#this is so short that it cant go on ao3 but what if i wanted to put it on ao3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitchimasnake-sss · 3 months ago

Note

hiii this is the anon that requested part two and i return begging for part three of tennis! zoro.

ahem.

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE

thanks for coming to my tedtalk! :)

in all seriousness though i would love to see a part 3 and definitely think you should have an ao3 to post longer content!! please keep up your lovely writing 💋💋 (MAKE ZORO REALLY WORK FOR IT HEHEHEHE [i was sobbing over how cute his little offerings were AND FALLING ASLEEP AT THE DOOR i cant])

UR THE ONLY ONE KEEPING ME GOING GIRLY 🎀😞. SO GLADDD YOU LIKED THAT ONE, HERE HAVE THIS ONE NOWWW. ILL MAKE ZORO EXTRAA PATHETIC FOR YOU MWUAH😚

bitchimasnake-sss presents: the one piece AUs

03. AITA for going back to my ex? ft. roronoa zoro!

set-up: part 03 [FINAL PART] to my badminton player!zoro au lol. you can find the first two parts here! (i recommend you read those first!) getting your heart broken when you were seventeen was inevitable, getting it broken on camera seven years later was also inevitable, it seems. but letting your ex back into your life with the glittering promises of "i'll win you back in a month?" was getting your heart broken again and again and again also inevitable? most importantly: was roronoa zoro worth your sanity? warnings: dumb people, even dumber plot by me! includes angst towards the end, zoro is an idiot trying his best to win you over! cameos by nami, sanji, perona and mihawk because i love writing them tysm. and obviously smut (hehe u nasty). nsfw thoughts include: feral!zoro. this man is nasty, he likes blood, sweat and tears. a lot of overstimulation, a little bit of bimbofication, hints of dub!con, car-sex, penetration, teasing, dirty talk, a little bit of feral!zor. OKAY THAT'S IT!! MINORS DNI OR I WILL HUNT YOU! wc: 10.6k m.list

17th of october 11:43 p.m.

"really?" and you could hear sanji drop his precious cigarette onto the ground in pure, unaltered shock, "are you toying with me right now, love?"

"no." you replied firmly, nimble fingers getting caught against familiar, green locks as roronoa zoro pressed honeyed lips to your stomach. he trailed downwards, uncaring as your manager spluttered on the speaker.

"you are actually dating that green-haired freak?" from his tone alone, you could imagine sanji to look wide-eyed and tongue-tied. meeting the eyes of the said “green haired freak”, you found a sour expression plastered to his handsome features.

"no... well, not yet.” you swiped your fingers against his scalp, manicured fingers softly scratching the frown on his face away, “we're on a one-month trial phase."

"are you and him a netflix subscription, mon amore? what do you mean one month?" the blonde hissed. but you were far too gone, too warped within the feeling of the athlete’s soft kisses on your hiked-up thighs to even offer a hairsbreadth of attention to your critic.

"well–" as the sportsman hands trailed over your thighs all-too-intimately, you found yourself sighing blissfully, "he said he wants a month to win me back.”

“that is insane.”

“maybe. but his time starts today, so, we have until 17th of november to come to some sort of conclusion." zoro didn’t dare still against your soft skin. kneading the fat of your hips, pressing hot kisses to thighs and nipping at fading bruises to renew them. but you tightened your grip on his locks, tipping his head backwards as you pulled on them. glaring at him, you breathed out a warning, “either he cleans his act up, or i leave him in the dust."

but who was roronoa zoro if not the man made to get on your nerves?

his mouth fell agape as his eyes met yours, and a soft moan tumbling past him at the sharp sting of your pull. that wayward moan soon turned into a grunt as the sportsman toyed with the band of your shorts.

“stop that.” you whispered, eyes growing wide as the blonde on the other end of the speaker continued his distressed rants.

"and what do i do about it?!" for the first time in the five years vinsmoke sanji had been your manager, you heard his voice shake in panic, "you two just broke up! in front of the cameras! like a week ago!"

"it's fine, sanji. people get together all the time—"

"—not if they're olympic level athletes!"

"hey, you have no idea how much shit goes down in the olympic village." you shrugged, "last time 160k condoms were given out, and people flew threw them like it was nothing. there’s lots of crying. and fucking too, actually. sometimes both, now that i think about it."

“rabid monsters.”

“don’t be jealous. athletes just have a lot of stamina.” while you were busy rolling your eyes at the blonde and his dramatic antics, zoro climbed back up over you. a smirk on his lips, flashing you his canines, and mouthing “really? stamina?”

clad in a fitted, black tank top, your eyes drifted down to his arms and chest. shamelessly staring at the muscles flexing and unflexing under the flimsy material, you brought your free hand to run wild against his bicep. finding his index under your jaw, he tilted your face up to meet his eyes again. you smiled up at him without much thought and his heart stuttered out in the rhythm of his shallow breaths. fuck you for being so pretty.

before you could nod and ask what he wanted, he pressed a chaste kiss against your lips. next, he sunk his face in the crook of your neck. you felt the nip of his sharp canines against your sensitive pulse. but that sly bastard. all of that was to distract you from the way he dipped his hand under your shorts and pulled your panties aside.

“zo–“ you started slowly, but it was all in vain. the man above you was on a mission. and that mission was apparently to get your own manager to report you as a sex offender or something?! atleast that’s what it felt like from the way he rubbed his thumb against your sensitive clit.

“either ways.” your manager huffed, ignoring the way your breath hitched at the new bruises against your neck and the stuttering swipes of his thumb against your folds, “this is still insane.”

"weren’t–” you gulped, trying to keep your voice steady, “you were the one saying that my job is to playand yours’ to take care of such things, so, do that.”

“and i can! i can fix it.” you heard a thud ring through the speaker and imagined that the blonde had fallen back onto his back helplessly, “but i need time to fix this. gotta talk to nami-san, and then i will need to fix the narrative using the media. i need time.”

barely raising his lips off of your narcotic skin – with a flushed face and husky voice – zoro replied coolly, “don’t worry, nami’s on our side with this one.”

“HUH?! WHO WAS THAT?”

pinching the taut skin of the athlete’s bicep as a warning to stay shut, your tone stayed sickly sweet, “who? ‘twas the wind, sanji.”

“don’t try to sway me with your use of ‘twas.” he hissed like a wet cat, “is that mosshead here right now? is he in your room right now?!”

“and if you’re worried about the paps, roronoa will buy them out, you know?” as if to protest against your suggestion, zoro flicked his thumb faster against your swollen nub. you glared at him. “a-and if you’re worried someone will see us, they won’t. we won’t go public with it.”

“none of those suave answers.” sanji firmly stated, “answer what I asked first. is he there right now?”

you whistled a soft, “dunno what you’re talking about…” before drawing your phone away from your face, “because that’s blasphemous!!” purposefully covering the speaker with your palm, “hey, hey? sanji- hello? can’t hear… hear you right now. hello?”

you heard a muffled, “DON’T YOU DARE PULL THAT ON ME OR SO GOD HELP ME–“

“still can’t hear you.” your thumb hovered over the red button, “g’night, sanji!”

beep.

“i’m paying for the paps?”

trying to push his weight off of your relatively smaller frame, you huffed out, “c-can’t you stay shut when i ask you to, roronoa?”

in retaliation, he pressed more of his body weight onto you. snuggling his face into your crook and inhaling your scent like a man crazed, his fingers kept toying against you like it was as easy as breathing.

you tried to push him off again, gritting out, “do you think a good dick is enough of a reason to come back? cause it is not.”

“it is one of the reasons, is it not?”

“no. is it not.” you repeated, “shut it, and find a new strategy or something.”

“fine, tsk.” and with that the sportsman got off of you. pulling his hand out of your flimsy shorts, leaving behind your aching body as he got up. standing at the door, he looked back just to delve his long fingers past his lips to suck down on your essence. smiling as he pulled out, he made his conclusion in one, swift word, “sweet.”

and you just threw a pillow at him, face flaming up at the way he just simply caught the pillow and threw it right back at you, “fuck off, roronoa.”

“hm?” he cocked his eyebrow, careful hands still not attempting to open the door and leave, “I’ll just head back to my room, then.”

you found yourself crossing your arms over your chest, half to give him attitude and other half to soothe the skin that had been alit with his body over yours, “go, then. you’re the one who wandered in my room with unholy intentions.”

somebody could mistake his as the reincarnation of the devil with the way he was grinning. all unholy thoughts and malicious actions, “you’re the one still laying, waiting for me to do something.”

at his (correct) accusations, you sat up haughtily. adjusting the tank top and pulling it upwards, you found yourself glaring at the towering man for the nth time, “you’re insufferable. is this how you’re gonna win me back?”

“hey,” he shrugged, broad shoulders moving up and down with delicate ease, “worked the first time, didn’t it?”

“i was seventeen.” your eyes narrowed, “and you used to be way more handsome back then. it won’t work this time around.”

he hummed again, and within his cocky tone you could anticipate he had something to nag you with, “so i was handsome to you? that’s adorable.”

“fucking insufferable.”

“but handsome nonetheless?” and you almost threw your phone at his pretty face when he just grinned and exited the room. actually, no. you almost threw your phone when you realized that you were blushing, and fighting off a smile as he left your room.

what was this man doing to you?! ──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

19th of october, 7:58 p.m.

🍓attempt 01: no limits.

“okay, and i have no limits?” you asked again, just to ensure that you heard him right.

“yes, you do not.”

“and you’re not gonna sue me for using your money?”

“no, i will not. i don’t think i can legally.” he sighed, “do you wanna do it or not?”

“i do, but…” zoro's heavy voice kissed your ears, cutting you off, "then, stop whining. no buts, no ifs.”

“is this really how you’re gonna win me over?” mumbling, your lips fell into an easy pout, “feels more like bribery.”

“nami said the quickest way to a woman's heart is shopping. or just cold, hard cash, really. but i figured this was more romantic." tilting his face downwards, his voice dropped down to a whisper, “does it feel romantic yet?”

goddamn that freak!

your skin erupted into a violent goosebump as you felt his words against your soft skin. your face heated up as your fingers stilled against the keypad of your laptop, the home page of your favorite shopping site pulled up and resting neatly. ready to do some damage on his wallet. well, honestly, what damage? he was a well-paid nepo baby who had a personal gym and court in his house. this would probably barely feel like a pinch to him.

“again, i ask for your consent.” you asked anyways, trying to remind yourself to be a business-savvy woman who had only come to absolutely wreck his wallet. zoro declared monotonously, “i give it with full consciousness. jesus, woman.”

“okay then, no taksies backsies.” you cleared your throat in anticipation. stretching your fingers slowly as they hovered over the keyboard. his arms wrapped around your middle and you fell against his chest with a soft thud, “start already.”

“what’s even the reason for this?”

“your manager said we can’t go out, like in public. and blondie hates me enough as it is right now. so, i didn’t wanna risk taking you shopping outside.” roronoa zoro found himself revelling in your dishevelled demeanour. voice honeyed, he rasped out, “what’s wrong with my room, though? nice ‘n comfy, isn’t it?”

“I meant what is the reason for me to sit on your fucking lap?”

“oh that?” he was laying in his bed, with you atop him and your laptop atop you. you grumbled on, “and is it necessary to do this in your room? the living room is a perfectly perfect place to shop online.”

“you want me to get handsy in front of my father? that’s too much. the old man would probably die if he saw me like that.” he hummed, “not sure he’s ever even done anything. you know, given both me and ‘rona are adopted.”

you glared back at him at the shit he spewed but then your eyes widened as realization sunk in, “holy shit is he a forty year old... virgin?”

“dunno.”

“but he’s like emo, and vampirish. there’s no way he didn’t get some during the twilight era.”

“he was also the world champion at that time,” zoro reminisced, “he must have gotten girls.”

a laugh escaped you by, “zoro.” you stressed, “you’re the world champion right now. and the tally of girls you get is at a great zero.”

zoro mulled over your words before slowly shifting his pelvis so that you fell back at him unexpectedly, “not zero. got a girl on my lap right now.”

his laugh echoed yours as he held you tighter, and you tried to wriggle free, “jus’ cause you’re paying. no other reason.”

“how does it feel to lie to yourself?” he asked with mock grievance in his tone, and you tried to elbow his side to break free, “die.”

“kill me yourself, coward.”

“i will.” you admitted, still laughing as he decided to somehow tighten his grip even more firmly, “don’t. you’d look horrible in orange.”

“how dare you, roronoa zoro.” your palm struck his forearm playfully, “do not talk about my fashion choices when you shower once a week.”

“nobody had a problem with it thus far,” he answered back easily, “but if you have a problem, i suppose i could shower semi-regularly.”

“semi-regularly?” you almost coughed up a hairball, “jesus christ, i don’t think i would able to fuck you ever again.”

“liar.”

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

22nd of October, 7:43 a.m.

🍓attempt 02: the way to the heart is through the stomach (i think??)

“roronoa.”

“father.”

“what are you doing in my kitchen right now?” the man raised a careful eyebrow, staring at his dishevelled son who he had caught not a minute earlier bickering with a red-head on his phone.

“cooking,” zoro deadpanned, “i'm trying to make waffles.”

his fathers hawk-like gaze swept over the kitchen. flour sprinkled over counter-tops, some on his cheek, a batter that looked more radioactive that the what remained of Chernobyl. the older man drawled on, “and i presume you know how to cook?”

“no. she's helping.” he flashed his father his phone-screen and the familiar, scorned woman who was on video-call. when she caught sight of mihawk, she smiled, “sir mihawk, how are you?”

“just passing by. come by for dinner someday, nami.” the man deadpanned and the manager laughed, “of course. how can I refuse?”

now his hawk-like stare was trained on zoro, who stared back at his father as if they were sworn enemies on court, “what is it, now?”

“is it for her?”

“who else?”

“don’t burn my house down.”

“understood.”

and with that brief conversation, mihawk disappeared back into the mazes of his house, and zoro went back to bickering with the red-head.

“you add milk.” she emphasized, clicking her manicured nails together as she tried to guide an idiot to build the equivalent of rome, “do you not know what milk is?”

“i have enough calcium in my bones and I will not fall for scams like milk or medical insurance.”

“what?” she spluttered, “y-you don’t have insurance?!”

“when am I ever gonna need it, woman?”

“oh my god. you don’t have insurance!” and the last thing zoro saw the manager do was flip him off as she ran to some place elsewhere. possibly to get him some sort of medical insurance that he totally didn’t need. beep.

zoro’s fingers hovered over his contact list, the next stop being perona neesan 💗👻 .

“'rona.” zoro grumbled as he caught the face of perona on the other side. huge sunglasses were perched on her nose, a silky bandana flowing from her coloured hair, “awh, you remember me, zoro. finally.”

“quit that,” he mumbled helplessly before turning the back camera, “i need your help.”

“you’re committing arson at dad’s place?” she raised her sunnies so as to see the kitchen better. flour everywhere, and whatever the fuck was in that batter. kissing her teeth, she admitted, “i mean i don’t endorse violence… but that kitchen could use a makeover.”

“no. jesus, perona.” he turned to camera around to his face, “i– uh, i need to make waffles. an’ i don’t know shit. can you help or what?”

“huh?” her bug-like eyes widened impossibly wider, “yeah, obviously i can. but why are you cooking? is dad dying? and is his last wish to eat burnt waffles?”

“haha, funny.”

“wasn’t being funny. you have like... two left hands.”

“just to remind you, i’m ambidextrous.” zoro replied, poker-faced, and perona pouted, “who are you making them for, then?”

“myself.”

“liar.” narrowing her eyes, she probed further, “is it your ex? oh my god. are you guys actually together?”

“what?” zoro narrowed his eyes in return, “fuck off, ‘m not asking you for help.” he sighed, “where did you even hear about that?”

“it’s her?!” the goth girl squealed, “and you didn’t tell me?! I thought it was regular PR stuff that nami dragged you into. but she’s back? i remember how you sobbed when–”

“bye, 'rona. don’t call me back.” beep.

roronoa zoro had barely breathed when his elder sister called back. he picked it up with a groan, “what? I’m not answering your stupid questions.”

“okay fine.” she huffed, “’m not gonna ask you about your pathetic, little crush right now. keyword: right now.”

“perona.” he tried to threaten but the woman just leaned forward till her face was all zoro could see, “show me some respect, i’m older than you.”

“sorry.” the green-haired mumbled and his sister nodded in self-satisfaction, “and as far as waffles as concerned, don’t cook. you’d burn the house down. just order them in and say you made them.”

“isn’t that like, practically lying?”

“it is, yes.”

“and aren’t you gonna tell me how it’s morally wrong to do that?”

“it’s a fucking waffle, zoro. not the olympics.” she finally pulled the sunnies back to her face and carefully perched them on her nose again, “nobody cares about cheating. just win her over, and thank me later.”

“you’re a bad influence, you know that?” a small smile cracked across his face, “oh, by the way–” the sportsman quirked an eyebrow, “do you have health insurance?”

“i mean, who doesn’t?”

“me.”

“what?”

“nothing. thanks, i appreciate it.” the goth girl eyes widened all over again and zoro cut the call before her concerns could reach him.

8:55 a.m.

“you know what’s insane?” you mumbled through a mouthful, “i can swear that joanna’s bakery down the street makes these exact waffles.”

“do they?” zoro leaned forward, pouring more syrup to distract you, “that’s wild.”

