#up for air from the swimming pool. like. the blurring of it all. like hes looking at the world underwater

[brayneworms]

don't wanna know what's good for me

part one | m.list

featuring. childe/reader

word count. 5.2k

content. NSFW, merc!reader, rivals to Something, masochist!childe, public sex (they're alone but like ... ), gender neutral reader, mild violence + gore (stabbing, blood), degradation (slut), anal fingering, handjob, pet names (sweet thing), begging, reader is fucked in tha head.

notes. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, i check the notes you will be blocked

♩ gods and monsters — lana del rey

The Snezhnayan air is bitter.

All the more for the fact that, even as you traverse the long lapses of snow and frozen rivers, you're still not entirely sure what you're doing here. Even as you emerge upon the house, a round hike from the bustling towns some way back, lit warmly against the overcast backdrop, you're not entirely sure what you're doing here.

Even when you knock and a tired-looking woman with blue eyes and fiery red hair opens the door, because when she asks if she can help you, you open your mouth and nothing comes out for a few seconds.

"I'm here to see Tar—Childe," you say. Oh. You guess that's what you're doing here.

The door stays pretty much put. The woman looks at you dubiously, and you realise with the same kind of shock a butterfly must feel when getting its wings ripped off that this must be Childe's mother. Archons, he has a mother. Not like you didn't know, but still. Sometimes it's so strange to remember that he's flesh and blood like the rest of you.

"Are you... a friend?" You can't fault her doubtful tone. You certainly don't look Fatui, but you're not an ordinary civilian, either. You probably should have stashed away your daggers before knocking; if you're honest, you hadn't expected Childe to live in such an ordinary home. "He's recovering right now, is all."

"No, yeah. That's why I'm here." The words feel stuck, awkward. Her deep blue eyes are swimming with doubt, so you reach into your pocket. Your fingers brush the hilt of a knife.

You hold up the little box you've stowed in your pocket. Gift-wrapped with a blue ribbon.

"I brought sugared almonds."

Childe looks thunderstruck when you walk in, and you take a moment to enjoy the honest shock on his face. He looks tired—when he sits up, the woven blankets fall from his shoulders and pool about his waist, displaying a bare torso bandaged to all hell. You can't fault his surprise whatsoever—it had been months since you'd seen each other, since he left Liyue after... well.

The memory of chalk and dirt under your nails, flaking in his hair. The grunts of pain and pleasure that became so frequent the line was quite blurred. You remember how the column of his throat flexed when—

"Scourge," he says, wide-eyed, voice a little rougher than normal. You're not entirely sure what happened in Fontaine, but it must have been exceptionally rough to put Childe on his back like this. You can't help feeling a smidge of envy toward whoever fucked him up so thoroughly. "Do my eyes deceive me?"

"Not this time," you say indifferently, taking a perch on the edge of his bed. His room is disconcertingly boyish, all carved wood and blue knit blankets. There are animals incised along the headboard of his bed, ducks and narwhals and whales. "Brought you a little gift."

You toss the package of almonds over, and his automatic catch of it makes him wince. His fingers are as steady as ever, though, when he deftly unties the ribbon. His eyes peer up at you, even more nonplussed than before. "Did you trek all the way to Snezhnaya to bring me sweets?"

"Oh, you didn't hear? My goal in life is to make you happy." You dig in your satchel, bringing out a small medallion. Childe's eyes glint with recognition when you pull it out into the firelight. "The traveller asked me to return this to you."

"Ah," he breathes. "What a sight for sore eyes." He reaches out, this time, takes it from your hand; you feel the dry brush of his skin against yours. The vision glows happily when Childe cups it in his palm, turning it over and over. "I was wondering how I would've gone about getting this back. The dear traveller is so busy, flitting from one nation to the next... I thought I might've had to trek all the way to Natlan, visionless."

You shuck off your boots and cross your legs beneath you. "Don't tell me you think not having a vision would encumber your progress. You'd really disappoint me."

Childe cracks a smile; there's a split in his lips that has scabbed over, and it strains when they pull apart. "Well, we can't have that, can we?"

He's still irritating, like a bug that buzzes faintly around your ear, the sort small enough to constantly evade killing. But something about seeing him stripped of all his usual finery, and trussed up looking exhausted in his childhood bedroom, is making you more amenable to him.

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth," he says finally, popping a sugared almond between his lips, and you try not to focus on the way they purse and squish around the segment, "But what are you really doing here, scourge? Did you miss me?"

"I think we had this conversation before," you say dryly. "Something about swatting mosquitoes." You pause. "Liyue has certainly been quieter, though. Without all the gods falling form the skies, and torrential typhoons."

