. Azzi grabs the shaft of the arrow, her hands slick with rain and mud. “This is gonna hurt,” she warns.

“Just—do it,” Paige grits out.

Azzi pulls, hard and fast. Paige cries out, her back arching against the pain as blood wells from the wound, staining the torn fabric of her suit. “Fuck,” she breathes raggedly.

Azzi barely has time to assess the damage before she hears heavy footsteps crashing through the jungle. Her head snaps up, and her stomach drops.

The boy from Two is barreling toward them.

It’s not just his size—it’s the way he moves, like a predator. He’s massive, easily half a foot taller than Azzi and built like a mountain, his shoulder broad and his arms corded with muscle. He’s carrying a long-handled axe with a wicked, gleaming blade.

Azzi doesn’t even have time to think. She and Paige are shoved out of the jungle and onto the sand, the boy’s sheer momentum forcing them into the open.

Immediately, Paige is scrambling to her feet, pulling Azzi up with her, her sword already drawn. Azzi grips her dagger and lifts it, about to let it fly towards the boy. But, before she gets the chance, another arrow is sailing toward her and she has to duck. Just as she does, the boy charges at Paige, his axe swinging in deadly arcs that carve through the rain. Azzi watches as Paige ducks and sidesteps, her movements sharp but hindered by the sand and her injured shoulder. The sound of their weapons clashing echoes through the storm, a violent rhythm that makes Azzi anxious.

She’s about to get up and help Paige before her eyes land on the girl. She’s smaller, wiry, but no less dangerous. She’s holding a bow, another arrow already notched and aimed directly at Azzi.

The girl releases her arrow once more, and Azzi dives to the side, her knee screaming in protest as she hits the ground hard. The pain is sharp, a lightning bolt up her leg, but she can’t stop. She rolls onto her feet, barely catching her balance before the girl is on her.

She’s fast, faster than Azzi expected, and her short blade flashes in the dim light as she slashes at Azzi’s midsection. Azzi parries with her dagger, the clash of metal sending vibrations up her arm.

Rain pours down in sheets, making it hard to see, hard to think. Azzi’s grip on her knife is slippery, her breaths coming in short gasps as she blocks another strike.

The girl is relentless, each attack more precise than the last. Azzi’s knee buckles as she tries to sidestep, and she stumbles, barely managing to keep her balance. The girl sees the weakness and presses harder, driving Azzi back toward the edge of the sand, near the water.

Azzi’s mind races, searching for an opening, a way to turn the fight in her favor. She ducks under a wide slash, her free hand grabbing a handful of wet sand and flinging it into the girl’s face.

Just as the girl recoils, momentarily blinded, a sharp cry from Paige draws Azzi’s attention. She turns just in time to see the boy pinning Paige’s sword against the sand, his axe raised for a killing blow. Without thinking, Azzi hurls one of her daggers.

It flies true, embedding itself in the boy’s shoulder. He roars in pain, stumbling back and giving Paige just enough time to regain her footing.

Azzi’s momentary distraction costs her. The girl from Two has recovered, wiping mud from her eyes as she lunges with a renewed ferocity. Azzi blocks the first strike but can’t avoid the second. The blade slices across her arm, hot pain flaring as blood mingles with the rain.

Azzi bites back a scream, her vision swimming as she staggers. Her knee is flaring, too, the wrap doing little to support her under the strain of combat. But she ignores them both, countering the girl with a sharp jab of her dagger, the blade now slicing across the girl’s own arm.

The girl hisses but doesn’t falter. She circles Azzi, her eyes cold and calculating, waiting for an opening. Azzi’s watching carefully as she hears a cry echo behind her—a sharp, desperate sound that cuts through the storm like one of her knives. It’s Paige.

Her stomach twists, panic surging through her veins, but she forced herself to focus. The girl is front in front of her, blade raised for a killing blow. If Azzi falters now, it’s over.

She takes a shaky step forward, raising her dagger. The girl hesitates, just for a second, and that’s all Azzi needs.

With a burst of adrenaline, she drives the blade upward, straight into the girl’s chest.

The girl gasps, her eyes wide with shock as Azzi’s dagger pierces her heart. For a moment, time seems to stop, the rain washing away the blood as the girl’s body goes limp, falling from Azzi’s grasp.

Boom.

Her cannon fires.

Azzi takes a long inhale, her chest heaving as she stares at the girl from Two’s lifeless body. The dagger is still in her hand, slick with rain and blood, but it feels like an extension of her arm now, part of her in a way that terrifies her. She forces herself to let go, the blade slipping from her grasp and landing in the wet sand with a dull thud.

The rain pelts her skin, cold and unforgiving, but she can’t move. She stands there, rooted to the spot, her breathing ragged and uneven as her eyes linger on the girl. The world feels muffled, like she’s underwater, and everything—the storm, the blood, the suffocating ache in her knee—fades into the background. It’s over. At least, this part is.

Her heart is still pounding in her chest, faster than it should be. She doesn’t feel victorious. She doesn’t feel anything at all, just numb. Her gaze flickers to the girl’s face—eyes open, staring blankly at the stormy sky. Azzi swallows hard and finally looks away.

She turns, her body protesting every movement, and just as she does, her eyes catch a shape through the rain. The boy from Two stumbles, falters, and then crashes to the ground at Paige’s feet like a felled tree. His own axe is lodged in his chest, buried deep.

His cannon booms, its hollow echo vibrating through the air, and Azzi flinches at the sound. Her eyes stay fixed on him, her mind struggling to process what she’s seeing. He’s dead. Paige killed him.

Leaving just the two of them.

It takes Azzi a moment to shift her focus, her eyes drifting to Paige. When she does, the sight hits her like a punch to the gut.

Paige is standing a few feet away, drenched from head to toe, her blonde hair plastered to her face. Azzi can tell she’s breathing hard, her chest rising and falling with each gasp of air, but there’s a dazed sort of smile on her face. She looks over at Azzi, and when she says her name, her voice is soft, almost tender.

“Azzi,” she murmurs, and for reasons Azzi can’t understand—because they’re supposed to be killing each other right now—she feels herself smile back, just a little.

But then Paige takes a step forward—or tries to. It’s more like a stumble, her foot catching awkwardly on the slick ground. Azzi’s brows knit together in confusion, alarm prickling at the edges of her mind.

“Paige?” she says, her name coming out sharper than she means.

Paige sways, her balance faltering, and Azzi forgets about the pain screaming through her knee. She moves toward the older girl, crossing the distance between them in a few long strides. her hands find Paige’s shoulders, holding her up before she can fall.

“Hey, you okay? What’s wrong?” Azzi voice is urgent now, her grip tightening as she peers at Paige’s face.

Up close, even through the pouring rain, she can see how pale Paige is—too pale. The sight sends a bolt of fear straight through Azzi. Paige’s breath is coming in short, shallow gasps, and she shakes her head, like she’s trying to form words but can’t quite manage it.

“Um, fuck,” Paige stammers. The words sound shaky and thin coming from her lips. “He, uh—”

“Paige, what?” Azzi interrupts, her hands moving to steady her further, to ground her, but the panic is creeping into her voice now.

Paige doesn’t answer right away, just sways a little more, trembling. And then Azzi’s eyes drop—she can’t help it—and that’s when she sees it.

One of Paige’s hands is clamped against her stomach, pressed tightly to her body like she’s trying to hold something in. Something red.

“Paige,” Azzi says again, quieter now, almost a whisper.

Slowly, carefully, she reaches down and pulls Paige’s hand away. What she sees makes her stomach twist violently.

Blood. So much blood. It’s everywhere, seeping through Paige’s suit and mixing with the rain until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. Azzi feels her knees weaken, the world tilting dangerously, but she forces herself to stay upright.

Her hands are shaking as she presses them against Paige’s wound, trying to stem the flow, but it’s no use. The blood keeps coming, warm and slick and terrifyingly real.

“I—” Azzi starts, stammering, as tears begin to well in her eyes. “What—how’d this happen?”

Paige leans against her heavily, her weight almost too much got Azzi’s weakened body to bear. But she doesn’t let go.

Paige’s breath is coming even quicker now, hitching painfully with every exhale. “He… he got me,” she says finally, her words halting and uneven. “With my own sword. Before I—” Her voice cuts off, her head drooping as another shudder racks her body.

And then Paige’s knees buckle. Azzi feels her heart seize as Paige slips through her grasp, the weight of her limp body pulling them both downward. Azzi swears under her breath, her bad knee flaring in protest as she sinks to the ground. She’s careful—so fucking careful—not to let Paige fall too hard, easing her down until she’s lying on the wet sand. The storm thrashes around them, the rain relentless, cold water dripping off Azzi’s face as she hovers over Paige.

Paige’s face is twisted in pain, her brows furrowed and lips trembling as shallow, ragged breaths continue to leave her chest. Her pale complexion looks almost translucent in the dim light, and it’s terrifying—like she’s already slipping away. Azzi’s hands shake as they press down on Paige’s stomach, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. But it just keeps coming, hot and thick and endless.

“Fuck,” Azzi mutters, the word slipping out as her panic mounts. Her hands are slick, her fingers stained red, and she can’t seem to get a good grip. She presses harder, but it’s like trying to hold back a flood with a dam made of sand.

Paige’s breath hitches, a sharp, broken sound, and then she starts coughing—deep, wet coughs that shake her entire body. Azzi freezes, her heart plummeting, and watched helplessly as Paige lifts a trembling hand to her mouth. When the coughing subsided, Paige lowers her hand slowly, almost as if she doesn’t want to see what she already knows is there.

Blood.

It streaks across her fingers, dark and unmistakable. For a moment, Azzi watches as Paige just stares at it, her chest heaving. And then her blue eyes widen, filling with big tears, her voice cracking as she stammers, “Shit. I’m dying. Shit, Az—I—I’m dying.”

“No.” Azzi shakes her head hard, too hard, the motion jerky and frantic. “No, you’re not. You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine.”

But even as the words leave her mouth, they sound hollow, fake. She can feel the tears burning at the edges of her own eyes, hot and blurring her vision, because she knows. God, she knows coughing up blood isn’t just bad—it’s the worst. It’s internal, it’s critical, and it’s so far beyond anything Azzi can fix.

The rain pounds against them, soaking them both to the bone, but Azzi leans closer, her body hovering over Paige’s, shielding her as much as she can from the downpour. She can’t stop the storm, can’t stop the bleeding, can’t stop any of it, but she has to do something. She has to try.

“Paige, you’re okay,” she says as firmly as she can. “Just—just keep breathing, alright? Don’t stop breathing.”

Paige’s eyes find hers, wide and glassy and so heartbreakingly blue, and Azzi feels like she’s looking into a mirror of her own fear. Paige tries to speak, but her voice comes out thin and reedy, barely audible over the cracking storm. “Azzi…” She swallows hard, wincing as the motion seems to cause her more pain. “Tell them.”

Azzi friend, her hands still pressing against the wound, through her fingers are starting to cramp from the effort. “Tell who what?”

“My family,” Paige whispers. Tears spill over her cheeks, mixing with the rain as she stares up at Azzi with a kind of desperate determination. “Drew, uh, Ryan, Lauren—my parents. Tell them I love them. And I’m—I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Paige, stop,” Azzi pleads, her own voice breaking now. A sob lodges itself in her throat, thick and suffocating, but she shoves it down, shaking her head fiercely. “You don’t need to say that. You’re not—don’t talk like that.”

Paige shakes her head weakly as another tear slips down her cheek. “I need you to,” she insists, her words rushed and uneven, like she’s running out of time. “Please. Promise me.”

Azzi can’t take it. She can’t take the way Paige’s voice wavers, the way her body shakes under her hands, the way she’s looking at her like she knows this is it. Like she knows she’s not making it out of this. Azzi wants to scream, to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, to tell her to stop giving up.

But she doesn’t.

“Paige, stop,” Azzi says again, softer now, choked with tears. “You’re gonna make it. You hear me? You’re gonna win this, and you’re gonna go home and tell them yourself.”

Paige doesn’t respond, just stares at her with those tear-filled eyes, like she wants to believe her but can’t. Azzi swallows hard, her throat aching with the effort of keeping herself somewhat together for Paige.

“Can you kiss me?” Paige whispers softly. Her lips are near blue at this point, still lightly streaked with her own blood, her words weak and shaky, but her gaze is steady, locked onto Azzi’s face. “Please?”

Azzi stills, her breath catching. The world feels suspended, like time itself has stopped to old this moment between them. Paige’s worde echo, and Azzi’s chest tightens with the sharp ache of knowing why she’s asking. Paige thinks this is the end. Paige knows it’s the end.

Azzi stares at her for a long second, the rain pounding against her back, soaking her to the bone. Her hands are still pressing down on Paige’s wound, futilely trying to stop the blood that keeps slipping through her fingers, but her eyes are locked on Paige’s face.

And then she leans down carefully, her heart breaking with every inch that closes the distance between them. When her lips finally meet Paige’s, the rain, the pain, the fear—it all falls away.

Paige kisses her like it’s the only thing keeping her alive, like she’s pouring every last shred of strength into this one act. Her lips are soft but insistent, moving against Azzi’s with a desperation that makes the younger girl’s heart shatter. Azzi tastes the rain, salty tears, and the faint metallic tang of blood. Paige’s hand slides up the back of Azzi’s neck, her fingers trembling a little as they tangle in Azzi’s wet hair, holding her close like she doesn’t ever want to let go.

Azzi kisses her back just as desperately, her own tears streaming down her face and mixing with the rain. She presses closer, her hands forgetting the blood and the wound for a moment as they cradle Paige’s face instead, her thumbs brushing over her cold, rain-slicked cheeks. She doesn’t care about the Hunger Games, the Capitol, the fact that the whole country is probably watching this—there’s only Paige, only this kiss, only the cruel reality that this will be their last.

When Azzi finally pulls away, it’s because Paige’s body starts shuddering harder, her breath hitching with sharper, uneven gasps. Azzi’s eyes snap open, and she sees Paige struggling to breathe, her chest rising and falling in shorter, more frantic bursts.

“Paige?” Azzi whispers anxiously. She cups Paige’s face, tilting it up toward her, her thumb brushing lightly over one of Paige’s closed eyelids. “P, keep your eyes open. Please, look at me.”

Paige does as she asks. Her eyes flutter open, just barely, her lashes damp with rain and tears. She gives Azzi the faintest smile, her hand still resting weakly on the back of her neck. “‘M still here,” she murmurs.

Azzi exhales shakily, her vision still swimming. She leans back down, pressing her forehead against Paige’s, listening to her short, shallow breaths that make her stomach twist. Then, between gasps, Paige whispers, “If we both could’ve won… I woulda made them let us play ball together.”

Azzi’s throat tightens at the words, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. They both had that stupid, unrealistic dream of playing basketball in the Capitol, with the pros, of being known for something other than violence and survival.

“Yeah?” Azzi chokes out, brushing a strand of wet hair from Paige’s face.

Paige nods weakly, her lips twitching into the smallest smile. “Yeah,” she whispers. “We’d be, like, stars. Everyone would know us as basketball players instead of… kids in the Hunger Games.”

Azzi bites her lip, hoping that pain might ease some of this pain. “I’d like that,” she says softly, the words breaking.

Paige’s face scrunches up in pain for a moment, and Azzi watched helplessly as she forces herself to speak again. “Me too,” Paige breathes, voice much quieter now.

Paige’s hand trembles as it clutches Azzi’s neck tighter, like she’s trying to hold on to whatever strength she has left. “I would’ve taken you on a real date,” she says in between quicker gasps. “We’d… we’d have a great life together, Az. You’d meet my siblings. I’d meet Jon and Hose. We’d—” Her words cut off as her breath hitches violently, and her eyes fall shut against the pain.

“Hey, shhh,” Azzi says as soothingly as possible, though at this point, her tears streaming are unchecked and uncontrollable.

But Paige’s eyes are still closed, her head lolling slightly to the side now. Azzi tightens her grip on her a little, cradling her face more, her thumb brushing against Paige’s cheek. “P,” Azzi pleads. “Hey, come on. Don’t do this. Don’t—don’t go.”

It takes a second but then Paige’s eyes flutter open once more. Azzi lets out a choked sound that’s half relief, half anguish. Those blue eyes, usually so bright and full of life, are dull now, unfocused, like Paige is looking at something far beyond Azzi.

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out at first—just the faintest sound, like a sigh carried off by the rain. Then, in the weakest voice Azzi has ever heard, Paige murmurs, “‘M tired, Az.”

Azzi starts to shake her head frantically, her grip tightening even more as though sheer willpower might keep Paige here. “No. No, you don’t get to be tired, okay? I can’t—I’m not ready.” And she knows how selfish she sounds, because she’s not dying, Paige is—but it’s still true. Even though she had this whole time to prepare for it, she’s not ready to let Paige go.

Paige blinks slowly, her expression softening as her gaze drifts toward Azzi. “You’re the winner,” she breathes. “You… you get to home.”

“I don’t care about winning!” Azzi snaps, her voice breaking as a sob rips through her chest. “What’s the point if you’re not there. It doesn’t mean anything anymore. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Paige’s lips twitch into a faint smile, one so small and fleeting that it only makes Azzi cry harder. Paige’s hand falls from Azzi’s neck, half-limp as it brushes against Azzi’s wrist. It doesn’t hardly even feel like a touch—it’s too light for that, too fleeting—but it’s enough to make Azzi stop breathing for a second, her entire body frozen as she clutches Paige’s hand in hers.

Paige’s fingers twitch weakly against Azzi’s. “You’ll be okay,” she whispers, her words slurring now, her voice slipping further and further away.

“I won’t,” Azzi whispers back, sounding raw and desperate. She shakes her head. “I won’t be okay without you.”

Paige doesn’t respond. Her hand goes limp in Azzi’s grip, and her head tilts further to the side, her eyes falling closed again, lids covering Azzi’s favorite shade of blue.

“No. No, no, no, no,” Azzi stammers, her voice rising in pitch as she shakes Paige gently, then harder, her heart pounding in her chest. “Paige. Paige, open your eyes. Please. Just—just look at me—”

She’s crying so hard now she can barely see, her tears mingling with the never-ending rain as she grips Paige’s body, her voice breaking over and over again. “Don’t do this to me, Paige,” Azzi sobs, her forehead pressing against the older girl’s. “You don’t get to do this. C’mon, please…”

The rain continues to fall, relentless and uncaring, as Paige grows colder in Azzi’s arms. For a moment, Azzi refuses to believe it—refuses to accept it—but then she hears it.

Boom.

The cannon.

The sound is defeaning, sharp and final, cutting through Azzi like she’s being stabbed. It’s over. It’s all over.

Azzi’s body collapses over Paige’s, her sobs muffled against the stillness of her chest as someone on an overhead speaker starts talking, congratulating her for being the victor of the Sixtieth Annual Hunger Games.

But she doesn’t care that she’s won. She doesn’t care about the Capitol or the crowd cheering somewhere far away. In this moment, all she cares about is the girl in her arms—the girl she couldn’t save.

And, for the first time in Azzi Fudd’s life, victory feels like the worst thing in the world.