“it is.” you nodded before taking another mouthful, “you know what else is insane?”

“how much of a good cook i am?” he tried, before having a bite himself.

“no.” you smiled at the way he gulped down the sweet breakfast up, “the fact that i swear i saw a brown bag with their logo in the trash, and now these waffles taste exactly like theirs.”

zoro froze, eyes trained on the mess of fried batter and syrup. he slowly looked up, “that’s insane, indeed.” he averted his gaze as you deadpanned, “you’re a terrible liar.”

“isn’t that an ideal quality though?” he tried again, “like, i could never lie to you.”

“mhm,” you nodded as a smile pressed to your lips, “try harder next time.”

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

25th of october, 10:03 p.m.

🍓attempt 03: with love, from an idiot.

“if this backfires, then what?” the man asked, and you could only make out faint noises from his phone. a faint, “if it backfires, then, you don’t get the girl, genius.” but nothing beyond that could deciphered as you stood with your ear to the door of your room.

“are you done?” you knocked at your door when the bickering on the other end ceased momentarily. the wood echoed under your faint hits as you called out again, “can I come in or what?”

there was no answer and you busied yourself with tracing the pattern of wood on the door once over. your forehead touched the cold wood, frustrated at yourself for allowing that beast to take over your territory.

zoro had waltzed into your room and declared that he was going to kick you out of your own room.

“huh?” you had mumbled, too confused at the way he tugged your arm and tried to push you outwards, “no way I’m leaving. fuck no.”

“I need like half an hour. I promise–”

“–if you intend to paint my room green, zoro.” you had barely started when he asked you to leave again. so, obviously, you both bickered for a good five minutes, got yelled at by mihawk cause you two were interrupting his wine drinking hour, and proceeded to bicker in whispers before you had to finally cave in and go out.

now, you were sitting in front of the closed door, and tracing patterns in the hope that sooner or later, your territory will be given back to you.

“yeah, come on in.” you heard the man finally yell back from the other side, and you sprung up to your feet in part-excitement, part-fear. your fingers tried to turn the sleek metal handle to swing it open. except it wouldn’t open. moving it front and back, your eyebrows bunched when the door refused to budge open.

“what the fuck?” and to your surprise the green-head on the other side yelled back, “jesus, stop trying to break open the door.”

“it won’t open!”

“because I’m trying to open it for you.” he hissed back, “and you’re pulling from the other side. stop it.”

“you stop it.”

“if you could just let me do that for you. fuck–” the door swung inwards with such abrupt, wicked force that you almost kissed the ground face-first. glaring up at the man, you seethed, “what was that for?”

“i was trying to be a gentleman.”

you straightened up, squaring your shoulders defensively, “don’t. you’re barely a fully-functioning man.”

while you were waiting for him to counter you with his regular flirting disguised as hostility, instead his face softened and he apologized, “sorry. come on in?”

“huh?” your shoulders went slack, eyes narrowing at his broad figure as you walked past him and into the room.

the lights were dim.

“what’s this?” your eyes scanned the place, he had made a pillow fort on the ground with whatever haphazard sheets and pillows you had been hoarding in the room. the tv in your room showed a still from netflix: Ten Things I Hate About You.

you bent down, thumb and forefinger raising the sheets upwards to properly see inside, you saw packs of chips and instant ramen, coke and chocolates stashed to the side.

still frozen, you found him meekly call out your name, “do you hate it? do you? you do, right?” you heard the door lock behind you, “i can undo it, it’ll take me like ten minutes tops. it is literally not a big deal, i’ll take it down.” his voice dropped down to a whisper, “jesus fuck, I told nami this was stupid.”

he knelt next to you, forearms stretched forward as if he was itching to pull the flimsy housing to shreds. your hand grabbed his, face turning to meet his shy one.

“you did this for me?”

“uh,” he hesitated, “remember, blondie said no going out. so, I thought i’d try… this?” his voice grew weak, “you hate it.”

“you did it for me?” you repeated, almost in disbelief.

he sighed methodically, “who else?”

a grin broke on your face, “i didn’t take you for a romantic, roronoa.”

he shrugged off the goosebumps that threatened to break on his body at your reaction, “pfft. whatever. it’s not a… it’s not a big deal. nami helped… so, yeah.”

“you even put on my one of my favourite movies.”

“yeah, yeah.” the sportsman stood up, walking away from you to duck inside the fort and arrange the food items. but you could see his ear-tips growing redder, coy eyes carefully avoiding yours, “you’re, uh, you’re welcome.”

“but if you’re trying to impress me.” you followed suit, “this is not gonna work.”

he turned back to stare at you. a deer in headlights. “’s not?”

“well, I know you’re not a romantic. nami surely is though, it seems.” you settled down on the comfy mattress, turning your body so that it faced the wall the tv was plastered on, “i know this won’t happen again once we’re actually dating.”

“hey, it’s not like I’m not romantic at all. see, i’ve been doing well these couple of months. i think?” he tried to defend but you cut him, “you’re off season right now. once you have your five a.m. trainings and regular matches, you’d forget I even exist. you forget to eat, to fucking breathe when it comes to your game. a whole ass human?” you found yourself scoffing, “you would give up in a day. and that’s me just speculating based on observing you from afar per these past few months.”

he fell silent, probably reeling from your accurate observation. you sighed, trying to ease the unnecessary tension you had created, “i’m not attacking you, zoro.”

features downcast, lips pulled into an emotionless straight line. he repeated, “you’re speculating based on observing me from afar per these past few months?”

you probably should have drawn the line here, probably should have said okay and turned on the movie. but you were so well-versed in the language of self-destruction that someone should arrange a fucking pulitzer for you.

“you’re a sportsman first, son next.” you prayed your voice held atleast an inch of sympathy as you did a neat, little character assassination of the poor man. “as much as I appreciate the gesture, I am not sure where lover falls on that priority list. you like the chase, the idea… that i am something grand.” you stilled, “but i’m not. i am not an olympic medal, or a grand slam title. i'm just some woman.”

“you’re not just some woman.” he breathed slowly. “i suppose you have a point. i am not a lover. my hands find the racket before they find a bouquet, my words find silence before they do declarations of love. i- i don’t how to… just love.” he repeated to plead his case.

and this was it.

you barely held your breath as the man next to confirmed just who he was. he was not a lover. he was the number one on the global charts. and how selfish had you been to demand that he be anything but that demon on court?

“but,” zoro proved you wrong. “i wouldn’t have sacrificed long days and sleepless nights for just some woman. you underestimate how much you mean to me.” his breath grew strained, words unsure as if it was the first time he was telling the truth, “five years is a long, long time to come back home and yearn for your arms.”

you didn’t turn your head to gawk at him even though every cell in you wanted to. every inch of you wanted to turn your head, grab his face in your smaller palms and ask him to confess just how much you meant to him. but you were not sure you could listen to him come up empty handed like a fish out of water. you were not sure you wanted to find out just how easily roronoa zoro could break your heart.

but as the two of you fell into silence, your eyes zeroed in on the zooming in and out title card on tv instead, “let’s jus’ watch.”

“you mean everything to me. always have, always will.” you felt his palm on yours, and you flinched at his careful touches. pulling your hand back to your chest, you felt the familiar speeding up of your heart against your ribcage, “don’t. zoro, please.”

“don’t what?” he tried to ask, tried to turn toward you with anticipation making a home in his irises and vile thoughts on his lips.

don’t what? you tried to find the answer to the very same question. don’t what? what did you want to say to him? was it “please don’t make me think you could love me all over again.” or “please don’t break my heart again.” or just a simple “don’t say another word or i’d find myself risking it all for you. and i cannot stand to be the fool who fell for you yet again.”

just a series of unfortunate ‘agains’, it seemed.

instead, you turned your body towards his, tentative hands coming up to hold his face in yours before falling back to the mattress. you raked in a forbidden sigh, the sound so loud in the eerily quite room. finally looking at him, you found yourself growing dumber.

somehow, like this – vulnerable – he looked like just another twenty-two year old. not a world champion. not somebody capable of destroying you.

“i am not sure i’m ready to get my heart broken by you again.” you confessed slowly, like a coward. “i am not sure i can celebrate my next birthday, just to beg some meaningless god above for you once more.”

“then don’t.” his eyes drifted downwards, heartsick fingers twitching as they inched closer to your warmth. his words were low, like yet another coward. “don’t ask for me back if i break your heart again.”

was it that simple?

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

26th of october, 8:09 a.m.

you woke up with open packets and stacked cups of ramen on the floor, some episode of friends blaring on the tv and zoro stirring you awake.

sunlight filtered through the window, streaming in and pouring through the linen onto the man in front you. he was pretty, achingly so. his hair was tousled, lips parted, and thick brows bunched together like he was playing a match right now, “wake up.”

“huh?” rubbing your eyes, you tried to blink sleep away but instead grew more confused the longer you ruminated about his words, “what?”

“up and runnin’.” he repeated, “i need you.”

“need me?” your face contorted to show pure, unadulterated confusion, “zoro, ‘slike eight a.m.? can’t you wait a while?”

something nostalgic stirred within you as he smiled and bent down to face you easily. did the sun always get caught against his frame like he was a deity with a chokehold on you?

his smile was easy-going, and suddenly, you were fourteen year olds planning to ‘run away’ from home because you wanted to see the world. his voice shook you out of the daze, “get your head out of the gutter. didn’t mean it that way.”

“huh?” you couldn’t even find yourself growing offended amid your sleep-infused, hazed state. “what do you mean then?”

he tugged on your arms to help you sit up, “we’re going on a road trip.”

“we… are?” your expression grew awry, “where?”

“pack up and meet me outside,” he stood up, “you’d find out once we get there.”

“but zoro, hey–” you tried calling out. but it was futile as he walked out of the room, and you stay seated in the mess of sheets and pillow and tried to make sense of what was and what is.

5:42 p.m. 🍓attempt 04: next destination: love!

zoro stared at his phone for what seemed like an eternity. your gaze shifted from him to the deserted road and back to him. the dull sun inching near the horizon skeptically as if watching you two making a fool of yourselves. the winds were warm, and your road-trip was in the hands of an absolute idiot.

you slumped back into the leather, muttering, “should’ve never let you navigate.”

“let me concentrate, woman.” he huffed as his forefinger and thumb zoomed in on the unknown streets on his maps.

“how do you ever go anywhere?! your navigation powers are in the negatives.” tone haughty, you turned around to stare at him, “what kind of grown ass man gets confused on google maps? it literally said go straight!”

“i did go straight.” he turned to stare at you, tone just as haughty. “and i have a driver usually, i don’t drive by myself.”

“you went straight?” you repeated, somewhat amused by his ability to get lost on a straight highway. you craned your head, eyes peering past the black, tinted windows to stare at the deserted road, “and we ended up here? near a ghost town?”

“hold on.” he shifted his attention to the useless app pulled up on his phone screen. his face bunched up in irritation, throwing his phone on the dash-board before shifting the gear to start moving, “no point staying in one place, let’s keep movin’ and we will eventually figure it out.”

“figure what out?” you groaned, slumping back all over again, “atleast tell me where we’re going.”

“surpr–” you cut him off, “there would be no surprise if we never reach it!”

“okay, fair.” he breathed in slowly as the SUV made its way down the deserted road, passing by curated farms only inhabited by scarecrows. he sighed, “if we don’t figure out the road by nightfall, i’ll tell you.”

10:53 p.m.

“so,” zoro avoided your heated gaze, finally admitting the truth, “guess we’re lost."

“yes. yes we are, roronoa.”

“and it’s nightfall, so, i should tell you the destination.”

“yes. yes you should, roronoa.”

“don’t use that tone with me.” he tried meekly and your eyes narrowed in response, “why? are you scared?”

“no.” he cleared his throat, trying to sound like his usual self as he looked around in the lonely diner. the wooden table was rickety, the theme of the diner felt vintage-y, but in a way that was more unused than vintage. a lone, old woman waited behind the counter as you both munched on your dinner. once done with his inspection, he continued, “but it’s unnerving. you sound like nami, and she’s a witch as far as i know. red-head, you know.”

“you have moss-green hair, roronoa.”

“witches support witches.” he emphasized, and in return, a witch-like laugh past your lips, “you should be unnerved. good, because i feel like i have no choice but to sacrifice you in a satanic ritual to go back home now.”

the old woman behind the counter looked at you with utter dread in her eyes but you were too busy stabbing your fork in your grilled cheese, “now, spill. where were we going?”

he sighed, “home.”

“home?” you repeated, “home?”

“i thought i’d take you back to our childhood home,” his voice trailed off.

“why?”

why that wretched place? the place that become bleak, repetitive once you were left all alone five years ago, once he left in the blink of an eye. you routine had become monotonous after him: badminton court, school, home, practice, home, practice, home, sleep. rinse and repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat.

pursing his lips together, he looked down at his plate, “for old time’s sake, i guess?”

“old time’s sake?”

“there was a time when neither of us hated that little, suburban town.” he grinned, “remember that park with the broken swings?”

“that shit was haunted.” you took a bite, conspiring through a mouthful, “i mean why else was it never fixed?”

he continued, “and that public swimming pool? how was every guard there a creep?”

“except dave.” you nodded in agreement, a slight smile playing on your lips, “dave was cool.”

"he liked you so much, it was stupid." zoro huffed before popping a french fry in his mouth.

“you're the one to talk. do you remember courtney?” you grinned, shoving an index in his direction, “she had suchhh a huge crush on you in middle-school. it was honestly confusing.”

“why was it confusing?”

“you looked like a kiwi,” and you laughed when his eyebrows bunched together and he almost pouted, “i believe it was you that liked this kiwi.”

“tch, that was lifetimes ago.” your voice softened as he stayed quiet, the two of you just looking at each other as if registering each other’s silence as the only, absolute truth. the knife lodged in your grilled cheese slipped past your grip and a soft clang rang out as it hit your porcelain plate. you hummed, “should’ve told me we’re going back. i would have helped you navigate, zoro.”

“’sfine.” he shook his head, right hand coming up to scratch the itch away and re-set the strands of hair, “we can just head back. if we leave now, we’d reach by dawn. it’s pointless to go back to that old town now.”

you sighed, fingers interlocking as you slumped back against the worn out seat. the booth was cold against your back, the light bulb flickering momentarily as the two of you existed in a place far removed from reality, a place where the two of you were just twenty-somethings eating dinner at a worn-out diner.

“are you done eating?” you asked once he pushed his plate away. he nodded and you found yourself tugging his arm to leave the diner.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, confused, as he trailed after you. you glanced back once, “if we keep moving forward, we’d probably figure it out, right?” you stilled, turning fully to face him, “let’s go home, yeah?”

if roronoa zoro could, he would follow you to the miserable depths of hell. what was a small town compared to that?

he nodded, “yeah.”

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

27th of october, 6:29 p.m.

“this is it, huh?” you stared at the massive suburban home in front of you. the lawn was trimmed, kept nice and clean as you two stood in front of what was once your humble abode.

your family had sold the place once you expressed that you wanted to move away to do better in your profession, and you had never had the heart to come back and check who bought the place or who didn’t.

“wanna walk around town?” zoro offered his palm, albeit a bit hesitantly, “let’s see what has changed.”

well, that small creak behind your middle school had dried up, now littered with popped soda cans and torn packs of chip. cigarette butts stuck between jagged rocks and dried leaves. the ‘haunted’ park was still not fixed, but you saw little children running around, the scarfs against their tiny frames flying behind them momentarily as they chased each other around. and the leaves on the ground stirred like they were alive under their light footsteps. the old public badminton court had been renovated, it seemed, and the streetlights had been upgraded to a softer orange-y shade rather than the harsh white you both grew up under.

“they made another mall where the theatre was.” zoro commented as you both walked by what used to be your old cinema hall.

“you remember the theatre?” you asked as your eyes raked over the looming white structure with faces of celebrities plastered onto hoardings with the bold declarations of ‘now playing’.

“of course,” he shrugged, muscled arms methodically going up and down, “we had our first date there.”

“it wasn’t a date. you told me you wanted to catch the movies and then you tried to hold my hand for the next two hours.” you emphasized, kicking the dried twigs on the sidewalk. zoro joined in, lazily kicking fallen leaves and scoffing, “perona said it was. i even bought you caramel popcorn.”

and you found yourself giggling, “you even remember the flavour?”

“i remember everything.” his tone appeared to be nonchalant, “a white tank-top with strawberries on it and a blue-wash jeans, that’s what you were wearing.”

you lips pressed together, “can’t believe you remember that.” you came up to softly poke his side, “who would’ve thought you’re a romantic?”

“yeah, yeah.” he rolled his eyes, biting down an infectious smile, “i just have a good memory.”

“good memory?” you scoffed, “how come you’re such a bad navigator then?”

“tch, i’m just a bit geographically challenged.”

you laughed as your footsteps fell one in front of the other, and he trailed behind wordlessly.

as zoro saw you walk in front of him, your dainty hands interlocking so you could stretch them overhead and the way you looked back at him to beckon him towards you, so as to follow you faster. all of it made his heart twist unnaturally in the pit that was his chest. all of it.

next, you both passed your old high-school. standing at the metallic fence, the sun dipped far below the horizon as the streetlights behind you flickered and came alive. the two of you stood behind the metallic, looking at the buildings that had seen you grow in it’s hallways. when you sighed, the air fogged up just a tiny bit, “your blue jersey from state championships, and black jeans. white adidas too.”

