#softens harsh sunlight

[asksailorponies]

New York Large Sun Room Sunroom - large transitional medium tone wood floor sunroom idea with no fireplace and a standard ceiling

[littlelamy]

I'm not your enemy

credits: thank you to @mad3ylncline

The sandy building groaned under the weight of time, its cracked walls and sunken roof barely holding together. Dust and grit hung in the air, and the dim sunlight streaming through broken slats created an eerie haze around the tense group.

Rafe stood at the center of it all, the map clutched tightly in his trembling hands. His chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. He glanced between John B, Sarah, JJ, and Kie like a trapped animal, his paranoia simmering just beneath the surface.

“Rafe, baby,” you said gently, taking a small step toward him. Your voice was steady, but your heart was hammering in your chest. “Just give John B the map.”

Rafe’s head snapped toward you, his jaw tightening. His eyes were glassy, tears threatening to spill over. “No!” he barked, shaking his head violently. “You’re just going to screw me like everyone else in my life!”

His voice cracked, and the rawness of his words echoed off the fragile walls. His fingers curled tighter around the fragile parchment as though letting go of it would unravel him completely.

“I know you will,” he muttered, his voice breaking as he looked at you. His hands trembled, and his gaze darted between you and Sarah. “You all will.”

You took a tentative step closer, hands raised to calm him. “Rafe, no one’s trying to screw you over,” you said softly. “We just need the map so we can find the crown. That’s it.”

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh, the sound cutting through the tension like a knife. “Oh, yeah? And then what?” His gaze fixed on Sarah, a storm brewing in his eyes. “You’ll just take it for yourselves, won’t you, Sarah? My own sister would rather side with them than with me!”

“Rafe, that’s not true,” Sarah said, her voice trembling. She took a cautious step forward, but JJ grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

“Don’t,” JJ muttered under his breath, his eyes never leaving Rafe. “He’s a ticking time bomb right now.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Rafe snarled, his voice rising as he took a step back. The fragile map crinkled under his grip, and the group collectively tensed.

You watched him closely, your chest tightening at the desperation in his eyes. This wasn’t just anger—it was fear. He felt cornered, betrayed, and utterly alone.

“Rafe,” you said again, your voice calm and unwavering. “Look at me.”

His gaze flicked to yours, and for a moment, his hardened expression softened.

“No one here is your enemy,” you continued, taking another step closer. “I’m not your enemy.”

His jaw clenched, and he shook his head. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “They’ll screw me over, just like they did Dad, just like everyone else.”

“They won’t,” you insisted, your voice firm. “And even if they try, I won’t. I’m here, Rafe. I’m always here.”

He stared at you, his chest heaving. The cracks in his armor were widening, the vulnerability he worked so hard to hide bleeding through.

“Rafe,” Sarah said softly, her tone cautious but sincere. “This is what Dad would’ve wanted. He would’ve wanted us to work together.”

Rafe let out a harsh, bitter laugh, tears welling up in his eyes. “Yeah? Like you worked with him? You let him die!”

Sarah’s face paled, her breath hitching as the accusation hit her squarely in the chest. “He died taking a bullet for me, Rafe,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute. “He died protecting me.”

Rafe’s lip quivered, and tears began streaming down his face. His hands shook as he clung to the map, but the anger drained from his expression, replaced with pure sorrow.

Sarah’s heart broke as she stepped toward him. “I’m so sorry, Rafe,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. Rafe stood stiffly for a moment before his shoulders sagged, and he let himself lean into the hug. His tears soaked into her shirt as his walls crumbled, his sobs muffled against her shoulder.

When Sarah finally let go, her own tears glistening on her cheeks, Rafe turned to you. His face was still streaked with tears, his vulnerability laid bare in a way you’d never seen before. Without hesitation, you reached for him, your hands gently cupping his face.

“Rafe,” you murmured, brushing a tear from his cheek. His blue eyes locked onto yours, searching for something—comfort, reassurance, hope. You leaned in, your lips meeting his in a sweet, tender kiss. His hands instinctively found your waist, grounding himself in the moment.

When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his. “You’re not alone,” you whispered. “You’ll never be alone as long as I’m here.”

For a moment, it was as if the rest of the world melted away. Rafe exhaled shakily, his grip on the map loosening as he let the weight of his pain lift, even if just a little.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You smiled softly, taking the map from his trembling hands. As the group exchanged nervous glances, you kept your focus on Rafe, your fingers brushing his one last time.

“We’ll figure this out,” you said quietly, holding his gaze as the group began to move out of the crumbling building.

He didn’t respond, but the flicker of hope in his eyes was enough.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01

[moonstruckme]

I really hope you mean here 🤭

Request: "Remus is being rude to the reader due to the upcoming full moon.. make it as angsty as you can"

Thanks for requesting babe <3

cw: migraine, Rem is mean :(

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

When you come home from work, the apartment is dark and there’s evidence of Remus’ shit day everywhere. 

The curtains are drawn closed against the sunlight, and there’s a discarded blanket on the couch and several snack containers half-emptied on the coffee table. One of them has tipped onto the floor, a mess of crisps your boyfriend was likely feeling too unwell to tidy. He’s spilled tea on the table, too. These kinds of things are more common in the days before the full moon, but you think he must really be having a rough one. Even a few unwashed dishes in the sink is usually enough to stress Remus out, so he has to have been in a state to leave things like this. 

You brew a fresh cup of tea, grabbing some chocolates from the cabinet in case he didn’t bring any with him, and broach the bedroom. A shape moves under the sheets when the door creaks open. 

“Hi,” you say softly. You kneel by the bed, lightly touching the ends of Remus’ hair. “How are you, love?” 

“Bad,” he mutters from beneath the covers. You wince. He must be, if he won’t even lower the sheets beneath his eyes. 

You do your best to keep the pity from your voice, knowing he’d hate it. “I brought you some tea,” you murmur, “if you want it.”

“Can’t right now.” 

“It’s chamomile,” you coax. “It might help—”

“I can’t.” The low rumble of his voice takes on a hard edge, and you fall instantly silent. You nod even though he can’t see it, setting the tea and chocolate on his nightstand as quietly as you can. 

You don’t tell him you’re going, sure every footstep is agonizingly loud for him. You force down the lump in your throat. Remus is miserable right now; he’s not thinking about how his tone affects you, and that’s not his fault. He doesn’t mean anything by it. You can deal with it, help anyways.

You sweep instead of vacuuming, gathering the little bits of crisps into a dustpan and dumping them in the trash. The half-eaten snacks get reshelved in your cabinets, the puddle of tea cleaned off the coffee table, and candles lit to banish the stale smell in the living room. The cinnamon ones are usually Remus’ favorite, but you trade them out for lavender on the off chance it helps with his headache. You’re washing dishes one at a time so they don’t clatter when the bedroom door creaks open. 

“Hey,” you say, relieved. “Feeling better?” 

“No.” Remus’ voice is low, and the scratch of it tears at your heartstrings. He trudges to the end of the hall, where he stops, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “I need you to be quiet.” 

“Oh, sorry.” You soften your voice, freezing with your hands submerged in the warm dishwater. “I’ve been trying, I didn’t realize you could hear. I’m almost done with this, so—” 

“Could you stop?” he asks, tone going harsh again. “Just, be quiet or find somewhere else to be, please. I can’t deal with this.” 

You swallow against the intrusion in your throat. Will away the heat from your face. “Okay,” you say, the word barely a whisper. 

Remus turns, plodding back to the bedroom. You hear the door shut.

You leave the dishwater to get cold rather than pouring it out and making more noise. You sit down on the couch with a book, eyes skimming over the words as you convince yourself over and over that it’d be stupid to cry about this. Your face heats, then cools. Tears blur your vision and you blink them away. This is ridiculous. Remus is just moody, he didn’t mean it. You know better than to take anything he says to heart right now. You can’t expect your efforts to be properly appreciated, but the important part is to keep making them. When he’s feeling better, he’ll thank you in a million sweet ways, because that’s who he is. He loves you. He didn’t mean it. 

It’s dark outside when the bedroom door creaks open again. You hadn’t noticed night falling, even when the light became too dim for you to make out the words on your page. You set your book down; you hadn’t been reading anyway. 

Remus sits next to you without a word. He leans the side of his head against the cushion with a sigh. 

“Dove?” he murmurs. 

You don’t dare do more than hum in response. 

A scarred hand finds your leg, the thumb sweeping back and forth over your skin. “I’m sorry for snapping at you,” he says quietly. “That was…it was really mean. And undeserved.”

“I’m sorry I was being loud,” you reply, and you can’t help it, your throat clogs all over again. “I was just trying to help.” 

Your voice catches on the last word, and Remus makes a pained sound that has you silencing yourself instantly. He makes another at your response. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he rasps. “Do you want a hug?” 

You bite down on your lower lip. “Are you okay to hug?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart.” 

He meets you in the middle, pressing upon your shoulder blades like he can hold you together by sheer physical force. You try for his sake, swallowing the cries that rise in your throat. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, palm marking a slow path up and down your back. “You weren’t too loud, I’m just fussy. You were only being your kind self. I had no reason to be so horrid.” 

“You weren’t horrid,” you warble. “I know you’re having a hard time.” 

“That’s no excuse.” His palm makes its way back to your shoulders just in time to feel the first little sob escape you. Remus’ grip tightens. “Aw, dovey. I’m so, so sorry. I can’t believe I spoke to you like that.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” he murmurs, kissing the exposed bit of skin where your shirt is slipping down your shoulder. “It’s not, and—” He pauses, looking around the room for the first time. “Did you clean?” 

You nod against his front, feeling the pained sigh that leaves him. 

“Fuck, I’m awful.” 

“You’re not.” 

“You were cleaning up my mess, and I yelled at you.” Now Remus’ voice sounds a tad raw too. He gathers you closer, stubble scratching your forehead as he kisses your hairline. “My sweet girl. You should have ripped me a new one.” 

“You weren’t yelling,” you point out, teasing a bit now, “and anyway, it seemed like you were already being ripped a new one.” 

“Still,” he mumbles into your hair. “You lit the lavender candles and everything. You deserve to put me through hell.” 

“You’re already going through hell,” you remind him gently, brushing a kiss against his cheek. “I don’t need to help the process along. Do you want some tea, love?” 

Remus hums. “I do, but let me get it. Let me get some for you, too, yeah?” He leans back to look down at you. “You want some nighttime tea, darling?” 

You’re alright really, but you tell him you do anyway. He looks nearly happy as he drags himself into the kitchen, and he won’t stop mollycoddling you for the rest of the night. 

[moechies]

sugu breaking your fever 〜（ゝ。∂）

“how d’ya feel pretty?”

“still feel like shit.”

you whine into his chest, the warm compress that once laid on your tummy is held in place by the man.

“y’know.. i heard that orgasms break fevers.”

“what? can’t be, s-stop it.”

“mm what’s the harm in trying?”

“c-cus i’m sick sugu! don’t wanna get you sick too. s-s okay, i’ll get better so—“ your quieted by a cough, followed by the man pressing the glass of water towards your lips.

“doesn’t seem likely pretty. c’mon, let me finger you at least, hm?”

“y-you’re so weird, sugu.”

“that means yes, right?” he slithers atop of you, looking down with a sly grin that you can’t help but flush at. he presses kisses to your hot skin, whining when he nips at your sensitive neck.

“s-sugu, ‘s hot.”

“hmm.. air conditionings on gorgeous..” he teases.

he lifts your shirt, releasing your tits, giving them a light grope. you whine at the sensation of his cold hand pressing against your hot flesh, a slight buck in your hips that yearns for more.

“don’t rush, pretty. we have all day.”

he leans in between your thighs, slim fingers that come to toy with the band of your panties. he presses a harsh kiss to your sticky clit, twitching from the attention.

“needy girl.” he snickers, whistling when he pulls the crotch of your panties to the side. he watches your feverent cunt pulse with need, cute clit swollen and aching for more.

“s-sugu, stop staring.!”

in a short attempt to close your thighs, to prove some decency to the perverted man, you’re met with a gentle slap to your inner thigh. you mewl, anticipating more as he drags a gentle finger through your slit.

“mm, say you want it. tell me ya want my fingers inside, honey.”

“s-sugu don’t tease please.. y-you were the one that said you wanted to give it t’me..”

“mhm, know what i said. now tell me, you want it right?”

you huff, but at last you fall into the man’s trap, “yes s-suguru, wan’ it. want you inside, y-your fingers, please.”

“mm, good girl.” he hums against your thigh, a singular digit slipping into your moist cunt.

“s-sugu..!” you moan with surprise.

“see? if you’re good, ya get what you want, right?”

“y-yes..!”

“now take it gorgeous.” he slips another finger along side his first, curling himself against your sweet gummy walls. you flinch at the sensation, every moment he’s inside of you pushes you towards your high.

he comes up to face your ecstatic expression, smothering your hot skin with gentle but sloppy kisses. you flinch at the sensation, body sensitive due to your cold. it’s all so intense, better, even.

“suguru, p-please..!”

“mhm, patient sweet girl.”

“need t’cum, pleasepleaseplease.. daddy..”

“oh? how dirty, baby. thought you were feeling sick. y’asking for more now?” he chuckles.

“mfgh, d-daddy please.. gonna cum..!”

“yeah? want daddy t’make you cum?”

“yesyes, please..!”

and you do, back arching from the intense sensation, your boyfriends fingers covered in a heavy slick; a sight he’s definitely not new to.

“there you go baby. good girl, such a good girl.”

he pulls himself out gently, wrapping his lips around his own digits, sucking your cum off his fingers. the entire time he stares into you, a teasing smirk spread across his expression.

“stop doin’ that sugu.! ‘s gross!” you whine, flustered from the eye contact he forcefully holds.

“taste so sweet baby.” he teases once again.

he unlatches himself with a ‘pop!’ bending over you to press a heavy kiss onto your lips. he can’t help but laugh when you moan into his mouth, overwhelmed.

“sugu.. tired..”

he presses another kiss onto the soft of your cheek, leaving your side to clean you up for bed.

upon cleaning you up, his heart softens at your sleepy expression and soft snores, pressing a final kiss onto your forehead before slipping besides you.

bonus . . ♡

the morning after is so much better. the sunlight beams through the curtains , the blankets laid on top of you two is just warm enough. doubt him all you want , but turns out his dumb little factoid proves to be true !

but of course he didn’t listen , and now he’s caught your cold.. whining and tugging at your sleeve for you to take care of him , to ride his pain away and make him orgasm so that his fever breaks too.

“y’have to return the favor princess.”

“no, you perv!”

“please, you owe me baby.”

[wheeboo]

"pretty." | yoon jeonghan

SYNOPSIS. in which jeonghan calls you pretty. PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship WARNINGS. one kiss on the cheek, terms of endearment, jeonghan just being down bad and whipped for you lmao WORD COUNT. 1k

notes: because who wouldn't wnt to write something from that clip of him kissing gyu on the cheek cuz he's pretty?? anyway. can u tell that my fav word is pretty...

Jeonghan finds you pretty.

Pretty like... the first rays of dawn painting the sky in streaks of colours. Not like a fiery and blazing sunrise, but a soft, hesitant awakening; the hush before the world truly stirs to life.

His gaze lingers on your quiet form right next to him, eyes tracing the path of sunlight across your cheek peeking in from the shutters of the window, the way it seems to kiss the curve of your jawline and dance in the strands of your hair. A sleepy smile forms at his own lips, head tilting slightly as he lets out the quietest of chuckles.

Pretty like... the way a flower blooms. Each petal peeks out from the bud, hesitant at first, then unfurling with a contented sigh. Like the way you smile, Jeonghan thinks, merely a shy bloom starting at the corners of your lips before blossoming into the radiant sunflower that he always believes that you are.

Your chest rises up and down rhythmically, lips twitching ever so slightly, and Jeonghan wonders what kind of dreams must be playing in your mind𑁋if he should at all try to intervene and chase away the frequent nightmares that sometimes visit, and the clouds that occasionally cast shadows on your peaceful expression.

Pretty like... a book whose cover is worn and flimsy, its pages softened by countless turns and accidental (and intentional) rips, yet the ink still vibrantly tells tales of laughter and tears, of mishaps and misfortunes, of you. But even with this, the spine of the book remains unbroken.

Jeonghan remembers you reading a book last night, an older story if he recalls. He remembers the way your brows furrowed in concentration, hands clutched on the worn paperback, and how your lips moved silently, mouthing words only your heart could hear. He remembers the way your eyes lit up when you turned a page and nudged at his side to get his attention even if he didn't know what the story was about, a flicker of joy to your face like a firefly illuminating the room and the night skies.

Suddenly, a vibration snaps Jeonghan awake at this point, focus darting towards the unwelcomed presence of his phone on the nightstand. The screen casts a harsh light against the gentle morning glow, and Jeonghan reluctantly detaches himself to reach over for it, noting incoming messages from his members about their scheduled practice for later today, the words blurring slightly as sleep clings stubbornly to his eyelids. He quickly types out a message before silencing his phone, and then he shoots a contemplative glance back to you, before slipping out of the sheets and tip-toeing out of the bedroom.

Pretty like... the first sip of morning coffee. Not a jolt of bitter heat, but a warm caress on the tongue, enough to awaken the senses slowly. Jeonghan moves silently throughout your shared space, not wanting to disturb your peace. The aroma of brewing coffee wafts through the air, intertwining with the lingering traces of dawn and the new day ahead.