[notpixl]

Realizing they’re in love with you! HSR Edition

(Ft. Robin, Acheron, Blackswan, Feixiao)

Y’all this came up to me while in class the voices told me to write this okay or else they’ll delete my accounts 🥲

Also, Beauty amidst Death will have an update. I’m just cringing at the fact that I decided leave it in strange place and am wondering how to continue it…

GN!Reader as usual. I want all sides to be happy

—————

———

—————

Robin

It’s… weird?

Well, she does get the usual fans declaring their love to her and all but somehow you’re different??? Like what-

Nowadays, whenever you two hug she’s always a blushing mess! And how come she just noticed that you’re… really, really close…

Too close…

There’s like this feeling on her stomach whenever you two are together. It doesn’t matter if it’s a call, a meetup, or just hanging out! It… It’s always there!

And whenever your name is mentioned her ears perk up! Like… what did do you to her?!

Eventually she’ll consult about these feelings with Sunday but he just chuckles it off, leaving her to guess what it is. (At least give her a hint!)

Though the answer would come knocking at her door

It was a simple gift

From you

There’s a little note etched into the cover

“For someone that means so much to me :)”

Opening it revealed a pretty little necklace

With a Dove as its Pendant

…come to think of it don’t they represent something?

She’s sure it was something about…

Peace…

Freedom…

And Love!

Wait…

Love…?

Oh

Oh

She slowly covers her face in embarrassment

Why… did it take her so long to figure this out?!

Aeons, she’s so dumb!

“All this time I was in love with them…”

Acheron

She’s met many people

Countless if you will

But why…?

Why is it that in this ever current flow of forgetting and remembering…

She just can’t seem to forget your lovely face?

She’ll rush to the libraries, read the news, heck, even threaten ask the greatest philosophers on what this feeling means!

Perhaps that Memokeeper knows something…?

Oh forget it!

She’ll tackle this head-on!

…by asking you herself.

“Ah… so that’s it is… Love.”

Black Swan

Hmm… what a quaint feeling she’s having when you’re around

Love, isn’t it?

She’s only seen and heard about it… but not once has she ever had the chance to have a feel…

…would you reciprocate these feeling as well?

Although that possibility comes in mind…

She’d rather hear it from you than face the harsh reality of rejection

Then again…

Would her as a whole be enough?

She’s never considered using her body to charm someone, let alone the person she has come to love…

Perhaps…

Perhaps you will

“The possibilities are endless… but I’ll never stop it from blooming.”

Feixiao

She’s rather perplexed

Wait- no… yeah no that actually works-

All it takes was one glance during her walk and now she’s stumbling on her way to work with this… strange feeling

There’s no point in running away, she already has Moze tracking you down

She’d talk to Jiaoqiu about this, only receiving a shrug and scraps of determination to “find it out herself.”

Cheeky Foxian…

Hmm…

Maybe she should ask from the source itself?

———

You lay in bed, already done with today’s schedule when you notice a shift in weight on your waist

Your eyes hesitate to open

“That’s not a good way to greet guests, isn’t it?”

Moving won’t help

“Look at me.”

You’re met with such a pair of eyes you can’t even begin to describe them

Scary? Beautiful? I think that shouldn’t be your main concern right now-

“I’ve got a question…”

Her grip tightens on your shoulders

“What did you do to me?”

—————

———

—————

Um… no comment down here

I hope you enjoyed/hated it

Asks are always open I guess if you want to force me to write and die and sob and and and a sn

[gyuswhore]

Never Shall We Die (3; final)

«« Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line. »» 

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

SYNOPSIS: Deadliest pirate on the high seas or a damn fool? The stupid King and his men have snatched Hoshi's precious pirate ship with their too clean, too soft hands; grounds to question his own vices. Except, when he and his crew land in the quarters of a navy ship, revenge on their roster, they stumble across a princess in its gallows. Hoshi wonders if he's just struck gold, or if you'd become the final tread to his downfall.

GENRES: pirate!au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut [minor dni], some pirates of the carribean vibes but ? idk

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

Part 1: 17.07k | Part 2: 15.2k | Part 3 [final] : 15.8k

@highvern's out of context comment box: new fear unlocked: hoshi with explosives, victorian ankle moment, HATE HIM (need him carnally), hoshi covered in soapy water would distract me enough, strip for me pirate mingyu [hes litrally taking off his jacket], your honor hes a bitch, freaks!, mingyu crushes hoshi's head like a grape, WONWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, massive dick, the way i literally gasped like an old scandalized woman

masterlist

WARNINGS: slowburn, plot heavy, happy ending bc no angsty endings in this household, being taken hostage, knives, bombs, and guns, mentions of blood, mentions of SA (does not happen and it is not explicitly mentioned), alcohol, mentions of death (patricide), hoshi is ✨selectively moral✨but kind of moral nonetheless, side character death, [pls lmk if im missing something its alot] smut tags: hoshi loves thighs, corruption kink to the mAX, clit stimulation, oral (f. receiving), breast play, p in v sex (unprotected, 1800s contraception will make you prefer it but pls dont do this irl), making out

[AN]: final part oh my god if youve read the other parts up till now, THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU i hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i loved writing it, im really proud of this fic and im so happy so many of you have enjoyed it so far. @highvern betaing as always ty for not giving up on me. AS ALWAYS, PLS TELL ME YOUR THOTS IN THE RBS OR THE REPLIES OR SEND ME AN ASK LITERALLY WTV MUAH MUAH HAPPY READING <3

THIS IS THE NICEST PRISON Hoshi has ever been in, which was saying something, because he had been in quite a lot of prisons. 

But it was uncomfortable nonetheless, six grown men tied up and shoved into a crouching space to be done with as the men that prowled above pleased. 

Hoshi would be lying if he said he hadn’t had to restrain from pushing some of those sorry soldiers into the ice waters beyond the glaciers. He had resisted, the crew had resisted, but just enough to convince them of their unwillingness. 

Hoshi had realised early on that there was no possible way of getting aboard Tigress without somehow climbing aboard the King’s boat first. The king wasn’t about to simply hand Hoshi’s ship over, and there was no indication that they'd wait till after nightfall to depart. 

Hoshi also knew that the King would refuse to have him die so easily in the waters of the Green Islands, his pride depended on it. He imagines the man drawing up the specifics of the most gruesome execution the Kingdom would ever see. Hoshi was counting on it. 

The bounds could’ve been broken out of and the locks somehow picked, but Hoshi also knew that he had to wait. Wait for you to find him first. 

“What’s taking her so long?” Jun asks. He’d been the most anxious out of all, the shaking feet and restless moving making it clear. 

“The bomb won’t…go off still strapped to her, will it?” Minghao asks and Hoshi isn’t quite sure he wants to know the answer. 

“It shouldn’t. Not until she pulls the tab. But…”

“But?” Hoshi whips around. “Why is there a but? You were supposed to make sure there was no but!”

“Big bomb, more boom, less predictable!” 

“Are you sure we can’t break out and look for her ourselves?” Mingyu grumbles, the most compromised with his longer limbs folded in uncomfortable positions.

“The minute they know we’re loose they’ll swarm her. There won’t be a way to get to her, not without fighting off every last bastard on this ship. They’ve taken our stuff too, we don’t stand a chance.”

They did, actually, stand a chance. But that was only if they were to break away and head straight for Tigress that was empty and standing right beside this very ship. But they couldn’t. Hoshi couldn’t. Not without taking you with him. 

Nobody dares to suggest the easier route, and he doubts it’s just because of what he wants. 

But panic was beginning to trickle into Hoshi’s veins anyway, the closed off brig refusing to give him any indication of the time of day. 

The sun was only beginning to set when they were taken to the ship, and he knew they were near done for if they didn’t finish what they started before nightfall. He can’t tell how long it’s been, and it eats away at his insides. 

Please be okay. 

And then he hears it, the sound of a body hitting the floors with a loud thud, a chortle of air before it’s knocked out. He finds himself sitting up straighter, pressing his hands to bars of the prison, trying to peer out the narrow walkway that leads to the doors. 

And then you appear in the lamplight, haphazard and ruffled up beyond measure. 

The knife in your hand drips with blood, your shirt torn at the arms, your hands bloodied and bruised. 

When Hoshi sees your face he almost doesn’t recognise you. 

There’s angry blooming marks of red and purple all across your neck and collarbone, your eyes bloodshot and red, watering like you’d been swimming in salt water. 

“Who did this?” he asks before anything else, watching you drop to your knees in front of the prison, unanswering as you fumbled with a giant ring of keys in your hand. 

You jam each key into the lock, twisting it to no avail. Your hands are shaking. 

The crew finally twist out of their loose bonds, Minghao lurching forward immediately, swatting your hands away. He picks out a few skinny pins from his boot, picking the rusty lock. Despite the strange angle, the bars creak open within seconds. 

“There’s…There’s ropes hooked onto the ship on the main deck.” 

Your voice sounds like you’re speaking through sandpaper, talking while struggling to emerge with the bomb you had. 

Hoshi doesn’t know what to do when he crawls out of the space. 

He’d had it all figured out in his head, what would happen in every possible outcome. You getting hurt wasn’t in any of his universal conclusions; especially not on this ship. They’d kill his crew, they might even kill the King with themselves, but you were meant to remain unscathed. 

“Why–why do you look like that? What happened?” Nothing registers in his head, not even when Jun is pushing him out into the hall. 

“Get up to the deck and get out across the lines!” Jun gruffs in his ears. “That bomb’s gonna go off with us still on here.”

He sees the canister that lies in the same prison they had just exited, he sees your mouth moving without sound. All he can think of are the distinct fingerprints around your throat and how it looked like somebody tried to kill you before they tried to kill him. 

“Soonyoung,” he hears you say in a broken voice and that’s all it takes for him to snap out of it. 

His crew is looking at him expectantly. He looks back at the door and sees the crumpled bodies of the prison guards. 

So much for leaving quietly. 

The minute Hoshi is out the door of the brig, he finds a chest next to the collapsed, bleeding soldiers. Kicking it open, he can only scoff as he finds the entire crew’s weapons in such close vicinity. 

He feels better with his dagger at his hip, along with the rest of his knives that he slips into the loops. Even more so with the rest of his crew armed and ready. 

“We know where the deck is.” He swallows, eyeing his crew’s weapons in their ready hands. He knew they’d agreed to ensure the clean sinking of the ship, but the fallen bodies on the floor were an ode to a different route they’d have to take. “Don’t hesitate if someone gets in your way.”

Taking cautious steps to the upper decks, he finds more bodies collapsed onto the floor, bleeding and unconscious. He opts to ask you the details later, wondering how you were able to take down all these guards by yourself. 

It isn’t until they reach the stairs that lead to the main deck that he comes across a guard. 

Before the witness can raise any alarm, Hoshi’s slamming the butt of his dagger into the side of his head, knocking him clean unconscious as he falls off the side of the short railing. 

Clambering up the steps as quietly as possible, he raises a hand behind him to signal his crew to halt, peering into the main deck first. 

The sun is still out, but low in the sky as it dips in the sky. There’s a few people on the deck, pacing and moving about in preparation for departure. Angling his gaze, he finds ropes suspended over the edge of the railing, parallel to the water. 

He can’t see Tigress, but he knows that’s what the ropes are hooked on to. 

“Jun,” he beckons. “How long till the bomb on the other ship goes off?”

The bomb Jun had planted in the first ship they had arrived in should be going off any time now, and Hoshi finds himself needing it to go off now. 

Jun barely opened his mouth to reply when the ship shuddered. 

For a moment, Hoshi thinks the bomb in the brigs had gone off, but when he finds the clambering of boots to one side of the ship, opposite to where the ropes tied to Tigress, he realises their surrogate ship had given its last gift to the crew. 

The rest of the ship would be bounding to the main deck to inspect the noise soon, so he shoots a quick, “Hurry!” behind him before stepping onto the main deck. 

The entire deck is occupied with the ship that lies a ways away across the expanse of sea, the beginnings that would soon lead the entire ship to be engulfed in flames. It’s tilting at a dangerous angle. 

Hoshi stands as he uses the crew straight towards the ropes that lead to Tigress. Glancing, he finds Mingyu and Chan already hanging on the suspended ropes, making their way towards the empty deck of their ship. 

Hoshi keeps his eyes on the occupied men on board, still staring at the lightshow that was their old ship. It isn’t until one of them turns, eyes towards the stairs that lead to the lower decks, that his eyes dart to the unfamiliar men on the deck. 

“Fuck,” Hoshi curses, before lunging, grabbing the man by the shoulders and covering his mouth, dragging him wordlessly to the edge before throwing him off the ship and into the icy waters below. 

“Go!” he hears you rasp brom behind him, ushering him to the ropes. 

The crew is gone, Jun making the last jump to land on the deck. They’re running around, pulling ropes and fastening the sails to push the ship off into open waters as soon as possible. 

There’s two ropes that tie the two ships together, and Hoshi ushers you onto one of them, pushing you to suspend yourself before he follows. 

“There’s not enough time, go to the other one!” you tell him, pushing him to hold onto the other tattered rope. 

Soonyoung eyes your state, “Are you sure you can—”

“Yes! I promise I can, please, before they cut both the ropes.”

So he trusts you, eyes straight ahead to the railing of his ship, gripping the rough, frayed rope to push himself towards the deck. His hands burn, but he finds himself moving ever closer to his final destination. 

His hand grabs hold of the wooden railing of his Tigress at long last, pulling himself onto the deck of his beloved ship. Immediately whipping his head to his right, he tries to find you reaching the ship with him. The crew is preoccupied in attempting to get the ship ready for departure, he finds your form nowhere. 

When he looks back, the rope he had climbed was gone, leaving gaping space in its absence. He trails the second rope, from the hook that had dug into the railing of Tigress’s wood, trailing it to the naval ship’s deck. 

What he sees puts his heart in his throat. 

You stand on the deck of your father’s ship, swarmed by now alert guards and soldiers who swarm you, yelling profanities and orders as they watch their prisoners get away right in front of them. 

Hoshi watches as you lift your dagger, and cut the last rope that ties you together, free to fall and hit against the hull of his ship.

He calls out your name in what could only be described as a guttural scream. 

His crew halts whatever it was they were doing, taking the steps to realise what had just happened. 

Hoshi’s boot meets the top of the railing, ready to take the plunge into the water. He’d climb back up the ship and get you out. He doesn’t know what you were thinking, what he was thinking when he left you there, but he’d get you out. 

Arms pulling him, he’s yanked back and positively thrown onto the deck.

“What is wrong with you?” Minghao yells, pushing his captain back as he springs up. 

“She—”

Your father emerges from the crowd of guards and soldiers that run rampant on the deck, approaching you at the railing of the main deck. 

Hoshi sees the hand that remains on his shoulder, the blood that covers the still bleeding wound, the effort it takes him to simply walk. 

The bruises on your neck, the wound at his shoulder that looks like it was slashed through by a knife. 

And then it clicks in Hoshi’s head, what had truly happened in the hours that you were out of his sight. And all he sees is red.

WITH THE WAY THE words on the pages seem to double, you would’ve thought you were going mad. 

You’re a child, barely grown into your own body as you sit in the dimly lit library of the palace, utterly exhausted, wishing to be anywhere but sitting at the wooden desk with your name on it. The moon barely shone through the window, your only source of light the fireplace that burned in the corner and your lamplight. 

It was a time where you felt like you could prove yourself, that perhaps, the reason your father refused you his approval was because you were simply not working hard enough. And now, at an hour where you should be fast asleep in your four poster bed, you attempt to understand diplomatic structures and everything that made your country what it was. 

It was late, and there was nothing you would’ve liked more than to put your head on the table and rest your eyes for a few tantalising seconds, which you do, right over the book you were reading. 

You awoke in the same place, shaken awake by a panicked looking servant, the sun shining through the great windows of the palace library.

It seems your disappearance from your bedchambers had put the entire palace in disarray, not realising the princess was fast asleep behind the giant pile of books other servants had already skimmed past thrice. 

Not only were you unable to recite the rankings of the constitutions with the vigour your father required, but you were unable to give him a reason as to why you were absent for both breakfast and morning lessons. 

He made the servants kneel in the throne room for hours, and did not fail to tell you that it was all your fault.

And now, in the ice cold of the Green Islands, old and wise enough to know that your father simply needed a reason to despise his heir, you accept the hands around your throat as his final act of terror. 

Red faced and arms shaking, your father does not speak to you as he presses down on your windpipe with all his might. Your vision is going dark and splotchy, and you decide, for a moment, to let him have this moment. 

He’s too preoccupied in applying his pressure to realise that you’ve raised your right foot enough for your hands to fish out your knife from its place, taking positivity in the handle of your knife that fits in your hand. 

Before you can lose consciousness, you raise your arm high, and plunge it directly into his neck. 

Howling, he releases you from his hold, both of you dropping to the floor of the ship with a resonating thud. You cough, sputter and hack, cold hands finding your now warm neck. 

Your father lays clutching his shoulder as he remains in agony on the floor, and you realise you missed the crucial plunge in your own disarray. 

It was good enough, rendering the old man incapable of finding his bearings. 

You watch as he writhes on the floor of the quarters that almost became your figurative deathbed, the same hands that wrapped around his own daughter’s throat now clutching the shallow wound that renders him useless. 

Standing over him, throwing your own shadow on his body, you feel a surge of power, a rush of adrenaline that shoots straight to your head. Perhaps this was your circulation returning from the deprivation, but you let the feeling imprint in your soul, let your father’s broken figure bring you satisfaction.

You leave him there, writhing in pain, digging your knife under the lock of the quarters, pulling back to break it away from the door. The guards stationed outside do nothing as you leave, and it isn’t until you’ve taken to lower decks that you hear the distinct yell of, “Your Majesty!”

Two more guards, who don’t expect an altercation from their princess, simply buffer as you send your knife plunging into them both. You do it deep this time. 

Nobody was innocent, you knew these people as your father’s closest men, and knew that all of them were to remain silent as their King murdered his daughter. And when the remorse doesn’t do that thing where it trickles in after doing a bad thing, you decide you weren’t part of the innocents either.

It’s easier than you would’ve expected to get to the crew in the brig, letting out a sigh of relief as you appreciate the familiarity of people on your side. 

And when Hoshi took his place to guide everyone out and into the open space of the main deck, you let your racing mind rest and decide to trust the man in whatever decision he made to lead you all out. And he did, he led himself and his crew right into the ship that was theirs, safe and where they would have the upper hand. 

Hoshi didn’t know it when he climbed onto the ropes that lead to his boat that he wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t stayed, hadn’t used your voice of authority to keep the soldiers from attempting to shoot at the escapees, cut the rope while Hoshi remained suspended from it, still only halfway there. 

You didn’t look at him when you sliced both ropes before either party could pull back, didn’t register him screaming your name across the void, pretending it wasn’t taking everything out of your strength.

But you couldn’t jump into the water, not now when a dozen of the royal guards remained ready to take the plunge to save their princess as their duty. The same guards that would comply with their king when told the princess was dead for reasons they all knew but were to forget. 

The bomb had to go off first, and you had to keep them away from hooking another line to the ship in the meantime. You were operating on a flawed plan and an overenthusiastic crowd of guards that were moments away from shooting a canon straight into the side of the disconnected pirate ship.  