“hm?” zoro cocked his head to your side, and you continued, “that’s what you were wearing on our not-date.”

“you remember?”

you pressed your forehead to the metal, the cold fence digging indentures onto your forehead, “of course i remember. i actually have a good memory.”

the two of your stood in frigid silence and the nightly winds grew stronger around you both. you pulled back, turning your face towards zoro, “it’s growing cold, wanna head back to the car?”

his thumb came up to ease away the red markings on your forehead, the friction of his touches melting away the cold essence of the metal. once he was satisfied with his damage control on your forehead, he nodded, “one more pit stop, then, let’s head back.”

10:02 p.m.

the car was parked in the middle of the field where you had spent reckless evenings just like this with zoro five years prior, to the very field where you had last seen him before he left without a word.

you remembered that cruel night as if it was your whole existence. it might as well have been considering how many time you had replayed the same night in your head over and over and over again, wondering if you had done something stupid.

you had sneaked out of your home, and he had sneaked here after his practice was finally over. his hair was sweaty, boyish features coloured a brutal shade of petrified as he approached you under the night sky.

“what’s wrong?” you had asked once you had noticed his downcast eyes and his shivering hands.

“nothing.” zoro had pressed his lips into a thin smile, “’m just tired from the practice.”

“oh?” you held his palm in yours, pressing a sweet kiss to it, “don’t worry, soon you’d win the state championship and then we would have all the time in the world to hang out, right?”

maybe you should have understood it right then when roronoa zoro simply nodded and looked away you. he had never been a good liar anyways.

that night, you both had sat down on the ground. staring up at the night sky, you had traced the constellations with your finger-tips and made false promises of a candied future that never came by. the soft grass under you both had tainted your cream coloured shorts green that day. yet another cruel reminder of him, yet another proof that he and you were real, yet another physical evidence of the love that once was.

“why’re we here?” you couldn’t be bothered masking up the irritability in your voice. the raw edges of hurt cut right back your mortal body as you stepped out of the passenger seat.

“c'mon.” that’s all zoro said as he lend you a hand and helped you climb the car’s roof top.

“zoro.” you repeated sternly, but he just helped you up without much explanation. once you were perched on the metallic frame, he climbed up and your voice momentarily wobbled, “a-are we sure the roof’s not gonna break?”

“no, ‘snot.” he clarified, slowly inching closer to you till you could feel his body warmth against your arm.

tilting your face upwards, you drunk in the sight of the malevolent sky littered with heavy, grey clouds that covered the usual litter of stars; so cruel but so pretty underneath it all.

zoro pulled his knees to his chest, softly perching his chin atop them with a sigh, “pretty, isn’t it?”

“why’re we here of all places?” you pulled your knees to your chest, mirroring his actions.

“it felt wrong to leave without seeing this place once.” he admitted softly, “d’you hate it that much?”

“yes. i do.” you nodded, burying your face against the jagged, scarred skin of your knees. you hated this place, and the pair of green-stained cream shorts in your cupboard were nothing if not the proof of that.

“such a shame,” he sighed, “’s a pretty place.”

“zoro–” but he cut you off, “we’ve changed so much in these five years, haven’t we? let’s get to know each other again.” he lifted his head to look at you, “what’s your favourite hobby?”

you scoffed, “you’re kidding.”

“i’m not.”

“did perona put you upto this?” your eyes narrowed, head still tipped back to stare at the grumbling sky, “or nami.”

“no.” he stressed, “my hobby is probably playing pool now. luffy put me onto it, it‘s kinda cool.”

“i thought sleeping was your favourite past-time.” you turned to look away from the sky and at him but somehow couldn’t. you sighed, slowly admitting, “that was what you always said in interviews.”

“did you stalk me via interviews?”

you tucked your knees one over the other and straightened up, “says the man who watched every match where I got my ass handed to me.”

“i never said i did or didn’t stalk you.”

“you also didn’t say that you won’t break my heart again.” his eyes were boring into yours as you turned your face to finally find his, “you just said to not pray for you back.”

“would you believe me if i told you i won’t break your heart?”

traces of sleep lingered in his eyes, patterns from guilt long-gone-by traced onto his cheeks. you realized with a certain ache that you would probably believe this man if he told you he made the colosseum in his past life, and that he was Genghis Khan re-incarnated. but the fact that he won’t break your heart again? doubtful.

you turned your face back to the thundering clouds. they flashed a myriad of colours and loud sounds enveloped your mortal figures as they churned impatiently above you. you heaved in a breath. slowly exhaling, you asked, “when i lost women’s doubles against the boa sisters, you know what they said to me?”

you believed he knew the answer, being an interview-stalker himself. but he played along, “what?”

“they asked me if you broke up with me because I threaten your legacy as number one, zoro.” a deep sigh passed you by, “since i’m still number two, and from the looks of it they don’t think i’ll be one any time soon.” a mirthless laugh escaped your lips, “honestly, i don’t think I’ll be one any time soon.”

“do you really think i give a crap about shit like that?” zoro raised his face fully, widened eyes looking at you as if you had just accused him of skinning men alive.

“why else would you leave everything behind to be number one, roronoa?”

to you it was clear. he wanted to be number one, so, he left everything behind to be it. simple as that. he wanted to go after his dreams, so, he sacrificed everything he loved. you just happened to be unfortunate enough to be one of those things he loved. simple as that.

“i promised someone.” he finally admitted when you stayed silent, “back when i was in foster care.”

“what?” you found yourself turning your face to look at his, and the man who stared back at you seemed to be a man ravaged and hunted, like a mere prey for guilt.

roronoa zoro had never kept any secrets from you. never. not when he met you as a kiwi-looking middle-schooler at thirteen, and not when he was about to be twenty-three a decade later. no secrets other than his past in foster care. you knew mihawk adopted him when he was eleven, and perona when she was fifteen but no more than that. his past in the foster-care, that one was off-limits.

no questions, no answers.

and you had never pushed. it was something he wanted to forget and you’d be damned if you brought his demons to his under the pretence of harmless curiosity. that was it.

no questions, no answers.

then why was he speaking of it now?

“i only had this one friend. no. she was more like a sister, really.” his eyes hardened, “kuina. she was obsessed with this game, and i hadn’t even heard of it. every fucking time she got her hands on the tv to the communal room, she would turn on sports channel and tear through them till she found one playing re-runs of badminton.”

your muscles ached, and suddenly you were reminded of the air you had ceased to breath in. zoro continued, “she used to drag me to play, and then she used to beat my fucking ass at it. every fucking time. then, one night…” his voice grew thicker, like tar lodged right in his larynx, “she told me that one day, she would make it out of that shitty foster system and she would be number one.”

“somehow, seven year old me thought it would be fun to argue with her. so, i told her ‘no, i’d be number one and you’d be watching.’ she told me no. she had every right to. she was a better player than I was. she deserved this more than i do.”

“zo,” your hand found his bicep as his eyes glossed over, “you don’t have to tell me.”

but you didn’t know any player by the name of kuina, so, it didn’t take you long to guess where the story was headed. somehow, you stomach still dropped when zoro spoke the next part aloud, “she died a day later. ran into the fucking street while chasing the shuttle that the wind blew over. died on the fucking spot.”

“zoro.”

“i made a promise. a-and she was my sister.”

“zoro.” and you moved to engulf him within your arms. you felt him shudder under you, face pressed to your chest in a bleak effort to hold back tears as you held him tighter and tighter against yourself. as if your weak, mortal body could undo the past or stop him from the torment that was his own mind.

“i’m sorry.” your words paled in comparison to the feelings that brewed within the depths of your stomach. as if to reflect the words you couldn’t utter, drops of rain poured down onto you both mercilessly, as if the skies were mourning.

“i’m sorry.” you repeated, arms moving haphazardly to hold him to yourself closer. his hand moved with just as much desperation, trying to clutch onto you as if you were the only tangible thread of sanity left within him, as if your touch was all that grounded him, kept him alive.

“i- i can’t, i won’t lose you.” he mumbled into your skin, “i won’t let it happen. not again.”

he raised his face to look at you and bloodshot eyes met yours. his hair stuck to his forehead, lips quivering and you couldn’t tell which drops were tears and which rain on his soaked face.

your eyes racked over his frame. from his uncaring hair, to the eyes that had grown weary far too young, to the same pair of lips you had ached to call home, and finally the arms that you had yearned for much the same for the past five years.

“zoro?” you leaned towards him as your voice grew weaker. rain drops on your lips clung helplessly as he followed your voice, face falling forward till your foreheads were mere hairsbreadth apart, “y-yeah?”

why did your breath sound so strained? how come you could feel your heart pumping wildly against the bones lodged in your chest? how could you taste the metallic taste of blood and rain on your lips like as you heaved out ragged words?

you bit your lip to stop it from quivering helplessly. words failing to voice what not even your brain could, you asked for similar candied lies, “say you won’t break my heart again.”

words desperate, he nodded, “i won’t.”

“no,” your breath grew more ragged as each second passed you by, “no. swear on it.”

his calloused palm came to rest on your cheeks, forehead touching as he closed his eyes shut. “i swear on it. i, roronoa zoro, promise to never break your heart again.”

“and if you do?”

“you’re more than welcome to break my skull with my own racket. plummet it down really hard.”

a small smile cracked at your lips, “really?”

“promise.” he hummed. and as he leaned forward to catch your lips against his in a sickly, sweet routine, you pulled back.

he barely had the second to react before you crashed back into him. you couldn’t wait any longer. your lips against his in a clash of teeth and lips and tongue and the faint taste of rain on your skins.

“’s pouring.” he panted, words barely being processed in your lucid state, “wan’ you s’bad though. so, so fucking bad.”

the next you knew, your wet back met the leather backseat of his car.

the sportsman hovered over you momentarily. and next, all you felt was his naked skin pressed to yours, his calloused palms tracing patterns long-forgotten to your sides as he gulped down anything you had to offer. any cries, any grudges, any desires.

you pushed him away just to be able to breath, but air seemed to be the last priority on zoro’s mind as he caught your lips against his in a methodical, little game all over again. panting against your pretty lips, his fingers tried to rid you of your soaked jeans and panties. and all of it was so lewd, so unbearably lewd.

from the sounds of his skin on yours, the sound of the rain violently crashing against the tinted windows and the sounds of his desperate huffs and pants as he tried to manhandle you and get rid of the whatever unholy layers separated you from his feral touches.

“z-zoro,” you stuttered helplessly and the man that peered down at you resembled more a demon ready to fester on the last bit of your lucidity rather than the man you loved.

“c’mere.” he husked, and within moments he was under you. laying prettily on the backseat as your honeyed heat hovered only inches away from his pretty lips. as he stared up at you, his strong arms wrapped around your hips and he pulled you to his lips.

“fuck,” his eyes rolled back as he ran an experimental flick of his tongue against your core, and you flinched, already pulling back from him.

and how could you blame roronoa zoro for tightening his grip against your thighs and fully seating you over his face?

“none of that hoverin’ shit.” he declared in a series of hot pants against your drenched cunt, “let me eat my girl out properly.”

“z-zoro,” you bucked forward as his lips attached around the sensitive nub, sucking like he knew your untimely demise was his very duty. strong fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he ate you out like a man starved, like a man ravished.

it was all so messy, all so untamed, feral. just a mix of spit, your honeyed fluids and his insane determination to make you unravel at the tip of his tongue.

he sneaked in a hand, forefinger and thumb pinching the nub as his tongue delved deeper into your velvety hole. your eyes rolled back as his strokes stayed unrelentless against your heat and you found yourself falling apart at his preying touches, “oh my god, zo. ‘m gonna fuck–”

“cum f’me.” he rasped against you, the other hand coming down to smack the fat of your ass. you ass recoiled under his pressure and you jolted as he rubbed the stinging area better. hot tears pricked at your eyes as he brought down a unrelenting hand at the same strawberry-red patch of skin. the pain mingled in with the methodical strokes of his tongue and the messy rubbing from his fingers pushed you past your limit.

your walls spasmed, sickly sweet dew pooling at his lips as you bucked forward with a strangled cry in your throat, “zoro, zoro, zo.”

you weren’t quite sure if you imagined it, or if you truly felt roronoa zoro smirk against your aching cunt before pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses onto the damage he had done.

as you tried to catch your breath, zoro kissed – no, devoured – your clit. your throbbing bundle of nerves caught between his lips dangerously, he sucked on it as you bucked and keened over him, “one more. c’mon, baby.”

“no, please.” you tried to cry out but the maddened man could hear nothing over the blood rush against his ears and the ecstasy of your orgasm on his tongue. clenching his eyes shut, all he could focus was on the way you squirmed over him. trying to run away? pushing him away?

he couldn’t help but grin like a man gone far too gone because this was like a challenge, and what did roronoa love if not challenges? you were practically begging him to eat you till you cried and begged him to let you go, were you not?

“z-zo.” your voice failed you at your fourth orgasm and all you could feel was the muscle pushing in and out of your sore, aching cunt and his fingers pulling on your nipple so, so meanly. “z-zoro,” you tried again, this time without stuttering, “you’re s’mean, zo.”

“am i?” the way he sounded, you felt like only more torture was on your way, “am i so, so mean?”

you nodded, tears rolling down your pretty face as he thumbed your sore clit and cooed, “sorry, baby.”

“y-you’re not sorry,” you hips spasmed at his careless touches and you threw your head back to hold back a cry, “you’re n-not sorry at all.”

“’m not,” he admitted cockily, pulling you upwards so he could press kisses to your sore thighs, “only i get to ruin my girl.”

“y-your girl?” you sounded so out-of-it, so innocent with the way he had fucked you dumb. wobbly lips, teary eyes and hoarse voice. god, he loved you. he nodded, peering at you as if breaking it down for you, “my girl.”

pulling your quivering thighs off of him, he sat up and softly placed you on his lap. when you met his pussydrunk face, his lips were drenched off of your essence. he wiped his face off the back of his hand, then using the same hand to pull your jaw forward to kiss you senseless all over again.

his mushroom tip sat hotly against your inner thigh, smearing the glossy precum all over your soft skin. as zoro battled his tongue against yours, your nimble fingers toyed with his flushed cock-head. as you softly thumbed the slit, zoro found himself whimpering against your pouty lips, slowly pulling back.

“ah, fuck.” he breathed in slowly, eyes rolling back as you finally stroked his dick. you met his eyes definitively as you brought up your soft palm to your mouth. spitting on his soft skin, you brought it back to his angry shaft nestled against your thighs.

moving it up and down, your face dipped down to his neck to bite down on his pulse. instead of whimpering the way he was, his strong hand came to push your head harder against his tanned skin. he rasped, “harder.”

and you sunk your teeth into his skin with enough force to break his skin, just to find the man under you stutter and his white seed to coat your hand. his hips stuttered, eyes clenching shut as realization set in, “f-fuck. shit hah, i came?”

growing cocky at the way he came undone, you bit down a teensy bit harder. until you felt the sweet taste of iron on your lips and you pulled back to see a small droplet of blood beading at his neck. but before you could apologize, zoro noticed your crimson hued lips. pulling you towards him, he revered in the sweet metallic tang of his blood against your tongue. madman.

the sportsman hummed against you as he pulled your sore hips upwards and positioned his cock to nudge your slit ever-so-slowly.

“mmph, zo–” you tried to speak but his mushroom tip got caught against your clit so deliciously. moaning, he guided his dick to finally push past your hole and your jaw went slack at the sinful stretch.

hair sweaty and clinging to your skin, your head was thrown back as he pistoled his dick in with slow circular motion of his hips, and you tried to ground himself by digging your nails into his shoulders. zoro grinned, his canine on display unabashed, “feel good?”

your jaw slacked open, just for nothing to come forth other than half-coherent jumbles of his name as his tip kissed your sugary sweet spots with the urgency of a madman. shallow thrusts into your cunt only resulted in persistent prodding of his tip against your g-spot. his thumb pressed debauched words to your clit as your hips moved on their accord, with only one goal: to forget anything but his ungodly thrusts into your rueful cunt.

“feel s’good, zo. feel so, so good hah mhph–” you babbled, nodding as he moved your hips up and down to fill you up and leave you empty over and over and over again. a hand snaked upwards to pull at your roots, tipping your head back so that he could sink his teeth and brand up your soft skin just over the column of your throat.

“feel good?” he repeated, eyes almost crossing over at the crimson mark on your neck. if you felt like you were losing sanity, there was no need to feel lonely cause zoro trailed not farther behind. he laughed, bringing you down harder on his shaft, “feel good, baby? does my girl feel good?”

you nodded, eyes clenching shut as his cock massaged your gummy walls and his thumb tortured your poor, aching clit so well.

the familiar feeling built within you again, like a fire that burnt you to a crisp from within. your walls spasmed, head thrown back, drooling as roronoa zoro made it his life’s purpose to fuck you as hard as he could. to a point, where, you felt like he was just holding back to not break you.

“l-look at me, angel.” his hand squished your cheek mercilessly, pulling your face down just to press a mocking peck to your pouty, drooling lips and laugh when you jolted from the orgasm, “oh my g-god, zoro! fuck aah, hah shit shit shit.”

you slumped forward, sweaty forehead pressed to his heaving chest while he continued to fuck into your overused cunt. his thrusts grew weaker – erratic – before he painted your walls white.

“shit, baby.” the man laughed, his chest vibrating from the stuttered falsetto, “one more?”