Carefully pouring a cup for himself, Jeonghan adds a sprinkle of cinnamon on top, the scent swirling like a mini-tornado and playfully tickling his nose. He remembers how you once told him you associate cinnamon with warmth and comfort, and a soft smile graces his lips.

He glides through the rest of his morning routine with practiced ease, mindful not to disturb your slumber, the quietness only punctuated by the occasional soft melody hummed under his breath of one of his songs. As time continues to pass, nearing to when he has to leave, Jeonghan glances at the numbers displayed on his phone, and a tinge of bittersweetness settles in his stomach. A tiny frown creases across his brow as he sets down his empty coffee cup and smooths over the fabric of his shirt with a sigh.

Heading back into the bedroom, he finds you still slumbering on the bed, the streaks of morning light painting over your cheeks. Jeonghan trots over to the window and gently adjusts the shutters, letting in a wider ray of sunlight that dances across your nose.

A creak from the bed tells him you're stirring, and he turns just in time to see your eyes flutter open. Sunlight spills across your face, bathing over your features like honey, and his breath catches in his throat, as if he'd just swallowed a handful of butterflies. You look even more beautiful than the dawn, he thinks.

A sleepy yawn escapes you, stretching your arms above your head, your eyes still closed shut from the light.

"Hannie...?" You mumble out, and Jeonghan is swift to come racing to your side, sitting himself down at the edge of the bed right beside you.

"Morning, angel," he says softly, letting a finger push back a few loose strands of hair flying over your face. "I was about to tell you that I'm leaving."

Your eyes flutter open just slightly, just enough to catch the small curve to your boyfriend's lips, yet mind still cloudy with sleep to even process it. "Hmm... what time is it?"

"Still early. You can go back to sleep," Jeonghan tells you reassuringly. "I just wanted to see your face before I leave."

His words send a faint smile to play across your lips.

"Why do you always have to leave so early?" You ask, voice raspy with sleep.

Jeonghan lets his hand lace with yours on the sheets, the warmth spreading through your fingers and coursing through your body.

"Work calls, love," he says, voice soft but laced with a playful tone. "But you know I wouldn't leave if I didn't have to."

A low groan leaves your mouth as your adjust yourself further into the comfort of the bed while still not letting go of his hand, your eyes fluttering closed again. Jeonghan just chuckles at your sulky antics, and you feel the way his finger caresses lightly over your knuckle.

Pretty like... a diamond ring glinting in the soft morning light, a promise of forever shimmering between them. He knows with a certainty settled deep in his bones that one day he'll slide that very ring onto your finger. But for now, the promise waits beneath the surface, a secret shared only by the gentle stroke of his thumb against your skin and the way his gaze lingers a little longer than necessary on your face𑁋hair messy and clinging to the pillow, eyes closed shut once more, yet you've never looked more beautiful to him.

And so, Jeonghan leans down, lips meeting in a feathery kiss at the skin of your cheek just below your eye. He lingers there for a moment, savouring the warmth of your skin against his own, before lowering himself down just next to your ear.

"Pretty," he whispers softly, simply, and irrevocably in love.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziees @mirxzii @bookyeom

[gladiatorcunt]

- # GIVE A FLY SOME HONEY !!

all roads lead to death valley

cw: southern setting & accents, sui ideation/thoughts, protected sex (are you proud of me), dead dove ending and undertones, sort of ambiguous, virgin cowboy!anakin x virgin afab!reader, ROTS coded!anakin, r2’s a horse, the force is in place of the christian God and is referred to as such at times, star wars being a fictional franchise in a star wars au fic, weird mix of a farm and a ranch, spanking, clit slapping, biting, reader’s inner freak has some crazy thoughts, mentions of humiliation and collaring/choking, anakin murders somebody (one scene of violence), what a heat advisory and the south’s sex education does to a mf, implied plus size and neurodivergent!reader, kidnapping????????????, mention of drugs, reader has a lot of internalized shame about where they’re from

wc: 4.2k (unedited)

what if instead of star wars it was called 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 wars

consider commissioning me!

Your unlucky streak rears its ugly head yet again. June was already shaping up to be a hot month, and your junkyard car wouldn’t start. You’re used to driving long stretches of road with nothing but livestock in fields to gawk at, it comes with the territory. But you couldn’t afford gas and decided to push your luck on the way back home, nevermind that the drive would be at least 20 hours. Moving to the city had its drawbacks, the road trip to and back being one of them.

“No, no. Come on, please work. Do you need me to fucking sing to you or something?” You groan, fruitlessly twisting your key in the ignition over and over.

Nope, “Tough shit.” Your engine mocks, death coughs sputtering out one after the other.

“ ‘You havin’ trouble?” A masculine voice shouts from behind you.

You get startled by the sound and gracefully slam your head up into the roof of the car as you turn around. You must look like quite the sight, clutching your now throbbing head and stumbling out of your broken down hand-me-down car on a long open road. Once you’ve blinked enough to adjust to the harsh sunlight, your eyes land on a tall muscular figure riding a horse. The clip clop of the horse’s dirty hooves on the gravel pierce your ears but the gentle sway of the man’s fluffy hair softens the blow.

“Um…. yes, sir. I am actually. My…. my car won’t start and I’m all out of gas.” You burn with embarrassment as you get through your explanation, trying your hardest not to throw up from the sheer social anxiety.

“Well that ain’t no biggy, I think I can help with that.” The man cocks his head and hops down from the horse, a white stallion with a few faded black-gray spots here and there. “Stay here, R2.”

You’re standing there dumbly, ignoring the tiny rocks digging into your shoes and the pounding in your skull as the cowboy wanders up to you. The sun bounces off his dark hat in a way that gives him a sort of halo, and you gape like a fish when he tips it down at you in a silent greeting, reaching out to shake your hand after. The silver spurs on his boots reflect sunlight directly onto your face, so you miss his open palm the first time.

His hand is rough, you can feel numerous old scrapes and cuts when you accept the gesture. But it’s so much bigger than yours, and there’s strange heat coming from his skin that you’re hesitant to pin on the southern summer sun. Too handsome, in a way that just can’t be possible, you quickly swipe a fingertip over his ring finger during the handshake and The Force must be looking out for you because there’s no ring. Not that you’re seeking anything out, but in the town you’re from, you’re lucky if anyone makes it past 18 without having a baby and getting hitched as a result.

Anakin tinkers away at your car for over an hour, finding more problems than just a lack of gas. Eventually he determines that you’ll die in this heat before you can back on the road, so he asks you to accompany him back to his ranch and he’ll send out one of his employees to bring your car around. You try to show him that you’re listening by ‘hm’-ing and nodding every so often, but it’s hard to rip your eyes away from a very attractive man bent over and sweaty while he’s fixing your car. You definitely do not want to cry when his flannel lifts up as he wipes the sweat on his forehead away with his greasy hand, revealing the slight softness over his muscles.

Since your car was no longer an option, Anakin grins as he gestures towards his horse, “R2’s a good horse, won’t give you any trouble. He likes to make a lot of noise and has an… acquired sense of humor, but I reckon we’ll get back just fine.”

He has you practice getting off and on the horse for a good while, the next step is letting you adjust to the feeling of being on one. You’d be embarrassed that Anakin’s having to teach you how to ride but his hands curl around your waist, keeping you steady and whispering in your ear to not be so stiff. Horses can smell fear after all, it’d suck to not only have your car be broken but your bones too. It’s a scene straight out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind that’s a tiny yellowed book sold almost exclusively in run down gas stations with a cover not far off from a porno.

Your cheeks are burning the entire way to the ranch, you relax as much as you can on an animal that’s a few hundred pounds of muscle with a searing hot body pressed right up against you from behind. It doesn't take long to get to your destination though, and before you know it sprawling fields bracket a mid size homey wooden building. There are some smaller pens for the cows to stay in and you follow their movement as an employee unlatches the gate and leads them out towards the left most field.

“They gotta switch pastures every so often.” He informs you, urging his horse into an energetic trot, “And it’s a good rule of thumb to have about an acre per cow.”

You tighten your hold on the reins and try not to focus on your fear of falling off. The pace of R2 isn’t one that you struggle to match but then again this is the first time you’ve ever ridden a horse in a long time. You’ve always been too skittish to do it regularly, and when you moved you got rid of the hobby entirely. You take a deep breath and let the horse’s movements travel through you, coming to enjoy the gentle jostling as you go. Anakin keeps his hands around yours on the reigns, making sure you don’t panic and seize up. R2’s not really beginner friendly unless he likes his rider, he has a tendency to just whinny and take off when the spirit moves him.

“The Force has done me good and given me a nice house on nice land, but it don’t mean nothin’ if i’m all by my lonesome. Ever since my dad passed and my ma’ died a few years after that, the workers and the cows are all I got, plus R2 of course.”

All right, he sinks into the jargon a little too much, but the way the sun accentuates the scar on his cheek makes it a charming quirk. You want to lick his teeth when he smiles, you think, before blaming it on an oncoming heatstroke. You’re no better than a man in this moment, and if you had seen him soaking up all of the attention in a crowded room in a bar you’d have no business being in, you like to think that you could pull him. You play with the slightly waxy feel of the leather reins, allowing the sensation of coarseness in the stitching to overpower any coherent thought.

“Why’d you name your horse R2?” You ask, ducking your head as you feel him guide the animal towards the stables.

“Oh uh, I was real wild over these sci fi movies from back when I was a kid. The hero had this robot called R2-D2, and I guess it just stuck with me.” He answers you with a shrug and a mild blush, curving his fingers around yours.

Your stomach warms at the feeling, but you refrain from returning the gesture, he probably isn’t even thinking that deeply about what he’s doing. He’s not obsessing over every square inch of skin that comes into contact with his own, not like you. You’re already missing the comforting weight of Anakin’s herculean body when he’s pulling the reins to stop R2 and hopping off, clamping his big hands around your waist and helping you down. You wobble for a bit and find your footing before you can pick up on how he momentarily froze in front of you, anticipating an easy opportunity to touch you again. Force, you really are stupid, bless your heart.

You glance up at him and start to say something but then you hear rustling in the bushes, Anakin must hear it too because before you can tug on his sleeve and tell him, he’s pulling his revolver out from its holster and striding off towards the sound. You’re quick to learn that he has a bit of a one track mind, especially when it comes to indulging the serpent twisting in between his ribs like a switchblade.

“I’ll be damned…”

You’re supposed to head inside and awkwardly linger around until your car is in good enough condition to get you back to Coruscant. The only thing is, you’ve now found yourself without your new security blanket, and your curiosity agrees with how much you don’t fucking want to speak to any of the people here without Anakin to hide behind. R2 loudly chuffs at you from his stall in the stables, either saying “That’s just how he is, leave him be!” or "What are you doing? You should obviously go after him!” You choose to believe it’s the latter, so you wander off into the distance, following Anakin’s lead.

You catch up to him quicker than you thought you would, and you have half a mind to scold him like a child if you weren’t catching your breath. All you can see is his wide shoulders because he’s hunched over something, your heartbeat quickens when you spot his gun being pointed at something. You circle around him to find a man squirming on the ground like a toddler, twitching every so often. Anakin seems almost enthralled by the desperate display, so he doesn’t notice you until you gingerly place a hand on his shoulder, soft and looking to soothe. Later you won’t remember the blood on the man’s temple or the matching stain on the muzzle of Anakin’s gun, because you didn’t witness that part.

He snaps out of it, turning his head to nuzzle his nose against your knuckles, “ ‘s alright, sweetheart, just a meth head too out of his mind to watch where he’s goin’. Had a knife with him, probably lookin’ to rob somebody blind.”

Your eyes flicker between him and the man, fully aware of how common stuff like drug addicts trespassing is and the old fashioned black and red ‘Trespassers Will Be Shot On Sight’ sign. You’ve grown up around guns, you’re more used to hearing them in a hunting or taking shots at beer bottles kind of way, but it’s not like Anakin’s the only one to have that kind of self enforced rule when it comes to his property. Still… killing a human man is different than making use out of a successful deer hunt, right?

“Maybe we should call the cops, he can’t hurt nobody like that…” You try to reason, casting a pitiful glance towards the cowering man.

There’s a scratch on Anakin’s face that’s still bleeding from the knife the guy had used before Anakin took it, it just barely missed his right eye, he could’ve lost it. You’ll ask to help him with it when you get back to the ranch, but you know that there’s no seeing to it right now. You don’t want to risk an infection just so you could brush your thumb across the wound, you’re not even sure why you want to, it’s like the urge just materialized in your head out of thin fog. Anakin gently shrugs your hand off and uses his free one to pull you against his chest, and it’s like you’re back on his horse, that same fear entwined with exhilaration like barbed wire. Your hearts are beating at the same pace, some folks say that’s how you know it’s love, that’s how you know it’s fate.

“You don’t got the stuff in ya to be a killer, that’s just fine, darlin’. ‘Cause I sure do.” His words dissolve into a previously unknown to you cold sneer.

Anakin clamps a burly, sweaty hand over your eyes as he empties the entire magnum into the tresspasser’s skull. The bright sun bounces off the brim of his hat, casting a shadow over his stormy eyes. He may not have let you witness the massacre, but you will never forget the sickening yelps the poor bastard gave to Anakin like prayer. And then he got put down in a more inhumane fashion than if he were a rabid dog. To your gracious host, there’s probably not a whole lick of difference. Between a wanderin’ sap and a deranged mutt, that is.

But there’s a far off expression on his face, maybe he was once at risk of having two bullets in his temple at the hands of someone unforgiving.

“Welp.” Anakin exclaims, making a point of slapping his thigh as he holsters his pistol. “Better head on home now, I reckon. Come on, honey, don’t want to lose you to the coyotes.”

It’s said like “kai-yohtes.” You balk at his teasing and obediently trail after him, a vulnerable duckling staying in line. The storm is hitting hard by the time you’re out of the woods, and you briefly wonder if the Angels up in heaven are gonna start bowling soon. A saying that got passed around in your family, when you and the ones before you would stare up in wonder and shiver in fear at the thundering purple skies as kids. You remember being surprised that one of the Angels’ bowling balls never fell down to earth, maybe it’d be somethin’ like a meteorite.

As is the case with many things, it’s easy to lose sight of the fresh corpse in the dry grass. Once you turn around and thread your finger through Anakin’s, dirtying them, it’s almost like that man never existed. There must be something wrong with you, sure the situation is so unimaginable that it would be hard to cope with, but shouldn’t you be feeling more guilt than you do? You feel bad, of course, but ‘easy come and easy go’ has always been the way of things in these parts. God giveth and God taketh away.

You’re back where you should be, a narrow dirt path going under a wooden fence to the ranch. Grand trees line the road forming a moss green canopy. A few workers are goofing off and playing a very amateur game of football, blissfully ignorant to the fact that Anakin can obviously see them from his place next to you.

It would be a peaceful place to die, a bright and clear afternoon-evening in the way that the world can only be when you’re about to leave it. That’s how you’d want it to feel, like you’re rowing a boat across the lake you used to go fishing at to see people you’d never thought you’d see again waiting for you. Fall leaves, blinding pale sun, a serene and calming quiet. You’d be the happiest you’ve ever been, skipping even though you never could as a kid. There’d be no sadness, only relief and a memento of everything that’ll only make sense when it’s someone’s turn to see you again. No buzzing from mosquitoes or chirping from crickets, only little lightnin’ bugs. Maybe you only get that kinda ending if you’re good, in the godly sense, if you come from something worth remembering.

Anakin raises an eyebrow and gently jostles you, and just like that your train of thought is derailed. He chalks it up to shock, and nods his head towards a clearing behind the building. A change of plans. You follow, as you are wont to do.

“That rat bastard had it comin’ to ‘im, hun.” He tries to reassure and squeezes your hand, imploring you to see reason. “The Force decided it was his time, sweet thing.”

You shake your head, not disagreeing, just in utter disbelief. “I just… most everyone in my life I've known that’s died did it when I wasn't there. I’ve never had to actually be there when they… you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” And that’s all he says, regardless of the truth.

It’s what you need, somehow he just understands exactly what that is. You’re starting to think that you certainly don’t have a damn clue. You look up at him again, really drinking in every facet of his entire being that you can latch onto and obsess over. You’re remembering why you were so anxious to get out of this sinkhole, it’s a miracle you ever got out of it in the first place. His hair’s all messy, dark curls strewn about like a windswept bale of hay. A storm is brewing in his eyes, like he could Earth to rotate in the opposite direction if he wanted it to. He works his jaw around in a weird way to get rid of the soreness after grinding his teeth.

It’s tantalizing, being the hand holding a man on the edge back from wreaking his God given havoc.

You dot a quick peck on his cheek, scrunching your nose up at the barest hint of prickly stubble.

His eyes widen, and the sun itself shines brighter. The cutest light dusting of pink spreads across his face, so he one ups you by pressing your lips together. It’s exactly how a first kiss should feel, a simple gesture that leaves you breathless and with more butterflies than a flower garden swarming in your tummy. There’s no fireworks, but you can hear wind chimes and birds singing as your lips glide together, the meeting of your tongues is so natural that you won’t be able to remember when his slipped through the seam of your mouth. You want to keen as he maps out your teeth, his spit has to have some kind of aphrodisiac in it.

Anakin works your jeans open and off your legs completely, his pupils expand when he sees your thick thighs in all their glory but he keeps himself from slapping them and acting like they’re the only part of your body. There’s an ever growing to do list in both of your heads, your combined inexperience brings a flurry of perverted ideas and porn scenarios to recreate with it, and you’re sad that you’ll very likely leave with none of them being fulfilled.