The distraction comes in the form of your father parting the crowd of soldiers like the red sea, swatting every soldier that attempts to help his bleeding form for anything it was worth. He approaches you at the railing, and for once, you don’t look at the ground in his presence. 

“Bold,” he heaves, the effort in his voice apparent. “Bold of you to think you could slip away.”

“I haven’t tried to slip away, father,” you correct. “I’ve stayed right here, even after you failed to kill me. And I, you.” 

“Nobody is going to listen to you, child. Give in. This is the easy way out,” he says. 

As if on cue, Jun’s bomb goes off for the second time, but this time the ship shudders with more force. It has your father unbalance and fall, along with multiple other soldier’s stumbling. You grip the railing tight, counting on your father’s need to live. 

Despite your horrid throat and the ache in your body, you announce as loud as you can. “The bomb is in the brig, this ship is sinking.”

The fallen king trembles in a rage you had never quite seen before. Any other time of your life, you would’ve wished for the ground to swallow you whole to be the subject of such anger. 

Except, in the setting sun, a burning ship in the background, a pirate ship that awaits you, and the ground beneath your feet that was actively sinking into the freezing water; you smile at your doomed King. 

“Get to the brig! Secure the lower decks, do not let this ship sink or so help me God!” His voice rings across the deck, spittle blowing from his mouth at the situation. 

And just like that, your father gives you the final gift of clearing the main deck out for you, leaving but a few straggling soldiers that are too preoccupied with either the sinking ship or their bleeding sovereign. 

Looking back, you find the crew of Tigress standing at the railing, you find Hoshi already half over the edge and send him a slow nod. 

Turning back to your father that remains on the floor of the ship that would become his coffin, you utter your next words; for yourself, and the girl that was every second before this, all the way to her first ever memory of sad:

“You’ve taught me to be a ruler fit to be the best for our Kingdom. Consider your death my first act of service for the Crown.”

And then you jumped into the darkening void of the waters below. 

THE COLD FEELS LIKE every nerve in your body ceased to work. 

It was nothing at first, the temperature so intense it had your body numb in the face of shock. And then it grew, to a striking cold, and then a feeling that pricked every inch of your skin like a million needles plunging into your body. It was only getting worse with each passing second, before it was so painful it was hot, going from cold to searing and blistering like you’d plunged into the licks of flames. 

Nowhere in your body did you find a rational sense of mind, something to tell you to kick, flail or float. The warped sky was an orange through the green, only more vibrant. Like there were two ships actively burning on the surface of this water. 

Hoshi’s face appears behind your closing eyelids, like a mirage or a taunt. Like he was there with you when he wasn’t. 

Would he come for you? Would he take the plunge for the girl he held in his arms, promising her something to fill the gap of a companion, right before she killed her own? 

You’d given him what he wanted; your father, his worst enemy, dying as he sank slowly into the bottom of the ocean. You’d run your course of use, and if he was as smart as people claimed, he’d leave you to suffer the same fate as your father. 

He could find his freedom elsewhere. 

And you would find your freedom in the close of your eyes, and the sinking feeling of nothingness. 

Except, you feel a hardness against your body, stronger even than the current of the waters. Moving impossibly upwards, you remember opening your eyes to find a leather cord suspended in the float of the water, before you remember nothing. 

THE GREEN ISLANDS WERE on fire.  

But as unnatural as it seemed, Hoshi had no inclination to register anything but the way the ship in front of him tilts so far out it's already half submerged in the waters. He’d assumed they might have to ready the cannons, but with the way debris and hollowed wood floats in the waters below, they would not need to. 

The King was about to be introduced to Davy Jones’ Locker at the hands of his enemy and successor, but Hoshi could not care enough right now to relish in it. 

Right now, he stares at the direct circumference of water your body had made contact with and disappeared into, like the world would explode if he lost his place. 

“Should I jump as well?” Mingyu asks, already half taking his boots off. However, when the man turns to find his captain gone, he lurches over the railing to find his captain diving into the water through all the debris.

Hoshi lets the momentum of his dive take him as further down as possible, whipping his head around as soon as his eyes open into the abyss. The water ripples and erupts in showers of bubbles as broken pieces of ship come apart to fall into the water. It blurs his vision immensely, any ripple that could be you in the water coming out to be yet another piece of wasted wood. 

The deeper he goes, the more the water presses into his ears. He was a good swimmer, good at holding his breath when needed, but even he had limits. 

When he cannot see any sign of you, he begins to feel the churning of something skin to panic brew. Panic was never good, not this deep in the water. 

Twisting and turning, flailing about in place, moving dangerously closer to the burning ship that continued to drop flaming bits of killing slabs, he finds no sign of you in the water. 

Instead, he watches men in uniform sink deeper and deeper in their failed attempts to stay afloat. 

All he can think about is if they were losing the battle for air, then so were you, somewhere deeper in the void than he was. He prays that he’s looking aimlessly, that you’ve already somehow made your way to the surface by yourself, and you were safe on the deck. 

The beaded bracelet that remained on his wrist, but belonged to you. 

“A reason for you to come out of this alive.”

Even without the encasing on his wrist, you had given him more than enough reason to want to come out of this alive, to want to live beyond just for himself and his duty to the crew he’d taken in. 

He chose the life of a pirate because it was his only out, and every member of his crew that he recruited in succession, he acted as the hand he had needed so desperately in that awful brothel where his mother despised him and his father, a faceless man of Port Ash. 

Amphitrite was not kind, it was a lesson he learned quickly in his first ventures out at sea. So he too, had to learn to be unkind, to survive in the horrid bellies of ships that weren’t his own. And when Tigress came into his life like a vessel of hope, he found a home in her merciful wood, in the ship that he could call his very own. 

Hoshi lived as a free man on his ship, with his crew that had become his brothers in ways beyond what the thick of blood could offer. He did not care if he lived or died after that, as long as it was on his ship, in the waters that held no quarter for anyone, but gave him everything that nothing else could give him. 

And so when you approached him with a proposal so bizarre yet so apt for a man like him, he could not refuse. It may have been the way he saw himself in you, terrified of the prospects  but thirsting for an escape more than the fear that came with it. 

Besides, the king was a nuisance that needed to go, and he found himself agreeing to play the hand too complicated for you. 

What he did not expect was to end up here, in the depths of the ocean in the most uninhabitable part of the earth, trying to pull you out of the cold, unrelenting sea. 

Hoshi realises in that moment that this might ruin him, the possibility of breaking the surface without you. 

He decides that if the heavens do not let him find you, he would simply drown in the same waters that gave him purpose, and find peace with the idea that he would lay rest in the same waters as the person who might have given him something more. 

Kwon Soonyoung, the deadliest pirate to cleave the seas, was in love with you. A princess, so undeserving of a man like him; a bastard, a rogue, a good for nothing criminal. 

And when he spots the all too familiar build of your form, the linen shirt under the corset he had tied for you just hours ago, the dark brown trousers that signified the change he’d brought into your life, he swore to leave everything he’d ever known to thank the skies and seas for bringing him to you.

His burning lungs, screaming and searing for air, grabbing for your suspended arm that looked as defeated as your closed eyes. Tugging you towards him, he wraps his arm around you to press you to him as tight as he could. 

Relief. And with the warm sting in his eyes that he doubted was from the salt in the water, he’s sure of everything he’s felt with the feeling of you in his arms. 

With the bruising on your neck, the bleeding wound in your father’s shoulder, he finds it within his breaking body to begin kicking upwards. 

Every limb, every cell, every hint of life in his body shrieked with its efforts to make him stop. There was no air in his lungs and he’d lost track of time in his search for you, he doesn’t know how long he has. 

But if the blots of nothingness in his eyes were anything to go with, he doesn’t presume he has much. In a last ditch effort, he attempts to kick his boots off to weigh him down a little less, holding your dead weight tighter than anything. 

He was so close, he could feel the warmth of the upper levels of the water change in its temperature on his skin. The glow was near blinding as the orange refracted on the disrupted surface of the ocean, so close yet so far. 

Inch by inch, kick by kick, memory by memory, he does everything left in his drained power to touch the surface. 

And he does, breaking out hand first into the burning air of the world above, taking the longest gasp of air he ever has in his life. Once he’s sure he knows where he is, he pushes you up further on his chest, your head resting against his collarbone, still unconscious. 

“Stay with me, princess,” he pants into your ear, hoping you could hear. “I’ve got you.”

Chan and Mingyu are in the water beside him, pushing him towards the pulley that awaited them. 

Mingyu makes an attempt to take your weight of his already struggling captain, but Hoshi finds himself holding on to you tighter, simply urging him to help him back on the deck. 

The minute your head hits the wood of the deck, he’s checking your pulse. There’s no regard for the chaos that ensues around Tigress, both him and his crew too preoccupied with the way you were not breathing. 

“I–I can’t feel anything,” he stutters his words as Seungkwan places a less panicked hand at your neck, under your nose. 

“It’s weak, she’s taken in too much water.”

In an instant, he reaches for his knife at his hip, only to realise it was gone, lost somewhere in his rescue. 

“Knife,” he rasps before repeating louder. “Someone give me a knife!” 

The minute a hilt is in his hands, he’s pushing you over, to reach the back of your constricting corset, pushing his knife into the complicated sailing knot he’d tied it into before, breaking it free. With both hands, he takes hold of the top of the corset and rips it clean in half. 

Turning you back over, he presses his hands over your clothed stomach, pushing into it with all his strength in an attempt to get the water out of your system. He keeps his eyes on your face, and when he sees no sign of you coming round, he feels another set of hands pushing him off. 

Seungkwan takes over for his weakened captain, pushing into your stomach harder, attempting to get a break out of you. 

“Why isn’t she coming around, what’s going on?” He throws the question aimlessly as he takes your unmoving face in his hands, trembling from everything. 

Only a moment later, he hears the glorious sound of you sputtering like something was stuck in your throat, promptly spilling out an ungodly amount of water onto the deck as you retch loudly. 

Sitting up from the force, your hands clamp onto the deck as you cough and heave, Hoshi’s hand coming behind you to thump your back hard, pushing you to throw up any remaining seawater from your body. 

The sight of your back moving up and down, the audible sound of you taking in air; it was enough for Hoshi to simply lay on the deck and pass out. 

You rear your head and look up at him, both of you still breathing heavily. 

“You’re okay,” he assures, gulping. He takes your face in hands cupping it very gently as he speaks to you. “Go with Seungkwan, you’re okay, you’re safe.”

Nodding, you let yourself be helped up by the rest of the crew, watching as you’re led to the lower decks of the ship. 

“Open your shirt, let me see the wound,” Mingyu says, and Hoshi doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Looking down, he sees his shirt soaked in red, sticking to a wound on the right side of his torso. He didn’t even know where he got it. 

It looks like a shallow gash, but enough to leave a scar. He takes it better to have it tended to while he was still high on adrenaline and he couldn’t feel much of the pain. 

By the time Mingyu and Minghao are done cleaning him up and Hoshi’s standing upright with wobbly legs, he finds the two burning ships beyond his own mere floating structures of wood that were in slow flame. There’s too much debris, too many bits of everything that bob in the large expanse of water to make out any bodies. 

“There’s nobody,” Mingyu tells him. “Most of them were in lower decks when it all went down. Trapped themselves.”

“And…?” he asks in silence. 

“He stayed on the deck until it sank,” Minghao informs. “Yelling about how he…about how he should’ve finished her when he had the chance.”

“Horrible king and somehow an even worse father,” Mingyu scoffs. “Made it better to watch him die.”

“He didn’t suffer enough,” Hoshi croaks as the marks on your throat dot his vision. 

Just then, floating in the water, illuminated by the final streaks of setting light, Hoshi sees it. A darkened purple cloth right next to the hull.

“That,” he points out. “Get that out of the water.”

The late king’s purple cape laid on the deck of Tigress, darkened with water, but also with his blood.

To the Kingdom, this cape would be the last piece of their King that was gone too soon. But for every person on this ship, it would forever be their spoils of war.

Hoshi makes sure the cape will be dried and stored, ordering his crew to begin their slow journey out of the Green Islands, before he too crumples onto the deck unconscious. 

IT WAS A SPECTACLE to see Hoshi in his element. 

Something about how he seemed to beam, like this ship was charging him a different kind of energy. It was infectious, the rest of the ship decreasingly sour as they put on musical performances on the main deck while they cleaned the floors. 

As relieved as you felt, the tight ball of anxiety refused to leave the pit of your stomach as you grew closer to the Kingdom. Nothing could prepare you for the shitstorm you’d have to deal with the moment you’d step onto the soil off a pirate ship of all things—let alone as Queen. 

The first few days following the ship's exit from the Green Islands were difficult, if that was all you had to describe it. You took to your hammock for most of the day, curled up as you pretended to sleep, only waking up when one of the crew would come down to force feed you and to make sure you hadn’t died. 

You knew they were doing all this to make you feel better, and somehow it was working. More than halfway through your journey, you began to feel more like yourself, emerging from your cave to visit the deck on times other than the nights. 

Even now, as you sit on the floor of the deck with Seungkwan, who hands you an all too familiar stack of parchment, you feel nothing as you take them into your hands. As you read his handwriting scrawled in ink, you appreciate your past self for having the sense to keep them all. 

“I’m glad you’re feeling better now,” he says to you. “Had us worried for a while there.”

“Sorry.” You smile weakly. “But thank you for…everything. I don’t think I could ever express how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. All of you.”

“I’d like to think we’ve gone past the status of mere business partners,” Seungkwan chuckles. “Lion befriends the bear? Whatever it is. But know we’d do it again.”

Blinking back the sting of tears and doing your very best to not let the warm feeling in your chest overwhelm you, you place the letters on the floor next to your folded legs. When you look up, Seungkwan's eyes are on your neck.

“They’re taking their time to fade, aren’t they?” you say. 

Seungkwan has a hard look in his eye, “I guess you didn’t need your letters to remind you of anything after all.”

Your mind wanders, drifting past how easily this crew could have been forgotten in the unforgiving elements. Perhaps you would have let the man that wrapped his hands around your neck finish his job.

“Was getting captured part of your grand plan?” you ask Seungkwan. 

“Hm?” It takes a moment to realise what you may be questioning him about, smiling slightly. “What makes you think we went in with a plan?”

“I thought I asked you to man the wheel?” Hoshi stands above the both of you.

“Not to batten down the hatches,” he side-eyed his captain. “Clear waters ahead, the wheel does not need manning.” 

You zone out as they squabble over nothing, not finding the heart to be entertained by their back and forth. Seungkwan either loses or forfeits, because you feel him rise from next to you, only for his captain to take his place. 

“What are you thinking about?” Hoshi asks. 

“Everything,” you sigh. 

“How come Seungkwan gets a thank you for your service and I don’t? Need I remind you who jumped for you and who didn’t?”

Rolling your eyes, you answer him, “Thank you, Captain Hoshi Kwon, I am forever indebted to your service.”

He chuckles in exaggeration, “Oh please, all in a day's work.”

“I mean it.”

“Hm?”

“I never did say thank you. But you did jump for me when you didn’t have to.”

“Who said I didn’t have to?”

“Our deal was done.”

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “Our deal was to get you out when you jumped. I merely honoured that promise!”

“Merely?” you raise a brow. “Was it all merely a matter of conscience?”

His gaze locks with yours. “Don’t ask questions you know the answers for. I would’ve jumped even if you asked me to rope myself to the mast.”

“Please. I have enough blood on my hands and I haven’t even sat on my throne yet.”

“Blood is only on your hands if you tell a soul of what you’ve done,” Hoshi utters. “You’re the only living soul who knows.”

“And you are…?”

“Pirate. Our word means nothing.” Hoshi smiles. 

The thought hangs in the air as you take in the man in front of you. He’s changed an era’s worth, yet all the same. His hair is longer, going from his initial shorter crop to curling around his ears, shielding his eyes. It makes him look younger, like a boy with much to live for. 

That, and the multitude of notable scars he’s added to his collection, many of which have somehow been because of you. The wound at his torso is doing better, but far to go in its quest to heal. 

Hoshi senses something amiss even after his sermon. Breaking his gaze, he turns to look straight ahead at the raised bow of the ship instead. 

“Do you know how I got my splendid reputation for being the filthiest pirate on the seas?”

You can only stare, “I have a few guesses.”

He chortles, “Other than my criminal status.”

“Tell me.”

“Unnamed sailors have the odds of a peanut facing its inevitable fate of being crushed under a straggling boot. Pirates don’t see the government as their enemy when they’re own supposed brothers are more likely to jam a cannon in their mouths.”

He lets out a heavy sigh before continuing, “My mistake wasn’t that I was on the losing side in my early days, but more about how I was leaving nothing behind when I was done.”

“How humble,” you hum. 

“Dead men tell no tales. When it’s worth it, it might be better to leave a straggler or two to live to tell the tale. A routine stab in the jugular can turn you into somewhat of a myth.”

“Am I a survivor?” you question. 

“You may be sovereign on land, but you’re also an unnamed pirate,” he responds, turning back to lock eyes with you. “And you’ve left nobody to tell the tale.”

No one listens to a pirate, and everyone listens to a Queen. 

“This isn’t to say there won’t be a legend that follows you.” He quirks a brow as he speaks. “Shows up and claims her father and his entire ship and crew sank at sea, only to befriend his sworn enemies in the aftermath. And then it evolves; she sent a cannon through her fathers ship, he died at the end of his own daughter's sword, she cursed him to captain a crew of the undead for eternity.”

“Have I planted the seeds for yet another ghost story?” It’s difficult to not giggle at the thought, despite how morbid. 

“You’ve given yourself substance,” he says, a little stronger than before. His eyes too, wander to your neck and the bruises that refuse to budge. “Beyond just a royal or even a pirate. You did it for your honour as a human being, and that may be braver than anything I have ever conquered.”

In your anxiety ridden, feeble mind, your thoughts had convinced your conscience that everything would be over the minute your father’s heart stopped beating. That it would bring you peace at last. 

And it did, especially when it felt like you’d gotten rid of this constant monster under the bed that had followed you far into adulthood. But from the bleeding heart of the creature emerged yet another one of its brethren, and then another and then another. 

Smaller albeit, but monsters nonetheless. Problems nonetheless. 

Weeks of this, and in one short interaction, Hoshi seemed to have given you the key to turn this monster into a pet. 

On instinct, you feel your hand reach up, brushing against the skin of his cheek. It’s an all too familiar setting, seated on the deck of a ship too close for anybody but yours’ comfort. But without the rum and resentment, of course. And how you doubt he’d pull away this time. 

Very lightly, you brush your lips against his. It was nothing but to simply feel him again, to feel a semblance of familiarity. 

You feel him take your hand that rests on his cheek to place a kiss on your palm, nuzzling his nose into the concave of your hand. 

Everything that was to come seemed a little more possible in that very moment. 

Even more so when his fingers found the sensitive areas of your coloured throat, when his lips closed against your jaw, only to trail lower and to press into the marks his fingers continue to trail tucked into your neck. 

That night, when slipping into your hammock felt like the most unbearable prospect in your near future, it couldn’t possibly be worse than uttering your next question to the man that seems to fix it all.  

“Will you stay with me?”