“zo…” and the way you looked up at him so teary-eyed, shaking your head no. another challenge?

so now, of course zoro had you pressed in such a mean mating press, mumbling against your swollen kiss-bitten lips, “you’re doing so well, baby. ‘m so proud of my girl.”

“y-yeah?” you stuttered out, batting your tear-stained eyelashes so well that zoro couldn’t help but lap at the tear-drops cascading down your cheek, “mhm, course angel. take one more for me, can you?”

you nodded as if you had a choice.

his chest pressed up against yours, broad hand pulling your knees so far high so that he could plunge in and out of you so very easily. zoro panted with every slow drag of his shaft against your addictive, sugar-sweet walls because every small movement seemed to set you alight. your cunt grabbed at him hungrily, clutching him so tightly as if you refused to let him go.

managing a few more thrusts, he brought your weak hand upto his throat and pressed your hand onto his pulse. you stared at him, wide-eyed, before pressing harder. as your soft hand pushed harshly against his pulse, zoro pushed into your heat harder with a low whimper.

his hips sputtered as splashes of white painted your walls all over again.

the sportsman heaved, dipping his sweaty face down to the crook of your neck and pressing his body weight on yours. after what seemed like eons of just catching up his breath, zoro slowly pulled out and you gasped at his absence.

“are you okay?” he pressed a chaste kiss to your collarbone before trailing upwards and pressing another to your cheek. your muscles went slack under him, soreness creeping up the tendrils of your flesh as you fluttered opened your eyes, “’m tired.”

“already?” the man grinned, licking a soft stripe up your jaw. your weak hands pushed him away, groaning, “already?!”

“sorry, c’mere.” settling beside you in the cramped seat, he pulled you to his chest. humming faintly as his fingers softly caressed the damp tressed and you melted against the feel of his warm skin against yours.

the soft pitter-patter of the rain against the windows quietened, the morning mist hovering around the car like some forbidden protector and dew clung helplessly to leaves in the field. zoro pulled you closer to himself, his shallow breath against your forehead and his soft fingertips massaging your sore hips, “i think i love you.”

“you think?” your eyes fluttered open, trailing up softly to take in his peaceful expression. you bit the inside of your cheek, stomach churning as you dug your cheek against his chest and nodded, “i think i love you too.”

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

11th of november, 12:01 a.m.

“go on,” you shoved the cupcake in his direction, the candle light flickering softly and barely holding out against his stuttered breath, “for real?”

“hm,” you nodded, “make a wish, zo.”

“i don’t even have a religion.” he mumbled and you pinched the taut skin of his bicep in retaliation, “jus’ do it.”

“okay, fine. here goes nothing.” he closed his eyes. eyebrows bunching up in concentration and high cheekbones coloured orange from the weak flame. a moment passed by as the two of you stayed huddled on his bed, him praying and you looking at him.

a soft breath and the flame went out. when he opened his eyes, you smiled at him, “what did you wish for?”

“nothing,” he replied softly, calloused fingers interlocking with yours, “think i have everything i could ever need already.”

“happy birthday, zo.” you pecked him and pulled back, but he pulled you back to him.

knock, knock, knock.

“are you both done?” perona knocked at the door, “everyone’s waiting for you out, idiot.”

the next morning your twitter was flooded with the same blurry photo of you kissing zoro at his birthday party.

@/roronoaswifeyy said: yOU TWO ARE MY ROMAN EMPIRE OMG!!! @/sweatytoenails asked: IS THIS ANOTHER PR STUNT?11 OMG I CANNOT TAKE ANOTHER BREAK-UP. @/boaboaboa said: GUYS I THINK THIS PICTURE IS LEGIT, SOMEONE SAW THEM GO ON A ROAD-TRIP TOO

@/monkeydluffyofficial: very proud of zoro to be able to pull such a pretty woman without showering for days on end ❤️😃 @/dailycelebgossip: BREAKING: two-times grand slam winner and current number #1, roronoa zoro confirmed to be going out with his former flame!

@/vinsmokesanjiofficial: we will be releasing an official statement, until then PLEASE STOP TAGGING ME, YOU’RE BLOWING UP MY PHONE. AND @/ynln ANSWER MY CALLS. @/nami_bizconmgmt: like@/vinsmokesanjiofficial said, please wait for the official statement and @/realroronoazoro PICK UP MY CALLS.

zoro wrapped a strong arm around your waist. sleep lingered in his eyes, and the pattern of the pillow case was imprinted onto his skin instead, “what’re you reading?”

you giggled, “people are losing their mind over the fact that we’re dating.” you looked over your shoulder, “can’t believe a PR stunt got us here.”

“oh, about that.” he mumbled, “nami never asked me to do that, i was just feeling bold that day. paid off pretty well though, didn’t it?”

“huh?” your eyes widened, words sinking in at a much slower rate, “HUH?”

“what?”

“HUH?”

“what?” he repeated with a grin, “it worked, didn’t it?”

“YOU ASSHOLE!” you pushed at him and he just held you tighter against his chest, “mhm, love you too.”

ladies and gentlemen, this is your friendly reminder to not go back to your ex by the way! they don't deserve you and aren't roronoa zoro!

a/n: i cannot believe this has come to an end!! aaaah took me fucking forever to finish it (and i have like 5 more characters to write for ://) but im so so grateful for anyone who loved this and has shown me that love. thakyou so much you guys! i'd be making an ao3 soon enough so that it's easier to navigate. again, thankyou for keeping up with me <3 tagging: @litlebruh @mist-ixx @briezy04764 @otkuhotgirl [the credit for feral!zoro goes to her] @mars-mizuko @florallyarranged @ayumitho @lyany2k @dietcokefizz @kokanee-readinglist @angelsforever999 @rengokushuaige @imlikeacoffeeconnoisseur @gojoistetti tysm for reading!! you all were so incredibly nice that im sobbing :')) i hope y'all enjoyed this! much love, vix <3 m.list

#the op aus series <3 #op au #one piece #op #opla #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro smut #zoro x reader smut #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader smut #zoro smut #zoro angst #one piece angst #one piece smut #opla smut #op smut #zoro opla #one piece zoro

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measuredingold · 1 year ago

Text

slow down

authors note: um... surprise :) this idea came from discord (shocker) and i just had to write something up - short and sweet and to the point. as always, please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

pairing: noah sebastian x reader x nicholas ruffilo

cross-posted on ao3

word count: 2.1k

cw/tags: polyamory, established relationships, literally porn w/o plot, dom/sub undertones, blow-jobs/face-fucking, fingering, 18+ minors do not interact

“Just like that, sweetheart. Good, good job.”

Nicholas’ voice by your ear had your body heating up, goosebumps arising along your skin as you tried taking Noah deeper into your mouth. Your cheeks hollowed and your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling of Noah’s heavy cock on your tongue making your core ache in anticipation.

Your eyes open as you pull off Noah to catch your breath, your hand that was rested on his thigh to balance yourself moving to wrap around his leaking cock. Your gaze moves up at the first flick on your hand, and your legs press together at the look of complete ecstasy - pure bliss - written all over Noah’s face.

Slick, swollen lips that he’s bitten so hard you’re surprised they haven’t started bleeding are parted; his head tipped back. His fingers are gripping the edge of the desk he’s leaning on so hard that his knuckles are turning white, hands twitching every so often. You know he’s dying to reach out and touch you, but he can’t.

Per Nicholas’ demand.

He whimpers out as you squeeze the base of his cock and lean forward, wrapping your lips back around his tip. His hips cant forward, pushing himself further into you, and you open your mouth wider.

“Atta girl,” Nicholas murmurs from behind you, his fingers running up and down your back. “You always take him so well.”

You can only make a noise in approval, with your mouth full and all, and Nicholas’ hand runs up to back of your head, fingers curling into your hair. He’s gentle at first, like he always is, but then his grip tightens, and you’re being pulled back. Noah’s cock leaves your mouth with an obscene pop!, a trail of saliva connecting your lips and the tip hangs between you.

Noah whines out, something from deep in his chest and your eyes flick back up to him. You know he’s almost too far gone, eyes glossed over in need, face flushed in want. You’re surprised he’s even lasted this long.

Noah’s chest rose and fell at a rapid pace, and you knew he was trying to even out his breathing. He was close. You’d been pushing him towards the edge for a while now, Nicholas pulling you off at the last moment before the other could release. You’re not sure how much longer he could go.

“Noah.” Nicholas’ voice was calm and collected, but it still made a shiver run up your spine and your cunt clench around nothing.

Noah whines again, tries to say something but his words are too slurred to even make a coherent sentence, his grip on the desk behind him tightening. Nicholas chuckles behind you, and you know there’s a cruel smirk settling on his lips.

“I want you to fuck her mouth.” Nicholas says gently, his grip on your hair tightening.

His free reached for one of your wrists, pulling it behind your back and you understood what he wanted. You let your hand fall from Noah’s thigh and reach back, Nicholas now holding both your wrists together.

Noah’s eyes brightened and you see his body physically relax.

“Oh, thank fuck. Does… fuck, does that mean I can-“

“No.” Nicholas’ voice is sharp, but you know the smile on his lips is dangerously sweet. “But if you ask nicely, maybe you can.”

Another whine pulls from Noah, and you swear you see his eyes gloss over, near to tears. A shaky breath leaves you when you feel Nicholas press close to you, lips by your ear again.

“What do you think, baby? Want him to fuck your mouth?” You keen at his words and nod your head, words becoming too much. A gasp leaves you when he tugs your hair again, pulling you closer to him. “Words, my love.”

“Yes, fuck.”

“Good girl.” Nicholas hums in approval, lips ghosting over the side of your neck before pulling your head back again, making you look up at a fucked-out Noah. “Now ask him.”

Your eyes don’t leave Noah, watching as his lips part and chest rises at Nicholas’ words. Your thighs press together to give yourself some type of friction to the aching need between your legs and you let yourself rest back against Nicholas’ chest.

“Noah,” You murmur, voice sickeningly sweet, “Will you please fuck my mouth?”

He whines, hips pushing up off the desk behind him, cocking twitching. You feel Nicholas’ lips spread into a grin and your lips stretch into your own, not once looking away from the man above you. Noah nods desperately.

“Yes. Please, wanna… shit, wanna fuck your mouth. Please.”

“Oh look… You’re the one who asked, yet he’s begging to put his cock in your pretty little mouth. How pathetic.”

Noah doesn’t stop the whimper that falls from his mouth and your legs press together yet again.

“Well, go on. Do it.”

One of Noah’s hands drop to his leaking cock and he hisses the second his fingers wrap around the base. You mouth drops open without much thought and your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his tip sliding along your bottom lip, slowly pushing in. Noah moans the second your lips wrap around his tip, sucking gently, before you let your jaw fall lax again.

Noah gives an experimental roll of his hips, and you can’t help but groan around his length as it just barely hits the back of your throat. He gives another careful roll, body shaking as your tongue swirls around him.

“You know she likes it when you’re rough with her, baby. You don’t have to be gentle.” Nicholas speaks up from behind you, and you look up to see Noah pausing.

His eyes find yours and you do your best to nod, his cock in your mouth and Nicholas’ fingers in your hair making it hard to do. He visibly swallows before giving a shallow roll of his hips, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat with such force you can’t help but gag around it, eyes rolling back.

“Good boy. Just like that, baby.”

Noah bites down roughly on his bottom lip to try and contain his noises, but you don’t miss the choked-out moan he lets slip anyways. His hips don’t let up and you do your best to keep up, trying to relax your jaw as much as possible and breathe through your nose. Noah pulls out almost all the way and you suck in a deep breath before leaning forward, taking his tip back into your mouth. Another choked noise leaves Noah, a mix of a whine and sob, and his hips thrust forward.

With tears welling in your eyes, you do your best to try and keep your gaze on Noah, something you know Nicholas likes you to do. You almost have forgotten about the man behind you keeping you still, too focused on your breathing and the way Noah’s cock feels in your mouth. You barely notice that Nicholas’ grip around your wrists has disappeared, his hand now trailing its way down your back and your waist, slipping to your front.

A surprised noise leaves you, albeit muffled, when Nicholas’ fingers slip through the mess between your legs. Noah throws his head back at the noise, the vibration going straight through his cock, and his fingers clench around the edge of the desk again. You’re sure if he gripped any harder it would break.

Nicholas teases you with his fingers, sliding through your slick folds, brushing over your swollen clit before prodding at your entrance. You still can’t move, keeping your arms behind your back because you knew better than to move them. Nicholas’ grip on your hair didn’t let up and with the way Noah was fucking into your mouth… you were stuck.

And you fucking loved it.

Nicholas easily slides two fingers into you, your cunt immediately clenching around them, and he groans low and deep beside your ear.

“Fuck, baby.” He grunts, pumping his fingers in and out of you. “You love this, huh? Being filled up like this?”

All you can do is cry around Noah’s cock, eyes rolling back again at the pleasure coursing through your body.

“Fuck.” Noah moans above you, voice cracking. “Fuck, I… Nicky, I need - shit. I need…”

Your stomach turned at the sound of Noah’s voice cracking and you look up at him again, seeing the wetness on his cheeks. You try to blink away your own tears as Noah’s thrust became sloppier, and you gag around him again.

“What is it, sweet boy?” Nicholas’ voice is rough, fingers not letting up as he looked up at Noah. “What do you need?”

“Wanna… oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum. Please,” Noah hiccups out a breath, his cheeks stained with tears as they fell. His thrusts are getting sloppier and sloppier with each roll of his hips, and you’re doing your best to keep up, jaw already past the point of hurting. You’re going to be sore tomorrow, but you don’t care, relishing in the way his cock feels in your mouth while Nicholas fucks you with his fingers. “Nicky, please. I’ve - shit - I’ve been so good. Please, please, please.”

You knew with the sloppy rhythm of his hips and the way he’s practically shaking above you; he’s not going to last longer - whether Nicholas gives him the okay or not. You whine around Noah’s cock when Nicholas removes his fingers from your soaking cunt, fingers finding your clit. Your body moves on its own now, hips rutting relentlessly against Nicholas’ fingers.

“You both wanna cum?” He hums and Noah nods, eyes squeezing shut. You try your best to nod and Nicholas turns his head, lips pressing behind your ear. “Go ahead. Give it to me.”

Before he even finished his sentence, Noah brings a hand down to your head, fingers tangling in your hair to hold you as his hips still. His release spills out seconds later and the sob the rips from him has you clenching around nothing, trying to catch your own high. Noah all but falls back against the desk behind him, body slumping as his cock slips from your lips. You swallow whatever remained in your mouth, knowing that some of his release had already slipped out and down your chin, but you don’t care.

Nicholas’ fingers don’t let up against your swollen and throbbing clit, the heat pooling in your tummy letting you know that you were seconds away from sweet release. It doesn’t take long until your thighs are shaking, body convulsing against Nicholas’ as you came with a silent shout, throat too raw to even make a noise.

You hear Nicholas chuckle close to your ear, but it’s muffled by all the ringing, and you feel him mouth at your neck, working you through your orgasm.

“That’s my girl.” He whispers, pressing a delicate kiss to your ear, his fingers finally leaving you. “Did so fucking good for us.”

You smile weakly at his words, cheeks flushing, and you watch with hooded eyes as Noah moves to his knees in front of you, thumb coming up to swipe at your chin. You suck on your bottom lip as he brings his thumb to his mouth, licking off his own release before his hand comes up to cup your cheek. You lean into the touch.

“Are you okay?” He asks gently, eyes still brimmed red from his tears.

You nod. “Mhm.”

“Did so good,” Nicholas repeats again, a hand coming to rub at your back and the other reaching up to curl around Noah’s wrist. “I love you - both of you.”

You see Noah dip his head down at Nicholas’ words and you don’t miss the blush on his cheeks, a smile threatening to tug at his lips.

“Love you too, Nicky.” You reply hoarsely for the both of you, body shivering at the feel of his hand sliding down the curve of your hip, to the little dip where your thigh meets your middle.

“Do you think you can cum again, my love?” Nicholas questions, voice low. “I don’t think I’m done with you two just yet.”

Noah picks his up head up to stare between both you and Nicholas, and you see the moment his cock twitches between his legs, already growing hard. Your pussy clenches around nothing, the slickness returning to your center as excitement enters your body. Noah’s thumb brushes against your cheek and he gives you a pointed look, silently asking if you were good to continue, and you gave him the same look. He blushed again before sheepishly nodding his head.

“Yes, Nicky.” You both say in unison.

“Good.” He practically purrs, pressing another kiss behind your ear and giving Noah’s wrist a gentle squeeze. “Bed. Now.”

You and Noah don’t need to be told twice.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #nicholas ruffilo fic #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo x reader #nicholas ruffilo x noah sebastian #if u squint #mine

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08melancholie · 2 months ago

Text

Coated. — Micah Bell/Reader

tags: Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Denial of Feelings, Chapter 2: Horseshoe Overlook (Red Dead Redemption 2), Location: Valentine (Red Dead Redemption), Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Soft Micah Bell, Pining, Pining Reader, reader is lowkey a bit of a freak, Female Honorifics and Terms, a bit ooc but you can't blame me i just want him so bad, Obsession, Obsessive Behaviour, Unresolved Sexual Tension

summary: It felt unreal; the smell of musk, gunpowder and smoke, the leather fabric dragging over your undershirt, the way it hung over your body, threatening to slip off with every movement from the size difference. A storm always ruined your plans, usually. Though, you were finally glad for the change of weather, seeing how much it benefitted you tonight.

a/n: micah bell fluff im sorry guys cant help myself lawd....... i want him to give me a bear hug and tell me itll be ok

Not proofread !!!!

words: 3,288 | AO3 LINK

Valentine always smelled the same, and it would instantly attack your nostrils when you'd exit the almost run-down saloon after a night out. Today, a fraction of the gang had one of the more successful jobs, and decided to treat themselves to a drink out in the nearby town instead of in camp, like they would usually. You were part of the fraction; having accompanied them on quite a few jobs as of recently.