He yanks the collar of your tank below your chest, immediately leaving over to bite your cute breasts with all the grace of a rattlesnake. He doesn’t try to make any marks, he just wants to bite wildly and with reckless abandon, like he’s using your tits to self soothe. You’d do the same if he let you at his pecs to be fair, his chest is practically as big as yours if not bigger.

“This means somethin’ to me, hear that? ‘m always gonna remember my first.” He spits, clutching onto your bruised tit like he’s a split second away from sinking his hand into your viscera and dumpster diving for your heart.

He pauses pawing at your tits to reach in his back pocket and pull out a condom. It’s crumpled and the packaging is worn by rubbing against the denim of Anakin’s jeans, you can tell that he’s excited to finally put it to use. You’re glad that there’s some safety measures being taken, but your heart swoops in disappointment at the dose of reality. It’s the kind of thing that calls for the most diabolical, unhinged, strings of goopy fluid hanging from his balls as they slap against your rippling ass, raw sex. You don’t let yourself pout, Anakin’s making good use of the only working brain cell between the two of you. You scoot back on his lap to give him room to pop to button on his pants and whip his dick out. It makes a heavy ‘thwop!’ as it slaps against Anakin’s abs.

Your mouth waters at the sight, so thick with the just right amount of curve, it would scratch your throat perfectly. His hands shake harder as he rips the condom’s packaging open with his teeth and rolls it on his twitching length. You take a deep breath, finding comfort in the tense muscles on Anakin’s shoulders through his warm flannel. He curls a hand around the base of his cock and grasps it tightly, positioning it right under your empty hole. You’re lucky he didn’t have to tell you what to do, because working yourself down every inch would’ve been much more painful if you already needed to be taught a lesson. It’s weirdly sweet, the chaste pecks he presses along your nose and jawline as you adjust to what feels like a tree log forcing your tender folds to stretch around it. Your slutty body tries to twist itself in a pretzel with the way you’re swiveling your hips, trying to get more of Anakin’s dick inside of you when you’ve miraculously already swallowed him to the hilt.

“I want this pretty pussy weepin’ for me, I’m awfully sorry honey but i’m not stopping till it’s gushin’ all over me.” He speaks in between wet kisses up and down the column of your throat.

“Mmm- It’s okay, I want it like that, Ani. Promise- oh my god, so big.”

You make him feel like a man trying to outrun a forest fire only to get swept up in a tornado. Like there’s a fever in his brain that’s gotten into his blood, black tar dripping into his liver. Drives a man to drink so he can have a sliver of that feeling, that scalding need not even God could give you. There’s no finesse or coordination to anything, his lips frantically scurry along random spots on your upper body. His upward thrusts are heavy hitting and wrangle your breath out in stuttered gasps, he moves as if he were riding a horse, following only the imagined scent of old blood. Anakin���s cock is so big your walls could rip if he wasn’t always keeping a sharp eye on how much he’s bullying you. He doesn’t try anything crazy like fucking your cervix, it might shock you so much that you remeber exactly how long it’s been since he’s had your car “taken to the shop”.

His spurs dig into the dirt as he slaps your ass, the material of his gloves adding an extra bit of ‘umph!’ to the resulting sting. Anakin’s jeans are so warm against your ass that it takes a few more spanks before you really get the urge to bend over his lap and tell him to just have at it until you sob. You’re on an ecstatic high, living in the present with a near stranger’s dick balls deep inside of you. His eyes gleam gold when you make eye contact, and you find it so easy to fall down the rabbit hole, letting this man burn away all your responsibilities until he’s the last one left standing in a sea of ashes.

You don’t mind that he stops talking eventually, switching to gruff grunts and harsh yells. ‘Don’t be so stiff, let the movement roll through you.’ Anakin digs his fingers into the meat of your jiggling ass and delivers a final smack to both cheeks. You sigh in relief, but then you snap out of your cockdrunk haze to yelp at the cruel hit to your swollen clit.

“Need ya to keep squeakin’ sweets.” He orders. “Don’t want the townsfolk to think I fucked your brain out your ears.”

It’d be polite to make conversation with the people you meet when Anakin parades you around with his hat on your head later, something of a pre engagement tour. If the Force is good, you’ll be willing, because rope burn isn’t something you want to become your new normal.

“Chin up, buttercup,” He says almost bashfully despite how hard he’s pounding your puffy cunt, “We can get some ice cream at the fair after if ya like, make it a cute little second date.”

You whimper and harshly pull his hair, earning you a throaty moan and another slap to your clit, saying yes to him like you’ve already done a million times. You thought that the pure social anxiety of being around so many of Anakin’s employees would be nerve wracking, it’s nothing compared to having to speak to them AND keep their boss’s cum from oozing down your leg. Anakin’s discarded belt catches your eye when a sharp thrust sends your head falling back, and you picture the scuffed up belt buckle as the O shaped ring of a more traditional collar. The black stains from working on your car only add to the appeal, it scares you exactly how much you’d let the man fucking you with a cheap gas station condom get away with. You’ve already heard him kill a man, finding yourself in a relationship is pretty much the natural next step.

When he cums deep inside with a hoarse growl, there’s the sound of a bear trap slamming shut on an unsuspecting bunny rabbit. Your simultaneous orgasm is the tiny squeal it makes before it dies.

“I forgot to ask, hun, what stuffed animal do ya want me to win for ya?”

- faetreides 2024. do not repost, translate, or put my works into ai

[elixirina]

WELCOME & GOODBYE — natasha romanoff x gn!avenger!reader

in which... you thought you and natasha had something special. did you do something wrong?

warnings... angst (are you even surprised?), regular avengers mission stuff, tony yelling at the reader :(, and natasha being lwk mean, hurt/no comfort, lwk unrequited love, lwk not proofread

note... "Hey! If your requests are still open: Reader, who has been an avenger and known Natasha for over a year. Who has stayed up late at night talking about random shit and comforting each other for a good portion of that. Who, then, during what seems like a normal late night conversation turns into Natasha saying, "We're not close" after reader expressed they'd feel devastated if something happened to her. Reader then shutting down and basically becoming an empty husk. Maybe becoming reckless during missions. Thanks for considering! I enjoy your stories!" - i really liked this request because yall know i love angst, so enjoy this!! maybe part two if you guys like it.

from where you stand, the avengers tower feels impossibly tall, it's gleaming facade of steel and glass catching the fading sunlight. the large 'A' at the top glows faintly, its light cutting through the hazy sky. it's meant to be a symbol of hope, but up close, it feels colder than you imagined. more fortress than home.

as you step inside, the hum of technology greets you, soft and unrelenting, like the tower itself is alive. the blue-tinted lights along the walls seem to strip the warmth from the space, casting everything in shades of gray.

the corridors stretch endlessly, polished floors reflecting your rather hesitant footsteps. there's a quiet here that always feels unnatural, like the kind of silence you expect from the aftermath of an argument or just before something breaks. when you pause to glance out of a window, the view is so breathtaking.

new york city sprawls beneath you, glittering and alive. but it feels distant today, like you're watching a movie on mute. the labs you pass are buzzing with soft whirs and beeps, glowing screens filed with data you can't even begin to understand.

it's impressive, but also intimidating, a constant reminder of just how much responsibility rests on the shoulders of the people who walk these halls.

you were on your way to your own quarters. why did you feel so lost? it felt like all the walls were closing in on you.

the halls are quiet, too quiet. every one of your footsteps echoes, too loud against the polished floors. the air feels heavy, as if it carries the weight of every mission, every mistake, every sacrifice, every one of your faults. you pass by the living quarters, sleek and sterile, designed for convenience rather than comfort.

the common areas are empty, filled with untouched furniture and the faint scent of coffee long gone cold.

it's as though the building itself is holding its breath, waiting for something to shatter the silence.

and yet, it's not the tower that makes your lifestyle bearable. it isn't always the satisfaction of helping people. it's her.

natasha.

she has a way of grounding you, of cutting through the weight of it all with a single glance. it's not just her presence, though that alone feels like enough to keep the walls from closing in; it's the way she sees you. really sees you, even when you don't want to be seen. in a place that feels so impossibly vast and yet so claustrophobic, she's the one thing that feels solid, real.

it's in the way she moves, effortless but deliberate, as if she belongs here in a way no one else does. her voice, calm and steady, has a way of softening the sharp edges of the tower. when she's around, the cold steel walls feel a little less harsh, the silence a little less suffocating.

she doesn't need to say much--she never does--but somehow, she always knows what you need to hear.

the tower is still the same--tall, unyielding, and distant. but when she's near, it feels a little less like a cage. when she looks at you, it's like the weight of everything doesn't matter as much. it's not that the burden disappears; it's just that, with her, it feels a little lights. a little easier to carry.

it's been like that since day one. being a shield agent was all you thought your life was worth. you helped out, sure, but the credit wasn't always given to you. when you were offered a spot as an avenger, you found it impossible to believe.

they could've chosen anyone, yet you made the cut.

you accepted, of course, and the moment you started, everything was amazing. maybe it was the adrenaline rush. but after a couple months in, you were drained. suffocating. the whole experience felt alienating.

you and natasha hit it off immediately, just casually finding different times to talk. those conversations would go on for hours, the two of you never finding somewhere to stop. and if you did, it's due to the fact that you've fallen asleep together.

those moments with her were something you cherished ever so deeply. you couldn't see your day go on without them.

the conversations ranged from lighthearted banter about clint's terrible taste in music to heavier topics--the kind of raw truths that only surfaced when the world fell asleep, and your walls could come down.

natasha's walls had always been higher, sturdier, but even she had let a few cracks show over the months. she'd told you about her childhood, her regrets, and her fears, her voice steady even when her words were not. in turn, you'd shared your own burdens, feeling safe in the quiet connection you thought you had with her.

being able to come back to the tower after a rough mission and being comforted immediately after made your heart want to explode. after a while, you just couldn't be casual about it.

you'd been an avenger for almost two years now, and apart from the undeniable satisfaction of saving people, she was what you looked forward to at the end of the day.

after one particularly rough mission, you found yourself scanning the tower for your red-headed beauty best friend.

natasha's sprawled out on the rough couch in the living quarters and it doesn't take you long to find her. as you settled yourself on one of the plush chairs, you muttered out a "hey" and she lets out a soft hum.

she's obviously exhausted, and you know she didn't handle herself okay when this was the case. so you ask a rather stupid question, "you okay?" you almost planted yourself on the ground for pulling the stupidest question out of your ass.

the red-head propped herself up with her elbows--a thing she did that you always thought was rather attractive. she gave you a look that practically gave you the answer.

you sighed, hugging one of the fur pillows close to your chest. changing the subject would be the easiest thing to do.

"okay... weirdest thing you've eaten on a mission?" you asked, a soft smile on your face as you leaned back on the chair.

natasha sat up, biting back a smile. "what?"

you blinked, "you heard me."

the woman smirked, tilting her head in though. "a cricket."

your lips fell into a thin line. "a cricket?" you repeated.

she nodded, her expression nonchalant. "deep-fried. crunchy. it was actually quite decent."

"ugh," you groaned, wrinkling your nose. "you're braver than me."

"that's not exactly the word i'd use," natasha teased, her lips twitching into a small smile.

moments like this, where her guard came down even just a little, made you feel like you were glimpsing a side of her that no one else got to see. a side she didn't let many people near.

"well, you win," you said, raising your hands in surrender. "the weirdest thing i've eaten is a half-melted protein bar that i found at the bottom of my bag. that probably doesn't even qualify."

"not even close," natasha quipped, the corner of her mouth lifting in amusement.

a comfortable silence settled between you, the kind of quiet you'd only recently realize you appreciated. with most people, silence felt awkward, like you had to fill it with noise. with natasha, it felt... safe

you glanced over at her, the words on the tip of your tongue before you even realized you were going to say them. "you know, i don't think i've ever had anyone in my life who gets me the way you do."

natasha's gaze flicked to you, her expression unreadable, and for a moment, you wondered if you'd gone too far. but you pressed on, feeling like this was a rare moment to be honest with her.

"i mean it," you said, your voice softer now. "these nights, just talking like this... they've kept me sane. you've kept me sane." you hesitated, swallowing hard before continuing. "and i know i don't say it enough, but... you mean a lot to me, natasha. i mean, if something ever happened to you, i don't think i'd recover."

you hadn't planned to say that last part. the vulnerability of it felt too raw, too much, but it was the truth.

natasha's expression shifted slightly, her mouth opening as if she was about to respond, but then she stopped.

you waited, your heart thudding in the silence. "nat?" you prompted, your voice tentative.

when she finally looked at you, her eyes were distant, her expression carefully neutral. "we're not close," she said, her voice eerily calm but firm.

it felt like the ground had crumbled beneath you. "what?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"we're not close," she repeated, her tone colder this time. "you think you know me, but you don't. you don't know what i've done, or who i really am. these conversations... they don't mean what you think they do."

you stared at her, stunned into silence. "but... i thought--"

"you thought wrong," she interrupted, her words cutting through you like a blade. her expression didn't waver, and that was the worst part--how composed she seemed, like she hadn't just shattered something inside you.

"i see you as a teammate," natasha continued, her voice emotionless. "nothing more."

for a moment, you couldn't breathe. you wanted to say something, to argue, to demand an explanation, but all the words died in your throat.

"i think i'm going to call it a night," natasha said, standing. she didn't look as she spoke. "goodnight."

and just like that, she was gone, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room.

you sat there for what felt like an eternity, staring blankly at the space where she'd been. her words echoed in your mind, over and over again, until they were all you could hear.

"we're not close."

the truth of it stung more than you thought it would.

the mission in paris was supposed to be straightforward. in and out, minimal casualties, quick extraction. but it all went sideways when you made the decision to split up--ignoring steve's orders, ignoring tony's voice crackling through your earpiece telling you to stick to the plan.

there was no reason for it, no logic behind your decision. you just couldn't stand the thought of standing still, of waiting for the inevitable--whatever that may be. natasha’s words had shattered something inside you, and now you were just reacting.

the battle raged on. you fought like a machine, but you were anything but. your moves were reckless, too fast, too eager to prove you could still keep up. you dodged fire and threw yourself into the fray, not caring if you got hit.

when tony’s voice came through your comms, it was sharp, demanding. “y/n, fall back. now. you’re outnumbered.”

but you didn’t listen. you couldn’t.

“y/n, damn it, i’m serious. what the hell is going on with you?” tony’s frustration cut through the static.

“i’m fine,” you muttered, voice hoarse, even though you weren’t.

the mission ended in chaos. by the time you made it to the extraction point, bruised and battered, you couldn’t look anyone in the eye. you had made stupid decisions, and the team had suffered for it. but the worst part? you didn’t care as much as you should have.

back at the compound, you knew the lecture was coming. tony, steve, and clint had all gathered in the debriefing room, waiting for you. you could hear their murmurs as you made your way toward them, but you didn’t feel any relief at being home.

you stepped into the room, your eyes focused on the floor.

“sit down,” tony ordered, his voice clipped.

you took a seat, the weight of his gaze heavy on you.

“we’ve got to talk about what happened,” steve began, but tony cut him off, his tone rising.

“i don’t want to hear any more excuses. y/n, you almost got yourself killed today. you were out there acting like you didn’t give a damn about the mission or anyone else’s safety. what the hell is going on?”

you swallowed hard, fighting the lump in your throat. the words natasha had said to you that night, when you’d bared your soul, suddenly seemed to suffocate you. you had tried to pretend they didn’t hurt, but now, in front of tony’s fiery gaze and steve’s concerned eyes, they were the only thing you could think about.

“i’m fine,” you muttered, your voice too quiet. too weak.

“no, you’re not,” tony retorted, voice low and dangerous now. “stop lying. you’re falling apart, and you’re dragging everyone down with you.”

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t have an explanation. how could you? you were lost in the aftershock of Natasha’s rejection, and no matter how hard you tried to push it down, it always resurfaced. god, it was so stupid.

“you know what? fine. If you’re too stubborn to get your shit together, maybe we’ll have to bench you for a while,” tony snapped.

the words hit you like a punch to the gut. you couldn’t even bring yourself to care.

“tony, that’s too far,” steve interjected, but tony’s expression was cold, his anger boiling over.

“no, it’s not. you’re not invincible, y/n,” tony shot back, his eyes narrowed. “if you can’t focus on the mission, then you’re not helping anyone. and I’m not risking the team because of some personal... whatever this is.”

you sat there in silence, the sting of his words sinking deep, and all you could think about was how everything had been so much simpler before. before natasha made you feel like an afterthought, before you felt like you were just another expendable member of the team.

“i’m fine,” you repeated, though it didn’t feel like the truth anymore.

but the truth didn’t matter, did it? no one cared about your pain.

and you should've known a black widow would never hold back her venom for anyone.

ha no happy ending love ya

[cherryblessing]

📎— TO LOVE.

SATORU & SUGURU × GN!reader

—GOJO SATORU

``to be loved by you feels like stepping out after the rain, the air hushed, the sky a tender gray. your eyes, like trembling leaves, catch the droplets of a passing storm, each one a mirror— tiny worlds where i see myself reflected, always cradled in your everything.``

To be loved by Gojo Satoru feels like curling up on the couch after a long day, your head resting against his chest as the soft glow of the TV flickers across the room. The movie playing is something ridiculous—so bad it’s good—but neither of you is paying much attention.

Satoru’s laugh fills the space, bright and carefree, as he makes snarky comments about the plot, his voice dipping into exaggerated tones to mimic the absurd dialogue.

You can feel the vibration of his laughter against your cheek, a quiet reminder of just how alive he is. His arm is draped around your shoulders, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your skin, and for once, there’s no urgency, no chaos, just the gentle rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body against yours.