With nothing but the light snores of the rest of the crew and the creaking of the ship, both you and Soonyoung laid in a hammock most definitely not meant for two. Head on his chest, ear pressed against where his heart beats under his scar, it’s bliss. 

The feeling of his warm body against yours and the scent of him settling in your lungs, you decide that this was enough. At least for now. 

IT WAS DIFFICULT TO give yourself the full list for obvious reasons, but it does seem to help when you tick off all the possible reasons why your patience has run as thin as it has. 

Sitting at the decorated seat at the convened court of old men appointed by your father, you briefly wonder if you should finish them off too amidst your flash of anger. The men continue to squabble and babble about the next course of action, slamming their wrinkled hands on the pristine table and sending their own daggers of threats to the other inhabitants of the table. 

“If you’d like to send a search party for the King’s body, be my guest,” you finally speak, having had quite enough when the throb in your temple worsens. “But remind me what troops you’ll be sending to the North if your best men will be gone for months attempting to find a body they never will.”

The dispute in the North side of the Kingdom was taking up most of the conversation anyway, and you doubt they’d put customary burial rites over their own glory of victory the North would bring. 

“Your Majesty—”

“I would happily jump on the next search ship for my father,” you lie through your teeth. “But I watched him drown in front of my own two eyes, and as the next sovereign I cannot let you waste our resources for something that will both risk our soldier’s lives and have them come back home empty handed.”

Perhaps you had come off slightly more heartless than you intended, so you quickly add, “Please, let my father rest in peace.”

That seems to end the conversation easier than you had expected, but they’re quick to jump to the next issue not long after. 

“The court would also like to bring light upon the palace guests.”

Tightening your jaw, you slump against your seat slightly. “What about them?”

They remain silent as their mouthpiece attempts to form the right words for the following question, mostly because you’ve addressed this multiple times beforehand but they continue to sit restless. 

“Allow me to help you, Lord Bridge,” you sit up straighter, intending to put this matter to rest. “My guests will remain here for as long as they do, and if you have any more arising issues towards my guests I will only take it as your collective issues towards me.” 

In the moment of silence, you continue, “The Kingdom is in a place of instability as we are all well aware. I find it most appalling that you remain fixated on trivial matters of the palace’s domestic code of conduct than you do for the wellbeing of this country!”

Silence yet again as you wait for their forcibly rehearsed chorus of apologies. 

“Our greatest apologies, your Majesty.”

The pain in your temples becomes near unbearable as you dismiss the table after that, screeching your chair as you push it back as loud as you possibly can to do nothing but spite the men. 

Turning the corner out of the room, you catch the open gates that lead to the paved gardens outside, the sun seeping into the marble floors indoors. Taking an instinctive step towards the gardens, you find most of the crew sprawled onto the grass as they soak in the sun. 

Chan and Seungkwan look like they’re wrestling, their laughter ringing throughout the open court while their captain snaps at them to cut it out, only to get roped under one of their headlocks all the same. 

There’s a call of your name and a giant wave from Mingyu, who spots you from beyond the flower beds. Still leaning against the gates, you smile and wave back. 

Years the halls of the palace had gone, never hearing laughter in its walls. And something about watching them let themselves ruin the petunias and laugh so loud it echoes, heals you just a bit. 

Even that night, when you find yourself in your giant four poster bed you’ve slept in since you were a child, this time dozing under the arm of another, you feel the itch of a healing wound somewhere in your heart. 

Soonyoung laid with you for every night on the ship since that night, and stayed even here where the space was big enough to host the ghosts of your worries if not distracted. 

He had found you on that first night in the palace still awake, haunting the library fireplace with another stack of papers to keep you company. 

“Can’t sleep?” he’d asked as he picked up some of your documents. 

“Clearly not,” you huff. The papers were mere decorations as you attempted to find an excuse to leave your rooms. 

“You realise you won’t be much of an effective monarch if you exhaust yourself to death?”  

There was no answer to that, especially when you were absorbing nothing of your new duties. You’d expected to fall asleep on the armrest of the uncomfortable settee whenever it was that you exhausted your brain of thoughts, even then refusing to sleep in that large bed. 

He’s awfully persuasive, because as he tucks you into those very sheets, about to leave but not before placing a kiss on your forehead You stop him. 

“Stay. Please.”

True as he has always been, he does.

THE CROWN IS HEAVIER than you had expected, even more so when it remains on your head for longer than your previously practised sessions walking around the throne room. The crew was exceptionally good at giving you things to train with, including fraudulent rodent scares to ensure the crown would not topple from your own head the minute you rise from your coronation.

And now, as you finally remove the decorative piece from your head after your actual coronation to replace it with something lighter for the following ball, you find relief in the fact that you’d only ever have to wear the actual thing only a few times in your life. 

Everything moves as smoothly as it could, the decorated pirates that saved their Queen from a horrid shipwreck taking up most of the attendees attention as they either question inquisitively or send snarky remarks to the men who are well versed in how to rebut in true informal manner. 

The past months had taken up more of your time than you had anticipated, and during the latter half of the still twinkling party, you attempted to spot the person you’ve been trying to corner all night. 

Soonyoung stands at the edges of the gathering, empty handed as you watch him reject yet another offer for a drink from the trays that float about. His attire is the most formal you had ever seen, his face scrubbed and hair pushed back for the glorious occasion. 

Approaching him from the sidelines, you take hold of his wrists and pull him towards one of the many doors in the ballroom and into a hallway you knew for a fact was rarely ever frequented. 

“I feel I haven’t seen you ages,” you say once you’re sure you’re alone. 

“Probably best for you to keep busy,” he replies with the smallest smile. 

“Have the wrappings on your wound come off?”

Looking at his covered torso, he runs an instinctive hand over where the wound was. “Just a smaller patch now, but it’s nearly there. Disappointed it won’t scar too much.”

“Disappointed?” 

“These are my spoils of war, miss princess,” he adds with a smirk, before correcting himself. “Ah, miss queen?”

“Doesn’t have the same ring,” you comment. 

“The crown suits you.” His voice is soft and sincere.

Scoffing a little, you answer, “I would hope it did.”

“Although, I do prefer you in trousers and a knife.”

Laughing, you can only agree. Especially in your heavier than yourself dress and jewels. “I think I prefer them too.”

At the mention of your new status, he asks, “Shouldn’t you be milling between your new subjects?” 

Keeping your eyes on his face, you wait until he meets your gaze. “I have more important things to attend to.”

He breaks eye contact first, and you can feel the distance grow further. One reach and you could take his hand in yours. 

But you don’t. 

“I know I’ve been quite busy, but…” you trail off as you attempt to find the words. “Is something the matter? What’s going on?”

With a long sigh, he runs a hand through his kept hair, effectively tousling it a little. “I was going to wait until after the ball to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

He makes no moves to look at you when he utters his next words. “The crew and I will be leaving at dawn tomorrow. We’ve taken up enough of your space and it’s best if we don’t intrude any further.”

It’s like you’ve taken a blow to the chest, the air knocked out of your lungs as you register what he’s just said. “You’re….you’re leaving?”

“I would think we’ve both gotten what we wanted. We had a deal.”

Deal? Why was he mentioning that now?

“Are you going to abandon me too?”

His head snaps up to finally meet your eye, mouth opening closing as words betray him. 

“What happened to what you said about gaining you? All of you?” There’s a blatant accusation in your words.

“And you have! We’ll visit. Assuming the state doesn’t want my head on a pike anymore,” he chuckles uncomfortably. 

In a moment of desperation, you take his hand in both of yours; his scarred, gnarled hands that tell you even in the dark who’s warmth it is that you feel every night next to you. 

“Stay. Stay with me, please,” you plead. “I can’t live in this place alone, I despised it when I was young and I’ll only despise it even more now.”

Soonyoung brings his other hand to clasp over both of your own, eyes closing as you hear him take a somewhat shaky breath. “I’m doing this for the both of us.”

“So am I! I can’t possibly rule a kingdom by myself.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone—”

“I don’t want someone! I want you!”

He begins to whisper your name, moving his face away to blink rapidly. 

“How do you feel about becoming a pirate king? I can never forbid you from the waters, that’s your home, and you will have it.”

He does not look at you, but you know he’s listening more intently than ever before.

“But I ask you as someone who loves you more than I have ever anything else, will you stay and marry me?”

Soonyoung falters as he absorbs the fact that you’ve just proposed to him. 

“I—” he stutters. “The court—”

“The court wouldn’t dare to deny me the man that saved my life.”

You squeeze his hand tighter, moving impossibly closer. 

“And even if they do, I'm ready to fight for the man who fought for me. So answer me as a man and not a pirate, Kwon Soonyoung, will you marry me?”

Soonyoungs mouth enclosing over your own is all the answer you need as you feel him break free of your hands to let them find your waist instead. Amidst the pile of fabric he pushes himself into you as close as possible, letting your hands guide his head to move against your mouth. 

It’s everything, as you grip onto the back of his shoulder, pressing unforgettably into his open mouth. He takes in your bottom lip between his own, sucking before letting go, only to engulf your mouth once again. 

“We’ll figure it out,” you whisper against his lips, feeling the nuzzle of his nose against the apple of your cheek, hot tears spilling from your eyes. “I promise, we’ll figure everything out.”

He shushes you when he feels you shudder in his hold, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours. “No need to torment your pretty head. Not right now.”

For once, you listen to your pirate captain without a fight, simply feeling the stretch of your lips as he moves down to capture them once more. 

The pressure of his hands isn’t nearly as strong as it would’ve felt without the layers upon layers of fabric that cover your form, but standing in this desolate hallway, you swear his fingers might as well be caressing your bare skin underneath. 

The thought sends your mind into a dazzling spin, letting go of his mouth with a gasp, suddenly needing to take a step back. 

“I have to—I have to go back inside,” you breathe into his slick mouth. “Meet me outside my quarters at midnight.”

As scandalous as it was, you could not deny how alive it made you feel to be like this, meeting in darker corners in the dead of night. But for now, you allow him to fix the bits of your ensemble you could not see. With the bad of his thumb, he blends in the smudges of your rouge, swiping at your lips ever so delicately to ensure he leaves no trace of himself. Tucking the loose strands of hair back behind your ears, and finally, fixing the encrusted crown on your head, a flash of one of the diamond’s gleams reflecting onto his perfect face. 

“You’re beautiful.” There’s a dazed look that graces him. “Beyond beautiful.”

With one last innocent press of your smiling mouth onto his, you promise him your midnight. 

BY THE TIME IT was finally an appropriate hour for you to excuse yourself for the evening, you were near to exploding entirely. 

Whispers of “Are you alright, your Majesty?” plaguing you through your already racing mind. It was beyond difficult to keep the constant shaking of your foot unobvious, however you could not simply up and leave whenever you wanted—at least not yet. The monarch would remain in an unstable authoritative position for quite some time after ascension, and with the unorthodox situation at hand, you assume you’d really have to push yourself if you were to be of any use as sovereign. 

But when the time finally came and you were escorted out of the grand ballroom, only mere ticks away from the resounding bells of midnight, you were holding back from breaking into a sprint. Outside your quarters it was empty, but you remain steadfast in your refusal for your ladies in waiting tonight, promising you could dress yourself for bed on your own. 

Standing at the double doors of your rooms, still the princess’ quarters as you refuse to move into the Queen’s rooms, you stand waiting. The two guards remain staring straight ahead, and you wait for the clicking of your ladies to go muffled before you ask. 

“Has the Captain approached?” 

“No, your Majesty.”

You try not to feel disappointed, despite knowing the midnight bells were yet to sound. “If he does, allow him in, please.” 

Opening the double doors, you half wish you had let your ladies help you out of the god awful dress, tight and loose in all the wrong places. The jewels are thrown haphazardly on your vanity, needing the heavyweight of them off of your body. 

Perhaps months of little to no bedazzling had rendered you incapable of wearing anything mildly less comfortable than linen and leather, but you suppose you’d slip back into the habit just as easily as you slipped out of it. Your nightgown feels like heaven on your tired, tired body, and the dimly lit interior of your bedchamber is only encouraging you to slip under your covers and fall deep into sleep. 

That was one thing about the ship you doubt you’d ever miss. 

Three rapt knocks outside of the heavy double doors have you sitting rapt at attention, hastily making your way to the door from your vanity. Pressing the front of your nightgown down, you open the door slightly and poke your head out. 

Soonyoung stands at the door, nervous of all things, still clad in his full suit. You smile as you let him in, closing the door to turn the lock. 

“Your guards mortify me.” 

“Oh? So they’re doing their job right?” You walk up to him and grasp onto his lapels, pulling him down to meet the lips you’ve missed so much despite only being hours apart. “Why? Has this big bad pirate found his match in the palace guards of all places?”

“Hmm,” he’s humming against your lips. “I could take them both.”

Giggling like you were in love, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. 

“I hope you weren’t bothered too much,” you say. “The aristocracy seem to have being a pain in the ass written in their birthrights.”

“I think they were too scared to approach, probably thought I’d start swearing and snatching the pearls right off their necks. Some of them were bearable, asked me how long my sword was.”

It’s difficult to not laugh at that, “Well?”

He raises his brows unceremoniously, “Won’t you like to know?”

Taking the opportunity while you giggled uncontrollably at the situation, he goes back placing never ending kisses to your mouth. Sighing involuntarily, you melt into him once again, infinitely more relaxed than in the hallway. 

Soonyoung’s eyelashes brush against yours in a whisper of their own, only reminding you how close you were to him in the moment. His kisses go from soft and fleeting to something with a little more vigour. The warmth of his mouth goes back to overtaking the lower half of your face, sucking and licking into your mouth like his life depended on it. 

If your mind was reeling when his hands were merely ghosts of pressure over your heavy dress, the feeling of his palms and fingers so distinct over your nightgown, the only thing separating you two, is enough to have your knees begin to buckle. 

From your waist, they move to your back, before caressing back to the sides of your waist, thumb running in circles. Gentle handfuls of your flesh, bunching and letting go of the material of your nightgown. Very soon, his mouth leaves yours and instead moves to your jaw, the air in the room letting you feel the wetness that he leaves behind as a passionate trail.

He soon reaches the junction of your jaw and neck, leaving a particularly long suck in the area that has a gasp leaving your mouth. Remaining in that area, you feel the pleasant graze of his tongue on your skin, only making you tilt your head farther out to let him carry out his loving. 

Your mind wanders back to the hands that grope you in ways that would defame you, the unseemly palms that have you needing to feel him all the same.

With grazing hands, you slip your fingers underneath his jacket, pushing it off one shoulder. He understands the message, flicking it off of his frame before loosening his cravat and throwing it somewhere behind him. 

Unlatching from your neck, he comes round to face you to find your face the epitome of disconnected and dazed. 

“Can you wait for me on the bed, my love?”

“But—” The thought of him being even an inch away was most aggravating, but he cuts you off before you can refute. 

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Soonyoung rests his forehead against your own, taking your hands in his. “I’m right here. I just need to take this awful suit off.”

Your face must have been peculiar because he’s immediately jumping, panicked. “Uh—do you not want me to, we don’t have to, I just thought—”

“No!” you yelp, wide eyed. “I, um, I’ll wait. On the bed, I mean.”

He lets you walk over to the giant four poster bed, pushing the flow of your gown down when you realise how high it had ridden, cheeks burning scarlet at the thought of exposing so much. 

Hearing ruffles from behind you, you cannot bring yourself to look back at him, already extremely lightheaded and afraid that the sight might make you faint altogether. 

Perhaps you were experiencing a delayed case of sea legs, because it’s more difficult than usual to make yourself comfortable on the soft beddings. You make a futile attempt at slowing your breathing. 

By the time Soonyoung is done, meeting you in the middle, you keep your eyes on his face as he’s immediately climbing over to kiss you softly. Hand on the back of your head, he guides you to lay flat, adjacent to the headboard so you’re laying on the breadth of the bed. 

He handles you like you were made of glass, and it only makes the strange ache between your legs increasingly present and uncomfortable. 

Noting a cool feeling on the base of your throat, you open your eyes and catch the leather cord that dangles from his neck, the letter opener charm that’s attached to the end of it connecting you two as your lips part. Just beyond, through the dip of his collarbones and the valley to his chest, you catch the scar  that curls above his heart. Even lower, you find the smaller wrappings of his scarring wound. 

You trace over the edges of the new addition, shaking hands as you try your best to not brush over the wound. 

On the other side, Soonyoung has his hands on shin as his body hovers over you between your legs. Curling around, he caresses the skin of your bare calf, drifting to the back of your knees. He takes the opportunity to lift your leg, urging you to wrap it around his waist. 

The action has gravity doing what it does best, the hem of your nightgown dropping to bunch over the junction of your leg, your entire thigh exposed for the air. 

Soonyoung takes no time to let his hands wander higher, taking light handfuls of the flesh of thighs, dragging his grip further and further up. 

“Nearly tipped the ship over when I saw you in those fucking trousers,” he says, eyes closed as he drags his mouth over the inner part of your thigh. 

The sound that leaves your mouth is breathy, mind preoccupied with how quickly he was making his way towards the apex of your thighs. He’s using his mouth like he used it on your own lips, nipping at the flesh before biting down hard. 

“Soonyoung!” 

Tongue running over the patch, he sucks on the area to sooth the bite. It’s taking everything out of you to not twitch uncontrollably in his hold, the heat in your core reaching temperatures you’ve never experienced. 

Unlatching himself from your thigh, Soonyoung rears his head slightly. The sight has your head rolling back, mind drifting to the face of the man who’d visited you in your dreams, the same man that had now made home between your legs. 

Before you realise it, the bunched hem of your nightgown is flown upwards entirely, fluttering as the fabric lands on your stomach. 

Your heat is bare underneath, evident with the way Soonyoung keeps his eyes on the now fully exposed part of you. Your chest continues to rise and fall as you lift your head to look at him, eyes half closed and mind muddled.

“What…What’re you doing?” 

Soonyoung looks like you’ve disturbed him from a trance, snapping up to look at you as you ask him your question. 

It hardly registers in his mind. What was he doing? Was it not obvious—

Ah. 

If the mere sight of your bare thighs weren’t enough for him to release his load onto the sheets untouched, your unawareness might just end up doing it for him. 

Of course you didn’t know why he was at eye level with your cunt; women from this world were not supposed to know. 

The buzz in his mind renders him useless for a few moments as his vision blurs, the pain in his lower region unbearable. The thought of him being the first person to do this to you, to pleasure you like this; he wasn’t sure if he’d make it till the end of the night alive. 

Screwing his eyes shut, his palms full of your thighs, he drops his head and counts to ten. 

“Will you let me show you how a Queen is meant to be worshipped?” 

Wet mouthed and unhinged eyes, your arousal was doing nothing but multiplying at the sight of him. 

“Do you trust me?” he asks. “I promise I’ll make you feel good.” 

It takes you less than a moment to nod your head, eyes locked with his. 

Bringing a hand closer, he dips one finger into the beginnings of your hole. Bringing some of the glisten onto his fingers. Your lips are parted and he brings a second finger to gather your arousal, rubbing over your entrance ever so slowly. 

The motion makes you let out a heavy exhale, gripping onto the bunched fabric at your stomach till your knuckles turn white. 