It was a high-risk robbery, and it went so much smoother than any of the men you did the job with expected it to. So, it was obvious drinks would be needed. Maybe getting yourself drunk is exactly what you needed; whether or whether not you did, you were going to do it. And get drunk you—somewhat—did. You were a bit cheap, so you stopped yourself at tipsy with four shots of whiskey and a few rounds of beers that Arthur generously paid for everyone. Most people actually tapped out before you; surprisingly. Your guess was that they were simply too tired. By the end of the night, the only members left in the saloon out of your little group were Arthur, Dutch, Micah and yourself. You tapped out at your limit—more-so your wallets limit—and decided you'd also head out, saying so to the men deciding to keep on drinking. They told you to have a good night, and you returned the words before walking out.

And so, here you were, on the porch stairs a few feet before the saloon door, a cigarette held in your hand while you waited for the storm to die down a bit. The air was undeniably hot; seeing as the storm was happening late-July, which was odd. Your undershirt wasn't providing much warmth, and you hoped that the cigarette would do the job for you instead—to no avail.

You took shaky drags of your cigarette and blew the smoke out before yourself, hugging your body with your free hand. Seriously; why the hell was there a storm right now? At this time of year? It puzzled you, that much was sure. You just hoped it'd settle, even if by a bit, before you mounted up and left for camp.

The saloon doors creak, the old wood far past being an easy oil-it-up fix by now, and the owners too stingy and lazy to replace them. Spurs clank against the boots of the owner, that stops next to you.

"Hell you doin' out here, still?" Micah Bell. He had a very distinct voice; thick accent that muffled some of his words, just barely coherent when he spoke to you. A small drawl to it, like he was dragging the words out with him when he spoke them.

You explain your unfortunate situation—the coldness and wetness providing no sustainable condition to go riding right now—before you toss your cigarette into the muddy surface at the bottom of the stairs. He seems confused by your words, though. "So you'll shoot up half a town but is scared of a lil' water an' cold?" He teases you—like he does, every day. Everyone, at that. He always seeks his victim-of-the-day out easily, and that has been you today. What an honor.

You replied with a small scoff, shooing him off with your hand. "Oh, don't be like that girl," He lowered himself to a crouching position, now almost on level with you. "gotta let me tease you sometimes." His breath told you that he's had much more to drink than yourself, reeking of liquor and matching the usual scent of the saloon. But, that smelled seemed to match him.

"Quite a storm, yeah..." He watched the rain splash down onto the dirt road ahead, his forearms on his bent knees. "You ain't dressed for 'ts hellish weather either, huh?"

He's damn right; you're still shivering and hugging yourself for warmth, the cigarette previously in your hand providing barely any warming to your body.

But here's something you need to know; drunk Micah and sober Micah are two separate people.

He hummed in thought for a moment before clicking his tongue and standing back up, looking down at you. "Get up." You gazed up at him, creasing your eyebrows in confusion. You waited for some sort of explanation, unmoving—until he repeated himself, and you knew he wouldn't say it a third time. You stand up reluctantly, turning to face him and waiting for whatever he had in mind. The next action is one only of drunk Micah Bell; starting to unbutton his coat in front of you, every button revealing more of his red undershirt. He shrugged it off his body and took a step forward, draping it around you. At first, you really just assumed he was messing with you, trying to provoke a reaction before snatching the article of clothing right back. But no, he slipped it around you and took a step back, taking a moment to look at you. "It's a bit big.. but it'll help 'ya get home without'a sickness of some sorts."

You were dumbfounded. You knew Micah was much different when he's had some to drink—but this? This felt like the line was being blurred.

"Get home safe, and give it back when I'm in camp again, darlin'." He looked out at the road before turning back for the saloon, disappearing into the building with another obnoxious creak of the doors, leaving you silent and still in your spot outside.

Micah Bell gave you his coat.

Micah Bell told you to get home safe.

Micah Bell used a pet name on you.

Darling. Darling; he's never done this before, none of this, matter of a fact. Hell, he barely spoke to you, only ever interacting for job and mission-related purposes, or simple and brief small-talk. So, yes—this was goddamn shocking.

Your little trance was broken up by a brief thunderclap, lighting up the sky for barely half a second. You blinked a few times—clearly still processing whatever just happened—before you looked down. The leather coat hung very big on you, the sleeves hid your hands fully and it almost dragged on the floor. He wore it often, so it wasn't a surprise that the scent he usually carried plastered itself onto the jacket; gunpower, proof of many shootouts where he walked out victorious; smoke, the consequence of his bad smoking habits; musk, his usual scent that, honestly, you always connected to him. You liked the smell. Your body definitely appreciated the gesture, as it's stopped the goosebumps climbing up your arms and subsided the shaking of your body. You seemed to just accept the situation, wrapping the coat around yourself with one hand and keeping your other over the hat on your head, making a quick sprint to your horse. You mount up and urge it to start trotting towards camp, holding onto the reins with the hand previously on your hat.

Your steed definitely didn't appreciate the weather, much like yourself. She whinnied a lot, her own form of complaint. You promised her many treats as apology for putting her through the storm—despite you not being a weather forecaster, so really, how could you have known? Well, she won't care. If she could speak, you know you'd never hear the end of it. You just want to get home, as much as she does at that, and encourage her to keep riding. You've subconsciously brought your chin down to your chest inside of the coat, instantly getting yourself a whiff of that scent you felt earlier while still at the saloon. It's a fairly nice smell, you'll have to admit so. Your nose is right on the rim of the collar, and you can smell everything that you previously described.

Despite the acceptance of the current circumstances you've gotten yourself into, your mind is foggy—filled with unkempt, messy blonde hair; greyish-blue eyes and uniquely white eyelashes that make him stand out more than any camp member; a messy attractiveness linked to him. Boldness, secrecy, cockiness, vulgarity, degeneracy—very Micah Bell. Now, why is it that you're thinking so hard? Is it the coat—are you still stuck on the fact he would do such a thing? It shouldn't matter this hard; but it does. Nothings ever mattered more to you than figuring Micah Bell out.

He's truly a character, and you've caught yourself voluntarily wanting to talk to him, do jobs with him—all things that had the other girls in camp telling you to back off and not start with him. But it was never that simple, no. You felt obligated to seek him out, take a deeper look inside. You needed to know what his deal was, why he was the way he was.

Despite many protests, your horse gets you back to camp in a matter of minutes—ones that felt like hours to you, when thinking of the outlaw; whose scent is wrapped around yourself, his imprint all over your undershirt and on your body. That goddamn scent, it's doing things to you.

You hitch your horse just outside of camp, being extremely quiet while also quick to get out of the rain pelting down, just as hard as before. The last thing you both needed was someone seeing you wearing his coat—God knows what these people'll assume about it. You make a b-line for your tent, closing the rest of the camp and world out as you tie your flaps shut, the tent lit up by only a small oil lantern above your bedroll. Your hair is soaked, dripping to the ground and coat as the small water droplets race down the leather material. You find yourself subconsciously walking to a mirror, backing up and looking at yourself, in his coat. Your eyes trace your own form, intently. After a moment, you break yourself out of your space-out, shrugging the coat off and gently draping it onto a chair in your tent, to dry off. In the meantime, you change out of your own outfit, really not looking forward to getting any sicker than you probably are.

The water took it's time fully evaporating out of the coat, leaving a few small cracks in it and brittle slightly; more than before already. You felt mildly guilty—but he gave it to you, clearly already aware of what water will do to the fine material, so he shouldn't be upset. You hope. You're sat on your bedroll, watching the last few drops of rain fall off of the rim of the jacket. All you've been thinking about has been goddamn Micah—almost to the point of getting tired of it. And, just where was this coming from? You were lost. Maybe it was the tipsiness catching up to you—to be truthful, you hadn't had a true drink in weeks, so it might just be a... odd, new side effect. That's the excuse you'll go with, it seems.

Well, you assumed only alcohol consumption would make you want—no, need the coat on you again. It felt like it was beckoning you closer; luring you to itself like a siren does with her hypnotic voice, or as the fantasy books you see Jack read say. And, damn it, was it working on you.

You slowly got up, leaving your bedroll and strolling over to the chair, looking down at the piece of clothing. Your hands carefully pick the jacket up, running your fingers up and down the material, feeling every story-telling crease and cut, sometimes even finding little bullet wounds he never got sewn back up. Maybe he liked it that way. Then, one arm slips into the first sleeve—then the other, and you're wrapped around the coat again; around the scent; around Micah.

You look down at yourself, inspecting how the coat fits you, as if you haven't already done that enough times. And then, the goddamn scent again—you feel it creep around you, going straight for your nose. And damn you and your alcohol consumption, because you find yourself grasping the collar on both sides, and lifting them to your face. A delicious whiff of the smell, so memorable; so sweet; so unique; so Micah.

Jesus, what the hell are you doing?

You drop the collar from your hands and scrunch your nose up—at your own choice of action. Oh, but it only gets worse for you, as it always seems to. You go to take the coat off, ready to simply walk to his tent and toss it onto his bedroll, finally be done with all this. Yet, you hesitate. Your body protests, instantly showing it's against the idea when your hands freeze up, unable to slip the damned leather off of your bare shoulders. You hear yourself huff, getting frustrated. What was going on—why were you acting so goddamn weird?

Yet, you find yourself so easily accepting this, just how you accepted the coat to be wrapped around you by Micah, how you accepted the impulse of smelling it, and now the action of not taking away the article of clothing that's all over your body. You seem way too fine with all of this.

More-so with your body walking itself back to your bedroll and laying itself down—wrapping the coat around it tightly and simply basking in the aroma that's surrounding the leather over itself.

Your nose is pressed to the collar, acting almost as a weighted blanket on your frame. God, you feel like you're being lulled into your slumber. The smell, the feel, the weight of the coat—everything is like a goddamn drug to you. You're high off of it all; off of him.

Your eyes flutter closed, your breathing slows down, your arms tighten the coat around you.

Alcohol always made you a bit more sleepy than you'd have liked it to—so now, combine that with the heavenly feeling the simple item of clothing is giving you; you've never felt yourself fall asleep faster. You feel contentment, security, infatuation. And you decide that it's a welcomed feeling.

You never understood just how he functioned so well, so early into the day; especially knowing he was a heavy insomniac most nights. He never slept and always was and about by early morning, somehow. All you remember is waking up in his coat.

You decided to give it back early, be done with it for good. After your little display yesterday, you wanted nothing more to do with the coat. You knew he was awake, mostly by the one open canvas flap of his tent, a welcoming gesture, almost. Would be if we were talking about anyone but Micah.

You walked yourself over with the coat draped over your arm—not yourself, for once. You approached the small abode of the outlaw, kicking your boot against the canvas to announce your arrival. He grumbled something, only part you understood being a small "yeah, come in", and so you did. You hadn't yet been in his tent, for some reason. Guess it never interested you until yesterday; when you realized many things about yourself whilst wrapped around the leather material and distinctive aroma of Micah. Get it over with, you hummed, stepping inside.

For a man like Micah—and what you knew about him—his tent was pretty clean, surprisingly. He was sat on his bedroll, slowly rising as he noticed it was you coming to his tent. "Mm, mornin'." He drawled, walking up to you. "Finally here to return this, huh.." He quipped, looking down at you with one hand on his hip, the other extended for the coat. "thought you'd just keep it." He added quietly.

You were confused by the statement, asking him why you would just keep it. His answer had goosebumps reappearing all over your body, this time not from the cold, though. "After your little display; sleeping with my coat on, I thought you'd have just kept it alllll for yourself." Your blood would have run cold; if it didn't all flow right into your cheeks. Oh, God. Oh. God.

You knew you were turning red, looking like a beet, fresh out of the ground, plausibly. You couldn't look at him, not after that. You swore that your tent was tied oh-so-tightly, but it seems you were still sloppy with how you tied those damn flaps together. "Oh, don't be embarrassed," He leaned down closer, his hands on his knees as he got down to your level, not too fond of speaking down at you. "just ask me next time you want a little.. whiff." He hummed, taking the coat out of your hands and slipping it onto himself—with you watching like the little goddamn pervert you seem to be making yourself out to be.

You felt something stir in your stomach—why in the holy hell was he looking at you like that? That goddamn smirk; no anger about your weird display; nothing. And damn him for staying leaned down so close; probably able to see the sweat forming on your forehead. You were wishing for the earth to swallow you whole now.

His hand found your shoulder, squeezing it to get you out of your little trance again. "Go on about your day, girl;" His breath ticked the side of your neck, hitting a part of your ear as well. His voice was low, and the tone he was using with you as of right now? Your knees felt horribly weak. "but I might just have to keep my eye on 'ya, hm?" Oh, sweet Jesus.

Maybe it really was time to accept this—and fire back.

You blinked a few times, your eyes finding his beautiful blues. A small, murmured "thank you" left your lips; lips that then pecked his jawline and scruffy little beard. And, unable to control yourself, you did take in the smell of him again; the raw, unfiltered smell. Oh, it was the best thing you'll have ever gotten a whiff of. He was basking in cheap cologne—surprisingly—and gunpowder, his breath lingering about as he exhaled a noise of surprise breathlessly, his breath still soaked in the alcohol and liquor he had downed at the saloon. You had to brace yourself before you pulled away, unsure how he'd react—this was Micah Bell, after all.

You saw yourself in him, at that moment; shocked and red as a beet, trying to physically comprehend your move on him. Oh, if only boldness wasn't his biggest weakness. His hand squeezed your shoulder, gripping at it. Your body froze when he began to pull; drag you closer to him.

You couldn't stay in there for that—not until you sorted yourself out. And so, you detested and moved away, walking back and out of the tent, red and embarrassed—and feeling like a dog in heat, not to forget.

Micah was.. dumbfounded. Like yourself, when he offered his coat up. He managed to shut his mouth, but still, his eyes couldn't help lingering on the spot you once stood at, in his grip and kissing his jaw. When he finally broke himself out of the moment, he buttoned the long coat up to hide the obvious tightening in his pants, slipping his hands into his pockets. Though, the left pocket had an unusual item inside itself. Micah fished out a little box; ammo. You had left him a box of ammunition, 'for his troubles'; as the small note you scribbled onto said.

Damn you—and him for getting involved, because he knows he's not making it out of this unscathed.

Kudos on AO3 always appreciated! Thank you for reading and indulging in my insanity with me :)

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renren-006 · 9 months ago

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Love Knot | Enemy's to Lovers

Wanda x Fem reader

plot: god you hated her...and the way she smiled so beautifully, but you had to kill her...right? (This is a bit of a longer one shot)

warning: love, enemy,

word count: 1614

a/n: hey!!! i am soooo happy to be posting another Wanda story!! incase anyone forgot shes my wife!! i hope you all enjoy the story and thank you to everyone who voted and contributed to helping me get to where we are!! alsoooo do you guys like me doing polls?? i think letting you guys have some sway in the story is fun but also you can submit requests for any specific storys or even if its a character and a short idea id love to hear it!

AO3 story- Love Knot

You hated her, you hated how she made you feel, how you screwed up missions when she was there, and how your boss wanted her dead. The hell were you supposed to do? For the last three years the two of you have been enemies, with a hint of flirtation. The run-ins with the two of you started when your boss wanted to test you, test your powers so he sent you somewhere he knew an Avenger would show up. It was probably the most embarrassing moment of your life coming face to face with the Scarlet Witch, you force and almost peed your pants you were so caught off guard and nervous. At the time you had not developed the extent of feelings you would have over the three years, making you hate her even more for that, but nonetheless at the time you were terrified towards her. Your shield created itself from your hands, the metal in your blood seeped out to create the weapon. She watched as it formed, merely entranced by your powers.

“Is that all you do?” she asked, her Sikovian accent in her speech. Your own measly sound made its way out.

“No…cough No” You said. That catch almost made you look weak…almost. He laughed slightly at you and simply walked past you. What the fuck did she just walk away from me? you were baffled at what she just did, her suit swishing as she made her way down the hallway.

“What…I'm sorry…why are you not fighting me?” You asked running after her, your eyebrows were up signaling to her that this in fact was your first time in a ‘fight’. She stopped and turned to you, pinning you to the wall with her powers, your blood sounded in your ears and your heart thumped away faster in your chest.

“You've never done this before hu? Well little villain, I could kill you right now without even laying a finger on you but I won't, next time I hope you've trained more to fight me head on…sweetheart” she said all those things to you, leaving you stuttering at the wall and going home hours later after catching your breath and wrapping your mind around, her.

About almost a year later you came face to face with her again, this time you had a bit more experience and you knew your powers better. You couldn't exactly remember why you were there at the same time she was, maybe it had been a coincidence or maybe it had not, you didn't really know. She stood in front of you, eying you up and down.