Childe's lips quirk. "Well, if you've come looking for adventure, I'm afraid things around here are spectacularly boring. In truth, I grow more restless every day. I'd be up and about already if my blessed mother didn't insist on making me rest. There are a great many things in this world worth arguing with, scourge, but a fifty-year-old Snezhnayan woman isn't one of them."

"I'll bare that in mind."

His eyes gleam. "Oh? You almost sound as if you're planning to stay."

Ugh. You hate when he trips you up like that. He's one of the only people capable of it, too—not that you'd let him know. You squint at him flatly.

"Well. Maybe if you make it worth my while," you drawl, biting back a smirk at the way it makes his ears turn red. "I'm sure I could find something to wave my big sword at in the meantime."

Childe's eyebrows waggle. "Well, if you're looking for a big sword—"

"Down, boy." You jab a finger into his chest, just shy of the bandage wraps, and his shoulders convulse around it with a choked gasp of pain. He glances up at you beneath gingery lashes, so pale you can see the wide, deep blue pools of his irises with eerie ease. Dead-fish blue. You raise your eyebrows. "What're you looking at me like that for?"

He huffs weakly. "I think we both know I have a propensity for a little pain."

"In your family home, Childe? Beneath your blessed mother's roof?" You drag your finger painstakingly down his sternum, over the bandages; you can see the frayed purpling edges of bruising beneath them when they dip beneath your finger, and Childe tenses and groans quietly. He shifts imperceptibly closer to you, and you let your hand drop.

It's too easy. He looks so boyish here. It's honestly throwing you off. You withdraw your hand, aware that something cold must be shuttering over your expression because you see his own one drop in response, brows coming to knit together in a tiny expression of confusion.

"Nah," you say lightly. "Come find me when you're a challenge again. Enjoy the almonds, sweet thing."

Because, yeah—you've never liked anything easy. It's why you carve your way through Teyvat in a bloody railroad, one gang out outlaws at a time. The money you get is only a bonus; your real price, the only one that matters, is torment.

Childe slumps back into his pillows, scrubbing a hand down his face with a wry chuckle. "Ha... might've known. Don't worry, scourge, I won't be such a bitter disappointment for long."

You stand. "I know. Or you're not the guy I thought you were."

It's a month or so before you see him again.

You stick to your word and hang around Snezhnaya, eventually finding some sort of cold, dusky beauty in the frozen plains. The architecture is intricate and colourful, and the people conservatively hostile, which works for you just fine. People were much too friendly in Liyue and Mondstadt; you feel more like you're among your own kind here.

You end up contacting the adventurer's guild and taking on a few bounties, just for enough cash to hold down steady accommodation and food. You don't think too hard on why you're determined to stick around, when flight has always been much more your style. You immerse yourself, for the next few weeks, in wrestling bandits off of trading routes and collecting Hilichurl masks.

It's one evening as you circle a frozen lake, picking off members of a bandit guild that have taken to pickpocketing merchants, that he reappears to you. You're locked in a pretty ugly fight with a monster of an outlaw, taller and thicker than you, when something wet touches your cheek. A flash of water, so hard and sharp as to resemble a glaive, cuts past you and slices through the guy's skin, bearing a spill of scarlet blood. He jumps back with a scream of pain and rage, hefts his rusted ax to take another swing, and you see a flash of ginger and white cut past you.

Childe's water-daggers move so fast that they look like wet blue blurs, making ribbons of the guy's shirt and flesh. Combined with the injuries you'd already imparted upon him, it was no time at all until he dropped to the ground, blood leaking from him to salt the frozen earth. The rest of his guys scarpered pretty quickly.

Childe turned around to face you, a grin on his face. His pupils were slightly dilated—probably sinking his blade into something after so long felt like taking a drink after a stretch of sobriety for someone like him. Not that you could judge; you got antsy, too, when you hadn't fought for a while. Like your hands were filled with too much energy, and if you weren't using them for violence you weren't sure what the point of them was. They became merely many-fingered appendages, attached decoratively to your arms.

"I had him," you mutter, sheathing your swords. Childe bobs on his feet, almost floating with ecstatic energy.

"I know," he says, easily enough that mollifies your bad mood a little. "Just got a little overexcited at being able to fight again. I've missed it more than you can know."

There's blood spattered across his front, a daub across his face and arcing down his pretty dove-grey suit. Here, in the cold of his home nation, he wears a thick fur cloak over his shoulders; it makes him look grander, more impressive. Fatui, indeed.

He catches you looking and his smile gets wider; it barely even resembles a smile anymore, actually, more a baring of teeth. Coupled with the wild eyes, he looked suitably as feral as he is inside. Something deep in your gut twinges at the sight.