With little warning, you feel his fingertips push and drag upwards, right over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Immediately, he’s rubbing your arousal all over the area, rubbing your clit in rhythmic circles with both fingers. 

You can’t stop it when you throw your head back and let out a slight whimper, relishing in the feeling that overtakes every last sense and capability, anticipating the next surge of pleasure that courses through your entire body like you've been struck by a bolt of something.

Vision obscured, you loll your head to the side when you feel his fingers retract, confused. 

All you catch is the outstretched nature of his tongue, and how it lands directly where his fingers were. 

You let out the loudest moan yet, back arching off the bed as he licks a forceful drag up your cunt before moving back down your clit, circling your hole with the tip of his tongue, right before repeating. He flicks your nub right where he’s found you twitch the most, back and forth as your hips begin to fail at your suppressed stutters, his hands needing to pin you down onto the sheets to continue. 

He becomes more generous, laying his tongue flat now as he massages your nub so good. Your thighs are closing around his ears and he does nothing to stop you, nearly suffocating between them. Hips going from their stutters to a grind, you find your hands flying to his hair, grip tighter than you thought you’d come down with. It doesn’t help that he’s now taken a finger to circle your entrance while his lips suck on your clit. 

“Soonyoung.” It’s all you can say, throat incapable of forcing anything but his name, the burn behind your eyes only making it harder to not say it louder. 

When he pushes the finger in, it has you letting out a moan, the foreign feeling against your walls only forcing them to clamp onto his digit. Gradually, you feel his pace quicken as he slides his finger in and out of your hole, his mouth still doing beautiful things to your cunt. 

It doesn’t take long for him to shove in another finger, stretching your hole as you let out a constant string of noises through the pleasure, ever-building as every passing moment only scrambles your brain further. 

And then you feel him groan, a vibration throbbing through your system. 

It’s suddenly all too much, and before you can tell him what’s going on, you’re rendered incapable. You don’t know where your limbs fly, but all you feel is white hot and overwhelming to an unbelievable degree. 

“Oh–ungh—” Your body is telling Soonyoung all he needs to know as he only pushes into your pussy even further, letting you ride out your high as you claw at him in every way possible. 

Inevitably, the feeling subsides and you realise you’ve been reduced to sobs, tears streaking the sides of your face. Laying flat with your head still on the sheets, you stare at the ceiling of your four poster, trying to remember where you were. 

Barely noticing the man that now hover above you, you hear him whisper. “Are you alright?”

Nodding weakly, you don’t even try to lift a finger in the remaining aftermath. 

“I need words, my love.”

Swallowing thickly, you give him a breathy, “Yes.”

The lower half of his face glistens in the light like unorthodox diamonds, and all you can think about is how you need him closer to you. 

You make an attempt with your nightgown, your trembling arms, still coursing with the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

Soonyoung decides to help, hands pushing your spine into an arch as he pulls the slip up and over your head, now entirely bare in front of him. 

You watch as instead of throwing the fabric away, he brings it to his mouth to wipe the slick off, tainting the gown with your essence. 

Mouth over yours in a salty kiss, you pull him into you as close as humanly possible, needing to feel his heat, his weight, his scent as close as possible. His mouth reaches your throat again, lips brushing over the expanse as he places open mouthed kisses over the nearly faded marks. 

His hands are lingering once again as they ghost the sides of your breasts, thumbs coming close to your nipples before retracting in a caress. He takes them in handfuls as he goes back to busy your lips with his own, massaging the mounds with a pressure just enough to have you reeling. 

Flicking your nipple lightly, he goes back to circle the bud with thumb again. Making himself further familiar, his fingers begin to pinch and pull at them, pressing down to get a noise out of you, one that you sound as you breathe into his mouth. 

Trailing over your stomach, he pushes himself off of you. On his knees, he takes the distance as his chance to look at you in your entirety for the first time. Your fucked out expression and your lack of words is doing nothing but fueling him, your loud breaths somehow more sinful than anything he could ever do to you. 

In one swift motion, he’s slipping his arms beneath you, pulling you up so he can lay you against the headboards and pillows. You barely register what’s happening, having given yourself up to him long before. 

Grabbing one of the millions of cushions on the bed, he swings one over. Using no strength of your own, he lifts your hips and places it down beneath you, effectively propping you up. 

And then he’s meeting you at eye level, hands cupping your face. “I need you to listen to me, darling.”

He waits for confirmation, of which you can only nod, still seeing mild stars. “Do you want to stop?” 

It's a visceral reaction; the violent shaking of your head, the hand that flies to his bicep. “N–no!”

You pause as he grips onto your upper arms tight, right as you continue. “I just—a moment. Don’t stop, please.”

Leaning down, he places a long kiss on the corner of your mouth before moving his head to fit into the crook of your neck. He nuzzles his nose against the skin below your ear. 

“I’m right here,” he whispers. “For as long as you want me.”

His kisses go from desperate to something with a little more intent, pressing his lips into your neck consistently. Oh so gently, it begins to feel like a draught. He turns into calm just as he could become chaos, bringing you down from the after effects of his own actions. 

The hum that leaves you is unthinking, fingers remaining deep in the roots of his hair. Your own nose is pressed against his hair, his scent mixed with sweat infiltrating your nostrils. It fills your head with a pleasant buzz, one that you feel force a pull at the corners of your mouth. 

“I meant it when I said it,” you murmur into his hair. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

Raising his head, he meets your eye, smiling slightly. “I believe you. Forgive me for making you believe I was trying to leave you.”

“You weren’t?” 

He presses his lips into a line, exhaling as he drops his chin to his chest. “I’ve needed to be selfish my whole life just to survive. Leaving…I wasn’t sure how I would’ve gotten on that boat in the morning without taking you with me somehow.”

Moving back to look at you, you realise very quickly there’s more to the mere glassy look in his eye. “For once, I wished to be anything but a pirate, to be anywhere but near the sea. Not when you wouldn’t be there with me.” 

Taking one of his beautifully decorated hands to your mouth, you kiss the soft of his palm. “You’ve done more than anyone ever has to protect me.” 

You laugh against his hand, “This is my turf, captain. Let me protect you… protect us.”

Something injects you with a dose of bold, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around his raised shoulders. “But…I believe we were in the middle of something. I’d hate to ruin the mood.”

The smirk that graces his lips is immediate, pushing you back down onto the sheets as you let a laugh escape you. 

And then you feel something warm graze your bottom lip, pointed in the way it pushes inwards. He’s brought the glinting letter opener charm up to your lips, the trinket pinched between his fingers as he continues to keep it on your mouth. He kisses you deep as the metal remains between you two, your hands run across the expanse of his back, feeling the muscles ripple as he props himself between you. 

“I love you,” he cuts between the kiss to groan, the charm dropping from between your mouths to your chest. 

“I love you, mmh—” His fingers have found your clit mid confession, rubbing quickly as he attempts to get you all hot and withered again. 

Your legs raise on instinct, back arching as he rubs you mercilessly, the pressure building quicker than it had before. 

“I–I think—” you start to tell him, and it seems it’s all he needs to remove his fingers entirely. 

“Soonyoung!” you yelp, landing on the bed with a thud. 

Looking down, you find his hands wrapped around the length between his own legs, and you realise this was your first time seeing it. Past the white-oozing slit, his tip is a painful looking red. If his hands weren’t already pumping and he hadn’t already lined himself up to your hole, you would’ve taken him into your own palms, done exactly with your mouth that he’d done with his own. 

But you can’t find it within yourself to stop him when you feel the initial push of his bulbous tip against your hole, the stretch causing you to drop your mouth open. 

“Fuck,” you hear him curse, and when you look up you find his own eyes screwed shut. His hands grip the plush of the pillow beside your head as tight as ever, face askew like he was holding himself back from combusting entirely. 

Slowly, you feel the stretch turn into something akin to a burn, a sting in the back of your eyes. You let him push himself into you at his own pace, the never ending battle between your mind and your refrained hips ever present as you attempt to keep them at bay. 

He keeps his pelvis flush against yours ince he’s sheathed himself inside you entirely. BOth of your pants fill the thick air of the room, the throb of your walls around his shaft leaving a tremble in his forearm despite your forsake. 

Hand somewhere above your head, you feel Soonyoung pull out ever so slightly before pushing back in. Just like this, in shallow thrusts, he pumps himself in an out of your walls in a slow pattern. 

It begins with a simmering tremble of pleasure that prolongs as he drags his cock in and out, and then in and out, and then—

Your eyes fly open when you feel his hips slam against yours with a resounding sound, fingers gripping his arm as he does it again, your moans penetrating the air. Before you know it, he’s hiked your legs up to wrap around his waist, ankles locking as he goes back to snapping his hips into you. 

“Oh, Soonyoung.”

Your nails are digging into his bicep like it was the only thing tying you to this earth, the only thing keeping you from passing out entirely. He’s taken up a brutal pace, pistoning into your clamped walls with a vigour unmatched. 

All Soonyoung can hear is the stretch of your moans and groans directly in his ear, the obscene squelch of both of your fluids mixing at your middles. Your hands have migrated to his back, clawing at the skin like you’ve been utterly possessed. 

He can’t seem to mind, not when they’ll simply become reopening wounds every time he’ll have you like this, all to himself and no one else. He wonders vaguely if your guards outside can hear the way you’re losing yourself in him just as he is in you, wonders if it appalls them that a filthy pirate gets to have their Queen in his arms as her vindictive pleasure. 

One hand rubbing over your slick clit, he pulls back to sit on his heels, the angle allowing him to keep ever part of you occupied, his spare hand coming up to toy with the pillow of your breast. 

It’s all too much, for the both of you as your collective noises become increasingly frequent and high pitched.

And then he’s pushed you over the edge, the shake of your thighs electrifying as you nearly scream out in the bliss of your high. Hands moving every which way to find a grip as you let the feeling crash into you over and over again. 

“Oh, that’s so good, so good, oh my goodness.”

You’re still in the middle of your climax when Soonyoung can’t take it anymore, letting himself release his load inside of you like a mark. It’s a mess of force and pleasure as the both of you lose sight of your strengths and weaknesses, the feeling of his hot cum shooting into your walls only prolonging your orgasm even further. 

He continues to thrust, continues to play with your nub, continues to flick at your nipples despite the orgasm subsiding. It’s all suddenly too much all at once, the sharp jerk of your body and your voice asking him to stop. 

“Soon—Soonyoung, it’s too much.”

Hands coming to a halt and his thrusts slowing, you feel him ease himself out of you. 

It’s a sight Soonyoung doubts he could ever forget even if he tried, your still pulsating walls doing everything but keeping the milky white of his load inside you, globs of the liquid spilling out as you shudder near lifeless on the bed. His hands grope at the inside of your thighs, pulling your lips apart to take in the mess he’s made. 

He can’t help himself when he pushes two fingers into your hole, feeding his cum back into your hole right where it belongs. 

You’ve only barely started to come round when he meets you at eye level, plopping next to you on the bed. 

“Hi,” he grins. 

“Hi,” you breathe back, hands coming up to touch his face. 

He lets you breathe for a few moments as he finds himself getting off the bed to find your tainted nightgown, moving back to you to spread your legs and wipe you clean as best as he could. 

You find it within yourself to allow him to pull you into a sitting position, a cup of water from the nightstand pressing against your tired mouth. 

“Come on, just one,” he urges as you slump against his chest. 

You take a few sips as he coaxes you into drinking the full cup and half of the second helping. 

He gives up as he holds you against his chest, brushing his fingers through your tangled hair to push past your face. 

“Are you alright?” he asks you. Your eyes are closed when he leans down to place a peck on the apple of your cheek. 

“Mhm,” you muffle. “Want to sleep.

“I’d let you, but…”

“Soonyoung, I can’t go again,” you whine. 

He chuckles, “I meant to ask where we could find some sugar around here. You barely ate anything at the ball.”

“The kitchens?” you answer with a floating question mark. 

Soonyoung can’t help it when he squeezes you so tight it has you complaining loudly, not being able to sustain the love just in the tiny expanse of his heart. 

“Come on, let’s get you some cake before both our hearts give out.”

BUNDLED UP IN WARMER clothes, the only thing the palace walls hear is the tiny whispers and giggles of you and your lover as you make your way to the kitchens. 

It’s empty at this time of night, the dying embers of the fireplace the only source of light. Soonyoung uses every last bit of his thievery to manage to find a basket of dough balls, the syrup more readily available at the table in the centre.

The tingling in your brain can’t seem to decipher the overwhelming happiness that floods you from the ends of your hair to the tips of your toes. Especially when you call out his name amidst his shuffling, your heart can’t take the grin on his face as he hurries to join on the floor in front of the fireplace. 

Arm looped through his own and your head on his shoulder, you decide you’d be quite okay dying like this. 

The dough balls are cold and the syrup is probably a little too sweet, but you can’t possibly complain when it warms you just the same. 

“I’ve despised my name my entire life,” Soonyoung starts in the silence, picking at the insides of his treat. “Some old merchant sailor was giving his ship away in exchange that the taker would take care of it. He’d built his Tigress from the first board to the last sail, but the years had made their mark. It was practically falling apart when I took it off his hands.”

He pushes the remaining bit of the pastry into his mouth, muffled as he continues, “He had a strange name, said it was given to him by his crew when they realised he was born without a name. Hoshi. I liked it well enough so I kept it.”

“Soonyoung—”

“That one. I wanted to replace the name I loathed, the one my own mother gave me.” You watch as his throat bobs as he swallows. “Ash is my birthplace, my mother worked in the brothels where I was born only because she couldn’t get rid of me.”

Taking one of the hands that wrap around his arm, he brings your fingers to your mouth, kissing the tips of each one. “I despised that name, until I heard it from your lips.” 

“Soonyoung.” It felt right on your tongue, like you were destined to say his name. 

“Yes, my love?” He smiles softly. 

“I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says as he kisses you again. “Thank you for keeping my name, thank you for giving it life.”

You take the opportunity to grab one of the syrup soaked dough balls from the basket and stuff them into his mouth. “Enough, don’t tell me all this luxury’s made you soft.” 

It was a jab but a lighthearted one in any case, you loved to see this side of him and you doubt you would ever get enough of seeing him like this. Vulnerable with his softer smiles and squinted eyes. 

Bringing one of your digits to your mouth, you suck the remaining syrup off your fingers. 

Soonyoung is quick to take notice as he takes your hand and brings your fingers up to his mouth, running his tongue over the pads of your fingers to take in the remaining sugar left on your fingers. 

He keeps his eyes locked onto yours as he sucks on the tips of your fingers, making sure every last hint of sweetness is gone. 

And then he’s kissing you, tongue in your mouth as he moves against your lips slowly. 

Breaking apart, you whisper, “As much as I’d love to, the bakers will be coming in any minute now.”

Soonyoung’s grin is dangerous, and you find out why the minute you feel his arms loop around your waist and under your thighs, lifting you clean off the floor of the kitchens. 

You squeal before you can help it, his lips finding home in your neck as you laugh as loud as your chest would allow. 

You could get used to this. And you will. 

THE SERVANTS CARRYING THE giant stack of plates nearly topple over when you sprint past them, yelling a loud apology over your shoulder as you do nothing but hasten your pace. 

The paper in your hands is clutched tight in your fists as you run to where your carriage awaits, near yelling at the driver to make it to the docks before the streets would be full of the early morning merchants and bakers, slowing the gallops of the decorated horses. 

The town is waking as your carriage races past, the beginnings of the new day making itself known as the sun peers through the gaps of the houses. You’re incapable of sitting still, your heels tapping against the floors of your cabin incessantly as the docks grow nearer and nearer. 

And then you see it, the rush of dock handlers that see the royal carriage slow to a stop in front of the boardwalk. You slam the door open before any of the tens could do it for you, breaking into a sprint as you find the distinct flag of the royal crest wave high on the other end of the docks. 

You had already seen Soonyoung off in the dark of the night as he made his way to the ship that was near ready to depart as you slide to stop in front of the anchored ship. 

There was nothing sane about what you were doing, the chortles and shocked noises of sailors and merchants deaf to ears as you finally spot him near the prow. 

His eyes meet yours and he has to do a double take. 

Panting and needing to hold onto your knees for support, you peer up as you watch him run towards the ramp that leads down to the docks to see you, to ask why you were here when he’d kissed you goodbye mere hours ago. 

By the time he meets you at the wobbly boardwalk, you’ve somewhat recovered.

“Are you alright?” he asks you as soon as you’re within earshot, hands grasping onto your upper arms in evident concern. 

“I had to tell you, this came in right after you left.” You brandish the paper clutched into your fist, smoothing it over as the light catches the red stamp at the bottom. 

It takes him less than a minute to realise what it said, eyes blinking rapidly and mouth gaping like a fish. “They…They said yes?” 

“They said yes,” you repeat, nodding furiously as you break into a smile. “We can get married, Soonyoung, they said yes.”

His arms are crushing you before you know it, wrapped around you so tight as he buries his face into your neck, repeating it like a mantra, “They said yes…”

By the time you part, he keeps his arms around you, still embracing you in front of the entire port. You take hold of his face bringing it closer to you. 

“Three months, and then you come home,” you breathe. “And I get to marry you, in front of everyone.”

Soonyoung lets his lips meet your own in a chaste kiss as he corrects you, “I get to marry you in front of everyone.” 

There’s a thud of something nearby, and you look up to find the crew of the Tigress hanging over the railings of the newly appointed naval ship that looked suspiciously like a pirate’s. 

“He can’t come back home, if he doesn’t leave!” Seungkwan yells over cupped hands. 

You’d like to send him an affectionate gesture involving your middle finger, but choose to save him in front of the crowded port. 

“You’ll miss me, Seungkwan, just you wait,” you send him a pointed glare that he simply scoffs at. 

He might miss you, but you’ll definitely miss the lot of them when you return to a significantly emptier palace. 

“Don’t let the royal snobs walk over you, you’re a better sailor anyway,” you tell Soonyoung. “Not that I needed to tell you, anyway.”

“I promise on our future wedding to be a complete menace.” He grins at the declaration as you admire him in the morning light. 

One last time, you memorise the dips and hills of his features, pressing your final kiss into his lips as the voices telling him to hurry it up grow louder. 

He blows you a kiss from the railings as the anchor is hoisted, and you send him one right back. 

As your carriage trudges its path back to the palace, at a pace more acceptable for both the stamina of the horses and the integrity of the structure, your eyes remain glued to the shrinking ship that fades into the distant horizon. 

There’s a pang in your chest, one that brings a tear to your eyes. It’s all very dramatic, the way the melancholy makes a home in your heart. An inkling tells you how you’ll probably become quite used to the feeling, learn to greet it like a friend. 

For now you enter the lighter palace, and take your place on the chair in your study and find solace in the ideas your mind brings. 

That no matter how long Soonyoung will remain far from you, he will always come back home to you. 

Always. 

[AN]: ty for joining my babies on their journey, i cannot thank you all enough for reading all 48fuckingK words of this i love you guys truly!!! thank you for all the reblogs and comments on the other parts, it makes me genuinely so happy to see you guys enjoy this universe that i've built. I read every single comment and know i appreciate all of it so so much <3

[fanfictionstuff]

Medicine seller smut please <3

Here it is. Finally. I guess. Lmao

Medicine seller from the 2024 movie.