“Here for a mission or just to see me?” You asked her, ketting cocky and flirting was the only way you were going to make it out of this interaction with at least some part of your pride. You didn't think you could win but you also didn't want her to know that.

“I'm on a mission, little villain” She said to you, annoyance and slight amusement coursed through her words. She wanted to be annoyed that you were there but she also wasn't exactly happy about having to go through the interaction.

“My name isn't little villain”

“Oh? Then what is it?” she asked me, cocking her head to the side.

“Y/H/N” You told her, she smirked.

“What's your real name?” she asked. A genuine question from the witch. You froze, your boss's words flowing through your head.

“Never give out your real name, they will find you or your family. We cant risk you fucking up this group.” Your boss said, harsh words towards you. You nodded your head. “Your only here because of your power, don't forget that”

“Y/N” you told her, letting your name slip from your lips. She smiled at you.

“Well, little villain Y/N, it's good to be your enemy,” she said. Her hands started glowing red and before you could even create a shield from your metal you were out. Once you woke up you realized that you were lying on the ground, alarms blaring and you had just messed up another mission. Your boss was going to be seriously mad.

The next few months were some of the harshest training you had endured, and all because you let Wanda get in your head and distract you. Your boss was exhausted from your run-ins and wanted her to pay. You did too, you wanted to prove yourself, but it seemed hard to both prove to her you were a villain and succeed in your mission. It took you a longer time before he let you go out, six months since you saw wanda you were sent out on another mission.

This next mission you had included stealing equipment from an old SHIELD building. You had more training and you knew and worked with your powers more fluidly. You walked into the door, careful about alarms or other triggers that one of the Avengers would show up. The building was quiet, nothing moved and no rumble through your skin of any movement on the metal around you. This building was completely abandoned. You crept your way down to their lab, hoping to find anything on the list of things you needed to grab. It wasn't until you were almost there that a small woosh of power flooded your senses. She was here. You looked up and there she was floating down towards you. You made a shield and swords, getting ready for whatever fight was going to happen.

“Well look at you, better handle your powers now sweetheart” she said once she was on the floor next to you. You nodded and straightened your back, nerves running through you. Your heart rate increased at the flirtations name calling. “You seem…different”

“Just ready for a fight now, ready to complete this mission”

“Ah, your boss is mad at you. Little Villain” She said smirking and giving you a once over.

“Only because of you” “Me? Why I'm not the one who doesn't have a handle on her powers.” She told you, but she was mistaken. The metal under her feet began to mold and wrap around her feet. She looked down shocked to see what was happening. The burning in your head made you have to fold her sword and shield back into yourself.

“Don't. Underestimate. Me.” you said, letting the metal in you wrap around her more keeping her in place. She smiled at you.

“I'd applaud if I had my hands available.” she told you. You gave her a look not letting her hands out knowing that's how she controlled her magic. You made your way swiftly into the lab room grabbing everything you could find on your list and walked back out a few moments later. Wanda was still trapped, but you knew you only had a little longer of strength to keep her there. She smiled at you when you let her go before you bolted out of the building leaving her there impressed by your use of your powers.

He wanted her dead a year later. Your boss put a hit out on her for everything with the Avengers and also some personal vendetta against the witch. You hated her, yes, and wanted to prove you were powerful but you never wanted her dead. How could you when you liked her so much? You knew you had to do something…something to stop this. You knew you were enemies even if you didn't feel like it. That night you made the most drastic decision ever, you sent a message to the Avengers about the threat, and sat back and waited.

Three days later the attacks started and of course you did your best to stay out of the way and not die. You knew she was here before she even landed in one of the hallways. The metal sung her song of magic shocking your veins. You could feel your boss, marching his way towards her. The security cameras, shit. He saw her arrive and was on a mission. You made your ebay up the stairs towards the top level of the facility. Once you got there the fighting had already broken out, and before you could even think you flung yourself into the conflict fighting your way over to her. Then there she was, you pulled her back and threw a shield up before your boss could throw his power at her, it reflected and hit him instead. She stared at you, eyes wide.

“You sent it,” She said, looking deep into your eyes.

“I did,” you told her. Once you lowered the shield your boss was in the group backing away. The other Avengers arrived to see him being held to the ground by your power. Wanda held her hand back before they could touch you, letting them know you were good, you were not a threat to them anymore.

“Don't. Ever. underestimate me again. I'll defend her from you if you try to harm her again” you told him, crushing him more with your power and then letting him go so the others could finally lock him up.

“Well little villain, looks like i need to change your name. Little Hero” she told you, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“It's your fault too that I fell in love with you” you said, referencing when the former boss of yours was mad at you because of her. A smile fell onto her lips.

“Well I could say the same thing," she responded. The two of you are happy to not be on either side of a fight anymore.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #mommy wanda #wanda fanfic #wandavision #wanda x you #scarlet witch

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endursent · 1 month ago

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- God Shattering Star

【 content; morax | rex lapis x reader , slow burn , mutual pining , multi-chapter , archon war period , afab!reader 】

【 note; i also want to ask you to keep in mind english isn't my first language and i tend to mix my "it's" and "its"-es in the flurry of writing. i go through it and run it through a spell-checker but if you spot any errors please let me know. this one is also a little longer. tumblr is all caught up now as well, so expect some days between updates. i might also post a sunday one-shot before the 6th chapter, cant get this stupid bird outta my brain, we'll see. | read on ao3 】

【 word count; 6.204 | previous chapter - next chapter | masterlist 】

- Chapter 5 - Putrefaction

You scratch your cheek awkwardly, avoiding Guizhong’s gaze and smile. You were supposed to head back home soon, with the infected now fine and healthy…

Tossing your stuff together back in the basket you brought with you, a knock had come to your door and an attendant had given you summons to Guizhong’s palace, a short walk through a few hallways. It was decorated in a subtle manner, no big wall scrolls or long hanging silks, but the wood along walls and ceilings was all carved and the floors centred with decorated carpets.

What you assumed would be a formal goodbye, as it had been a greeting when you came first into the palace… had turned into a proposition.

A god had fallen near the western border, and the already crumbled settlement from the heavy earthquake yesterday, was now drenched in miasma from the quickly rotting essence scattered by their death. A report had been sent to the capital with request of a cleanser, the worst of the injuries have been patched and thus they decided not to allocate more hands to the west, but with the scarcity of skilled cleansers, there is never one on-site at the borders, hence why such–usually rare–cases were brought to you when you were down south.

“I know you must be looking forward to returning home,” Guizhong’s voice is gentle, she stands in front of a low table in the… workshop? Office? There’s clutter everywhere. “But only you are suitable for this task… of course, you will be compensated for the trouble–oh! Speaking of.” She reaches behind her to a box that sits on her desk, she turns back to you and sets it in your hand. ��For you.”

“Me?” you look down at the box, it’s a golden colour, decorated with dark streaks that represent gushes of wind. Should you open it now? Save it for later?

Before you can look up to try and gauge whether Guizhong is waiting for you to open it, she takes your shoulders, spins you around, and practically walks you out of her office. “You can thank me later, off you go!”

It’s a four day’s journey by cart, so there’s no time to waste, and your sense of duty and compassion prevent you from saying no to the request, so you obediently hurry off after she practically shoo’s you away. There are people hurting that need your help, perhaps the days of sitting in small villages and cleansing rotting wood are coming to an end. “I suppose I’m packed already,” you say and give her a wave as you retreat down the hallway, and the God of Dust smiles, the mere raise of her lips comparable to a beam of sunlight.

Standing by the gates at the peak of the high steps leading to the places, you read over a copy of the report that was sent in the aftermath of the heavy earthquake. The outpost Morax went to had collapsed almost entirely, with only a single building with a roof able to shield them for the night. The outpost is southwest of the capital, and you wonder if the quake was connected to the death of the god beyond the Guili Assembly, it would be quite the coincidence if it wasn’t…

You hear footsteps behind you and turn to see a familiar face that almost makes you laugh.

“Babysitting duty again?” your mouth twitches, barely able to hold back a grin from the frankly stinky look Moon Carver is giving you.

“Hmph,” he walks past you, and despite not confirming that he was the one to escort you, it was an educated guess. He didn’t object when you followed him down the steps. “This one has other duties to tend to far from the capital but keeps getting called back to walk you around.”

You fold your arms over your chest, ensuring the basket on your back doesn’t slip as you bounce down the stairs. “Like what? What do adepti normally do on the job?” you touch your chin. “Babysit… other humans? On a wider scale?”

“It will take too long to walk,” he grumbles something else under his breath as well, ignoring your pondering entirely and you wonder what other option there is to get there. You suppose a cart tugged along by a horse or ox will speed it significantly, but no one mentioned anything about it. “We are short on time.”

The next moment brought you both momentary awe and prolonged terror, a gust of wind nearly tosses your balance on the steep steps as a glow of green and brown, the warm hues of autumn leaves and a setting sun, nearly blind you. You barely manage to squint and make out a form next to you where Moon Carver had been standing when you feel a sudden tug on your basket.

He hooked an antler under the strap on your shoulder and tossed you onto his back, you clumsily adjusted yourself, blinking in confusion and surprise, you look down to see his legs lift and take a step down the stairs… quite a high step for–

You almost lose your balance again as he suddenly trots into the air, you wrap your arms around his neck as wind flies past your head. “N-no flying!” your pleas are useless as roofs become the size of cubed tofu below you, and you squeeze your eyes shut. One would think there would be a sense of weightlessness when taking flight–but all you could feel and focus on was the demanding law of gravity trying to pull you down back to earth. “Slow down!!”

“Stop whining, this is much faster.”

Of course, you’re aware that adepti can fly, countless tales and paintings depict them above the clouds or mountains… but not usually with passengers!

You were sure you were choking him with how tight your arms were wrapped around his neck and likely hurting him by digging your feet into his sides, but he didn’t complain. A ride on an adeptus bird might be smoother, because Moon Carver hops and trots in the air, as if he were jumping between rocks to cross a river, or clouds to pass between mountains causing your body to lift off his back (making you think you’re about to be tossed off) before hurting your poor hip bone when you hit his spine again. You didn’t dare look down, keeping your eyes closed tightly and face buried in the softer fur of his head and neck, the hairs along his body being shorter and stiffer.

“How high up are we?” you dare ask, but refuse to peek your eyes open just yet.

Moon Carver is silent for a few seconds. “High. Do not look if it scares you.”

With that useless information, you finally squint your eyes open despite his advice and thankfully you don’t see the ground below you, a dooming invitation. Clouds cover your view of the ground as the adeptus leaps between puffed peaks, the sun feels significantly warming so high above the ground and feels so close you feel like reaching out to try and grab it like a rare gem–but that means letting go of your iron grip around the poor stag’s neck, and your body doesn’t let you consider it for more than a second and a half.

The ride was, frankly, terrifying. But leaping several kilometres in one hop means you got to your destination before the sun’s top half had sunk beneath the mountains. The air had gotten colder quickly once the sun sank, and you were thankful for reaching your destination before you began to feel the cold on your nose. The descent was possibly more terrifying than the ascent, Moon Carver didn’t give you a warning before he suddenly dove down and you lost your grip for a moment. You really did think you were about to fly off and meet the earth in a flattening embrace.

Moon Carver didn’t change back once you got off his back, he did let you lean against him as you readjusted to standing on the ground, only inclining his head–and almost knocking his large antlers into your forehead. You pat his back. “Hahh… I never want to do that again, let’s go by ground next time,” you nod to yourself, as if it had been decided with your words alone. “I thought I was going to die four times through that.”

“You were never in any danger,” Moon Carver makes a snorting sound, shaking his snout slightly–you aren’t sure if he’s actually scoffing at your (in your opinion) very rational fear of death up there, or just making a normal huffing noise animals make sometimes. “In any case, the outpost that stood despite the tremors is just up ahead.”

The area is thick with trees, they’re far taller than you’ve seen before, stretching high above your head as you follow a road wheel-marked by the Millelith taking supplies and soldiers back and forth between outposts and the main road. It’s almost eerily quiet, as if all animals and bugs have left the surrounding area behind, leaving only your shoes and Moon Carver’s hooves hitting the ground with every step.

You arrive at a clearing sitting at the foot of a high hill with a watchtower stretching into the sky, the sky has darkened and the stars sit high in the sky, distant dots you must squint to make out whether they flicker or are static. The outpost is livelier than the empty forest, but the air is distinctively tense, a Millelith soldier stops as he’s carrying a bundle of firewood when he sees the two of you approach and Moon Carver side-eyes you. “Looks like it can be taken from here, I’ll be going now.”

“Oh, uh–fly safe,” you turn as he does, he makes the huffing sound again but says nothing more and leaves into the forest again. You look back as the Millelith soldier approaches you. “Hello, I’m–”

“The cleanser that was sent for. I remember you,” he says. “I had mild symptoms and only stayed for a few nights, but I saw you in the ward.”

Damn, this guy must be unlucky to have been in two situations like this within a month. Hopefully that doesn’t rub off on you. You give him a small, polite smile. “I’m glad you got better.”

“Come, I’ll show you where the affected are,” he sets his bag down by the side of a cracked wall as he brings you to the–barely–standing building. You see lights inside and can practically smell the miasma coming from inside, you pull the left collar of your robe up over your nose as you follow the soldier inside… and the sight is far worse than the smell.

Twenty-four soldiers are either lying down on the floor or sitting up against the surrounding walls, tables have been stacked on one side and space made for them to fit in one part of the three story building. Only two healers are present to tend to them, rushing between patients to either check wounds, help them adjust their position or administer treatment. Among the two is a familiar silhouette, Morax’s hood is pulled down as he holds the leg of an injured man between his hands, a golden glow emanating from his clothed hands. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration as dark, gooey blood leaking from the pores of the man’s skin and onto the cloth laid on the floor under him.

You don’t want to break his concentration, so you busy yourself by setting your basket down and fetching your tools, bundling them up in a cloth and slinging across your torso and shoulder. You kneel beside a man by the door, his breaths are raspy and desperate, as if every inhale requires immense effort to make–he barely seems lucid, eyes fixed on the ceiling and making no indication he even notices you.

Alongside the terrible stench of blood, rotted flesh and bodily fluids, is the air in the room that was terribly thick. It’s difficult to breathe it in, like when you were young and hid from old Lin trying to drag you back to the archives by lying under four layers of fur for too long.

His stomach is wide open beneath the bandages, it’s as if all blood had dried up from his body, the bare flesh is dry and quivers under your touch. The man doesn’t move or react even as you prod at open muscle, it’s all stiffened up and firm… and peeking between torn tendons are pulsing and writhing organs. Your nose scrunches up as the dark mass twitches when your hand touches the flesh close to it–as if it were trying to shrink back. You would’ve expected an organ to have a sheen to it, to be moist and slippery, but its texture looked like a steamed bun.

As soon as you poked at the sensitive, open flesh, your finger nearly sank into it. You quickly retracted your hand, the amount of foul energies in his body was almost disgusting. Your finger felt as if it had just stuck itself into wet mud–somehow without the moisture–and very cold to the touch mud at that.

You slap a talisman on the floor next to you and scribble on it, the energies are spread throughout his whole body, which requires a more lengthy process than if it were just condensed in his arm or leg… even just in the skin or one organ. You look up to find any open windows, the air is already heavy, if you light incense it’ll make the air so stuffy not even you will be able to breathe without sneezing.

All of the windows are already open, so the heavy air you have is the best you’re going to get for now. You take out a few sticks… how many do you even have? You didn’t exactly shop before you set off… you’ve made them yourself a few times–but they don’t work as well as ones crafted by temples. One will have to do for now, cleansing the man will likely take its time, and you want to properly assess–

As you stick the incense into the small portable pot, long fingers wrap around your wrist.

You almost jump from the sudden touch, head whipping up and almost knocking foreheads with Morax behind you. Thankfully he tilts his head back in time, but his fingers remain around your wrist. “Don’t start yet,” he speaks strangely quietly, as if he doesn’t want anyone to hear your conversation. “Put your hand to it and hold it.”

He guides your hand to the man’s belly, to the open muscle below torn skin and lets you press your fingers to it… it’s gross, but you keep focused. Squinting at the tissue, you try to feel for whatever Morax is trying to bring to your attention. It takes a few seconds of consideration before you feel it.

A squirming, warm mass beneath the cold muscle. It brushes against your finger and you yank your hand back again–Morax lets go and doesn’t hold your fingers to it. “U-urgh, what was that?” you make a face. It had been under the muscle, so you wouldn’t feel it properly–but it was like it touched you through the barrier of flesh, touched your brain. It felt like a sharp stone being ground quickly across the surface of another stone, like it was trying to slip into your spine.

“I am not sure,” Morax mumbles, you feel his warm breath fan over the skin beneath your ear and you turn your head. His conspicuous eyes had the same soft glow to them as usual, and you briefly wonder if they glow in the dark when he goes to sleep. “Not all of them have this… passenger, it’s possible the spirit has not departed yet, the remains are yet fresh.”

You don’t usually deal in ghosts and spirits, but extracting the miasma left behind, as well as the soul, uses the same method… just a lot more practice, focus and energy.

Wait.

You give him a slightly startled look. “If it’s the spirit… it’s not good to keep the afflicted all in the same room, the soul grows stronger if the shards of it are close together. They should be moved apart, even just three together could be dangerous.”