Every so often, Satoru turns his head to look at you—not with the sharp, calculating gaze the world knows him for, but something softer, almost boyish. There’s something grounding in the way he watches you, as if you’re the only thing that matters in this moment, the only thing he wants to see.

When he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head, it’s as casual as it is tender. “You’re not even watching,” Satoru teases, his voice low and warm.

“I am,” you lie, but it doesn’t matter, because neither is he.

His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer until you can hear the steady beat of his heart. It’s a sound that feels safe, refreshing, like stepping outside after a storm and breathing in the crisp, clean air. The rest of the world falls away, leaving just the two of you in this tiny bubble of peace and silliness.

And somehow, in that simplicity, there’s everything. The way Satoru holds you, so effortlessly, makes you feel cradled in something bigger than yourself—like even in his most unguarded moments, he’s giving you a piece of infinity. His love isn’t loud or overwhelming right now; it’s in the quiet gestures, the way he doesn’t move even though his arm is probably falling asleep, the way his thumb brushes against your shoulder without him even realizing it.

To be loved by Gojo Satoru is to find that even in the most ordinary moments, he has a way of making you feel extraordinary. It’s the safety of his warmth, the way he makes you laugh, the way he looks at you like you’re the best part of his life. It’s messy, imperfect, and utterly human. And as he starts pointing out yet another ridiculous plot hole in the movie, you can’t help but smile, because being here with him feels like home.

—GETO SUGURU

``to be loved by you feels like moonlight spilling through fractured walls, its silver touch stitching shadows with light. in the stillness of midnight, your voice carries like the first bird's song, gentle but insistent— a herald of dawn, softening the horizon. the sun breaks, and i see you there, shining just as fierce, just as constant.``

To be loved by you feels like sitting under the shade of a tree after a day that’s drained all the strength from Geto Suguru’s body. The morning’s training still lingers in his every muscle, a dull ache that he would normally ignore, but today he doesn’t have to. Not with you here. The warmth of your presence takes the edge off, softening the harshness of the day in a way nothing else can.

Suguru watches as you pull out the lunch you’ve prepared for him, your hands moving with the quiet confidence he’s come to admire. The dappled sunlight filters through the leaves above, flickering across your face, and for a moment, he forgets the ache in his shoulders or the heaviness in his chest. You hand him a neatly packed box, and he takes it, your fingers brushing for the briefest moment.

The first bite is simple but satisfying, a kind of care he hasn’t allowed himself to believe he deserves.

“This is good,” Suguru murmurs, his voice quieter than he intended. There’s a fleeting vulnerability in the way he says it, his words tinged with the unspoken realization that someone took the time to do this for him.

“Really good.”

You laugh softly, and it makes him pause. The sound is gentle, cutting through the quiet like a thread of moonlight slipping through fractured walls. It doesn’t demand attention—it simply exists, constant and steady, much like you. It’s in moments like these that Suguru wonders if you realize the weight you lift from him just by being here.

“You always forget to eat properly after training,” you tease lightly, and the corner of Suguru’s mouth lifts in a rare, unguarded smile. “So I figured I’d help you out.”

“Help me out, huh?” Suguru repeats, his tone laced with faint amusement, but his gaze is soft as it rests on you. There’s a kind of peace in your presence that Suguru hasn’t found anywhere else—a quiet understanding that feels like stepping into the stillness of midnight and hearing the first bird’s song, a herald of something brighter.

As he leans back against the tree, Suguru finds himself watching you more than eating. The way your eyes light up as you talk about something small, the way the sunlight catches in your hair, the way you look at him—not with pity, but with something fierce and unshakable. You remind him of the sun breaking over the horizon, shining just as constant, just as fierce, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for it. But he knows he doesn’t want it to stop.

“Thank you,” Suguru says, his voice quiet but certain. The words feel heavier than they should, carrying more than just gratitude for the meal. Maybe he’s thanking you for more—for the way you soften the edges of his life, for the way you make him feel like he’s allowed to have moments like this.

To be loved by you, Suguru realizes, is to be held in a light that doesn’t waver, even when everything else feels broken. It’s constant, unrelenting, and impossibly kind. And for the first time in what feels like forever, Suguru allows himself to lean into it.

all writing, including poems are my own.

©cherryblessing.2024

[mapis-putellas]

𝑶𝒄𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆

Pairing: Mapi Leon x Ingrid x reader

Words: 1500+

Warnings: vague body image issues.

Summary: You take a trip to the beach with your girlfriends.

The beach trip was supposed to be fun, a spontaneous idea that Mapi had brought up the night before, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She and Ingrid had finished a particularly grueling training session that day, and the idea of lounging by the ocean, sun warming their skin, and waves crashing against the shore had sounded like the perfect remedy for sore muscles and tired minds. They'd both looked at you with hopeful eyes, and you'd agreed, swept up by their enthusiasm.

The morning of, however, the reality of it hit you.

Standing in front of the mirror in the small changing room near the beach, you tugged nervously at your bikini, eyeing the reflection that stared back. The swimsuit fit fine; it was actually really flattering. But that wasn't the issue. The issue was that it left you feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way that even intimacy with Ingrid and Mapi hadn't made you feel. Despite being with them for nearly six months, despite the countless nights you'd spent tangled together in bed, their bodies pressed against yours, this felt... different.

There was a safety in the dim lighting of your bedroom, the privacy of closed doors. Here, though, out in the open, with the sunlight harsh and unforgiving, every insecurity you'd ever had seemed to bubble up to the surface. Your eyes trailed over your body, taking in every curve and line. You weren't big, not by any stretch of the imagination. But standing here, knowing you'd soon be beside Ingrid and Mapi — two professional athletes with lean, toned bodies honed from years of training — you couldn't help but feel... inadequate.

Ingrid, with her tall frame and thick, dark hair cascading down her back, was effortlessly graceful and strong. Her Norwegian features were softened by her warm smile, the one she gave you that made you feel like the most special person in the world. She was lean but muscular in a way that was understated yet powerful. And Mapi... Mapi was pure energy, her body compact and defined. Her natural brown hair mixed with blonde from the last time she'd bleached it, and her easy, playful confidence made her feel untouchable in your eyes.

They were waiting for you outside, both probably already sprawled out on the sand, soaking up the sun. You wrapped a towel around yourself tightly, feeling like you needed a barrier between yourself and the world. It wasn't just the swimsuit. The beach itself was unnerving. The vastness of the ocean, with its dark depths and unknown creatures lurking beneath, had always terrified you. You couldn't swim, and the thought of going into that endless water made your stomach twist with anxiety.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the changing room, hoping that neither of them would notice the way you clung to the towel. The sun was bright, casting a warm glow over the beach, and the sound of waves crashing was both calming and intimidating. You spotted them immediately. Ingrid was lying on a beach towel, her sunglasses perched on her nose, looking effortlessly serene. Mapi, on the other hand, was already in the water up to her knees, waving at you excitedly.

"¡Amor!" she called, grinning widely, her English slightly stilted but endearing. "Come in! It's perfect!"

You forced a smile, lifting a hand in a half-hearted wave. Ingrid looked over, sensing your hesitation even from a distance. She raised her sunglasses, her warm eyes narrowing in concern as she took in your expression and the towel wrapped around you like armor.

As you reached their spot on the sand, Ingrid sat up, patting the space beside her. "Hey, love," she said gently, her Norwegian accent wrapping around the words. "Are you okay?"

Mapi, catching on to Ingrid's tone, made her way out of the water and jogged over, sand sticking to her legs as she approached. She tilted her head, eyeing you with that same concern, her brows furrowed slightly.

"I'm fine," you said, trying to brush it off. "Just... not really a beach person, I guess."

Mapi chuckled, oblivious to the undertone of your words. "Not a beach person?" she teased, nudging you lightly. "Who doesn't like the beach?" She reached for your towel playfully, her fingers grasping the edge. "Come on, let me see you."

You instinctively tightened your grip on the towel, pulling it closer. "I... I'm fine like this," you mumbled, looking away, hoping they wouldn't notice the heat rising to your cheeks.

Ingrid's hand found yours, her touch grounding you as her thumb brushed softly over your knuckles. "You know," she began softly, her voice low and soothing, "you don't have to hide from us."

Mapi's playful demeanor softened, and she exchanged a quick look with Ingrid, understanding passing between them in a way that needed no words. She crouched down beside you, her gaze warm and steady. "We've seen all of you before, hermosa. We love all of you."

You bit your lip, looking down at the sand. "I know, it's just... out here, it feels different. I don't know." You hesitated, glancing up at the ocean in the distance. "And... I can't swim, so I don't really want to go in the water."

Mapi's eyes softened, and she placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "Why didn't you say so, amor? We wouldn't have dragged you here if we knew."

Ingrid squeezed your hand gently. "We'll stay right here on the sand if that's what you want," she said, her gaze earnest. "We don't need the water to enjoy being with you.”

Something in her words loosened the tightness in your chest. You took a deep breath, glancing between the two of them, the warmth in their eyes melting away some of your insecurities.

"Maybe... maybe I'll try sitting on the edge," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

Ingrid's face lit up with a soft, encouraging smile. "Whatever you want, love. We'll be right there with you."

They each took one of your hands, guiding you toward the shoreline at a leisurely pace. The sound of the waves grew louder, and the salty breeze brushed against your skin as you neared the water. When you reached the edge, Ingrid and Mapi sat down beside you, their hands still holding yours.

Ingrid looked at you, her eyes gentle. "If you're uncomfortable, just let us know. We're here for you."

You nodded, feeling a bit braver with their hands anchoring you. You let your feet stretch out toward the water, watching as the waves gently lapped at your toes. It was... surprisingly soothing, and you found yourself relaxing a little.

Mapi, never one to stay quiet for long, leaned over with a playful grin. "See? Not so scary, right?" she teased, though her tone was gentle, supportive rather than mocking.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips. "Maybe not as scary as I thought," you admitted.

They both smiled, and you felt yourself easing into the moment, letting go of the tension you'd been holding onto since you'd arrived at the beach. You glanced over at them, their bodies relaxed and carefree, and for the first time, you didn't feel the urge to compare. They were beautiful, yes, but they were also so much more — supportive, patient, understanding.

After a few moments, Mapi gave your hand a light squeeze. "Let's take it slow," she said, her gaze kind but teasing. "I'll hold onto you if you get scared."

You laughed, the sound surprising you. "I think I'll be okay."

Ingrid smiled, her thumb tracing soothing patterns on your hand. "We'll take it one step at a time. And remember, you don't have to prove anything to us. We love you just as you are."

The words settled into your heart, and for the first time, you felt yourself believing them. You let the towel slip from your shoulders, feeling the sun's warmth on your skin, and both of them grinned as if they'd just witnessed a small victory.

For the rest of the day, you stayed close to the shore, letting the gentle waves brush over your feet as you laughed and talked with them. They never left your side, always checking in, always making sure you felt safe and comfortable. You even let Mapi coax you a little further into the water, her hands on your waist as she steadied you, her grin infectious as she cheered you on.

By the time the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, you felt lighter, the insecurities that had weighed you down at the beginning of the day now distant memories.

As you all sat together, watching the sunset, Mapi leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "I told you, didn't I?" she murmured, her voice a gentle tease. "Nothing to be scared of."

Ingrid wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close as she pressed a kiss to your temple. "You're perfect just like this," she whispered, her accent thick with affection.

And in that moment, wrapped in their warmth and love, you believed them. You didn't need to be anything more than who you were, because to them, you were already enough.

**

Tags: @marysfics @ceesimz @codiemarin @girlgenius1111 @goldenempyrean @liloandstitchstan @xxnaiaxx @silentwolfsstuff

[aventurineswife]

A kinda specific and maybe long but fun idea i had for a req:

Essentially, {and bare w me, i’m half asleep writing this lol} Reader x Sunday, and Reader is a childhood friend of his, who he loved, and someday when they were older, Reader was tragically killed in an incident. Sunday however, in a grief stricken state, decides to rebel against his original goal for the sweetdream paradise (penacony arc reference) and decides to shape it into a dream instead where he’s happily married to Reader, although for the sake of the dream he’s altered their memories. ending is essentially up to you!

{some additional ideas i had if you wanted to, were things like an argument between gopher and sunday, or robin and sunday, in whichever points of the story you wanted}

alternatively, a different Aventurine version would be interesting, mostly w the same set up but Sunday met Reader during Aventurine’s mission on Penacony, liked them, and Aven has to basically fight off the dream and Sunday.

but yeah, that’s pretty much it, everything else is up for creative liberties! i hope this one is at least somewhat interesting lol xx and srry if some of it doesn’t make sense 😓🤍

“Sometimes, the hardest part of letting go is realizing that the dream was never real”

Summary: In the idyllic yet hollow world of Sweetdream Paradise, Sunday crafts a perfect life with you—his lost love, altered memories and all—to escape the sorrow of reality. But as others begin to break through his illusion, and you start to remember fragments of a different fate, the dream begins to fracture. Torn between love and the harshness of truth, Sunday must finally face the choice to let you go, or remain forever in his self-made paradise.

Tags: Sunday x Reader, unrequited love, grief, loss, dreamscape, bittersweet ending, altered memories, memory manipulation, moral dilemma, angst, hurt/comfort, alternate reality, surrealism, slow unraveling, denial of reality.

Warnings: Grief, themes of manipulation, psychological trauma, implied death of Reader, reality distortion, emotional conflict, bittersweet resolution, morally ambiguous decisions.

A/N: Don't worry, anon! I appreciate all the details, the more details the more I can try to understand what you want exactly! Though I probably changed some bits of it here 😪

Sunday had always been proud of his role within Penacony, the creator of Sweetdream Paradise—a place where sorrow could be stilled, where suffering dissolved into an endless realm of serene dreams. It was a comforting reality he believed people needed, a soft oblivion to cradle them. Yet, in the depths of his mind, his peaceful philosophy hid a darker purpose, shaped by the ache of a loss he could never endure.

You had been his friend, a constant light in his youth, a companion who grounded his dreams. For as long as he remembered, you were there, with laughter that melted his worries and eyes that could see through his layered philosophies. But the day you were lost, taken too soon in a tragic incident, the world itself had hollowed out for him. The pain of your absence haunted him like a shadow, feeding a grief so deep that he was willing to defy his original purpose. In that moment of desolation, he turned Sweetdream Paradise into something far more personal—a realm where you still lived, where you loved him just as much as he had loved you.

In this new dream, Sunday made alterations. He reshaped your memories, softened the sharp edges of reality, and wove a seamless history where you had married him, where together, you built a life free of tragedy. In this dream, he could protect you eternally, shielded by his crafted illusion.

You woke to sunlight filtering through the windows, lying beside Sunday as the golden morning glow danced over his features. His eyes opened, catching you with a familiar warmth, and he reached over, brushing his fingers across your cheek.

"Good morning." he murmured, voice low and rich, as if savoring the simplicity of that greeting.

Every day was like this—a gentle, perfect rhythm that never seemed to break. You didn’t remember a world outside of this home, this life with him. And as you looked at him, you felt safe, loved, yet there was always a faint unease, like a fragment of something forgotten.

But the days went on, filled with laughter and love. Sunday seemed devoted to making sure you never doubted this world, his every word a reassurance that here, you were whole and happy.

One evening, as Sunday worked quietly at his desk, a visitor shattered the peace of his dream. It was Robin, standing just inside the doorway, her expression dark with a kind of wary sadness.

“Brother, you need to stop this,” she said, folding her arms. Her gaze fixed on him, seeing through the veneer of the dream. “This isn’t right. This… this paradise you’re keeping isn’t reality.”

Sunday straightened, his face hardening at her words. “Who are we to deny people peace, Robin? Haven’t we seen enough pain? Haven’t they?” His voice broke slightly, the facade slipping as he glanced toward where you sat by the fire, unaware of the intensity in his voice. He softened, as if trying to protect the dream from any trace of discord.

“You’re keeping people trapped. Yourself included. And for what? A fantasy? Is that really what they would have wanted?” Robin’s voice grew more urgent, her frustration showing. “They’re gone. You have to accept that.”

Sunday’s fists clenched at her words, every fiber in his body resisting the truth. “How could you understand?” he whispered. “In this place, they’re alive. I’m not hurting anyone. I’m giving them peace. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Robin stared at him, her gaze a mix of pity and sorrow. “At what cost, Brother? You’re keeping yourself from moving on, holding them hostage in a world that isn’t even real.”

In an alternate version of Penacony, Sunday’s paradise faced an even stranger twist. Aventurine, the cunning Stoneheart known for his strategic mind, was on his own mission in Sweetdream Paradise, seeking information that only Sunday could provide. But as he delved into the fabric of this dreamscape, he found himself questioning the reality around him, the shimmering dream where Sunday lived an idyllic life with you.

Aventurine confronted Sunday one night, his tone half-amused, half-concerned. “Interesting setup you have here,” he remarked, eyes gleaming with curiosity as he took in the flawless surroundings. “I almost believed it myself… almost. But what happens when the dream can’t hold itself together anymore?”

Sunday’s gaze narrowed, his protective instincts flaring. “What do you mean by that?”

Aventurine shrugged, his gaze flicking to you, sitting quietly, oblivious to the tension. “Everyone in this place… it’s all too perfect, isn’t it? You’re clinging to a memory, one that doesn’t belong here.”

In a rare flash of anger, Sunday stepped forward, his eyes darkening. “This isn’t any of your concern, Aventurine. Leave.”