“Marriage?” You sit respectfully across from your parents, your eyes wide in disbelief at their words. “You want me to get married?” In this moment, you feel dwarfed by their presence, even though you are all sitting in the same manner, legs tucked beneath you. It’s as if you’re standing before two imposing figures. Your father averts his gaze, unwilling to look in your eyes. “______,” your mother begins, noticing that your father won’t carry on with the conversation. “There have been rumors about you and a peddler. Of course, we know they aren’t true, but it’s starting to tarnish our family’s reputation.”

“Peddler?”

She nods. “Yes, he’s an odd man with peculiar clothing; some even say he’s a demon. Do you know who I’m referring to?"

A medicine seller with golden eyes flashes through your mind. “I don’t.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way; we’ll announce your marriage by the end of the month.”

“And who will the groom be?”

Your mother furrows her brow. “We haven’t gotten that far yet,” she admits. “Just follow our lead; we’ll announce that you are engaged to be married. Once that peddler leaves, we can figure out the rest.”

The answer takes you by surprise. "Once the peddler is gone, what does he have to do with anything? Do you really expect me to be engaged to someone?”

Your parents turn to look at each other, a bit thrown off by your question. You weren’t supposed to catch that. Your mother whispers your father’s name, but he looks just as confused about what to say. “Mom, Dad, what are you doing?”

“The peddler needs to know you aren’t available.”

“Huh?”

“Please, just trust me,” your mother implores. “If you encounter a peddler dressed in peculiar clothing carrying a large box, tell him you’re engaged to be married.”

You raise an eyebrow. "Alright, here’s an idea: there’s no need for an announcement. I don’t even know who you’re referring to. A peddler? So he won’t be around much longer? Describe what he looks like, and I’ll make sure to steer clear of him. Do you really want me to get married?” 

“We’ve actually chosen a few different men you could look into…”

 ———————————

“He wears an odd bright kimono and carries a large box on his back.”

After having dinner with your parents, you decide to leave the house. It’s getting late, and more intoxicated individuals are beginning to appear on the streets, with the worst of them already stumbling about. They’ve likely been drinking since they woke up this morning. You ignore them; they are relatively harmless at this time. Your eyes travel across the various shops, where young women beam at passersby, trying to allure potential customers. You give a wave of disinterest when one of them tries to catch your attention. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice an oddly dressed figure carrying a large box.

“He has strange light blue hair with pink tips. Around this long.”

You pivot to catch a better view of the man, but his light blue and pink hair obscures his face as he strides past you. He veers into an alley that leads to the riverbank. You follow. He walks towards a large tree, where he drops the box on his back before turning to face you.

“He has an extremely pale complexion with unusual blue and red markings on his face.”

Your mother described him quite well, but she overlooked one detail—the one that struck you most when you first laid eyes on him. His golden eyes lock onto yours. “You shouldn’t be out so late, Miss ______.”

“I’m engaged.”

“Oh?”

You nod. “Yes, I’m supposed to say this if I ever meet you. There have been rumors about us, and I need to clarify that if we do meet, I’m engaged.”

“Interesting, and who is the lucky man?”

“That’s yet to be decided.”

The man across from you smirks. "So, it’s still undecided? Does that mean there’s a chance I could be a possibility?”

“My parents want you to lose interest. If you learn I’m engaged, you'll move on without causing any trouble. Is it working?”

Kusuriuri shakes his head. “Unfortunately for your parents, it’s too late for that; there’s no losing interest in you now."

"You're quite persistent, aren't you?" you tease playfully, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you engage in banter with Kusuriuri. His smirk broadens as he steps closer to you, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow around him. It’s difficult to resist the allure of his mysterious demeanor and captivating presence, even as you attempt to keep a semblance of distance. “A woman of my stature certainly has no difficulty moving on from a mere medicine peddler like you," you quip, attempting to conceal the fondness that lingers in your tone. 

His golden eyes glimmer with mischief as he leans in closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin. "Ah, but it seems you cannot resist the allure of a humble medicine peddler like me," he says, his voice low and teasing.

You raise a brow. “Did you use a love potion on me? Otherwise, it doesn’t make sense, right?” 

He chuckles softly. "It seems so. A woman of your intellect and grace falling for a humble medicine peddler like me—surely, it's the result of a love potion." He gently cups your cheek, drawing you in for a tender kiss.

As he pulls away, the mischievous glint in his golden eyes shifts into something more tender. "But jokes aside, my dear ______, do you want to move on from me?"

You reach up to gently trace the intricate markings on his face. “Never.”

“I can’t provide you with the lavish life you’re accustomed to,” he admits. On the night he met you, he hadn’t expected someone like you to take an interest in him; usually, someone of your stature wouldn’t engage with someone like him. Then, just a few nights later, he believed it would be a one-time encounter, that he would only get to be that close to you once. He thought he’d leave and never find himself in your bed again. 

You draw him into another kiss, taking charge as your tongue glides along his bottom lip. A smirk crosses his face at your boldness, and he parts his lips for you. As you navigate mouth, he encourages you to deepen the kiss. “Will you marry me?” you whisper as you pull away. “I can tell my parents I’m engaged.” 

Kusuriuri pulls back, his golden eyes wide with surprise. “Are you asking me because you truly want to be with me or because you want to avoid an arranged marriage?” 

“Can it be both?” You wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. “I may have initially decided to get to know you out of curiosity or boredom, but the connection we have... can't you feel it, too?” 

He sighs deeply, leaning into your touch. “I can feel it, ______,” he admits. “But an engagement... marriage?” He hesitates for a moment before adding. “I’m not sure if it’s commitment you’re ready to make.” 

You pause for a moment, looking down at your intertwined hands. “But I’ve thought it through, and I’m sure about this. You’re the one I want to be with. You know, all my friends who’ve married tell me of their lives with their husbands. It sounds awful. Their husbands show them no respect and take on many lovers. They’re left unsatisfied in many ways.” 

You watch as Kusuriuri considers your words, his gaze thoughtful as he looks out over the riverbank. You can see so much in his eyes—years of wisdom and experience, but also a hint of vulnerability. Seeing him like this is strange, with his guard lowered and his emotions laid bare. But it also makes your heart flutter, because it means he's letting you in. 

“Alright,” he finally says, turning back to look at you. His golden eyes are warm and sincere, and the sight of it sends a shiver down your spine. 

"Really?" Your heart pounds in your chest as you wait for his confirmation. 

"Yes," he assures you, his voice soft yet firm. "If you truly wish to stay by my side and can accept a new lifestyle." 

You launch yourself at him then, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight embrace. He stumbles slightly but quickly regains his footing, wrapping a strong arm around your waist to keep you steady. 

"I love you," you whisper against his ear. 

“I love you too.” 

—————--------------------------------------

You grin, nearly bouncing in your seat as you stare at your parents. You aren’t sure how they’ll take it, but you’re excited and if they don’t agree, you’ll leave either way. “So, you know how you want me to be engaged? Right? I found a fiance.” 

Both your mother and father blink in confusion, your father using your nickname. “We weren’t really expecting you to go out and find a fiance, you weirdo.” 

Your mother groans, covering her face. “How do you already have a fiance? You aren’t even dating anyone. You can not find someone to marry within twenty-four hours.”

“Right, we’ve been together for months.” It’s true. He’d leave to exorcise Mononoke but always returns to you. “When you mentioned getting married, he was the first person who popped into my mind, and I couldn’t picture myself with anyone else.” You admit.

“Months?” They both yell in disbelief. 

“…yeah.” 

Your mother stares at you as if you have two heads. “Who is he? I want to meet him.” 

“Right, he’s in the next room. I’ll get him.”

Quickly, you open the spare bedroom, grabbing Kusururi by the hand and pulling him into the living room where your parents are waiting. 

As the eccentric man stands before them, your mother’s mouth drops in surprise, while your father stares wide-eyed, confusion filling his features as he looks between the two of you. “I’m sorry," he laughs at the irony before pointing at Kusuriuri. "We mentioned that you should say you’re engaged to avoid the medicine seller, yet he’s the fiancé you brought to us. How did this happen?”

Your mom nods and says, “We wanted you to tell him you’re engaged because we thought he might be bothering you; we heard he’s been watching you.” 

You glance from your parents to Kusuriuri and back again. “So, it’s okay if I marry him?” 

Your dad answers. “No.” 

“Huh?”

“Can you provide for ______? Say you can provide for _____ and yourself. What about children?” 

“Dad, nobody has mentioned children.” 

“Well, if you’re getting married, you better mention it. You want kids, does he? Can he provide for a family?” 

Kusuriuri, who had been silent throughout the conversation, finally speaks up.

"I can assure you," he says, his gaze meeting your father's, "I would do everything in my power to provide for ______ and any children we may have. I may not have a traditional occupation or guarantee of a consistent income, but I am resourceful and skilled at what I do."

"And what exactly do you do?" your mother asked, her tone filled with suspicion.

"I am a medicine seller by trade," he answers respectfully. 

Kusuriuri maintains his calm demeanor, meeting your father's gaze without hesitation. "I assure you, my trade is not as simple or mundane as it sounds. I deal with more than just mere pills and ointments. I provide remedies for ailments that common medicine cannot touch."

"And how do you propose to support a family with such an inconsistent income?" Your mother interjects, her tone laced with skepticism.

"I have managed to sustain myself thus far," Kusuriuri replies coolly, "and I have every intention of securing a stable future for ______ and our possible children. You have my word."

Your dad shakes his head. “Sustaining yourself is completely different than a wife and kids. Women are more complicated than men; they need more than we do, plus when children come.”

Kusuriuri nods at your father's words, understanding the gravitas of the situation. "I am not naive to the responsibilities that come with a wife and children. I understand they will require more than my current lifestyle can provide. I am prepared to make adjustments as necessary for our future family." 

Your mother lifts a hand, tapping her fingers against her lips as she eyes Kusuriuri critically. "What are these 'adjustments' you speak of?" 

Kusuriuri, unflustered by the scrutiny, responds confidently. "Whatever is required of me. The specifics can be determined as we move forward, whether it means expanding my trade, taking on additional work, or finding new ways to secure income." 

"But how?" your father persists. "You're a wanderer, aren't you? You move from town to town, selling your wares. It's no life for a wife or children."

"Perhaps," Kusuriuri concedes, "but there are many ways to provide for a family beyond mere physical sustenance. Emotional support, care, love – these are all things I can provide in abundance."

"And yet they don't put food on the table," your mother points out.

"No, they do not," Kusuriuri agrees. "But my trade is more lucrative than you might think. I have been able to save a considerable sum over the years."

Your parents exchange a look, their expressions still wary and doubtful. "And what about a place to live?" Your mother asks, her voice softening slightly.

"That is something we can discuss," Kusuriuri replies smoothly. "I have no qualms with settling down in one town if it means providing stability for my family."

There is a moment of silence as your parents mull over Kusuriuri's words. You can see the conflict in their eyes – on one hand, they want to protect you and ensure your future is secure. On the other hand, they can see the genuine sincerity in Kusuriuri's words and his determination to make things work.

Finally, your father lets out a sigh. "I suppose we will trust your judgment, _____." He turns to Kusuriuri and nods. "We will give our blessing for this marriage on one condition – that you both have a solid plan for the future."

Kusuriuri bows deeply in gratitude. "Thank you. I assure you, I will not disappoint."

——————————————————-

You’re sitting with Kusuriuri in your bedroom as he goes through different items in his box. “I’m surprised they accepted you.” 

“They still haven't accepted me. I need to prove that I can provide for you and any future children.” He reminds you as he stands up. “Also, there’s the fact that we can’t settle in one place.” 

“We can make it work. Do you really want children?”

“Maybe. Do you?” 

You frown and pull him closer to you. “Don’t throw an important question like that back at me, I asked you first. But if you don’t want children, that’s fine, you've been providing the best for me in every way that truly matters.” You grin, pulling him into a kiss. “Apparently, including sex.” You comment, thinking back to a recent conversation with some friends.

Kusururi smirks. “Well, I am the only person you’ve been intimate with.” You nod in agreement. “True, but I've heard my friends complain about their experiences. It’s awful for them. They just lay there, and it’s over; they get nothing from it. I'm lucky to have found someone who values my satisfaction.” 

Kusuriuri raises an inquisitive brow at your admittance, a playful smirk playing on his exotic lips. "Is that so?" he muses, sliding closer to you on the bedsheets. His golden eyes, a striking contrast against his pale skin, shine with interest. "Then I would hate to disappoint." 

His fingers ghost over your clothed form, tracing patterns akin to the vibrant designs on his own kimono. A tingle of anticipation courses through you as Kusuriuri's touch slowly undoes the ties of your clothing, revealing the skin beneath, before removing the clothing altogether.

Your breath hitches as Kusuriuri leans down, his mouth mere inches away from yours. But instead of claiming your lips for a passionate kiss like you expect him to, he instead presses soft kisses along your jawline and down your neck. 

A gasp escapes your lips at the unexpected intimacy of his actions. You reach out blindly for something to hold onto, finding purchase in the material of Kusuriuri's kimono. Your fingers clench reflexively around the fabric as his lips and tongue continue their tantalizing journey down your body. 

Kusuriuri maintains eye contact, his golden gaze searching yours for signs of discomfort or displeasure. When he finds none, he continues his descent, his long hair brushing against your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

The world around you seems to fade away, leaving only the sensation of Kusuriuri’s mouth on your skin. His touch is as tender as it is skilled, a testament to his desire to please you. You can’t help but let out a sigh of contentment, lost in the pleasure he is providing. 

Eventually, Kusuriuri reaches the apex of your thighs, looking up at you with an air of mischief in his eyes. He doesn’t rush into this next act, instead taking time to appreciate every inch of you with his hands and mouth. His careful attention leaves you aching with desire, your hips rising off the bed in an unspoken plea for more. He chuckles lowly at your response, but he doesn't tease you with denial; he knows when to play and when to satisfy. 

He dips his head down, mouth meeting the warm center of your body. The sensation of his tongue against your sensitive flesh sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making you gasp and arch your back off the bed. Kusuriuri presses a hand to your hipbone to steady you, his other one continuing its journey on your bare skin, keeping you grounded as he explores you further. 

His movements are deliberate and calculated - a testament to his observant nature. He knows how to read you, how to interpret the signs your body gives him. Every twitch of your muscles, every hitch in your breathing... he takes note of them all and adjusts his actions accordingly. 

You can feel the coil of heat in your lower abdomen tightening with every stroke of his tongue, every press of his fingers. It's a slow build, but Kusuriuri is patient. He knows the value of taking his time, of making you feel every sensation in its fullest intensity. His focus never wavers, those vibrant eyes of his intently watching your reactions as he continues to bring you pleasure. 

His name falls from your lips in a breathless plea, the sound echoing around the room. It’s a call to which Kusuriuri responds with a hum of acknowledgment against your sensitive skin, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through you. He increases his pace ever so slightly, enough to make you gasp and dig your fingers into the sheets beneath you. 

The world narrows down to the feeling of Kusuriuri's mouth on you, his tongue methodically working circles that have you writhing beneath him. He slides his free hand down to push two fingers into you as he focuses on your clit with his mouth.

The sudden feeling of his fingers inside you evokes a strangled moan from your lips. Kusuriuri’s eyes flicker up to meet yours, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and lust-glazed eyes with an inscrutable look. He lets out another low chuckle, the sound rumbling against your skin and sending shivers down your spine.

Your senses are overwhelmed by the sensation of his mouth on you, the steady rhythm of his fingers moving inside you. Each movement is expertly calculated to draw out your pleasure, brushing against that one spot inside you that only he knows how to reach. A whimper escapes you as he curls his fingers, hitting that spot just right and making stars burst behind your closed eyes. 

The coil in your belly tightens further, spiraling towards a peak that threatens to consume you completely. You’re panting now, body taut beneath him, hands clutching at the sheets around you as if they were a lifeline. Your voice is a ragged whisper as you plead, “Kusuriuri…” 

His response is immediate, his pace quickening in response to your plea. The sensation of his tongue on your clit and his fingers inside you growing more intense, driving you towards the edge with a relentless rhythm. His name spills from your lips again and again, each utterance growing louder and more desperate as you teeter on the brink. 

He doesn’t let up, pressing harder against you with each stroke of his tongue and every thrust of his fingers. Your body is a live wire under him, thrumming with anticipation. You can feel yourself spiraling closer and closer to the edge, pushed by Kusuriuri’s skilled ministrations. 

And then suddenly, you’re there. You feel the world tilt beneath you as the pleasure coursing through your veins explodes into a fiery inferno that consumes every part of your being. He continues his ministrations, drawing out your climax until you're left gasping for breath, your body convulsing beneath him in waves of pleasure. You cling on to Kusuriuri as if he’s the only real thing in this world, your fingers digging into his shoulders. 

He doesn't stop until he's sure you've ridden out every tremor of your climax, each flick of his tongue and press of his fingers calculated to enhance the aftershocks that ripple through your body. Your gasps turn into sighs, and you relax back onto the bed with a contented exhale. 

When he finally pulls away, his gaze is intense but satisfied as he takes in your flushed face and glazed eyes. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead, a simple gesture that sends warmth spreading through your chest. 

"You're beautiful," he murmurs against your skin, his tone laced with affection. 

“You did it again.” 

“Did what?” 

“Stripped me from my clothes, made me cum, yet you’re still fully dressed.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, a glint of mischief dancing in his golden eyes. "Hmm, it appears I have. My apologies." He murmurs in a tone that suggests he is anything but apologetic. 

He pulls away from you slightly, sitting back on his heels as his hands begin to work on the intricate ties of his kimono. His movements are slow and controlled, clearly intended to tease and keep your attention as he gradually reveals more of his skin. His dark purple kimono joins your discarded clothes on the floor, revealing black leggings that clung to his legs and a red nagajuban that hinted at the toned physique hidden beneath. 

His gaze holds yours, an unspoken challenge in his golden eyes as his light-blue locks fall around his shoulders in a cascade of color that catches the dim light around you. 

With an almost casual grace, Kusuriuri moved his hands to the sash around his waist, undoing the knot and letting it fall to the floor. The rest of his clothes soon followed, leaving him in nothing but his skin. He was beautiful in a way that took your breath away, his pale skin glowing in the dim light.

He chuckled lowly at your awed expression, crawling back onto the bed and looming over you. His body is a tantalizing promise against yours, every touch sending sparks through your veins. He brushes a few strands of hair off your face as he leans down to press a kiss against your lips, effectively stealing your breath away. 

You reach up to weave your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as you revel in the feel of him. His kisses are intoxicating, filling you with a warmth that spreads through your entire body. 

"I believe it's your turn to be pleased," you whisper against his lips. 

He returns your smile with a smirk of his own, the light from the candles dancing in his golden eyes. "And what makes you think I haven’t been pleased simply by making you feel good?" His voice was low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. 

But before you can answer, he presses his lips against yours once more, effectively silencing any retort you might have. His kisses are intoxicating, drawing you in and making the world outside fade away until there is nothing left but the two of you. 