“The deceased’s soul was scattered halfway over Teyvat, the dust settled on twenty bodies won’t produce much danger,” Morax shakes his head. It is less than a fraction of the dead god’s soul, it won’t be able to do much damage even if it were to combine.

“Not to you, no,” you blurt out, then immediately regret it when he raises his brows. You stutter a few times. “W-well, I mean–we’re just human, even a small fraction of a god can kick us around like a cuju ball!” you accidentally raised your voice slightly in your hurry to explain what you meant and caught the attention of one of the two healers, giving you a confused look–as if judging you for talking about cuju now of all times. You just gave them a crooked smile before turning back to Morax.

He considers you for a moment. He would put a stop to any foreign power if he felt it, and with his presence in the room, it wouldn’t do much damage before he notices–and they don’t have much in terms of whole buildings, building tents for every individual injured would consume more resources than he wants to allocate. “We will have to work with what we have, if anything comes up then I will handle it.”

You nod and can’t help but feel a bit silly, of course they didn’t cram them all into this space because they had an abundance of other options…

You feel like you’ve been sitting in a hot spring for too long, the thick air feels like warm steam coming from the water and your body feels the need to stretch out. You’ve barely been in here for half an hour and it’s already so stuffy and uncomfortable.

Morax’s eyes watch you as you look down to the silent man next to the two of you, his iris flicker from your face down to your hands and the way you clench and then stretch your fingers unconsciously. His voice catches you off guard as you are trying to adjust to the environment. “Let us speak outside.”

You blink up at him as he stands and leaves, you stuff your incense back into the cloth bag across your torso and follow him. The cooler air is immediately a relief, it’s clean and flows right to your lungs uninterrupted. You stand and bask in it for a few seconds before looking around to see where the god went off to… where did he go?

Only the higher centre of the building still stands, the stretches of what were probably barracks have crumbled and leaves little but broken rock and wood sitting on the ground with a few ominous stains licking the bottom of one larger piece of rubble. You avert your gaze from the destruction and spot Morax’s white robe by the end of a high fence, walking to him, you slow your pace as you get closer.

He turns to you and inclines his head for you to follow, you do as asked and fall into step next to him as he rounds the fence. Your hand immediately moves to your nose again–almost as if the simple barrier of wooden fencing had been protecting you from a fouler scent than even the one inside the building, this one strikes you like a stone wall.

The corpses had been covered with sheets… but it hardly did much to cover the stench emanating from them. Coin purses had been laid on their chests already, indicated by the small bump under the sheets, but you had an inkling that there was something missing, something that required your hands.

“They passed during the quake, thankfully we did not lose many… but their bodies were exposed to the scattered ashes until the morning after,” Morax says, facing you and only regarding the dead with a turn of his head. “Both their lingering spirit and body will intertwine with the rotting essence if left to it, possibly creating corrupted beasts or ghosts.”

You’ve only had to cleanse a corpse once… and it was a relatively fresh corpse. You feel sick already and you’re a good three metres away. “I see…”

He turns his head to you, a pinch to his brow. “I know this is… unpleasant. I would not ask it of you if it was not necessary…”

You quickly raise your hands, waving them about. “No, no! It’s my job–it’s what I'm here for, it’s okay!” You’ll complain about it… inwardly… but you’ll still do it.

His expression doesn’t change much, but you see a tinge of… gratefulness? Appreciation? You’re not entirely sure what it is, but the mild softening of his furrowed brow and the small movement of his bottom lip are a noticeable change when his face is so often still as a rock. “I’ll have new clothes brought to you so the smell doesn’t stick to the ones you’re wearing,” he says and walks past you. “I have a matter to attend to, come to me when you have finished.”

Looks like you’ve a task to complete before you can tend to the afflicted. You’re not entirely sure if this should take priority… but it’s likely they want the bodies to be taken back to the capital as soon as possible so they can be buried before they decompose too much. You hope the injured can hold on for a while.

Thankfully, extracting from a corpse is far less of a ‘careful’ operation. Removing miasma that has burrowed itself into a living body causes pain when extracted, but as the corpse is still and not living, you can allow yourself to be a bit rougher. Thankfully you’re not extracting the spirit out of them either, so you can make quick work of it.

After changing into the robes a soldier brought to you–though they’re clearly made for a man much larger than you, so the sleeves droop down far beyond your fingers–you prepare your equipment and get started. Your sleeve almost knocks over your trusted bell and you decide to tie them back, ignoring the chill of the night.

Removing the sheet off of the first body causes the stench to increase tenfold, and exposes you to a gruesome sight. The man had been crushed by something, his head and left shoulder torn off–likely when his body was pulled out from under whatever had crushed him–leaving only stretches of muscle, skin and bones sticking out from the unnervingly flat side where the body usually continues on, the left arm is lying next to his torso, likely severed from the shoulder and chest after they were crushed. You shake your head and look further down the torso to try and not stare at the uncomfortable sight.

The left side of his abdomen and the severed arm are completely white, and ice cold to the touch, similarly to the man from earlier–though he had been alive… you hope. Inky black veins web across the pale skin and near pulse as you poke at them, the skin ripples like water when poked, blood spurting out of the stumped ends and you have to turn your head to try and not puke at the sight. Focus… you’ve done this many times before. Just locate the source of entry and drag it out.

You prod at the squishy body and only glance at it in the corner of your eye… it almost feels like everywhere is the source of the energy! You suppose it makes sense, you had heard it was like dust, and if it scattered all over the body… you’ll have to try and bait it towards one point and drag it from there. You had been asleep as the golden essence had fallen from the sky like snow, so you missed it completely. Thankfully the capital is protected with seals and barriers, so it brushed the dust off and no one in the city was afflicted, most people were asleep anyway.

You don’t like to bait this type of miasma, but it has to be done.

Lighting a single stick of incense should be enough, you’ll have to ask for more to be brought with the next supply cart. It’s not necessary for a cleanse, but it prevents jumpy energy from simply hopping around and possibly entering a new host or vessel to burrow in, or just fleeing out a window–and since you’re out in the open, it can go in any direction. Thankfully the soldier still has his weapon, and it’s clean of the energy. You unsheathe it a bit and press the back of your index finger to it–a place that won’t be used much or be an annoyance when you’ll definitely need to use your hands in the coming days. A thin drop of blood–as well as a burning sting–indicates you’ve cut through the top of your skin and you withdraw your hand. Even a small cut like this is enough.

You take your bell and hold it as you press the wound to the man’s cold skin, your eyes slip closed… and you think hard. The miasma left by dead gods are usually heavy in negative energies and emotions, defeated in an attempt to protect their land, killed by those they trust in a struggle for influence and power, struck down at the end of a long and exhausting battle… it seeks out more negative energy to feed on and grow.

Negative emotions, you dig for what the energy seeks.

It’s always the same sight. Your mind’s eye turns to the same event when you imagine what has brought you distress in the past.

A clap of thunder, rain so heavy it brings you to your knees, dust and grime settle between your fingernails as you dig and push away stone and mud. Your heart thunders in your chest, so loudly you’re not sure whether it beats twice in place of one, or if it’s the constant rhythmic thunder flashing across the sky when you find a hand between the crumbled walls.

The absolute despair and agony it brought once it didn’t move when you wrapped your fingers around hers. How cold the skin was, you tugged and pulled, but the rubble was too heavy, you weren’t strong enough to lift it, nor to pull her out. Your hands shake as you close them around hers and try warm it up, it’s just because of the rain, it’s cold because winter is coming, it’s not because–

You feel a prick of warmth and your eyes snap open, you were too caught up in your head. The dark miasma has gathered around your finger and latched onto the small cut so tightly it raises goosebumps on your entire arm. You shake your hand with the bell in it, and it chimes quietly–but the inky dark tendrils quiver and twitch as if it had been struck, their grasp loosening on the host body.

You close your fist, a streak of black stretching from your finger to the corpse, and pull harshly.

In your haste–and being distracted by the foul stench–you realise you forgot to prepare a jar to trap the miasma inside. You pull your hand further and higher away from the body, but it stubbornly clings to it, a thread connecting your hand to the torso. You pull more, jaw clenching as you cling to the energy and refuse to let it snap back into the corpse. Why is it so stubborn?! You’ve never seen energy like this cling to the body it’s tainting with such stubbornness, your arm trembles with strain, until with a snap; like a tight rope breaking apart that topples your balance as the ‘rope’ snaps back into your raised fist.

Your ass is saved from a harsh blow against the ground as a warm hand grabs your bicep and holds you up, at the same time as six glowing stone pieces lock around the dark energy swirling around your hand. You blink, momentarily disoriented from almost falling and look up to see Morax’s chest barely a cup’s distance away from your face.

You quickly right yourself and nearly hop away, startled by his sudden appearance–weren’t you supposed to go to him later? What a fortunate time for him to appear. “M-my lord…?!” you blurt out, still unsure how to address him.

The cubed rock and ore which strangely resembles a burr puzzle you saw kids try and put together at a festival a few years ago, hovers in the air for a few seconds before drifting into Morax’s open hand, settling there. “Please be more careful, you could have hurt yourself.”

Your neck warms up with embarrassment, this is how you show your cleansing abilities to him? By forgetting–you never forget!–a part of the process and almost falling over like an idiot?? “Ah… I’m sorry–I’m usually far more careful than this, I swear,” you bow your head, as if asking for forgiveness before raising it again. “I… thought you were occupied, did you need something…?”

He’s silent for a moment, as if contemplating how to answer your question. You miss the way his eyes glance down to your hand and then back to your face. “No. I merely… sensed something amiss, so I came to ensure everything was alright.”

“Oh… ah, thank you,” you clasp your hands together and look at the floating cube in his hand. “I can… purify that for you.”

“No need,” he says and the cube lifts into the air, the golden ore in the centre of the edges lights up and it twitches a few times, before it lowers again, now dim. “It’s vanquished. Do you need assistance? I can call for someone to stay close by.”

You shake your head fiercely. “No! Not at all! That was an accident, I promise you–I’m perfectly capable of handling this, please don’t worry about me!”

He seems hesitant to just leave, but doesn’t want to seem like distrusts you either. Morax looks down to the cube in his hand and extends it towards you. The ore lights up again to a dim hue as it floats to your open hands. “Keep it with you. It will react if the energies get out of hand.”

You bow at the waist, still terribly embarrassed and hoping it might hide the heat of your cheeks as he finally turns and leaves. “Thank you! I’ll take good care of it!”

You sigh in relief when you’re finally alone again. You look down at the stone cube in your hands and frown. “... I’ll never get over this,” you mumble to yourself. This definitely will keep you up at night…

Thankfully, the other corpses didn’t give you any trouble–not now that you were expecting this weird, sticky miasma that clung to all of them. Usually, it’s misty and easier to manipulate with your hands, it doesn’t resist and follows gestures easier, but this seems like it’s trying to wrestle you at every turn, and when you finally get hold of it, it decides to stick to you instead with fierce stubbornness.

When the final jar was sealed, you sighed with relief and didn’t linger for long. You put the sheets back over their bodies as they had been before and made sure the mora was touching them and not on top of the large cloth.

Now, to find Morax… this outpost isn’t very large, especially now that there’s really only one ‘place’ to be in.

Finding him was relatively easy, but your energy had been thoroughly drained from tugging back and forth and you were hardly in the state to start extracting from living beings that might thrash or try to kick you away from them… you still feel a phantom sting from that one guy at the ward some time ago that had been very deeply afflicted and kicked you right in the bottom of the sternum.

The room is just as stuffy and uncomfortable as it was when you entered it first, you were starting to become accustomed to the smell… kind of. The smell of the corpses was worse, but this isn’t much of an improvement.

You squat down next to Morax as he’s examining a man with a darkened forehead, it bulges and looks almost soft–as if it would burst if you poked it too harshly. “Any progress?” you say quietly.

“Hm,” he makes a noise of acknowledgement, but doesn’t give you a proper answer. After a while, he lowers his glowing hands and shakes his head. “It’s difficult to say… I must have you perform an extraction, with a specimen outside of the body it will be far easier to examine.”

Hah… you can feel the tug of your tired body, but ignore it the best you can–you’ve been able to do mostly idle work for many days now since the last of the ward patients left, some hard work won’t do you in for once.

One injured person was taken out of the room and placed outside where you would do the cleansing in the case that it will act strangely or lash out when extracted, you prepare everything… and prepare yourself mentally as well, not only are you tired, but you’ll have to do it directly in front of Rex Lapis. You just hope you won’t look like an idiot for the second time today, or third.

It had been the man with the bulging forehead that was brought outside, and you can’t help but wonder if the one with the open stomach was even still alive… you dip your brush into ink and draw a half-moon on each side of the dark bulge on his face, between the gaps, you neatly write down the appropriate characters to seal the energy inside the space of his forehead it inhabits, so it won’t try to escape your grasp.

You clean your hands and get to work.

Thankfully, there’s no need to poke around and try to locate the source… it’s very obvious. You just hope the mass won’t explode and spew pus, blood and other gross liquids on your face after the extraction is done.

Morax stands opposite of you, on the other side of the table that was brought out to lay the man on, he watches your every move like a hawk–he’s probably just curious… or has nothing else to really look at, but it’s making you nervous.

As soon as you finish preparation and place your hand on the bulging mass, you shiver. There’s something swimming inside. You steel yourself and concentrate, then close your fist and pull gently.

It’s like a wet eel, it slips between your fingers thrice before you get a good hold of it, your eyebrows furrowing in both frustration and concentration. “Be calm,” Morax’s voice sounds gently into your ears, he notices your frustration, born both from the slippery energy as well as your tired body aching for rest in this prolonged wrestle. “It’s almost done.”

The simple reassurance was surprisingly effective. You raised your hand slowly and poured every mental and physical energy into pulling the corruption from the man’s head–with a final tug of defiance, the energy is separated from him far earlier than you expected, but you were ready this time and shoved it into a jar before it could wrap its weird, slimy tendrils around your hand…

Just in time for you to hear a strange pop.

And an absolutely foul stench invading your nose as the mass on the man’s forehead opens, the sound of the skin tearing violently and spewing out the liquid inside in a burst akin to a flask that had been sealed and gathered pressure. It wets your robe and lands on your cheek and neck, the white and red fatty liquid drips down and makes you cringe when it touches your collar as you try to swipe it away, but you’re too late.

Quickly hunching down next to the table, you retch and return the early lunch that had mostly digested by now, splattering on the grass and dirtying your shoes. Your knees tremble slightly from the strain the extraction brought and you have to hold onto the table to not fall over.

A hand softly touches your back, the warmth radiating from the palm both welcome and not as you cough with nothing left to puke out. “Did any of it get in your eyes or mouth?” You shake your head. “Good… I apologise, I should have known it would tear with the pressure of the corruption gone… I’ll have your clothes returned to you and you can rest for the night. I will examine what you extracted in the meantime.”

… you’ve definitely earned a good sleep, and a wash. Or three.

#⭒ - gss #genshin impact x reader #morax x reader #rex lapis x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin x reader #morax x you #rex lapis x you #zhongli x you #multi-chapter #fics #my writing #afab reader #genshin impact

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mechanismslorearchive · 6 months ago

Note

Hello! The Mechanisms have been one of my special interests for nearly 2 years now and I cant seem to get a genuine response some burning questions I have. I was hoping yous could help me out.

Are the fanfics canon/ in universe important?

Where can one read said fanfics?

Also where did they come from? Who wrote them and why are they mentioned so often?

Thank you so much for all the work you do, keep being awesome<3

Ok, so:

By "fanfic" here, I assume you are referencing to the in-universe fictions, which can be found here on the The Mechanisms website.

These are canon stories within the universe, witten by the band, for the stories they have made into song. Short stories. These are not "fanfiction".

If you are curious who wrote what, you can see which user posted each fiction by looking at the source code for the page. Or if you go back to the early days of the page in the wayback machine, they have their authors listed next to them on one of the earliest versions.

If by fanfic you mean, say, the entirety of ao3, no. no thats not canon. thats fanfiction. uncanon. With the exception of one story - She'll Fly True by Morgan Wilkinson, aka Ivy's actor, which is on ao3 because it is of an nsfw variety, and Jonny reportedly didn't want it on the site, if i recall correctly.

#asks #mod gptd

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pagemasters · 8 months ago

Text

Fantasies He…

BABY’S FIRST FIC!!!

Author’s notes: So after reading so many for years I thought maybe it’s my turn to take a crack at it. There’s I think 3 parts to this, with the first one having basically no smut and mostly platonic fluff between Az and Feyre, but part 3? Can’t say the same thing for the middle Archeron sister lmao

I swear this started out to be one part but the story told me otherwise, part 2 is fully drafted I’m just revising and editing

I’m a very visual person, so enjoy the floor plan of the nursery and a rough sketch of what I think her mural would be and the star! I am a painter if it wasn’t obvious so the whole portion on starfall stars is actually based on how Bob Ross paints his northern lights, just with modifications BUT I haven’t tried it myself for this specific purpose. Also the colour of Feyre and Rhys’s stars are the colours of the first ones that hit them during Starfall btw! I love the platonic relationships between the inner circle and we don’t get enough of it

If you enjoyed it I would love u forever if you let me know!! :)

Ps. Omg dialogue is so difficult to make realistic but also in character, none of that “hey big brother” etc. shit you see in tv shows where you’re like who tf says that to their sibling ?? Ps.ps. I haven’t taken an English writing class for 5 years so if punctuation was wrong let’s pretend it wasn’t LMAO

I CANT FIGURE OUT HOW TO DO AO3 LINK BUT IT’S ON THERE WITH THE SAME USERNAME LOL SORRY

Summary:

Azriel spends the day with Feyre, only to get caught in the rain on the way home. Good thing the townhouse is empty. Or is it…

CHAPTER ONE: DAYDREAMING

The rain finally decided to make its appearance as Azriel stepped out of the River house. Taking a deep breath, he let the soothing scent wash over him as he relaxed his wings.