Aventurine met his glare, his smirk slipping. “You think you’re the only one who’s loved and lost? Reality has its flaws, Sunday. It’s messy, painful… but it’s real. This—this is just a prison you’re keeping yourself in.”

Sunday’s voice trembled, caught between anguish and fury. “Better a beautiful dream than a brutal reality.”

Aventurine’s gaze softened for a brief moment, though he couldn’t abandon his sardonic tone. “But at least in reality, they would have remembered you for who you are, not a god in a gilded cage.”

In the end, it was you—within the dream—who finally confronted him, feeling the intangible pull of memories you didn’t recognize. “Sunday… something doesn’t feel right,” you whispered one night, as he sat beside you. “I keep… remembering pieces of something different, something that feels like it wasn’t supposed to end this way.”

Sunday’s face grew pale, fear creeping into his eyes. “No, you don’t have to worry about that. You’re here. We’re together. Isn’t that enough?”

But as you searched his eyes, you could feel the truth breaking through, the dream trembling under the weight of reality. “Sunday, what are you not telling me?”

He looked away, his heart shattering as he realized he couldn’t keep you here forever. Slowly, he whispered, “I… I just wanted to keep you safe. To give us a life that didn’t end in sorrow.”

With a trembling hand, you reached out, brushing a tear from his cheek. “It’s okay to let go. You have to keep going… even if it means letting me go.”

Sunday’s shoulders shook, the dream beginning to unravel around them, pieces of the illusion fading as he looked into your eyes one last time. “I… I don’t know if I can.”

But in the final moments, he felt your hand slip away, leaving him alone in the vast silence of his own grief. And as he awoke from his dream, Sunday found himself in a world still plagued by loss, his heart hollow yet somehow freer. Though you were gone, he understood, at last, that he had to face reality, no matter how painful it was.

And in that pain, he found a fragile hope—a sliver of light breaking through the dark.

*cutely posts all my drafts that have been dying to see the light* 😇💖

[cherryblossom-chopper]

ღ Badly Hurt ღ

Violent and Angst Content with Ace, Shanks, and Luffy.

————— ୨୧ —————

Ace’s stomach dropped when you crumpled a few meters before him. “(Name)!” he shrieked, rushing toward you as fire licked his skin. Rubble scraped his knees as he hit the ground beside you. He frantically jerked you off the ground, pulling you onto his lap. “Sweetheart,” Ace whimpered, shaking you gently. He brushed the dirt and rock from your face.

When you didn’t stir, Ace tried to gently slap your cheek . Your name found its way into the air as he begged you to open your eyes. The blood starting to cake on your hairline made bile rise in his throat. “Baby, come on, this isn’t funny,” he sniffled as unexpected tears pricked his eyes. His hand was resting on your chest. Agony swelled within him each time it fell, and relief grew each time it rose.

The great pirate, Portgas D. Ace, sobbed when you let out a strangled groan. “(Name), fuck, hey there,” Ace whimpered, nearly out of breath. He leaned over you, trying to shield your face from the harsh sunlight, when you squinted your eyes.

“Ace,” you gasped. Your head burned, and it was hard to focus on the freckles on his cheeks.

“Hi baby,” his voice wavered, and he wiped his tears with his hand, “Welcome back.”

・‥…━━━☆

Luffy had never sat in the spot for so long before. An irritating slapping sound came from Luffy's sandal as his knee anxiously bounced. He leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. An unbecoming frown was plastered onto the captain's face. "When are they going to wake up?" Luffy asked, his eyes closely watching his trusted doctor.

"(Name) is going to be okay. They just overdid it… again," Chopper reassured him as the doctor began packing up his equipment, "You should try to convince them to take it easy."

Left alone, Luffy moved his chair close to your bedside. He held your hand, giving it a tender squeeze. The air caught in his throat when you squeezed back.

"Treasure?" Luffy leaned closer to you, his heart beating hard in his chest. Your tired eyes met his, and a smile bloomed on Luffy's face.

"Hey," you tried to smile back. You're entire body ached as you attempted to sit up.

Luffy quickly held you in place with a firm hand on your shoulder. "You need to rest," he said sternly, "I don't like it when you faint. It's scary."

"I can't. I know I have chores to do," you grunted, trying to get out of bed, "I can't lay around all day."

"(Name)," Luffy's grip was stiffer, "Stop it. I don't want to see you get hurt. If you keep doing this…" his breath hitched, and Luffy looked away.

Your heart softened at his hurt expression. "Luffy," you said, squeezing his hand again, "I'll be okay. I was just a little burnt out."

"But what if you're not," he whispered, "What am I supposed to do if you're not okay? What if next time you get too hurt to travel with us? I'm supposed to protect you, not the other way around." You cupped his cheek, stroking the scar under his with your thumb. "Okay, Luffy, I'll stay," you relaxed into the pillows, and your aching muscles thanked you.

"Can I get in bed with you?" he asked much, as a frightened child would, his big eyes pleading with you.

"Of course, you can," you offered him a sleepy smile. A nearly aching laugh came out of you as Luffy haphazardly crawled over you to flop onto the other side of the bed. Your heart filled with love as he snuggled up close to you. His arm draped over your middle.

"You're staying put till Chopper says it's okay," he informed you, squeezing you tight.

You smile a little more, "Okay, sweetheart. I can live with that."

・‥…━━━☆

"For fuck sake," Shanks growled, wrenching you upright with his hand around your upper arm. The last of the captain's concerns was the likely bruise his grasp would cause. He pulled you close to his chest. "Stay with me, (Name)," he barked, attempting to maneuver your weak form, "Stay on your feet."

The rock beneath your feet shifted as you swayed in Shank's arm. Nausea washed over you as you looked down at the blood on your shirt. Your mouth opened and closed, desperately trying to find words. The fog settled into your mind, and Shank's darkening face filled your vision.

Shanks pushed you against Benn's chest as he came to help. Benn steadied you with his firm hands and held your back to his chest. Your head tilted back to look up at him, confused about how you got there.

Your partner grabbed your cheeks with his hand. "Babe, look at me," Shanks leaned close to your face, "Focus on me." The battle behind him melted away as he tugged up your shirt.

Benn's hands keeping you upright helped your eyes focus on Shanks. You watched with foggy concern as his face was pulled tight into a frown. His glare went from your body to your face, barely softening when your eyes met.

"Shanks," you mumbled, weakly reaching out to him.

Your voice made his face crack ever so slightly. He shouldered his classic white shirt off and tore it with his teeth. "Never ever do that again," he ordered, wrapping the cloth around your torso, "I'm an emperor, and you're- you're not."

When you jerked in pain, Shanks tenderly shushed you. "You're going to be fine, okay?" he insisted, "You'll be okay. You've gotta be okay."

————— ୨୧ —————

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[roosterforme]

Adult Education Part 18 | Hangman x OC

Summary: It's hard for Jake to come to terms with the fact that Jessica thinks he's good enough for her. He doesn't want to doubt himself, but changing your habits is hard. Jessica feels like she's inching closer to getting tenure before Brian returns, and she allows herself a break from work to celebrate her boyfriend's birthday.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, oral, angst, language, mention drinking and driving, 18+

Length: 4000 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC

This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

Jake opened his eyes and groaned softly, snapping them closed again to shut out the warm sunlight on his face. 

"Good morning." The softly whispered greeting and the gentle fingers in his hair told him he made it to Jessica's place before he passed out. And now he had a hangover. He lost control of himself last night at the bar, and he drove himself to his girlfriend's place and went to sleep like some sort of asshole. 

"I'm sorry," he croaked, trying to swallow against his dry mouth. "I'm so sorry."

Jake felt her lips on his forehead, and he melted at the sweetness of it. He'd been terrible last night. Not at all the kind of man she deserved. "Do you want me to try to make you breakfast?" she asked, her lips skimming his ear.

"No. I want you to stay right here with me."

"Okay," she replied with a little laugh, and she let Jake hold onto her, tucking her head under his chin. Losing this now would be the worst thing that ever happened to him. "Did you have fun last night?"

He swallowed again. "I knew you were busy, and I didn't even mean to bother you."

The way she touched him was almost too much to handle. Her fingers were teasing along the shell of his ear as she played with his hair. "I'm not too busy for you."

Jake opened his eyes again to see Jessica looking up at him. She was actually perfect, and it hurt him to say, "There were some girls at the bar last night when I was with Bradshaw."

The puckered wrinkle that appeared between her eyebrows sent him into an immediate panic. "Oh." She started to pull away from him, but he couldn't let her.

"Jessica." His voice was just a harsh whisper. "No. Not that." She froze up in his arms as he said, "I just... I've never turned women down before." He felt absolutely disgusting admitting that out loud to her, but he had to. He kind of even needed to hear himself say it. "Last night was the first time. Because of you. Because of us."

Her posture softened incrementally as she asked, "What happened?"

It was more the way he felt about everything. "Nothing really happened," he replied, kissing her cheek. "Just me feeling like I'm not good enough for you. And then I drank too much."

She was quiet for a moment, and he braced himself for her judgement. Surely if he could see he wasn't good enough for her, then it must be glaringly obvious to Jessica too. But her fingers made their way back up into his hair. "I take it they flirted with you and Bradley? Tried to get you to buy them drinks? Touched you?"

"Yeah," he grunted. "Wanted us to teach them how to play pool. I had to aggressively tell them no. Then I sat at the bar with Penny after Bradley left to pick up his wife. I drank a little too much and then called you."

Jessica wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled in closer again. "Are you sure you don't want breakfast?"

He was completely taken aback. Jessica's fingers skimmed the hair at the back of his neck as she kissed his nose and cheek. "You're not upset? That I literally floundered over how to say no to someone? That I didn't even know how?"

She shook her head slightly. "Why would I be upset? You're handsome and funny. You're going to get hit on. Girls are going to flirt with you and touch you. Are you going to cheat on me?"

"No!" That was the easiest question he'd ever answered. Last night caught him off guard and threw him for a loop, but that was never a question at all. "Of course not."

"Okay, then," she whispered. "I think I understand how you used to be with women, and I'm not upset about it. I don't think you'd be as good of a boyfriend as you are if you weren't serious about me."

"I'm serious," he told her, tangling his fingers in her long hair. "I am."

She grinned and closed her eyes, before her smile faded a bit. "You didn't judge me when I told you about Brian."

Jake ground his molars together. "Because absolutely none of that was your fault, Baby."

"Well, you didn't do anything wrong either." But then she froze, eyes fixed on his face. "Wait. Did you drive yourself here last night?"

He swallowed hard. "I did."

"Jake!" she gasped, panic in her voice. "What were you thinking?!"

Jessica rolled him onto his back and straddled his waist with her hands on his chest, and she looked like she was on the verge of tears. He rubbed her arms as he said, "I sat at the bar and tried to sober up first, but I needed you."

She actually sobbed. "Don't do that ever again! You could get hurt. Or hurt someone else. You could have called me for a ride." Tears fell from her eyes and slid down her cheeks, and it hit Jake right in the jugular that she was more upset about this than anything else. 

"Come here," he whispered, collecting her against his body. "I'm so sorry, Jess. I'll call you next time. Or I'll get a ride. I was so caught off guard without you around, I couldn't even think straight."

Her lips found his neck as she said, "Well next weekend is your birthday, so I'll be at your fancy Navy bar with you then."

"That'll be perfect."

She laughed softly. "But I'm used to the literal dive bar that is Chippy's, so I might not fit in."

"You will. And Penny has Sam Adams."

With another kiss to his neck, she sat up on him and wiped her eyes. "Breakfast?"

-----------------------------

Jessica wasn't oblivious to the signs. She knew Jake must have been a bit of a playboy before. It seemed like maybe she was the first girlfriend he was serious about. And she was okay with that. Very okay with that. If he was trying to get his footing under him, then that meant he wanted this to last. 

He stumbled into her kitchen, half dressed with his hair sticking up everywhere and Jessica in his arms. "I'll make breakfast. You might never have to cook again."

"Oh, I love the sound of that," she giggled as he looked in her refrigerator with one arm wrapped around her waist. 

"Okay, you really need to go grocery shopping, Jess."

"What's the point? You've been spoiling me nonstop."

He just grunted, but he had a smile on his face, and a few minutes later, she was eating an omelette. Between bites, she asked, "What do you want for your birthday?"

"Nothing," he replied, taking a bite of his own breakfast. 

She smirked. "Maybe a quiet night in together?"

"I want that every day, Baby," he said as he inhaled the rest of his food. "Not just for my birthday."

If he really didn't want anything, she hoped he wouldn't be annoyed that she got him something. She had it all wrapped and ready to go by the middle of the week. 

On Wednesday morning, she was standing at the front of her largest lecture, organizing her notes, when she saw Dr. Rosenthal bustle in. He looked tired, and once again Jessica felt bad that there would be no way to really repay him for everything he was doing for her.  

She hopes this would be the lecture that really wowed him. She'd been teaching these topics since she was a grad student, and she was damn good at it. He was still getting his notebook ready when she was about to call everyone to attention, and that's when she heard it. Skateboard wheels on the industrial tile floor. Luca skated in through the lecture hall doors, and then he popped his board up into the air. It looked like he was still in his pajamas, and Jessica wanted to die from the look of disgust on Dr. Rosenthal's face.

"Luca," Jessica said, shooting him a pleading look. 

"Hey, Dr. Reed," he greeted. "Surf's looking good today, but here I am!"

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Maybe trying to relate to her students and find common ground with them during her office house wasn't the way to go after all. When she opened her eyes, Dr. Rosenthal was shuffling some papers around; he had all of her notes, including those regarding which students were passing and which ones were failing. He would see Luca's low grade any second now, and she hoped this wouldn't hurt her.

But Luca's grade was slowly but surely coming up in this class, and Jessica was actually really proud of all the work and effort he was putting in. And she immediately resigned herself to the fact that it would be more important for one of her students to be comfortable and confident enough in her class to get a passing grade than it would be for her to get tenure. Luca brought up a few wrinkled pages and handed them to her with a smile before taking his seat next to his skateboard. It was all of the extra practice problems she gave him during her office hours last night. He'd finished all of them in less than a day, and they looked to be correct at first glance. 

She nodded at him, set them aside and collected herself. She made a few announcements and ensured that everyone's attention was focused on her, and then she started teaching. Even though she knew Rosenthal was there, she tried not to look at him. Surprisingly, when she asked if anyone could answer one of the problems she wrote out on the board, Luca raised his hand. 

When Jessica called on him, he said, "I think it's like.... 200 meters per second?"

"Yes!" she replied, kind of surprised but very pleased. "Nice work, Luca." And honestly, that's why she was here. Even though she had to teach Brian's class which was outside of her wheelhouse later this afternoon, she would get more practice problems ready for Luca as well.

At lunchtime, Jessica decided to stop by and see if her friend was around. They wouldn't be able to talk much about the tenure review, but at least maybe they could eat together. Besides, her office was bigger and nicer, and the math hallways were quiet at this time of day.

Jessica could hear her friend's soft laughter before she saw her, and when her office door came into view, she was standing there with her husband. "I don't want to go back to work," he told her with a smirk on his lips and his big hand on her butt. "I want to stay for round two. Maybe sit in one of your lectures and be your top student." When she tried to sneak away unnoticed, Bradley called out, "Hey, Jess." His wife spun around with a smile, but he kept his hands all over her. 

"Hi! Did you stop by for lunch?"

"Yeah," Jessica replied, and she was sure her cheeks were flushed. "But you look busy."

Bradley kissed the side of his wife's neck and whispered something in her ear that made her eyes go wide, and then he was walking away as he told her, "I love you." He winked at Jessica and said, "I was just leaving. Have a nice afternoon."

Jessica held her little lunch container from Jake and examined her friend's dreamy expression. This wasn't the first time she felt like she was interrupting them, and she wondered how often Bradley actually stopped by for a few minutes at lunchtime. And then she felt her cheeks grow warmer. "Sorry I'm interrupting... again."

Her friend laughed. "You're not. He interrupted my lunch."

"Yeah," Jessica whispered. "But he brought you dessert."

Both of them were laughing hysterically as Jessica followed her into her office.

--------------------------

Jake knew Jessica was busy, but he always felt better when he was with her. He'd been avoiding her office hours so she had time to keep tabs on the new students she'd absorbed from Brian's class, but that also meant he didn't get to have a mid week sleepover. On Friday night, he caved and called her when she was probably on her way home from campus. Tomorrow was his birthday, and he'd been hoping to have her sleepover, but he wasn't about to invade her schedule at the moment. He stripped off his undershirt and collapsed on his bed as the phone rang and rang.

"Jake!" she gushed when she answered. Even the sound of her voice made him a little dizzy. "How's the birthday boy?"

He chuckled. "That's not until tomorrow."

"I know," she said, "but it's really a celebration all weekend long, right?"

"If you say so, Baby."

"I do say so," she replied. "I'm just getting in my car now."

He hummed as he thought about her in one of her little skirts and sweater sets and high heels, and almost instantly his cock responded. "You're getting in your car?" he repeated, picturing her sliding across the soft leather interior. 

His hand slipped inside his black briefs without him even thinking about what he was doing. It had been more than five days since he'd fucked his girlfriend, and he was starting to ache. He had no idea how he'd ever be able to handle a deployment now as he wrapped his hand around his cock. 

"Yeah, but there's a road closed, so it's probably going to take me forever," she mused as he heard the engine start up.

Jake grunted. "Just as long as you get home safe, Baby. You want to tell me about your day?"