He leans back on his heels, admiring the view before him. You are sprawled out beneath him, completely at his mercy, and he loves it. 

Your eyes flutter open to find his gaze locked onto yours, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he trails his fingers along your bare skin. His touch is feather-light, barely there, but even the slightest contact ignites a spark of desire in your veins. His eyes travel the length of your body, taking in every detail as if it is a work of art. And then slowly, ever so slowly, his fingers move to touch you. 

His hands were everywhere – exploring, touching, teasing – making you writhe beneath him with each caress. His fingers were just as skilled as his mouth had been – perhaps even more so. Each touch is calculated to enhance your pleasure, to draw whimpers and cries from your lips that echo through the room. 

Gently, Kusuriuri spreads your legs and positions himself between them, his golden eyes never leaving yours. You feel a surge of desire as he lines himself up at your entrance, the tip of him nudging against you in a tantalizing promise of what's to come. 

He thrusts into you – slowly, agonizingly so. A choked gasp slips from your lips as your body adjusts to his size. His name falls from your lips like a sweet plea, and he obliges, setting up a slow rhythm that has you writhing beneath him. 

His strokes become quicker and harder, each thrust driving him deeper inside you. As each moment passes, his control wanes, and his thrusts become erratic, filling the room with the sounds of your combined pleasure. His hands grip your hips firmly, anchoring you to him as he drives inside you relentlessly. 

His name rips from your throat over and over again, echoed by the fervent groan that shakes his own chest. His eyes are locked onto yours, a mixture of lust and adoration shimmering within their golden depths. He leans down to press a kiss against your lips, swallowing the moan you let out when he hits that spot inside you. 

"Look at me," he murmurs against your lips, his voice strained with his own pleasure. His eyes flutter open to meet yours once more; determination etched on his features. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you lock gazes with him, a silent affirmation of your connection. 

Driven by your reactions and the desperate plea in his name that rolls off your tongue, Kusuriuri changes the angle of his movements, hitting deeper within you with every thrust. The change sends sparks of pleasure coursing through your veins as you near your release. 

"Kusuriuri," you gasp out breathlessly, the world around you narrowing down to just him - his touch, his scent, the feeling of him moving within you. "I'm close..." 

"Then let go," he whispers the encouragement into your ear, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin there. 

You nod frantically, words lost in the tidal wave building within you. Your vision blurs at the edges as your release crashes into you, a scream tearing itself from your throat as your body convulses in pleasure. 

With a few more thrusts, Kusuriuri joins you; his gaze locked onto yours as he reaches his own climax. His body stiffens above you, a low growl rumbling in his chest as waves of pleasure wrack his body. His golden eyes are brighter than ever, a burning intensity to them that leaves you breathless once more. 

After what feels like an eternity, he gradually eases his hold on you, finally releasing a breath he'd been holding in. He collapses next to you on the bed, his arms wrapping around you instinctively. 

His breathing eventually slows, matching the relaxed rhythm of yours as the two of you bask in the afterglow.

"I do hope that was satisfactory," he murmurs after a few long moments of silence, smirking at you from beneath heavy eyelashes. 

"More than satisfactory," you chuckle in response, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder, your lips curving at the satisfied hum that vibrates from within his chest. 

"Good," he says simply, with a content sigh. His golden eyes close gently, his features relaxing in peaceful satisfaction. For a moment, you savor the silence, letting the calmness envelop you in its warm embrace. 

Kusuriuri's fingers trace absent circles on your skin, lulling you into a peaceful stupor. You lose yourself in the sensation of his touch and briefly wonder if this is what it feels like to be wholly adored by someone. From his languid movements and steady breathing, you can tell he's nearing sleep. 

He looks serene: every sharp line and angle softened by the fading candlelight. 

However, sleep doesn’t claim Kusuriuri so easily; he’s always half-awake, forever alert to any possible threats. It’s one of the things you’ve come to understand about him: despite the calm exterior, there’s always an undercurrent of readiness that seldom fades away. 

Breaking through your thoughts, Kusuriuri adjusts himself slightly on the bed. He pulls you closer until your back is against his chest, wrapping an arm around you securely. His body is warm against yours, providing a comforting presence that helps your weary eyes to drift close.

[look-at-the-soul]

Every little thing you do- Part 1

Tommy Shelby x reader

Series Master list

✨So first part is finally here!! Please be aware this part is set to happen in different days therefore you’ll see a little divider in the middle… and also! There’s violence. Please note I’m trying to follow the ideas/education from back in the day so it won’t necessary fit for today’s way of seeing things.

Word count: 2,977

Waving her sister goodbye, Y/N headed outside. But to her surprise she found Scott stopping his vehicle.

“Hello sweetheart.” He greeted her with a quick kiss on her lips, she stepped back immediately in case her mother was watching behind the curtains.

“Scott, I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

“We’ll I lied and said I felt sick to get out earlier.”

This wasn’t something he’d do, but she listened to his explanation.

“I wanted to see you.”

Y/N looked over her shoulder, her parents were strict.

“You know you’re only invited for lunch and tea on Sundays.”

“I know, I know.” He moved back retrieving something from the car. “Got you these.”

“I love them, thank you.” Y/N pressed the bouquet of flowers against her chest, the fresh aroma invading her, a smile growing in her lips.

“Why don’t you go back inside and put them in water? Then meet me at the bakery around the corner.”

“Where are we going?”

Scott gave her a wide smile that took her breath away. “It’s a surprise, you’ll like it.”

Butterflies got spread all over her stomach, the expectation building. She hurried to the unexpected date.

“Listen, I want to apologize for acting shitty the other day.” Scott announced. “Can you forgive me love?”

Y/N nodded eagerly, pleased by his change of heart.

“It’s alright, just be careful next time.” Y/N suggested as he drove.

“Careful?”

“You shouldn’t have talked Tommy that way.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “There you go again, defending him. This why we fight.”

“No, Scott I don’t want a war between you two all the time, he didn’t like the way you talked to me.”

“Why does he always sticks his bloody nose in our business?”

“It’s not like that.”

“He’s always standing in the middle, I’m sick of getting orders from him, he leaves me the worst jobs just to please himself, he’s got people to do those things. I thought they wanted me to do other things, not to clean horses shit.”

“Scott I can’t interfere in your role among the gang, he already has done more than enough.”

“There it is, you’re defending him instead of being on my side…”

Y/N realized how unintentionally she always put Tommy on a pedestal, her boyfriend was right, feeling like he was belittled. She knew Tommy didn’t like him, and there was a possibility that she wasn’t impartial.

“I’ll see what I can do.” She finally gave in, not wanting to spend their time together fighting.

“That’s my girl.” He stopped the car on the sideway and began to shower her face with soft kisses.

”Do you need anything else?” Lizzie walked around the desk, resting against the bookshelf.

“What happened with the contracts you couldn’t find?” Tommy asked leaning back on his chair.

“Arthur took them by mistake.”

“Keep those locked.” He pointed a finger at her.

“Are you going to Karl’s birthday party?” She tried batting her eyelashes at him, but Tommy wasn’t looking at her.

“Yes, in a minute.”

Lizzie looked down at him again, hoping he’d ask her to join him.

“Heard Ada bought a huge cake.”

Tommy took his briefcase and hummed nonchalantly.

“I wrapped you a present for Karl, take it before you leave.”

She didn’t get a response.

Giving up to her wishes to be invited with the Shelby family, Lizzie shook her head. Collecting the remains of her dignity from the floor.

Tommy followed her with his eyes as she stomped her foot on her way out but dismissed it a few seconds later, not understanding her attitude.

The office was quiet when he crossed it, everyone had headed home already and his family were already in Polly’s house.

This was the first time he left considerably early in a long time. The need to release some stress made him reach for a cigarette. He had a dozen of things to do, a trip to London in the upcoming days, visit one of the fabrics… before he realized, Tommy parked outside Polly’s property.

Karl’s celebration was a rare family gathering. For his brothers birthdays they’d usually went to camp close to the river and drink all night. He wasn’t used to paper decorations and chocolate cake.

A small figure crashed against his legs. “Oh oh.”

Looking down, he found one of John’s kids. Was this Kate? Or Barbara?

“Careful.”

“There you are.” John appeared with a sandwich in his hand. “Go with your siblings.” He instructed his daughter.

“John.” Tommy called him mysteriously, with his hand motioning his brother to step closer. “Wipe your fucking mouth, you’ve got chocolate all over it.”

Stepping into the living room, he joined his family.

“Uncle Tommy!” Karl ran towards him with his arms open.

Tommy rubbed the kid’s back and offered him his present. “Happy birthday Karl.”

“Thank you!”

“Looks like you owe me money Pol.” Ada chuckled as she helped her son open his present.

Tommy looked from his sister to his aunt, studying them.

“Damn it. I thought he wasn’t going to show up.”

“So you made a bet?” He asked in disbelief.

He usually wouldn’t. But when it came to his sister, he made an effort.

“Where’s Y/N?” Polly asked with a frown.

“I sent her the invitation, thought you’d arrive together.” Ada explained staring at her brother.

But Tommy shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen or heard from her.”

“Shit! Pol! Help me out here!” John shouted holding his son James in his arms, he was bleeding and crying. “Smashed his fucking head.”

As Ada rushed to get some clean towels, Polly tried to comfort the child.

Stepping away from the chaos, Tommy leaned against a column to think he actually hadn’t seen Y/N in almost a week. A million thoughts filling his mind, trying to find a reason for her to be distant.

He needed to know if she was alright because she had always been close to the family, she was always considered part of it to all their gatherings; she was there for them at Freddy’s funeral, at John’s wedding…

“Now that we’re here all together, I’ve something to say.” Arthur announced stepping on a chair, oblivious that Esme and Polly were taking care of a bleeding child.

As the room went quiet, Arthur announced he and Linda were expecting a baby.

“Congratulations.” Esme managed to blurr through gritted teeth. “Now help me hold James, because I need to rearrange his arm.”

As Arthur walked past Tommy, his brother patted his arm and mumbled a low congratulations.

But the thought of Y/N not being with them, stuck in his head.

Y/N felt like sleeping on the couch. Her feet were swollen, Lady Winchester lost one of her precious earrings and decided to put everyone in the search until they found it under her vanity hours later.

Oddly her family decided to stay up late apparently as she could see the candles still on. But just as she set one foot inside, her mother pushed her abruptly.

“You’re a dishonorable daughter! We gave you everything!” One of her hands intended to land on her cheek but hit her on her ear instead.

“What happened?”

“Y-your aunt says you’re with a child, she saw you this morning and came to ask me.” Y/N’s mother was furious.

A woman came into view, her sister poking her head from the kitchen as her mother pushed her into the room next to it and closed the door. She demanded Y/N to undress and started touching her breasts.

“She’s with a child.” The elder woman confirmed, her hands still on her breasts.

Y/N’s face got paler by the second. Her mother gave the woman money and asked discretion.

A heavy silence filled the room, Y/N could hear a pin drop if someone threw one. Dizziness swept over her as her palms started to sweat.

“Your father will be so disappointed by you.” Her mother sentenced firmly. “You’re a whore, this sin will follow you from now on.”

Blood went to Y/N’s feet and she had to grab the vanity for support.

“You’ll tell Scott tomorrow and get him to ask your father’s permission to marry you before you start showing.” Y/N could hear her mother’s words as if she was underwater.

“I’ll save him the embarrassment, perhaps you can go to your grandmother’s house and hide there…” she was pacing the room as a maniac, Y/N was starting to process everything, she could hardly breathe.

“I didn’t know I could get pregnant without being married.”

Y/N’s mother laughed sarcastically. “It’s too late for that now, you should’ve waited until you got married!”

“You never told me this could happen.” Y/N felt on the edge of tears.

“I educated you with values, God only knows what you learned from that friend of yours.” Her mother mumbled something else Y/N couldn’t understand. Slowly she sat on the carpet, her skirt pooled around her hips and she finally sobbed. When one day Scott touched her breasts and it felt nice, electricity ran through her body. But he stopped right there. Then after taking her to the river, one of his hands sneaked under her skirt and moved her intimate clothes to the side and her body trembled. A week after that, he was about to start a fight with Tommy, for the night when they arrived after visiting Tommy’s new house. So in an attempt to make up for that fight, he took her to the river again and after kissing her, he told her he wanted to do something else. It had been over a month since she stepped in the middle of Tommy and Scott.

Y/N didn’t know she could feel such pleasure until he introduced himself into her body and she exploded of ecstasy. It felt right, he said he loved her and they went back a few days later.

Scott had said this should be between just the two of them, just as their love. But he never told her she could get pregnant.

Worry kept her up all night. She felt sorry for her poor father.

Covering her face with her hands, Y/N felt the tears rolling down her cheeks uncontrollably.

“Scott,” Y/N breathed with relief, all the worry from the past days when she hadn’t been able to reach out soon, forgotten. “I need to talk to you.”

“Y/N… I’ve to rest, haven’t had a decent sleep yet. Can we talk about this another day?” He had been out of the city, busy with God knows what, but this was important for her, for them, for their future.

Y/N studied their surroundings carefully, trying to keep her voice from shaking she placed her hands on his shoulders.

“We’re going to have a child, Scott I’m carrying your baby.” She whispered.

Scott blinked unamused by the news, his nostrils expanding profusely. Y/N wanted to reach out, to throw herself in his arms but as they were outside his house, she had to control herself. Keep her distance with him and behave accordingly.

But when he took a step back, she felt confused.

“I-I’m… this must be a mistake.”

“No, no. There’s a baby growing inside me.” She repeated, keeping her voice down. “We’ll need to figure out about the wedding, it’ll have to be something intimate and soon before it starts showing…”

“I’m not going to marry you.” Scott scoffed. “How can I be sure this child is mine? You could’ve slept with someone else just as you did with me.” He mocked her.

Before she could stop herself, Y/N found her hand flying to his cheek. Her palm tingled after the slap she gave him.

“How could you say something like that?”

“Don’t you ever dare to fucking touch me again!” He snapped. “And as for this little inconvenient… I’m not taking responsibility, you’re on your own.”

He gave her a disgusted look and walked inside his house. Leaving Y/N turned into a crying mess, she was hurt and disappointed by his reaction and terrified of the outcome.

Her mother sent her to talk to Scott to arrange the terms of the wedding and now she just realized he didn’t have her back. But what was worse, he thought she would sleep around like a whore.

Folding her arms, she walked with her head down. Guilt and embarrassment written all over her face. How would she deal with this? How would she tell her mother what Scott just said? She had been so sure she’d be able to hide it from her father by marrying Scott but now she was left in the worst possible way.

She cried uncontrollably feeling defeated, it was now too late to do something, but at the same time she didn’t know how she’d take care and raise a baby by herself.

“Where’s Scott?” Her mother hissed when her daughter appeared in her eyesight.

Y/N couldn’t speak, something heavy made her walk slowly. Her whole world was crashing down and now she’d have to face the consequences.

“He told me he wouldn’t take responsibility for a child who might not be his.” As the words left her mouth, she started crying again.

“Of course he would say that! What did you think Y/N?!” Her mother exploded. “He must think the worst of you now, how easily you have yourself away to him!”

“He told me he loved me!” Managed to shout through her tears and sobs.

Her mother’s hand flew rapidly and hit her hard.

A heavy silence surrounded them. Her cheek was burning from her mother’s slap.

“Leave Y/N!” Her grandmother intervened.

“She deserved that.” Her mother explained, she was beyond angry.

Y/N’s grandmother wrapped an arm around her granddaughter protectively.

“What happened?”

“Tell her, go on… tell your grandmother what you did.”

Y/N kept her head down, she felt like she couldn’t look her grandmother in the eyes. She had failed them terribly, the values and principles they had showed her were thrown through the window.

“No? Well, I’ll tell her myself.” Her mother warned. “Y/N didn’t wait until marriage, she gave herself away like a whore and is now with a child. Couldn’t keep her legs closed.”

“Well we’ll think of something, she won’t start showing right away.”

“There’s nothing to think mother, Scott is out of the picture he didn't accept the responsibility.”

“But he’s as responsible as Y/N.” Her grandmother pointed out thinking this wasn’t fair on Y/N.

“Your granddaughter’s honor is right on the floor, he even suggested the baby isn’t his.”

Y/N saw her mother pacing around the small room, it was making her feel sick.

“And your father arrives tomorrow… should we send her with your sister to Durham?” She pondered the possibilities thinking of her mother’s sibling.

“Absolutely not.” Her grandmother defended.

“Then what? What are we going to do?”

Y/N felt sick and rushed away from them. Her head was pounding, her stomach in a tight knot and her heart shattered into million pieces.

“Ma’am you can’t go in there.” Tommy heard from outside his office, then saw the door swing open.

“Mr. Shelby you’re the only one who can help me.”

Tommy rose to his feet in a second, the worry he found in Y/N’s grandmother raised all the alarms.

“What happened?”

“My son in law is hitting Y/N badly.” Her voice cracked, her hands reached for the sleeve of his suit. “You’ve to help her.”

Tommy took his coat from the rack and rushed to see what was happening.

“John, get Polly and meet me in Y/N’s house.” He demanded.

“I’ll go with them Mr. Shelby.” Y/N’s grandmother expressed, not wanting to make him wait.

Tommy doubted for a second, but with her hand, the elder woman ushered him, so it must be serious. Stepping in Y/N’s house without knocking because he heard her cries and pained screams from outside, but Tommy wasn’t prepared to find what he’d see.

Y/N was in the middle of the living room half her clothes shattered, kneeling on the floor and her upper body leaned over a chair, her back covered by the belt marks and blood.

He felt a rush of anger and disgust through his body. Tommy could practically taste his bile in his mouth, but as Y/N’s father was about to hit her again, he stepped in his way, holding the man’s hand firmly in the air.

“You touch her again, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Stay out of this Shelby, I’m dealing with this whore.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself or you’ll regret it.” Tommy muttered through gritted teeth.

John joined him with a couple of some of their men, they went straight to hold Y/N’s father away from her.

Y/N winced in pain when Tommy tried to help her up.

“This is a family matter!” Y/N’s mother shouted disturbed for the interruption. “You should respect that.”

“Yeah? Just like you’re respecting your daughter?” Tommy snapped, he lost all self control over this injustice.

“She has to deal with the consequences of her acts! Behaved like a whore, gets punished like one.”

Y/N felt her mother’s words like daggers to her heart. She wasn’t sure what felt more hurtful; her father’s hitting her with his belt or her mother’s words.

Tommy felt like throwing up, he apologized when he got Y/N in his arms and she complained from the pain.

“You can’t take her away!” Her mother warned, trying to stop Tommy.

He gave her a warning stare and mumbled; “watch me.”

Part 2

Divider

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[starkidmunson]

glitter & crimson

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Realistically, Steve knows the band won’t hang around Chicago forever. He knows they’re out promoting a new album; knows they’ll have to move on and that Eddie has to go with them. It doesn’t stop him from wanting Eddie to stay; to live in the quick familiarity he’s built within Steve’s little found family.

Eddie and Robin seem to have already created their own secret language, all gestures and movement and eye contact Steve picks up on but can’t quite read. He’s already picking on the Party like he’s known them their whole lives; ruffling Dustin’s hair, elbowing Mike, throwing his arm around Will’s shoulders, and giving Lucas little shoves. 