The meeting with Rhys was short, just a weekly update on the goings around the other courts and allies, nothing that required the full inner circle to make an appearance. Something he knew after centuries of this work should be a good thing, but it doesn’t stop the pang in his chest at the missed opportunity of seeing her.

Not that he didn’t try to catch a glimpse of her. He did take a walk through the beautiful home his brother had built for his mate after seeing him, the smell of cedar and masonry long since faded from the construction days; replaced with flowers and candles and the dinner his shadows whispered Nuala and Cerridwen were working on. The scent of paint lingered though, and he discovered the reason why as he got to the residential wing. His High Lady wasn’t in her studio, but he found her nonetheless with a brush in her tattooed hand.

“I think you missed a spot.” Az said from the doorway, trying to repress his smile at her startled reaction. Even though Feyre and Rhys opted for doorways fashioned with wings in mind, he kept his drawn in tight, not wanting to risk smearing her paint as he stepped inside.

“Rhys won’t let me use the step ladder without him holding it. And me. And the bump.” Feyre twisted to look up from her spot on the floor and smiled in greeting before lowering the brush to pat her stomach in emphasis. She gave her mate’s antics an affectionate eye roll and shake of her head before releasing a heavy sigh, glancing back at her work.

“If I remember correctly,” Az teased, “you are prone to falling quite spectacularly.”

She let out an indignat squawk so loud he had to bite his lips to prevent laughing, her body spinning so fast to face him fully that paint ended up splattering from her brush to the white drop cloth.

Their flying lessons had ceased for the most part since the war, so watching her fly into a tree or eat rocks wasn’t as common an occurrence— but that’s not to say that still doesn’t happen. Knowledge he happens to be privy to not just as her flight teacher, but as the spymaster, something she’s very aware of if the narrowing of her eyes and mouth hanging open are any indication.

It’s hard not to notice the similarities between the sisters, when even with your eyes closed the cadence of their speech was also similar. But it was never so apparent between youngest and oldest Archeron as when Feyre’s eyes pinned him in place, the expression of mock outrage was so much like Nesta’s it was almost comical.

“Ruuuude,” she said, drawing the word out in a whine with pouted lips, no doubt remembering the amount of face plants he’d witnessed when she first began to fly. “I see how you treat your High Lady, Shadowsinger. Just wait, it’s not too late for me to paint a little something in your bedroom.”

“And here I thought pouting and grumbling was beneath royalty, at least you can say you’re a tree hugger.”

She gave him a gesture that was certainly beneath royalty, and he didn’t hold back his chuckle this time.

“What gave you that idea, have you even met Rhys?”

“Oh trust me, you should’ve seen him when we were kids.” He said, grabbing her hands to help her stand. “He discovered in a book that while bat wings look identical to ours, the anatomy of their wing is labeled similar to that of the hand. So for them, their talons are their thumbs. After that, he took it upon himself to hang upside down in silent protest whenever he was mad, but didn’t want his mother to wash his mouth out with soap for swearing.”

“He did not.”

“Mhmm, until his faced turned purple.”

“And where were you and Cass for all this?” Feyre said through her giggling, a wide grin of unrestrained joy plastered on her face.

“He couldn’t have done it alone, a thumbs down by yourself would look stupid.”

“Ah yes, because the three of you hanging upside down like overgrown bats isn’t ridiculous.” She cackled, “How long until he gave it up?”

“A few weeks. After Cassian passed out in the middle of camp and we all got broken capillaries on our faces. Still, a better alternative than the awful tasting soap in Illyria.”

“What, as opposed to other tasting soap?” He just shrugged, smiling.

Rhys’s mom’s reaction to warriors dragging them across the rocky ground home was as lively in his memory as she was when she berated them when her son fessed up. She was less thrilled to hear the real reason than Devlon was having passed out children strewn about the place, but she never did call them out on the lie they fed to Devlon about it being a dare when he came banging on their door. That night though when they were more lucid, she brought them on foot to one of the mountains surrounding their outpost and stood them at the opening of a cave. He still remembers the eyes he felt on them, the warning bells ringing from his shadows as she gestures her hands out and said, “If you want to act like bats, you can join them; or you can toughen up, learn how and when to pick battles and what hills are worth to dying on. Because there will be more people who will piss you off, but this is not an option when you’re leading armies. So,” her hazel eyes meeting each of theirs, “What will it be? Do you want to stay here or take the soap and fly right on home.” Needless to say they bolted home with the taste of pine tar suds coating their mouths like a film no amount of water could rid them of the taste. He could still feel the eyes of whatever was in that cave the entire way home, but thank the cauldron he could fly at that point. His heart ached at the memory of the female, the one he knew picked a low cave for him to make her point, just in case. The one his shadows caught a few times after that upside down on the couch after a rough day when she thought she was alone.

As Feyre’s amusement continued with eyes glazed over—no doubt having a silent conversation with Rhys—Az cleared his throat, his shadows pulling back as he gestured to their surroundings and asked, “So how’s the nursery coming along?”

“It’s going great,” she replied after a moment, her laughter subsiding as she surveyed the mural. “I know it’s not geographically correct, and that Starfall and the time when our courts insignia’s stars show don’t overlap, but I couldn’t not include them. I want him and any possible future child to see the night court as I did when I first fell in love with it and their dad.”

Indeed, while he knew Rhys was already in love with her, he got to watch Feyre love him back as much as he deserved in real time the longer she was here. And the way she captured the land they all loved so much here was… breathtaking.

On the wall that held the doorway he just stepped through lay the mountain with the moonstone palace atop it. The first place she saw here. They both knew where the doors to Hewn city rest below, but it was covered by the landscape. As if there were no room for nightmares in this room, even if it was a court this babe may one day rule.

“I have no idea how you made that mountain so realistic,” he said to her in awe, pointing to the painting adjacent to the wall they just looked at.

“The crib is going to go right below it when the rooms done. I want it to watch over him.” She replied almost reverently as she looked up.

The mountain was the tallest of the three she painted, and it looked just as it had on his trek up there with his brothers during the rite. Physically it was practically stone for stone, those three stars lines up overhead perfectly, but the energy differed. Instead of the cold and foreboding thing he remembered on the way up, it seemed almost… euphoric? As if the wild joy and love Rhysand, Cassian and he felt as they made their way to the top and won seeped its way onto the painting. Like the unyielding strength from that mountain and what it brought out of them would guide and protect him, just like it did for the three winged dots surrounding the monolith at the tip. How that was even possible was beyond him.

He could barely tear his gaze away, but snickered as he saw the tiny but recognizable building at the base of it to the right. “The cabin, huh?”

“Of course, gotta prep him for one day kicking all of your asses during your snowball fight.” She added, blushing. “I put few snowballs flying just for good luck.”

Though he knew the other reason the cabin was significant to Feyre and Rhys, the thought of his future nephew joining their game warmed him. But It did make trying not to focus on other non-winged and winged babies that could one day join in the snowball fight impossible. Children have always been an abstract idea, a figment he knew existed but besides Rhys’s sister, he wasn’t around. And after what happened to her… He thought for a long time he would never have one of his own, but that sentiment start to change in recent years. He could avoid it most days though, but being surrounded by the baby stuff made the hypothetical harder to ignore. The thoughts on if he’d have his own little ones propped on his hip and curled into his chest with their chubby cheeks and inquisitive eyes. If they would have his hazel or her golden brown ones, or something different if they adopted. Would their little hands or clothes or hair get caught in the scales of his armour just like hers did when he took her on her first flight to the town house from the House of Wind, when he held her for the first time. Would Elain… Az paused, stopping that train of thought before it just twisted the knife even further, seeing more things he can’t have.

His shadows began to circle him, and if Feyre noticed she politely didn’t comment on it before pointing out what she was working on when he interrupted her.

To the right of the cabin and right were she was sat Velaris, and it really did look like a city of starlight with how she painted the glowing nightscape. He could make out the four markets that were the heart of the city, with extra emphasis on where the town house sat along with the new residence they were currently in. Bisecting through it all, the Sidra River looked so realistic he could probably skip a rock across its surface. It flowed like a living thing, reflecting the lights from the buildings on its edge and even the stars above. Two of which weren’t normal stars.

Above the city proper and even the flat topped mountain that held the House of Wind was the beginnings of starfall.

“How-“Azriel could barely get out, “how is this even possible?”

“Perks of now being immortal; plenty of time to practice. And having a husband with wings who takes you to get aerial views.” She simply said gesturing to their city, as if she didn’t create magic with swipes of colours.

“The green one is mine, and the light blue one is Rhys’s. I’m planning to get everyone to add their own star to the wall.” Now looking him, she smirked. “Which means you came at a perfect time, Shadowsinger. Your turn.”

He gave her an unbelieving expression, shadows instantly vanishing. “You can’t be serious.”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief, “if I trust Cassian with a paintbrush, you’ll be fine. He’s coming by in a few days when he gets a free moment, Nesta and her two friends are keeping him busy with training.” Nesta is keeping him busy with more than just that, it’s a wonder he even has energy to train them.

But looking at Rhysand’s mate, Azriel saw her glow in a way different from her powers. Feyre radiated joy as her hand cradled her stomach despite barely showing, not caring about paint getting on her already splattered clothes. For his brother, for the friend beside him and his nephew in her womb, he removed his jacket and let out a resounding sigh in defeat. “What do you need me to do?”

So Feyre excitedly brought him over to her pile of paint tubes on the drop cloth. She grabbed the white and as he selected the colour phthalo blue she went off to prep the clean, dry brushes and a fresh palette for him.

“So pick the area of the sky you want your star to be, I’d like to keep the inner circle’s additions mostly above Velaris, but I’ll add tiny ones fading out once everyone is done. Amren and Mor are away, Cass is busy and who knows if or when Nesta would want to contribute. That means besides Rhys and I, you have the pick of the litter.”

“What about Elain?” He asked, trying to keep his voice and face as neutral as possible when she handed him a 3 inch brush already dipped in his blue.

“I’ll drag her in here after dinner when she gets in from the garden. The colour of the sky is already dry which is the important part, so there’s no time constraint on when everyone adds theirs besides my due date.” She gave him a knowing smile which he dutifully ignored, along with the disappointment in his chest as she confirmed Elain wasn’t in. “Now I want you to cover a large area of where you generally want the shape of the star to go, it doesn’t have to be perfect but cover much more than you think you’d need to.”

He hesitates, “won’t this cover up your sky? It’s a dark colour.”

“Just trust me.”

He followed her instructions, cringing as his brush made contact with her beautiful wall and went over the faint background stars she had already done, but relaxed when he saw they were still partially visible.

Az looked back at her, seeing his shadows lazily inspecting them, as if they wanted a part in the activity their master is occupied with. Feyre playfully eyed the curious one that grazed her hand as she took his current brush from his scarred hand to switch it. “Now with this fan brush, I want you to coat it in the white paint. And as you do so, get a feel for how the bristles bend and move.”

Doing as High Lady said, he got her guidance once he brought the loaded brush to the wall, being sure to dab, not swipe the white in a near full coverage circle followed by a line over the shade of blue he had no idea how to pronounce.

“So this is where the magic begins,” she stated when he finished and passed a third brush over, a flat paddle one identical to the first and this time a cloth. “You see that perfectly clean teardrop you made? You’re gonna ruin it.”

At the alarmed look he gave her, she just cackled. “I knew you’d make that face, Rhys did the exact same. I want you to very lightly swipe the brush starting at the largest end of the teardrop and out towards the tail of the star. That’s the only motion you’ll be doing. And after each swipe you can gently wipe off the brush before starting again. You can also practice the strokes around the mountain until you feel ready like Rhys did, the sky there is also dry.”

With a deep breath, he took a step away and tried it until he felt like he got the technique she wanted down. This was for his family, he reminded himself, he will not let his nephew down. And despite getting her nod of approval, he still felt like he was going in blind as he did what she said and his jaw dropped.

Well shit. Now he understood why she wanted him to put down the colour he chose first.

“The blue is actually transparent; so while it looks dark in the tube, it blends out much lighter. Especially with white under or overtop. You’re doing wet-on-wet blending.” What was once just a bright blob over blue so dark you couldn’t see it on her perfect walls, he could now see how the white faded. How the light and the dark mixed until they became one. So Az wiped the excess off his brush, and continued on and on until it looked similar enough to what she and Rhys created. They fell into a rhythm, Feyre handing him back the fan brush to brighten or a new one with bristles so impossibly soft as they worked as a team. She barely had to tell him what to do now, so with next to no pressure he feathered it out vertical rather than the almost horizontal strokes from before, until only a streak of blue light remained. They could’ve been at this for minutes or hours, he had no idea. He didn’t even question her instruction to use a densely bristled tool he could’ve sworn was a toothbrush to flick on watered down white paint for the star trail.

“This is incredible, Feyre.” He stated, stepping back at last.

“That wasn’t me, that was all you my friend.” She grinned at him. “Once everyone’s is dry, I’m adding a sheer shimmery paint to make them pop, but even without it you did a beautiful job.”

He felt heat rise to his face, and inclined his head in thanks without removing his eyes from the wall.

“You certainly have an eye for this, Az. Care to quit and become a painter? I could use an assistant.”

A chill went through him, and he started to turn in her direction before the window caught his attention. Dusk must have fallen along with the rain who knows how long ago. About to rub his temples, Feyre squeaked out a warning before he remembered the task at hand and looked down at himself. The plain black long sleeve shirt covered in splatters didn’t matter, he goes through them like water for work but the paint coating his skin made his stomach drop the same way her jest did. Much different than the red he was used to seeing there, all the blood he still couldn’t wash away.

He can paint a picture with his knife, but nothing like Feyre’s ability of creation. Each slash he makes as delicate and precise a dance as any Nesta favours, but instead it’s to a symphony of screams. And unlike Elain… the only soil he sees is grave dirt. If the bodies make it that far.

His work is never meant to been seen by others, it’s means to and end, a way to protect his family and his court. Unlike their work, where it would be a crime to hide it from the world.

“Tempting offer, Cursebreaker,” Az murmured, swapping the dirty cloth for a damp one his shadows brought him. Paying close attention to his siphons and not his scars, he still didn’t feel clean enough no matter how hard he wiped the paint from his skin. “Sadly, I don’t think your mate would be too thrilled to have to hire someone else to feed the creatures in Hewn City.”

She snorted, making a lighthearted comment about at least no one had to feed Byraxis, for now… The forced tease in her voice didn’t fool him as she realized she must’ve hit a nerve, but he appreciated her effort anyway.

“I do have to head out, but I’ll pop by soon to see the progress when I drop off paperwork.” He told her, his lips pressed to the top of her head and shockingly made contact with her hair in a brief farewell. Rhys must’ve lessened the shield knowing Az was with her, but not by much considering both her and the babe’s scent was still concealed.

Feyre did invited him to stay for dinner which he politely declined. It wouldn’t be served for an hour, but he needed space and to fly to clear his head—still feeling like if he looked down he’d be dripping blood that didn’t belong to him as he made his was out. He did try not to rush out as he walk through the maze of supplies strewn about the covered floor, keeping his wings high even as his shadows tugged at him, but he had a feeling she knew his reason for leaving. Well, at least the other reason.

Lightning cracks through the sky, snapping Azriel out of his memories. Damn, He must be more tired than he thought. If breaking one of the cardinal rules of flying—also known as “PAY ATTENTION JACKASS!” by his brothers when they taught him—wasn’t enough, he’s not even going to the right place. Despite not living there for years, he’d been heading towards the town house and not the House of Wind.

The storm just seems to be picking up, but at least with the downpour he no longer felt the warm spray of blood coating him rather than the paint, he just felt nothing at all. Well, nothing besides wanting to get the fuck home. Az really didn’t have the energy to fly up a mountain or winnowing through this even if it wouldn’t be his first time. But considering how often lightning hits the rocks rather than the surrounding city, crashing at the town house is easiest. It’s for the best, with it sitting empty now. At least he’d be alone.

Az pauses mid-flight though, when he notices the lights already on inside. And the smoke rising from the chimney only to dissipate in the rain.

What the hell? Who would be dumb enough to break into their high lord and inner circle’s home? It’s not like it’s broadcasted who owns the house but it’s pretty common knowledge after this long.

At least storms can be a great tool for his field of work, it’s almost a blessing in disguise he plans to use to its full advantage. Landing atop the roof as gently as possible, he ensures his wing beat blends in with the rain like it has hundreds of times before. Using his siphons to unlock the door and slipping inside, the creak of the hinge merely just a gust of wind as he shuts it behind him.

That’s when the smell of jasmine and honey hits him so strongly he has to bite back his moan. But it seems like he was the only one who did.

Because mixed within that scent ingrained in his brain, is Elain’s arousal.

And she’s…

Oh fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

#elriel #sarah j maas #Baby’s first fic #Fluff #platonic love #bob Ross who?#There will be smut I promise #Az has baby fever?#elain archeron #feyre archeron #azriel

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