"It was so good!" She sounded really upbeat and excited, and Jake tried to listen to every detail with his hand just sitting there, but it was impossible. Her voice was too sweet. She was the only one he ever wanted. He started stroking himself when she said, "I was thinking about you all afternoon. I taught the same problem that you answered correctly in my back to school mini lecture. You know... the night we met."

He moaned. "Best night of my fucking life." He pulled himself free of the elastic and stroked himself slowly as he said, "Imagine, a hottie with a PhD offering to buy me a three dollar beer."

She giggled which left him groaning. Then the line went quiet. "Are you... what are you.... it sounds like you're touching yourself?"

"I am," he replied. "I just started. Your voice is too sweet, Jessica."

"Oh," she sighed. "Guess what I'm wearing."

"Fuck. You're making it worse," he complained playfully. "Are you in one of those little skirts?"

"You know, I think I might be."

"And high heels?"

"Always."

"And one of those soft little sweaters?" he moaned.

"Yes, my green one."

That one was his favorite. It was the same shade of green as that lingerie set he loved. He was a mess, looking down at his cock, unsure whether he wanted to rub this out quickly or make it last. "I wish you were coming over tonight, but I know you're busy as hell."

"Jake, of course I'm coming over. I'm already most of the way there. Don't you want me to?"

He let out a sigh of relief. "Jesus, Jessica. I need you. Yes, I want you to come over."

She laughed and asked, "Are you going to keep touching yourself until I get there?"

He took a few deep breaths. "If I do that, then I won't be any fun when you get here and I only last three minutes."

"Maybe that's true... but I'm sure you can muster up what's needed for round two. Right?"

"For you? Absolutely," he promised as he eased his hand up and down his length. 

"I'll be there in five," Jessica said before ending the call, and Jake stood and tried to walk around his condo. His dick was rock hard, and he occasionally stroked himself to relieve some of the need, but he wanted to wait for his girl. 

"Damn," he groaned through gritted teeth. He hung out of the top of his underwear and bounced with every step he took. Then he finally heard the knock on his door. He opened it without even checking to make sure it was her, and Jessica gasped when she saw him.

"Hi," she said as her wide eyes and parted lips gave way to a little smirk. She was wearing the little outfit he'd been able to picture just perfectly, and her hair hung around her face in soft waves. "Want me to take care of that for you, birthday boy?"

"If you wouldn't mind," he replied, closing the door behind her, and much to his delight, she tossed her bag aside and dropped right to her knees. His cock was inside her warm, wet mouth immediately, and he was being treated to the luxury of her tongue drawing lazy circles along his length. "Jessica."

She hummed as she took him deep and started to suck, and he knew it was absolutely a lost cause. He just smoothed his hand along her hair before taking a fistful at the back of her head and let himself enjoy this. He grunted softly at the perfect feel of her as she bobbed along, looking up at him with crooked glasses. 

"Fuck." He came as soon as her fingers grazed his balls, and he watched her sputter and swallow all of him down. Her movements started to slow, and he was almost twitching from overstimulation when she finally withdrew him with a little pat on his hip. 

She was smiling up at him as he released her hair. "Shit, Jessica. What was I thinking? You shouldn't have been walking around alone after dark, Baby."

She kissed his thigh, and then he started to pull her to her feet. "It's not that dark out yet, and besides, a very nice man with a knife walked me inside from the parking lot." When his eyes went wide, she cupped his cheek and said, "I'm only kidding."

He groaned and kissed her, tasting his cum in her mouth which just made him feel even more protective. In a lot of ways, he was still getting used to being in a relationship, but he really didn't want to fuck this up. "Next time, even if it isn't quite dark yet, I will come down and walk you inside."

"Even if you have an erection?" she asked, snuggling up in his arms. 

"Especially if I have an erection. It'll scare off the guys with knives," he whispered, making her laugh. The words were right there. They were always right there. He realized it after the fact that he almost told the girls at the bar last weekend that he was in love with his girlfriend. He kissed her forehead and said, "I wasn't sure if you were coming, so I only have leftovers."

Jessica moaned. "Jake Seresin leftovers are still peak gourmet, and I'm starving."

He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the kitchen and set her down on the counter before he tucked himself back in his underwear. She was all smiles as he opened the refrigerator and started naming what he had in there. "Surprise me," she whispered, and he started heating up a huge bowl of chili to share with her. 

When he pulled out two forks, he kissed her cheek and said, "Why don't you tell me all about your week? And then I'll take you to bed."

----------------------------

Jessica thought about saving his present for later, but right at midnight, she kissed him and whispered, "Happy birthday." He smiled even though his eyes were closed where he lay on the pillow next to her, completely sated. He'd done a fine job of unwrapping her, kissing every inch of her legs before removing her skirt. Tasting her everywhere while she modeled her green lingerie for him. Fucking her nice and slow until she was practically begging for more. 

When she started to climb out of bed, he reached for her hand. "Where you going?" His voice was raspy and sounded a little tired. 

"To get your birthday present."

"I only wanted you," he replied, and she just looked at him and wondered how he could be so sweet. She loved the way he really seemed to care what she was doing and wanted to be involved. He'd been sweet through the fraternity fundraiser and even through everything with Brian. Honestly, the little wrapped box inside her overnight bag didn't contain much, but she hoped it would convey how she felt. 

"Well you got me and something else, too," she whispered, kissing his hand before slipping out of bed. She could feel his eyes on her naked body as she rooted around for the gift, and then she returned with it. She handed it to him and slipped back in bed next to him. "You can open it now since it's officially your birthday."

He just looked at the black and green striped wrapping paper for a few seconds, and then he set it down and turned toward her. Jake kissed her with so much feeling, it knocked her breath out of her lungs. "Thank you," he whispered, his forehead resting against hers as he stroked her cheek with his rough thumb. "I can't even remember the last time I got an actual birthday gift. Even my mom and dad just send me a gift card every year."

She kissed him this time before she said, "Well maybe you should lower your expectations a little bit." But he just shook his head as he picked up the box and started to unwrap it. 

"Jessica," he whispered when he held the framed print of a Super Hornet in one hand. "This is so cool."

She smiled as he examined it closely, taking in all of the hand drawn lines and detailed markups. "It's kind of like the top secret F/A-18 schematics that you let me look at."

He turned toward her and raised an eyebrow. "Baby, I stole those for you."

She could feel her cheeks heat up as she buried her face in his neck. "I know," she whispered. "And I thought this would always remind you of me."

He gently set the frame down on his nightstand and pulled her on top of him. "Everything reminds me of you. And I think about you all the time."

But she still felt embarrassed for no reason even though she was basking in his words. She kissed his neck softly and reached up to run her fingers through his hair as she whispered, "Same, birthday boy."

She was starting to doze off when he said, "In the morning, will you help me decide where to hang my gift?"

"Of course."

"And we can make waffles again? And if you're a good girl, I'll eat your pussy again."

She giggled. "If that's what you want for your birthday breakfast, then sure."

He let his hand trail down her back to squeeze her butt. "That's absolutely what I want for breakfast. A real culinary treat." She rolled her eyes, but he didn't seem to be kidding. "And then tomorrow night, I'll take you to the bar and show you off to all my friends."

"And you'll buy me a Sam Adams while I cheat on Chippy."

Jake barked out a laugh. "What Chippy doesn't know won't hurt him, Baby."

-------------------------

The birthday boy better buy her all the Sam Adams she wants. And I just know for a fact Chippy will be able to tell she went to another bar! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 19

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[philokaliist]

'A Glimpse Of Serpents'

Clarisse La Rue x DaughterOfMedusa!Reader

A/N:Love,love,LOVE the concept of this but Idk how to feel abt how this turned out

Clarisse finds out her girlfriend's heritage and the fact that she inherited her mother's petrifying gaze

In the golden glow of a summer afternoon at Camp Half-Blood, Clarisse La Rue strolled through the training grounds, her armor glinting in the sunlight.

As Clarisse neared the archery range, she spotted her girlfriend,you,leaning against a tree.You,the daughter of Medusa,always wore sunglasses – a necessary shield against the curse that lived within your gaze.Clarisse greeted you with a warm smile, but something in the atmosphere around them felt off.

The sunlight caught the lenses of your sunglasses, and in a fleeting moment, Clarisse saw a reflection that sent a chill down her spine. It wasn't just a normal reflection; it was a glimpse of something unimaginable. In that fraction of a second, Clarisse saw the twisted, serpentine eyes of yours, eyes that mirrored the cursed heritage passed down from Medusa herself.

Clarisse looked at you,eyes wide for a moment,but then a scowl forming on her face as she decided to question you - to confirm if what she just witnessed was right. "What's with the shades all the time? We're in camp,not some fancy set." she grumbled.

You hesitated for a moment,then sighed,deciding to tell her "Clarisse, there's something I need to tell you, but you have to promise not to freak out.Please."

Clarisse scoffed, "Just spill it already."

Taking a deep breath,you removed your sunglasses - not meeting Clarisse's gaze,you revealed eyes that mirrored the unsettling gaze of your mother, Medusa. Clarisse recoiled, her anger momentarily replaced by shock.

"What the hell!?" Clarisse's voice trembled with a mixture of disbelief and betrayal.

You nodded solemnly, "I didn't want you to find out like this,but I didn't know how to tell you."

Clarisse's fists clenched, her expression hardening. "You've been keeping this from me? Are you trying to turn me into stone or something!?" she was furious now,and it was showing - both from her face and her tone.

You pleaded, "No, Clarisse, I love you. I wear the sunglasses to avoid accidentally turning anyone to stone. I've been trying to protect you."

Clarisse's anger flared up, "Protect me?!Protect me!!? By keeping such a major secret? You think I can't handle it?!"

You stammered "I was scared, okay? I thought you'd hate me!"

Clarisse glared at you, the hurt evident in her eyes. "You could have trusted me.But instead,you lied to my face!!"

You gasp,panic setting in,stumbling backwards. "Clarisse, please don't..."

But it was too late. Clarisse snapped, her temper boiling over. "Get away from me! I can't believe I trusted you."

You winced,devastated, turned around and fled deep into the forest. Clarisse, seething with anger and confusion,stood alone near the archery range.As you ran,your tears mingled with the constant muttering of "monster, monster, monster" echoing through the trees.

Clarisse was still grappling with the revelation and the harsh words she had just hurled at the person she loved. Deep down, she knew you weren't a monster, but the shock had ignited a volatile reaction. As the echoes of your footsteps faded, Clarisse was left with the weight of her own regret, realizing that the trust they had built might be shattered.

Eventually, Clarisse found you sitting by the lake alone, staring at your reflection with a mixture of self-loathing and fear. The raw vulnerability in that moment softened Clarisse's anger. She approached you with a gentleness that hadn't been there before.

As you looked up,tear-stained eyes meeting Clarisse's amidst the shadows of the ancient trees as you cried harder and spoke,your eyes still hidden behind the sunglasses. "You don't understand,Clarisse!You can't understand!I'm a monster.My mother's curse runs through me.I never asked to be born a monster!I didn't...I really didn't..." your words seemed to catch in your throat as you sobbed.

Clarisse sighed,still obviously upset - but she spoke in a calmer tone,attempting to calm you down.She kneeled besides you and spoke "Look,sorry for how I acted back there.It just..I was disappointed and sad - sad that you didn't tell me,sad that you lied to me...but I'm not running away from you.I would never run away from you." Clarisse spoke softly, her voice a contrast to the anger from before. "We're in this together,no matter what.But you've got to trust me,even with the parts you consider ugly."

Clarisse gently reached for her girlfriend's hand, her expression softening. "I know I can be a handful, but I'm not going anywhere.We face things together, good and bad. Trust me, okay?" She offered a small, reassuring smile, hoping to mend the moment and strengthen your connection as you embraced,hugging eachother tightly.

A/N:This was kinda fun to write but I mean - it's something? Anyways finished my hw 💀

[franzkafkagf]

Why Do Things Always Have To Go And Change?

summary ♡ Aegon returns to King's Landing—a shell of the man he once was, scarred, burnt and broken. He doesn't want to see anyone, he says. And yet, when the maesters come to change his bandages, Helaena is always at his bedside; quietly embroidering.

pairing ♡ Aegon II Targaryen x Helaena Targaryen

tags ♡ pov helaena, hurt/comfort, doomed couple, fluff, show canon

wordcount ♡ 4.1k

song rec ♡ Abbey – Mitski

read it on ao3 (kudos and comments on there are always appreciated ♡)

taglist ♡ @joekeerys @brevlada24 @serymn31 @themoonofthesun

She looked at him—really looked at him.

Her eyes wandered over his features; from the soft curve of his lips and he sharp line of his jaw, to the way the sunlight that spilled through the curtains played upon his silver hair, turning it into a shimmering crown.

But the light could not soften the harsh reality of his injuries. His face was now a patchwork of scars and burns, the skin taut and angry. The bandages covered half of it, hiding the worst of the damage, but she had seen enough to know the pain he must be enduring.

Helaena’s hands moved deftly, the needle gliding easily through the fabric in her hands as she embroidered at his bedside. It was a way to keep her mind occupied; she was working on a piece that was supposed to show Sunfyre.

They hadn’t been this close since Jaehaerys died—she had sought his presence a few times, of course, but he had seemed to… avoid her. Helaena wasn’t sure why; maybe he needed more time, or her face reminded him of their son, or he simply didn’t think she was important enough to spend time with. It didn’t really matter now. He couldn’t stop her from sitting here anymore.

Jaehaerys. That had been the beginning of the end for them. Their son, their precious little son—the bright spark that had been snuffed out too soon. Aegon had been so broken after his death, consumed by rage that had driven him to the battlefield. He had felt powerless, unable to protect their family, and in his desperation, he had sought solace in the only way he knew.

But what had it gained him? Now he lay before her, broken and scarred, a shadow of the man he once was. Soon, everything would be even worse. Helaena could feel it, the shifting of the world around them. The mere thought of what was to come threatened to split her head open, cold and unyielding.

The future sprawled out before her like an intricate tapestry, each thread representing a moment, a choice, a consequence. She could see the patterns forming, the inevitability of it all, and it filled her with a profound sense of helplessness. Everything she knew, everything she loved, was unravelling before her eyes, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

She was just a spectator, a silent witness.

Her needle paused, the thread caught on a knot. She looked down at her work, the brilliant golden dragon she had been stitching blurred by the tears that welled up in her eyes. She blinked them away, forcing herself to continue, to focus on the task at hand. There was no use in dwelling on what was to come. She could only live in the present, hold onto the moments she had left.

Aegon stirred in his sleep, a low groan escaping his lips. Helaena reached out, her fingers brushing against his uninjured cheek. She felt him lean into her touch, as if seeking the warmth of her body.

Their marriage had never been one of passion or choice. Both too young, too uncertain to be good to each other; thrust into a union neither had wanted. Over time, they had found some semblance of companionship, a way to coexist. He was the father of her children, and he was her brother, of course she loved him. Their bond was twisted and complicated, but it was theirs.

They had shared many good memories, especially ones with their twins—their little flames, as Aegon always called them.

Now, only poor little Jaehaera remained. Helaena had to hold back a sob as the image of her girl’s future death flashed in her mind. That specific death always made her feel sick beyond measure.

Suddenly, Aegon’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze unfocused and filled with confusion and pain. They had given him Milk of the Poppy last night to make sleep possible; the effects had probably worn off now.

“Helaena?” His voice was raspy and weak, as if he hadn’t used it in years. “Where... where is Sunfyre?”

“Shh, Aegon. Rest now.” She was unsure what to do, was she supposed to call for a maester?

“Sunfyre,” he repeated, trying to sit up but wincing in pain. “Where is he?”

Oh, golden, beautiful, magnificent Sunfyre. She couldn’t tell him about his dragon’s state right now. Everybody knew how much Aegon loved him; the truth would break his heart.

“Sunfyre is fine,” she lied gently, knowing it was what he needed to hear. “You’re hurt. Let me call for a mae—”

“No!” he gasped, grabbing her wrist with surprising strength. “No maester.”

She nodded, feeling the tension in his grip; it would certainly leave a bruise. “Yes. Alright, Aegon. No maester.”

He let go of her wrist, his visible eye darting around the room. He looked much younger, somehow. So lost and broken; she had only seen him like that twice before. When Jaehaerys died, the other time on their wedding day.

“Stay.” His voice startled her out of her thoughts. His eye was focused on her now; his voice trembling, almost pleading. “Can you stay?”

“Of course,” she said, managing a small smile. “I’ll stay.”

She continued her embroidery, her hands moving in a familiar, soothing rhythm. The room was filled with the sound of Aegon’s labored breathing and his occasional groan of agony. His face contorted in pain, and she could see the strain in every muscle of his body.

“Aegon,” she said softly, “I can call for the maester. You could take more Milk of the Poppy, for the pain.”

He shook his head, his lips quivering. “No. I don’t want it. The dreams… the dreams are horrible.”

She nodded, understanding. She had heard of the poppy-induced dreams, the nightmares that haunted the wounded and the dying. “I understand,” she whispered. “I’m here. I’ll distract you.”

She held up her embroidery, showing him the golden dragon she had been stitching. “Look, Aegon. It’s Sunfyre. I’m working on his wings now.”

He stared at the embroidery, she wasn’t sure if he even recognized what exactly she was doing; his eyes still seemed distant. “Tell me about the fight,” he murmured. “I remember… falling.”

They had told her about what happened over Rook’s Rest, or at least a version of what happened. She didn’t really trust anybody’s word anymore—Aemond had started to act especially strange after returning. She took a deep breath, she didn’t want to make him relive the battle, but she couldn’t deny him either.