It’s easy; so easy to get caught up in how charismatic Eddie is. Steve has a hard time keeping his eyes off him, and Eddie knows. He keeps making comments, throwing winks in Steve’s direction, seeing right through every wall he’s ever built around himself and Steve is caught between being obsessed with it and terrified. 

He stops drinking after the one beer, worried he’ll make things weird if he gets anywhere near tipsy, opting to stay as far away from the possibility as he can. If anyone notices, they don’t comment.

Lucas is chatting animatedly with Jeff, Max sitting close by, twisting braids into El’s hair. Dustin, Mike and Will appear to be grilling Gareth and Freak about dungeon and dragon campaigns Eddie used to run. Nancy has her arm looped through Robin’s, but her attention is on the phone in her hands, as Eddie and Robin talk about what touring is like.

“Where else are you going on this tour?” She asks as Steve tunes back into the conversation.

“This isn’t really a tour, we just haven’t been on the road in a while and we just stopped the album, so we lined up a few shows to get our feet wet before we hit the road for real this summer. One more show out in LA on Tuesday, then we’re done until May, for now.” Eddie explains.

“We’re in LA on Thursday!” Robin exclaims, and Steve’s stomach drops because, yeah. LA on Thursday. He trains his eyes on the glass in front of him, not willing to actually look at anyone they’re around. 

“We could totally meet up again if you guys are able to swing it?” Freak offers, and Steve forces a little smile onto his face and nods.

“We can figure it out later,” Eddie says after a few beats, and Steve is grateful for how the conversation rolls onto the next topic. When he finally looks back up, though, Eddie’s still looking his way. Steve hits him with what he hopes comes off as a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t seem to pay off the way he hopes.

Once the tab is closed and the staff is tipped well, Steve catches Eddie’s elbow on their way out the door. “I would like to meet up in LA, if you’re interested. I didn’t mean to get weird about it, it’s… I’ve been in my head a bit about that game since it was announced.”

“Oh, hey, no worries. We’re in LA the whole week, then we’re heading home. So no pressure, honest.” Eddie hooks his hand over Steve’s softly.

“Well, we should get in Wednesday, but we could totally do something after the game or even Friday?” 

Eddie smiles and nods, patting over Steve’s hand. “Text me about it.”

“I can do that. How much longer are you guys in town for, anyway?” Steve asks.

“Ah, the dreaded question comes,” Eddie’s playful, and it makes Steve’s face heat up. “We’ve got just under another 24 hours in the Windy City before hitting the road again.”

“Oh,” It pulls his chest in a way he wasn’t expecting, in a way that shouldn’t be happening for a rockstar he was adjacently aware of in high school. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Harrington,” Eddie’s teasing again, and it does nothing to help the blush on Steve’s face. “You can’t possibly miss me this much when I haven’t even left yet.”

“Shut up,” Steve shoves him away then, crossing his arms over his chest with a pout, only for Eddie to pull him in with an arm around the shoulder.

“We can grab brunch or something? We leave around 8 to avoid rush hour, so I’ll have to be in the bus by 6, or I’d say dinner.”

“Brunch works for me.” 

~~~~

The trip back to the hotel doesn’t go as Eddie expects; everyone is silently chatting amongst themselves, nodding and tapping along to the music and not causing a scene. He almost points it out, but elects not to bring unwarranted bullying upon himself instead. The guys had been giving him shit about Steve near constantly, so this was a nice change of pace after the last few days.

There was actually quiet as he made his way back to his room. A hot shower finally restored warmth to his bones the hockey arena had stolen, and he was drying his hair when he heard his phone vibrate with a text notification.

Steve: anything you're craving for brunch tomorrow so I can pick a place?

It’s practically too easy to flirt with Steve; he sets up lines without even seeming to realize. But Eddie still can’t get a real gauge on how Steve feels about the flirting, so he sidesteps the easy pass he could have made about Steve being enough of a meal, in favor of actually answering.

Eddie: French toast?

The next series of texts come before Eddie even moves his hands back to the towel over his hair.

Steve: sick, I’ll pick you up around 10:45

Steve: you mentioned going home, did you mean like, back to Hawkins?

Eddie twists his hair up in the towel, and lays down on the side of the bed he doesn’t sleep on before firing off an answer.

Eddie: nah, I’ve got a place in Nashville and no reason to go back to Hawkins anymore. My uncle moved to Indy, so that’s usually as close as I get.

Steve: any reason you moved to Nashville?

Eddie: are we playing 20 questions?

Steve: sorry.

Eddie bites his lip, and only hesitates for a moment before flipping over onto his belly and hitting the FaceTime button. Steve answers on the second ring, looking embarrassed, but Eddie doesn’t let him get a word in.

“My mom was born and raised in Memphis, but she always told me her favorite city was Nashville. I was there with her a few times when I was little and she’d just, like, light up. And music is so heavily engraved into every inch of the city, it’s hard to not find inspiration everywhere you turn. So. I bought a place in Nashville the minute I had enough saved up, and it’s kind of my home base now.” Eddie explains, watching as Steve’s face softens and he relaxes into his chair listening to Eddie’s answer. “Do I get to ask a question now?”

“I really wasn’t trying to be annoying, “ Steve looks ready to keep going with an apology, but Eddie cuts him off.

“Why do you play hockey?” It stops Steve dead in his tracks, and he genuinely looks confused for a moment. Eddie almost offers to drop the topic, but Steve fumbles his way into an answer.

“My, uh. My dad wanted me to play before I was even born. Because he played. Professionally for a few years when I was growing up, then he went on to coach.” Steve explains, and it sounds a little rehearsed. Eddie’s sure it’s something that comes up often if his father played and coached. “Gotta keep the Harrington legacy alive, I guess.”

There was a bite to Steve’s words that wasn’t lost on Eddie. “You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”

Eddie can see Steve working over how he wants to answer before he shrugs and sighs. “Because it’s all a show for him. The part we don’t talk about is how I got hurt and benched most of my senior season and he cut me off when I didn’t get full rides. Convinced me it was better to not go to college at all, despite the other scholarship offers, than to not get promised a spot on the ice. Convinced me to self-sabotage so I had to fight tooth and fucking nail to get into the league at all.” Steve pauses, then, and lets out a quiet laugh. “Sorry, that’s so unbelievably whiny of me. I love getting to play professionally, and I don’t take the opportunity for granted.”

“Not whiny. Dads can be the fucking worst.” Eddie offers, gently, and is grateful when Steve doesn't press on that particular bruise.

Instead, he takes his turn to ask a different question. “Why music?”

“This is lame, but the answer is once again my mom.” Eddie rolls his eyes at himself, but he smiles. “She was a musician. There were always instruments around and music was always playing and we traveled for her to perform. I knew my whole life I wanted to be a musician like her, but it wasn’t until after she died that I figured out that songwriting… telling stories and painting pictures with words and melodies and making people feel something…” Eddie trails off, lost in the thought.

“I’m sorry you lost her. It sounds like you enjoyed your childhood with her.” Steve offers, hopes it doesn’t sound like a forced nicety, but Eddie smiles and his nerves ease.

“She was a force to be reckoned with. Firing on all cylinders at once, chaos and home bundled into one.” Eddie’s soft a quiet for a moment, and Steve appreciates the silence by taking in how relaxed the other is to be talking about his feelings; it’s a refreshing break from many of his experiences with teammates or opponents who don’t know how to get emotional in a healthy way. Eventually, though, Eddie clears his throat. “Anyway. Back to 20 questions,”

“I wasn’t trying to start a game, really, I just… like talking to you,” Steve admits around a blush, tucking his chin into the collar of his shirt in an effort to hide the shade of his cheeks, but Eddie’s smile says his cover is blown.

“ANYWAY!” He announces louder, then taps at his chin. “Favorite and least favorite teams to play and why, go.”

“I’m not a dog.” Steve laughs but thinks about his answer anyway. “Favorite is probably the Flyers in Philly. Their fans are absolutely brutal, and their mascot is hilariously terrifying.”

“I have seen many a Gritty TikTok, so I completely understand,” Eddie gives him a few beats before he prompts. “Least favorite?”

“The Kings. LA. Billy Hargrove.”

“The…, what the fuck? How many guys from Hawkins are professional hockey players?” Eddie asks, because honestly, how had he not known there was more than Steve?

“He’s technically from LA, which is why he went back, thank God.” Steve mumbles, before dropping his head back against the wall behind him. “But, for whatever it’s worth, there’s me, Billy, and Tommy Hagan in the league.”

“Well isn’t that a fun bunch to surround yourself with,” Eddie muses out loud. Tommy and Billy were two of the biggest assholes Eddie had ever met, and it sounded like Steve wasn’t too fond of the other pair either.

“I actually…” Steve trails off, before trying again. “I was going to invite you guys to come to the LA game, but I’m really not sure it would be a good idea, so I’m… I’m actually going to ask you guys not to come, if that’s not too much of a dick move? I can get you tickets to literally any game you want for the rest of the season, just. I don’t think it’s worth it to get Billy started, and if he’s heard any of the press about us, I’m already going to hear it even if you’re not there.”

“Homophobe extraordinaire still, then?” Eddie guesses, and Steve chokes out a laugh, before covering his mouth and holding up a finger to ask for a moment to compose himself.

“He's… a lot of things.” Is the response Steve opts for, but Eddie can tell there’s more there. Whatever the two of them are doing, it doesn’t feel like Steve is ready to elaborate, so Eddie moves on. 

“I think it’s your turn.”

~~~~

Nothing changes after Corroded Coffin leave Chicago, though. Not in the ways Eddie had expected, at least.

Steve still texts him throughout the day, answers his Facetimes whenever he’s available. Eddie makes him the playlist he promised, and Steve gives feedback on which songs he likes and which ones he really doesn’t, after Eddie promises to not take Steve’s opinions personally. Which, to be fair, he tries really hard not to.

The concert in LA comes and goes, and Steve seems to send him every TikTok he comes across from the show. It’s a refreshing break, as every few videos in Eddie’s feed are of him cheering for Steve at the game, or Steve watching from sidestage in Chicago. 

A text from Robin eventually confirms their arrival in LA, and Steve and Eddie make plans to meet up after the game. Since Steve had expressed concern about Eddie going, he decides to just watch from the bar they agree to meet at. Televised games make it easier to track the puck, but Eddie decides he likes being there in person better.

Eddie’s sipping absently on his beer and in the time it takes him to look down at a text from Chrissy, several of the people around him react to something. Eddie looks around to make sure someone in the bar hadn’t passed out. When he looks back at the screen, absolute mayhem has broken out on the ice. The refs are trying to separate players from one another, and Eddie’s scanning through the numbers on each Blackhawks jerseys before he finally spots Steve, slightly off to the side from everyone else. The camera pans away from him, zeroing in on the fight, now between a Blackhawks defenseman and none other than Billy Hargrove. 

Billy’s helmet and gloves are off, teeth shining with blood as he grins like a psycho and starts to skate in Steve’s direction. One of the refs pulls him back, though, escorting him into the penalty box while another Kings player gathers his helmet, stick and gloves and clears them to the bench. 

The camera finally pans back to Steve, who is now sitting with his back against the boards. He’s got a gloved covering the lower half of his face, but his white jersey is covered in blood. A ref and the Blackhawks goalie are kneeling on either side of him as someone else speaks with him. The camera zooms in as the TV crews work to make out what is happening, just in time for Steve to lower his hand and shows off a gnarly gash along the side of his face. He leans forward a little and spits out blood onto the ice, and the TV jumps to the announcers in the booth. 

The volume is off, but they show a slow-motion replay of the few moments Eddie’d missed; Steve passes the puck off to another player on his team, just before Billy slams into his side. The impact sends both of them into the boards and down onto the ice. Billy swings his stick around and cracks Steve in the face with the blade heel. Steve reacts, throwing his whole arm into Billy’s face, before a sea of white Blackhawks jerseys sweep in and suddenly Billy’s a few feet away, with players from both teams piled up.

Eddie’s hand hovers over his phone; has no idea what to do in this situation. Texting Steve is useless; it would likely be hours, if not days, before he even thinks about looking at his phone. He doesn’t want to bother anyone, but he’s… well, he’s stressed. Even if Steve isn’t interested in him the way Eddie’s interested in Steve, they’ve still built a weird little friendship and that was an awful lot of blood.

So, Eddie ends up firing off a text to Robin. It’s just a simple 'let me know if there’s anything I can do,' but his phone lights up with a call immediately.

“How bad is it?”

“I’m not back with him yet, but just… meet us at the hospital, if you can?” She asks. While her voice waivers a bit, she’s calmer than Eddie expected her to be.

“I’ll be right there.” He agrees, hangs up and exits the bar before the game even returns from commercial break.

[syrupfog]

Zoro wakes up to the scratchy feeling of a note beneath his haramaki. 

“Cook’s name is Sanji. 

You fight every day. He hates you. He knows your favorite foods. You loved him. 

Hanahaki got bad again. You took the pill. 

No. of times this has happened: [a number of scribbles] 11”

The note looks like it’s been through the ringer, crumpled and bloodied. Zoro reads it, folds it up, and sticks it back in his haramaki. He assumes he’ll need it again.

The cook— Sanji— is hard to get along with. He yells at Zoro, fights with Zoro, complains about Zoro. He’s terrible. 

Living alongside him is like breathing. 

It feels so natural, slotting into place next to him. Zoro knows instantly why the disease keeps coming back. It’s hell.

Robin knows. Nami knows. Chopper doesn’t seem to, and if Usopp did then Sanji would. And Sanji doesn’t seem to know. 

Thank god Sanji doesn’t seem to know. 

It’s only a few weeks before Zoro’s coughing up petals again. Small and blue and fragile.

They’re on an island and it’s autumn and the town’s harvest festival is happening. There’s a cult or possibly just a really zealous group of farmers. Zoro doesn’t know; he got lost and ended up at an old woman’s cottage on the outskirts of town.

His theory circles back around to *cult* when he ends up prone on her floor after some apparently drugged mulled wine. She stands over him and rants about something or other— he doesn’t care what she has to say, he’s preoccupied with the way the drugs coursing through his system are making it hard to cough, and the flowers in his throat are sticking to his insides. 

It’s gross. He doesn’t cough them up so much as pukes them out. 

The old woman also thinks it’s gross. She kicks him, but she’s old. He doesn’t really feel it.

Anyway, it’s a whole thing. The problem is that the woman wants to drag him somewhere to be a sacrifice to the great pumpkin or something, but Zoro’s too heavy and she can’t move him. But when she opens the door to find a neighbour to help— 

Sanji’s there.

(Or, as Zoro has taken to calling him recently, Curly). 

(Nami told him after he started that he often ends up at that name). 

Sanji lays on the simpering to the old woman for all of about two minutes, asking if she’s seen some lost moss and then going on about her hair care. But eventually he does notice Zoro there on the floor behind her. 

Slipping around the woman, who seems to be somewhat at a loss, Sanji starts ranting to Zoro about how he shouldn’t drink so much if he’s going to puke it all up, and how he stinks now— and to be fair, Zoro’s shirt is covered in puke and wilted flower petals. But then Sanji starts pulling his shirt off of him while Zoro’s still struggling to get up, and as he does so, the note— The note slips out of his haramaki. 

And Zoro can’t grab it.

(He still can’t REALLY move, although he suspects that puking the flower petals did get some of the poison out). 

But he cant stop Sanji. His weak “fuck off, give that back” falls on deaf ears as Sanji unfolds it. Frowns at the state of it. Reads it. 

Fuck.

Then, fast as anything, Sanji stands up and punts Zoro hard enough that he flies across the room, hitting the far wall and sliding down to the floor with a grown. 

Awesome. Great. Good to know how Sanji feels.

He hears the click click of his dress shoes as Sanji hurries out. And then he’s alone with the old lady, who seems truly at a loss for what to do, but that’s okay. Zoro’s too busy coughing up whole branches to notice.

Zoro is retrieved by Robin and Usopp not too long after that. By the time they’re back at the ship he’s regained a fair amount of his mobility. Whatever was going on in town, Luffy took care of it. Or Usopp did, depending on who Zoro asked. 

It doesn’t matter.

Zoro coughs up petals and licks his wounds and starts searching for those pills. And probably it’s too early this time, but he just— 

He wants to forget this. 

He can’t find the pills, though, and he remembers too late that Sanji kept the note. He needs that.

But he’s a coward. He waits until everyone should be asleep before sneaking into the galley to see if he can find the note in the trash or something. 

He miscalculates, though, and runs straight into Sanji, smoking in the dark.

“Eleven times?” Sanji asks him, staring resolutely at the wall next to Zoro. 

“Apparently,” says Zoro. 

Sanji laughs. Humourlessly. “Can’t wait to make it a twelfth, can you?” 

“Listen,”growls Zoro. “It’s not my fault you read the fucking note. Just pretend you never found it.”

Sanji grits his teeth around his cigarette. “Is it that fucking horrible?” He asks. “The idea of having feelings for me is so fucking repulsive you’d rather rip me out of your life entirely?” 

Zoro goes to say something, but there are petals squirming their way up his throat.

He coughs, hacks, spits them into his palm. Delicate blue petals splattered with blood. “You asshole,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What, would you prefer I wallow in rejection and suffocate on a fucking plant? I don’t plan on dying here.”

Sanji goes still and quiet. 

“You hid the pills, right?” Zoro continues. “Give them back. I’m done here.” 

“No,” says Sanji. Quietly. “I— Moss, you can’t believe that.” 

“Who else would it have been?” 

“No, I mean— yeah okay, I threw your pills overboard. But that’s not—“ He swallows. “Zoro. You can’t possibly think I would reject you..?” 

Zoro scrunches up his face in confusion. “Uh, yeah,” he says. “You flirted with that old woman who drugged me. You’ll flirt with our literal enemy before even looking at me.” He blinks. “And then you threw me into a wall!” 

“I was caught off guard!” Sanji shrieks, jumping up. “Anyone would have done that after reading that note!” 

“THAT’S AN INSANE THING TO THINK!” 

“WELL MAYBE I’M A LITTLE INSANE RIGHT NOW.“ 

They’re suddenly at each others’ throats. Zoro grabs Sanji’s collar as Sanji grips his shoulders. He’s grimacing, face inches from Zoro’s, cigarette smashed on the floor. 

“You don’t get to DECIDE WHAT I THINK and then HURT YOURSELF OVER AND OVER AGAIN,” Sanji yells. 

“I’m FINE, COOK,” Zoro yells back. “I was HANDLING IT.”

And then Sanji smashes their faces together. 

It’s a terrible kiss. Someone’s nose is bleeding and Zoro thinks it’s his. He thinks Sanji’s broken it. 

Pulling back, Sanji says, “You didn’t have to handle it.” He pushes his forehead against Zoro’s. “That’s the fucking problem.”

Zoro purses his lips because his eyes are damp. “Shut up,” he says. “How was I supposed to know?” 

Sanji’s hands are still on his collar and he pulls Zoro impossibly closer. “Just. Don’t forget me again.” 

Zoro closes his eyes. “Fine,” he says. “Eleven was enough.”