“You fought bravely,” she began, her voice steady. “You led the charge... Meleys was strong, but you persevered. You flew high on Sunfyre, and the sight of you filled our men with hope.”

Aegon’s eyes flickered with a distant light. “And then…?”

“You… you fell,” she said, not daring to meet his gaze. “Sunfyre was wounded, and you both fell.”

“Where is Sunfyre?” Aegon’s voice grew agitated again, his brow furrowing. “Helaena, where is he?”

Helaena hesitated, weighing her options. He would find out eventually, and the way he pleaded with her broke her heart. “Sunfyre was too hurt to fly back to King’s Landing. He’s still at Rook’s Rest.”

Aegon screamed suddenly, the sound raw and filled with terror. He grabbed her arm, his grip like iron. “We need to save Sunfyre! He’s alone! He’s—”

“Aegon, you’re hurting me!” she yelped, her voice tinged with pain and fear.

He loosened his grip, his face contorted in anguish and regret. “We need to save him,” he repeated, his voice breaking as he started to sob.

“Sunfyre is being guarded and fed.” She put a soft, reassuring hand on his shoulder, trying to soothe him. “He will heal. Please, Aegon, you need to calm down. You’re too weak to do anything right now.”

“You don’t understand, Helaena.” Her words seemed to fall on deaf ears as he stared at her, his eyes wild with desperation. “It’s all my fault. He didn’t want to go, he told me— he was afraid, and I talked him into it. It’s my fault.”

She was powerless, yet again just a spectator; silently watching her brother break down completely. His sobs grew louder, more hysterical, and she noticed with growing alarm that the bandages on his face and body were starting to stain red. His wounds were reopening from the strain of his outburst.

“Aegon, please, you’re hurting yourself,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice calm, though her own fear was threatening to overwhelm her. Without thinking, she climbed onto the bed beside him, trying to soothe him, taking him into her arms.

To her surprise, he pressed his face into her chest, his cries turning into screams. “Make it stop. Please, make it stop,” he wailed, his body shaking with sobs.

She patted his back, unsure what else to do with her hands. “Shh, Aegon, it’s alright. I’m here. I’m here.” Her heart felt like it was being torn apart as she held him, feeling his pain as if it were her own. She kissed the top of his head, gently pushing him back against the mattress. “I’ll get a maester,” she said softly. “You need help. Please, let me help you.”

Aegon nodded weakly, his strength spent, his spirit broken. “Alright,” he whispered. “Alright.”

She rose from the bed and quickly called for the maester before returning to Aegon’s bedside, clasping his hand tightly. Every moment stretched out painfully as she watched Aegon’s blood seep through the bandages and into the linens. Finally, the heavy doors opened and the maester arrived.

“He needs more Milk of the Poppy,” Helaena informed the old man, putting everything she had into sounding as determined as possible. “A change of bandages too.”

The maester nodded and set to work, carefully removing the stained bandages from Aegon’s body; the king screamed, and Helaena had to look away. Aegon’s wounds were cleaned and wrapped in fresh bandages. He then held a cup of Poppy to Aegon’s lips; Aegon groaned, his body tense with pain, but he drank the bitter liquid without much protest.

Helaena watched, her heart in her throat, as the potion began to take hold of him. Aegon’s breathing slowed, his body relaxing as the Milk of the Poppy worked its way through his system. His eyes grew heavy, and soon he drifted into sleep.

Helaena sat down by his bedside again, her embroidery in her lap. She continued working on Sunfyre. The sun started to set slowly, casting long shadow across the chamber, but she remained. She couldn’t leave him alone, not now.

As darkness fell, Helaena lit a candle on the bedside table, its flickering flame casting a warm glow over the room. She had finished her first piece of embroidery and was now working on a new one—Aegon with his crown. Each stitch felt like an act of devotion, a way to hold on to the man he had been and the king he was never supposed to be.

The doors to the chamber opened quietly, and her mother walked in, her face lined with worry; as it always was nowadays. She moved towards Helaena, her footsteps soft on the stone floor. “Helaena,” she said gently, placing a tentative hand on her arm. “You need to rest. Let me stay with him. You need to sleep and eat.”

Helaena shook off her mother’s hand, her touch feeling abrasive against her skin; like a burn. The sight of her filled Helaena with too many emotions—resentment, fear, anger. She had seen her mother’s death too. It made it hard to look at her the same way.

“No, Mother.” Her voice felt alien to her own ears; it had a coldness to it that surprised her. “Give me this. You will be the last one remaining. Just give me this.”

Alicent’s face crumpled in confusion and hurt. “Helaena, what are you talking about? You’re exhausted. Please, let me help.”

“You don’t understand.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she struggled to keep them at bay. “I will stay.”

Ignoring her mother’s pleading, Helaena turned back to her work, her tears falling onto the fabric. Each drop darkened the threads, the same threads that made up her life. She stitched with renewed energy, trying to lose herself in the task.

After just standing there for a while, her mother seemed to finally accept her defeat; with a deep sigh, she turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind her.

Helaena sobbed quietly, her body shaking. The candle’s flame flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls, but she didn’t notice. Her world had narrowed to the piece of fabric in her hands and the figure she was creating on it. Each thread was a prayer, a hope, a plea for a future that seemed to be lost. Eventually her eyelids grew heavy and she fell into a dreamless sleep, the embroidery still resting on her lap.

Weeks passed, and Aegon's condition did not improve much. His wounds were healing slowly, and the pain remained, etched deeply into his very being. He relied on Milk of the Poppy to sleep, but begged the maesters for moments of lucidity during the day. In those moments he was himself, even if the pain was overwhelming. And every day, she was there, embroidering, talking to him, learning more about the man who was her husband.

One day, as the soft light of the afternoon filtered into the room, Aegon stirred and looked at Helaena with a glimmer in his eyes she hadn’t seen in a long time. “Helaena, I want to see Jaehaera. Can you bring her to me?”

She gave him a tight-lipped smile; she had tried to shield their daughter from the sight of her father’s suffering, but she knew how much it would mean to Aegon. She nodded, “of course. I’ll bring her to you.”

She rose from her chair and left the room, her steps light as she made her way to Jaehaera’s chambers. The little girl was playing with her dolls, her silver hair falling in soft waves around her face. Her daughter had always been very quiet, often lost in her own world—she had grown even quieter since Jaehaerys.

Helaena knelt beside her, smoothing a stray lock of hair from the girl’s forehead. “Jaehaera,” she said softly, “would you like to see your father?”

To Helaena’s surprise, the girl’s eyes lit up, a smile spreading across her face. “Yes, I miss him.”

Helaena picked her daughter up, carrying her back to Aegon’s chambers. As they entered, Aegon’s eyes widened with joy at the sight of his little girl. “Jaehaera,” he called out, his voice choked with emotion.

“Papa!” Helaena released Jaehaera from her arms, the little girl immediately running up to the bed, her small hands reaching for Aegon. “I’ve missed you.”

Aegon’s eyes filled with tears as he looked at his daughter. He lifted a trembling hand to brush her cheek. Helaena could tell that the gesture hurt by the way his mouth twitched, he was good at hiding it now. “I’ve missed you too, my little flame.”

Jaehaera climbed onto the bed, snuggling close to Aegon. “Grandmother has been teaching me to embroider,” she said proudly, showing him a small piece of fabric she had been working on. It was clumsy and uneven, but the effort was evident.

Aegon smiled, a real, genuine smile she hadn’t seen in so long. “It’s beautiful, Jaehaera. You’re quite talented.”

Jaehaera beamed, her eyes shining with pride. “Thank you, Papa! I’ll make one for you too, with Sunfyre on it.”

Helaena’s eyes filled with tears as she watched them; the bittersweetness of the moment was almost too much to bear. She blinked them away, not wanting to dampen the joy of the reunion. She knew that their days were counted, all their days were, but this was a little ray of sunlight, a memory she could cherish until her end.

Aegon pulled Jaehaera closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, my little flame,” he whispered. “Never forget that.”

Jaehaera smiled, a smile Helaena would never tire of. Her poor girl. “I love you too,” Jaehaera said, planting a kiss on his uninjured cheek.

Weeks turned into months, and Aegon’s condition was finally improving. He was well enough to sit by the open window now, looking out into the gardens. Helaena was there with him, as she always was, her embroidery in her lap. She was working on a challenging piece this time: Dreamfyre and Sunfyre, dancing together in a swirling sky of vibrant threads. The soft breeze brought the scent of blooming flowers into the room, overshadowing the ever-present scent of poppy and herbs.

Aegon still relied on the Milk of the Poppy, but the pain was more manageable for him now. He could talk and even smile without wincing, and they spent many hours in conversation, sharing thoughts and memories they had never dared to before.

“Aegon, do you remember when we used to play seek in the gardens?” Helaena asked softly, her needle moving through the fabric. “You always had a knack for finding the best hiding spots.”

Aegon turned his gaze from the garden to her, he was smiling; a genuine smile that reached his eyes. “I always found you, even when you didn't want to be found.”

She chuckled, a sound that warmed her own heart. “I suppose you did.”

They fell into a comfortable silence again, the only sounds the rustle of the wind in the trees and the soft click of Helaena’s needle. Her eyes were firmly set on her work, but she could feel Aegon watching her, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of her frame.

“Helaena.”

She looked up, meeting his gaze. “Yes?”

“Thank you,” he said simply. “For staying here with me. I think I would’ve lost my mind without you around.”

“Oh, Aegon. You don't need to thank me.” It was the truth; he didn’t need to thank her. He had saved her from insanity just the same.

His eyes softened further, and he reached out, his hand trembling slightly. She took it, threading her fingers through his. They sat like that for a moment—she didn’t stand people touching her most of the time, somehow Aegon’s touch never bothered her.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, he leaned closer. Helaena's breath caught in her throat as she felt the warmth of his breath against her skin. She closed her eyes, and then his lips were on hers.

The kiss was soft, tentative, as if they were both afraid of shattering this fragile moment. Helaena’s free hand moved to his unscarred cheek, cupping it as she deepened the kiss. Aegon’s hand tightened around hers, feeling the strength of his emotions, the words that would always remain unspoken between them.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other. Helaena’s eyes were filled with tears, but they were tears of something akin to joy. She kissed his forehead, then his cheek, then his nose.

They sat there, holding each other, the world outside forgotten. In that moment, it was just the two of them, bound by the same love and the same pain, by shared memories and unspoken promises. The future was bleak, but what must happen has not yet happened. And that was enough.

“Helaena?” Aegon whispered after a while. “Can I ask you for one last favor?”

“Yes. Always.”

Aegon took a deep breath, as if he was preparing himself to say what was on his mind. “Can you take me to Sunfyre?” His voice was steady; yet filled with an underlying urgency.

Helaena blinked, surprised. She had not expected this request. “Aegon, are you sure? You’re still recovering… are you strong enough to do this?”

“I need to be,” he replied, his eyes earnest. “I need to see him, Helaena. I owe him that much. I… I can’t bear the thought of him suffering alone any longer.”

Helaena searched his face, seeing the determination in it. She understood his need, the bond between dragon and rider was sacred and profound. “Alright,” she said. “We’ll go to Rook’s Rest. I’ll take you on Dreamfyre myself.”

They spent the next few days preparing for the journey; the maesters tried to dissuade them, but Helaena’s resolve was unshakable. She oversaw every detail, ensuring that Aegon was as comfortable as possible for the trip. Dreamfyre was readied in the Dragonpit, her saddle being adjusted slightly to ensure Aegon could mount her safely.

Aegon, though still weak, seemed to gain a strength from the thought of being able to reunite with his beloved Sunfyre. His laugh was louder, his smile brighter, his eyes seemed more alive.

The morning of their departure came, and Helaena helped Aegon dress, his movements still slow and tentative; but his determination was stronger than the pain. They made their way to the courtyard, where a carriage to the Dragonpit waited for them, Aegon leaning on Helaena for support the entire way.

Dreamfyre awaited them on the square in front of the looming dome of the Pit, her blue scales shimmering in the early light. The dragon’s eyes met Helaena’s, a silent understanding passing between the two. Dreamfyre seemed to sense the importance of this journey and was calm as they approached.

Aegon’s breath quickened as they neared the dragon, his arm slung over Helaena’s shoulders. “She’s still as beautiful as ever,” he murmured, reaching out a trembling hand to touch Dreamfyre’s flank.

Helaena smiled, gesturing to two nearby dragonkeepers to help Aegon into the saddle. Dreamfyre was being very helpful; crouching down close to the ground and positioning her wing in a way that allowed Aegon to limp into the saddle easily.

Helaena climbed up behind him, wrapping her arms securely around his waist. “Hold on,” she whispered, and with a soft command, Dreamfyre took to the skies.

The journey to was swift, the familiar landscapes of the Crownlands passing beneath them in a blur. If Aegon was in any pain; he was good at hiding it. All Helaena sensed from him was pure determination. They arrived at Rook’s Rest just before noon, Dreamfyre’s form casting a shadow over the remains of the battlefield and the ruined fortress. Dreamfyre landed gracefully near the trees, stretching her wings like she had at the Dragonpit, helping Aegon dismount as painlessly as possible.

Helaena helped Aegon down, his legs shaky but determined. They walked into the forest; everything there seemed oppressively still, as if all life had fled its confines. Eventually, they found him, Sunfyre—nestled in a makeshift pen.

The dragon lay weakened, his golden scales dulled with dust and dried blood, his wings tattered. His body bore the marks of his brave struggle, but his eyes brightened as he saw his rider.

“Sunfyre,” Aegon whispered, his voice breaking. He moved forward, his steps unsteady, driven by sheer will. Helaena stayed close, ready to catch him if he faltered. Once he was close enough to touch Sunfyre, he collapsed to his knees; hand reaching out to pat the dragon’s snout. “I’m here.”

Sunfyre responded with a gentle nuzzle, his large eyes closing briefly in what seemed like relief. Helaena watched, not able to stop the tears that now streamed down her face as the two reunited. There wasn’t much left of Sunfyre, there wasn’t much left of Aegon, either; there was some beauty in that realization.

Helaena joined Aegon on the ground near Sunfyre, her heart tightening in her chest. She knew this moment was fleeting, a snapshot of calm before the storm. Soon they will be different. Soon everything will be different. She grabbed his free hand, as if that could change anything.

Aegon turned to her, his lilac eyes searching hers. “What troubles you, Helaena?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it, the words refusing to come. How could she tell him that their fragmented world would soon crumble into even smaller pieces? That this moment would soon become a distant memory? She couldn’t. Instead, she squeezed his hand and offered a faint smile. “Just thinking.”

He chuckled, a sound so carefree, so free of pain. Soon she would never hear it again. “You worry too much.”

Helaena closed her eyes, trying to memorize the feel of his hand in hers, the warmth of his body against hers. Soon, all of this would be gone, swept away by the cruel hands of fate. But for this brief, precious time, she allowed herself to hope, to dream that perhaps, just perhaps, they could defy destiny.

“Maybe I do.”

[kusakiguzen]

Hello 👋 um I don't know if your request is open, but could you do yandere Shanks x female reader headcanon. Like how Shanks meet the reader, how he got obsessed, etc. (Can you make it where shanks crew is obsessed with the reader too, not in a romantic way and helps shanks)

A/N: It took me a while to get a good enough idea and i have two. I feel this is soul less but i did my best with my degrading mental health right now. I hope you enjoy.

I'm not really familiar with the crew except Benn so i did include him. I don't think this is my best work and i honestly hate it and will probably try again once in a better headspace.

I apologize if its not up to your taste

Warning: Has a shit ton of grammatical mistakes, I'm so sorry

Thank you for stopping by

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the Red force. Laughter and the sounds of clashing swords filled the air, a reminder of the crew’s relentless spirit. You were nestled in a corner of the ship, blissfully unaware of the darker truths that surrounded you. As Ben Beckman’s little sister, you had grown up sheltered from the harsh realities of the world, always finding comfort in your brother’s protective presence.

Your first encounter with Shanks was a vivid memory. It had been a fateful day when your brother brought you on the infamous captain aboard the Red force for a visit. You had been playing with a few of the younger crewmates, their laughter echoing around you, when Ben approached, his usual calm demeanor slightly overshadowed by a hint of excitement.

“Y/N, come here! I want you to meet someone special,” he called, ushering you toward the main deck.

You followed, curious and eager. As you stepped into the sunlight, your eyes landed on the man with red hair, his grin wide and inviting. “Hey there! You must be Ben’s little sister. I’ve heard so much about you!”

Your heart raced at the sight of him. He was everything stories had described—a charismatic figure whose presence lit up the room. “Hi! I’m Y/N,” you said, beaming.

Shanks smiling while holding your hand, his playful nature shining through. “I hear you love adventures. How about we have one together? I could use a partner in crime!”

You giggled, completely taken in by his charm. “Really? That sounds amazing!”

That day marked the beginning of your bond with Shanks. He took you on a mini adventure around the ship, showing you the ropes and regaling you with tales of his travels. You listened, wide-eyed, as he spoke of battles and treasures, unaware of the underlying dangers that came with such a life.

As you laughed and explored, you felt a sense of warmth and safety that enveloped you. Little did you know that Shanks, even then, had been captivated by your innocence, seeing you as a light in a world filled with shadows.

Fast forward to the present, and Shanks was still a constant figure in your life, always by your side, watching over you with a mix of affection and an intensity that you couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, Y/N!” Shanks called out one afternoon, striding over with that signature grin. “What are you up to?”

“Just watching the waves,” you replied, your eyes sparkling with innocence. “It’s so peaceful!”

Shanks’ heart raced at your words. He loved how you saw the world, so untouched by the dangers lurking just beyond the horizon. “You know, the world isn’t as safe as it seems,” he said, his tone shifting ever so slightly. “But I promise to protect you, no matter what.”

You giggled, brushing off his concern. “I know! Ben would never let anything happen to me.”

At the mention of your brother, Shanks’ expression softened. Ben was fiercely protective, almost possessive, and the crew had come to share that sentiment. While they all adored you, their affection had a darker edge, something you remained blissfully unaware of.

“Ben’s always looking out for you,” Shanks agreed, stepping closer. “But sometimes, you need to rely on others too. Like me.”

You smiled, oblivious to the way his gaze lingered on you, filled with intensity. “Of course! You’re my favorite big brother figure!”

Shanks chuckled, though a hint of frustration bubbled beneath the surface. He wanted more than just the role of a guardian; he longed to claim you as his own. But he also understood that you were naive to the world's cruelties. That innocence was something he cherished, and he’d do anything to keep it intact.

Meanwhile, Ben watched from a distance, arms crossed, his eyes narrowed. He’d seen the way Shanks looked at you, and though he trusted his captain, an unsettling feeling gnawed at him. He would always prioritize your safety above all else, even if it meant keeping you sheltered from the crew's darker inclinations.

“Y/N!” Ben called, stepping forward. “How about a game? Just the two of us.”

You perked up, grateful for your brother’s attention. “Sure! What should we play?”

As you wandered off with Ben, Shanks watched, his expression conflicted. He loved you dearly, but he knew that your brother's presence would always be a barrier. Later that evening, as you prepared to settle down for the night, Ben and Shanks found a moment to speak privately.

“Shanks,” Ben began, his tone serious. “We both care about Y/N. We need to keep her safe.”

Shanks nodded, his expression hardening. “I agree. The world is dangerous, and we both know it. But together, we can protect her.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “We need to be vigilant. No one can get to her without going through us.”

“Exactly,” Shanks replied, a determined glint in his eye. “We’ll make sure she never sees the darkness of this world. We’re in this together, Ben. We’ll keep her innocent and happy, no matter what.”

Days passed, filled with laughter and adventures on the high seas. Yet, as you explored, the crew’s obsession grew, entwining around you like a vine. You remained blissfully unaware, believing the crew’s protectiveness stemmed from love and friendship. Little did you know, their hearts were tied together by a darker thread, one that bound them to you more tightly than any affection could.

One night, as the stars twinkled above, you sat on the deck, lost in thought. Shanks approached, leaning against the railing beside you. “You okay, Y/N?”

“Yeah! Just thinking about how lucky I am to be with you all,” you replied, your eyes shining with sincerity.

Shanks’ smile faltered for a brief moment, replaced by a more serious look. “You have no idea how lucky you are… or how dangerous this world can be.”

You tilted your head, confused. “I mean, I’ve heard stories, but it doesn’t feel that way here.”

“Exactly,” Shanks said, his voice low. “And that’s how it should stay. As long as we’re here, you’ll always be safe.”

You grinned, completely missing the intensity behind his words. “I know! You all make me feel so protected.”

As the night deepened, Shanks’ hand brushed against yours, an electric jolt that sent a thrill down your spine. You looked up, meeting his gaze, still unaware of the storm brewing within him.

The next day, Ben noticed the lingering touches and exchanged glances. He felt the urge to intervene, to remind Shanks of the boundaries. But deep down, he understood the allure of your innocence—the way it made everyone around you feel alive, almost compelled to keep you close.

“Let’s go on an adventure today!” you suggested, breaking the tension.

“Count me in,” Ben replied, masking his unease with a smile. Shanks nodded, but a flicker of possessiveness gleamed in his eye. He wouldn’t let anyone take you away from him.

As you laughed and played with your brother and the crew, you remained blissfully unaware of the intertwining shadows of yandere love that surrounded you. The Red-Haired Pirates had claimed you as their treasure, and they would go to any lengths to protect you, even if it meant shielding you from the very truths of the world that would shatter your innocence.

In the embrace of their twisted affection, you danced on the edge of a dangerous precipice, blissfully ignorant of the love that could turn to obsession at a moment's notice. And so, the sweet story of your life with the yandere Shanks and Ben continued, a delicate balance of joy and darkness that only time would reveal.

A/N: I didn't particularly like this piece but i still posted it.

Umm i hope you enjoy reading it @wereallmadhere666

Masterlist

Stay Safe, Healthy and Hydrated

[corruptedcaps]

Beach Find

Lizzie and her husband Sam strolled hand in hand along the sandy shore, the gentle waves lapping at their feet. The sun was warm and comforting. Having a child allowed them rare opportunities to vacation away just the two of them but their daughter Vicky was 18 now and was far from the partying type. They knew she would be cooped up for the week in her bedroom at home with a good book.

"I almost had forgotten what sand had felt like." Sam chuckled.

"Yeah I agree- ahhh what was that?" Lizzie replied after stepping in something sharp. Lizzie’s gaze was drawn to something twinkling in the sand beneath her. Letting go of Sam’s hand she knelt down to investigate.

With a few scoops of her hand, she unearthed a jewel tiara, its pink gems shimmering in the sunlight. "Sam, look at this!" she exclaimed, holding it up for him to see.

"Wow, that’s beautiful." Sam said, leaning in for a closer look. "Where do you think it came from?"

His words were lost on her. All sound seemed to disappear as she held the tiara. She was entranced by it and felt a growing need to put it on. She lifted it over her head and placed it softly onto her hair.

All at once the sound around her rushed back and she felt a pulsating pleasure coarse through her body. Her bones started to creak and crack as the became stronger. Years of bad posture were erased in seconds. Her bad hip suddenly brand new again.

"Lizzie, what’s happening?" Sam gasped, stepping back in astonishment.

"I... I don't know, but I feel... amazing." Lizzie replied, her voice now softer and more melodic.

Her slightly saggy skin started to tighten around her improved frame, years of wrinkles disappearing. More than that it became smoother, softer. Even in her youth it had never felt so good.

Sam stared at Lizzie, his mouth agape. "Maybe you should take it off, this doesn't feel right, Lizzie." He suggested, a sense of unease creeping into his voice.

"Shut up, Sam!" Lizzie snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. The harshness of her words cut through the air like a knife.

Sam recoiled, stunned by her sudden outburst. "Lizzie, what's gotten into you?" He asked, his concern deepening.

Realizing what she had said, Lizzie's expression softened. "I'm so sorry, Sam. I don't know what came over me. I just feel soooo goooood." she said as the changes continued.

Her short mom hair grew long, cascading down her back to just above her butt, her brown hair becoming lighter and lighter until it shimmer blonde.

Her sensible nails transformed into long, fake pink nails, perfectly manicured. Her lips plumped up, now coated in bold red lipstick, and her eyes became piercing blue, sparkling with a newfound intensity.

Lizzie felt her body become strong and powerful, the sensation overwhelming. A shift began to occur within her mind. Subtle at first, her thoughts started to change, becoming increasingly materialistic. The simplicity of her previous life seemed dull and unsatisfying now. She began to crave luxury, riches, and all things glamorous.

"It's okay. Let's just take it off, alright?" Sam said gently, stepping closer.

But as Sam reached for the tiara, Lizzie pulled back, a sneer forming on her lips. "How fucking dare you try and take this away from me Sam. You've always been such a boring bastard!" she hissed, this time without an ounce of regret.

As if to reward her cruelness to her husband, her tits swelled up, growing into gravity defying orbs that made her moan in pleasure. Her regular mom-style clothing morphed into a tight pink dress, hugging her curves and featuring a long slit along the side that showed off her legs. She arched her back to push her boobs out to make them look even more impressive.

"Lizzie, this isn't you." Sam pleaded, trying to reason with her but the transformation was done.

"You're right, it isn't. I'm Eliza now and I'm so much better than I was. Who wants to be a fucking boring housewife when they could be a goddess like me? I'm going to be so fucking bad and love every minute of it!" She declared with a cackle that sent a shiver down Sam's spine.

-

Vicky had started to worry about her parents. She hadn't heard from them in days. She had initially put it down to them just having a good time on their vacation but it was so unlike them not to check in.

Their flight was due to land that day and Vicky breathed a sigh of relief when at last she heard the front door open. Expecting her mom and dad to appear with their usual warm smiles and travel stories, Vicky was stunned to see a strikingly beautiful woman step into the house, her presence commanding and intimidating.

The woman wore a loose fitting pink dress with a sparkling tiara sitting atop her perfect blonde hair which flowed in perfect waves. Her piercing blue eyes scanned the room with a cold, calculating gaze. Sam followed in tow behind her, his posture subservient and his eyes downcast.

"Mom?" Vicky asked, her voice trembling with confusion.

The woman laughed, a chilling, heartless sound. "Don't you dare call me that again you vermin. I wouldn't want anyone to think I produced such an inferior offspring. Although I doubt anyone will even think a beauty like could be related to you. You'll call me Eliza now." She snarled.

"What happened to you?" Vicky demanded, tears welling up in her eyes.

Eliza sauntered over, her long fake nails glinting in the light as she reached out to stroke Vicky's cheek but quickly grabbed her face in her hand roughly. "I’ve finally become who I was always meant to be. Look at you, so plain and pathetic. You're the worst mistake I ever made. You should be grateful I even acknowledge you now. Fetch me a drink, and make yourself useful for once."

With tears in her eyes, Vicky dutifully set out to do as she was told. Every fiber of her being wanted to yell and scream at her mother but she found herself unable, as though she were under some sort of spell.

-

Over the next few weeks, Vicky could only watch helplessly as Eliza became notorious in their town. She stayed out late partying, shamelessly flirting and sleeping with other women's men. Their life savings quickly dwindled as Eliza spent lavishly on designer clothes, jewelry, and extravagant nights out, all for herself.

At home, Eliza treated Sam and Vicky as slaves. They were made to do all the cooking, cleaning, laundry, and anything else she demanded.

“Don’t fucking mess up the laundry like you did last time!” Eliza snapped at Vicky one afternoon as she lounged around basking in her beauty and cruel power.

Vicky picked up Eliza’s tight dresses, all which stunk of sex and obediently piled them into her laundry basket.

“Here take this as well.” Eliza said standing up and stripping all the clothes she was wearing off of herself. Vicky lifted her eyes to the sky but for a moment caught a glimpse of Eliza’s perfect form. A weird pang of jealously hit Vicky for just a moment. That’s when she heard the voice.

“Wear me.” The voice purred. It seemed to be coming from the top of Eliza’s head and only Vicky could hear it. Her eyes settled onto the tiara, its glomming jewels captivating her.

“What the fuck are doing just standing there? Get out and do the laundry!” Eliza said with a snap of her fingers breaking Vicky from her trance. Vicky quickly scampered away but the damage had been done.

Finding her father alone in the kitchen doing the dishes she sidled up to him and whispered in hushed tones.

"Dad, what is it with that tiara? It's the source of all this evil isn't it?" She asked as quiet as she could.

Sam looked around nervously before nodding. "I saw it happen, Vicky. When she put it on, it transformed her. She's not the woman I married anymore."

Vicky's heart sank further, realizing the depth of their predicament. "We have to do something, Dad. We can't live like this. We have to destroy it!"

"It's too dangerous sweetheart. We don't even know if destroying it will work. It might just enrage her even more." Sam said with a sigh and went back to his dishes. Vicky knew it fell on her to save her family.

-

Vicky returned home from school the next day, her heart pounding with determination. She had researched all about the tiara and was convinced it was from an infamous wreck. The King and Queen of Bratavia went down with their ship during a nasty storm right near where Vicky’s parents had been vacationing. The King and Queen were known as evil tyrants who kept their subjects obedient through fear.

Vicky feared that her mother was somehow being corrupted by the tiara in the same way the queen likely had been all those years ago. She was ready to destroy the tiara by any means necessary. However, as she entered the house, she found a smug Eliza waiting for her, with Sam standing beside her, his head hung low.

"Hi, Mom—I mean, Eliza. What's going on?" Vicky asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Eliza's lips curled into a malicious smile. "What's going on is I know all about your plan to try and destroy my gorgeous tiara. Sam here squealed like the little piggy that he is."

"Dad how could you?" Vicky said in shock.

"Oh don't be disappointed him dear he's been under my thumb since my transformation. He's been reporting to me for awhile now about your rising rebellion against me. I must say I am impressed you've been able to resist my power." Eliza said with a smirk.

"We need to destroy it! It's turned you into a monster!" Vicky said pleading with her mother.

Eliza laughed, a chilling sound that echoed through the room. "Is that the real reason? Or is it that you want the power for yourself?"

Vicky shook her head vehemently. "No! No of course not! I just want my mom back. This… this isn't who you are!"

Eliza stepped closer, her piercing blue eyes glinting with cruelty. "I know it's true, I can see the desire in your eyes. You want this power I have. You want to be as big of a bad bitch as I am. You have heard it call out to you, I know you have."

"How could you know that? Whatever the case I don't want it, I don't want any of it!" Vicky insisted, her voice faltering slightly.

Eliza's sneer deepened. "Oh, but it is. You can deny it all you want, but I see the the way you look at me, with envy and longing. You crave the power, the control. You want to be just like me."

Vicky felt a pang of conflict within her. Despite her revulsion at what her mother had become, there was a small, undeniable part of her that was drawn to the promise of the tiara's power. The thought of wielding such influence, of being able to control and command, was tempting. To be a beautiful bitch. She couldn't help herself from getting wet.

"No, I won't let you manipulate me, you're wrong!" Vicky said, trying to push the thoughts away.

"We'll see about that, darling. You'll soon be a daughter worthy of me!" Eliza laughed again, her tone mocking as she snapped her fingers. Sam grabbed Vicky and pushed her down to her knees while holding her from moving.

Eliza stepped triumphantly over to Vicky, taking off the tiara. "You see, dear, the tiara's power is already in me. You could have destroyed it, but I would have remained. The only thing you would have stopped was your own ascension, but mommy is here to help with that." She said with an evil smile as she placed the tiara onto Vicky's head.

Vicky's hair began to change first. Her once plain brown locks grew longer and glossier, transforming into cascading waves of rich, golden blonde. "No, I don't want this!" Vicky cried, trying to pull the tiara off, but her hands were still held fast by Sam. Her resolve weakened as she felt the luxurious weight of her new hair.

Next, her eyes changed from their ordinary brown to a piercing blue, the color intensifying until they sparkled like sapphires, like her mothers. "Stop it! Mmmmm don't stop!" Vicky whimpered unable to stop letting out a soft moan.

Her lips plumped up, becoming fuller and more luscious, painted with a seductive shade of deep red. "I can't… I won't…" Vicky tried to protest, but the feel of her newly enhanced lips was intoxicating. She could feel her resistance slipping, the desire to embrace her transformation growing stronger.

By now Sam had let go of her hands and had stepped back. Vicky was free to remove the tiara from her head but as her hands rose higher they stopped at her chest which was expanding by the second. She ran her hands over her impressive new tits, squeezing them with perverse joy.

"Oh fuck these feel so god damn good! I could make so many weak boys into my puppets. Noooo I can't let this happen! I need... to... fight... it!" She fought in weak protest as her nails, once short and practical, lengthened into perfectly manicured talons, a vibrant pink color matching her mother's.

"Oh fuck yes these are perfect for a bitch like me! They would look so hawt running down the back of a hawt guys back! No Vicky, don't give in!" She whispered, but the sight of her elegant nails made her heart race with excitement. The transformation was nearly complete, and Vicky couldn't fight how good she was feeling.

"I can't fight it, I don't want to fight it! Yes! Make me hot, make me cruel, make me evil! Vicky is dead! Tori is hear to stay!" She moaned loudly, her body shivering with delight.

She stood up, her posture now confident and commanding, a cruel smile playing on her lips. Eliza clapped her hands in delight. "How do you feel?"

"Mmmm I feel so naughty. Thanks for the upgrade Mommy... Sorry I mean Eliza." Tori purred as she primped herself in the mirror.

"No need to apologize dear, you are worthy of being my daughter now. I couldn't be prouder of the wicked hottie you are." Eliza said beaming at Tori with pride.

"Thanks Mommy, I can't wait to show this patheic town who I am. Mmmm it's getting me so wet thinking about all those bitchy bullies who tormented me every day and how I'll have them under my heel. Of course I'll need a new wardrobe." Tori said remembering her closet was full of drab clothes designed to blend in. She needed to stand out now.

"Absolutely sweetheart, we'll take your simp of a father's credit card to the mall and spoil you rotten. Nothing but the best for my princess." Eliza said kissing the air around her daughter's cheeks.

"Speaking of which, can't we kick him out and bring in a real sugar daddy?" Tori said looking at her grovelling father with disdain.

"Well we have two options dear. First is that we use the kings crown on him. I found it soon after the tiara. It is designed to turn even the most weakest of men into strong confident bastards." Eliza said already dismissive of the idea.

"And the second option?" Tori asked curious.

"Well as gorgeous as the tiara is on your head darling, it has done it's purpose. You are forever an evil beauty just like me. But that is not to say it's power is done corrupting." Eliza said with an evil smile that was soon mimicked on Tori's face as her mother's plan crystallized in her mind.

The two women turned with their cruel smirks towards Sam, devilish intent in their eyes.

"Two wicked Mommies? I'll be the most spoilt girl in the world!" Tori said closing in on Sam who backed himself into a corner.

"Welcome to the family... Samatha." Eliza laughed as she watched Tori take the tiara from her head and shove it onto Sam's.