"You know, you surprise me," Childe comments, his watery blades dissipating into the air with a flick. "You'll cut your way through a battlefield, but you won't fuck me in my childhood bedroom? Your morals are all over the place, scourge."

"Don't call me that," you say automatically, finding you can barely blink when you look at him. "Fucking freak. You want me to make you cry when your siblings are running over the place?"

"They know not to come into my room," Childe pouts. "Mama doesn't like them to be able to stumble across all my weapons, lest they learn what I truly do for a living. Anyway, that isn't the point. I just can't work you out."

You work your jaw for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. You've never been very good with words—Childe seems to have an endless supply of them, with an uncanny ability to fashion them in any poetic formation he likes. He certainly knows which ones will get under your skin the most, and the pretty way his lips tie up like a bow when he puts emphasis on some of them. You've always been more hands-on. It's no wonder this is what you do for a living, really.

So instead you ask abruptly, "You're all healed up, right?"

Childe tilts his head, looking only mildly surprised. "Fit as a fiddle."

"Show me. You had a pretty nasty bruise on your chest last time I looked." You cross your arms expectantly as Childe blinks, looks around. The landscape around you is assuredly deserted; you're miles and miles from the nearby town. The risk of being stumbled across isn't zero, but it's pretty damn close.

"...Here?" Childe asks.

"Whose morals are all over the place now?" you grumble, indicating the bandit still bleeding out on the floor some feet away. Childe huffs a laugh, escaping him in a frosty white cloud.

"Fair enough. I concede to you, scourge," he sighs, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. You try not to look overly-eager, but something in your expression must give you away anyway, because he catches your eye and laughs as though enjoying a private joke. His fingers are deft as they slip buttons through expensive-looking silk, baring the pale slice of his stomach to you.

Around the snow's white glare, he looks paler than ever, skin practically lurid against the waves of dark orange hair and freckles scattering his shoulders. They spiral down his chest, absent of any bandages now, the only remnants of the ugly bruising a slight mauve discolouration crowding around his sternum.

You poke it; not much of Childe is overly soft, save for a small pouch at the bottom of his abdomen. He's all sinewy muscle, oscillating between lean and bulky. The tops of his arms and shoulders are broad, but he whittles down to a small waist and sharp hips, the suggestions of which you can see now with his skin bared: the ghostly impressions of bones, disappearing into his waistband.

"I'm a sight for sore eyes, right?" Childe says, a note of breathlessness in his voice. You hum dispassionately, poking at the remainder of the bruise; it gives like the skin of overripe fruit, smushing beneath your finger, and Childe shivers. "Wish mama let me out of bed earlier. I'd still have a lovely bruise for you to torment."

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" you murmur, and run your tongue over your bottom teeth. "Lie down. I'll bruise you up again."

You follow him down to the ground; when you kneel, the snow starts melting through the fabric of your pants, makes your knees wet and cold. Childe lays on his cloak, looking up at you warily.

"I won't submit so easily this time," he tells you, sticking his chin up. "You'll have to fight me for control."

You shrug as though it doesn't make the slightest bit of difference. "Okay. I'll win."

Childe shivers; you expect that knowing you'll win is half the fun to him. He likes challenging you just to be shot down. You thought, before, that he was simply a masochist. Now you think that being overpowered, specifically, is what gets him off. Not that you care for the psychosexual intricacies of whatever is wrong with him. You just like feeling strong, and he's strangely pretty, and you like taking the will out of pretty things.

Still, he does begin to make good on his promise. His hand knots in the collar of your cape and he pulls you down for a bruising kiss. You realise with a thrill that he tastes sweet and earthy, and that he's been eating the almonds you left him. It's a fucking weird amount of preparedness, and the idea that he'd come here hoping for this... it excites you. You kiss him harder, shoving his shoulders down to the ground and climbing on top of him.

His hand slips under your shirt, fingers spanning over the stretch of your stomach, and you falter just momentarily. He hadn't really touched you at all, last time—your positions are remarkably familiar, but this initiative is different. Last time he had merely enjoyed being overpowered. This time, you think he craves the fight of it. His thumb strokes over the skin of your abdomen, tantalisingly close to your waistband, and you curse the warmth that unfolds in your gut. You can't start feeling good, not yet, not until you have the higher ground over him.

You drag your lips down, pin them against his cheek until you get to the sharp vertice of his jaw; you tongue the underside of it, finding the ridge of his pulse point and dragging your teeth over it, feeling his hand falter and clench involuntarily.

This is how it should be with him—teeth and nails and tongue. The kind of fucking that lovers do is a million miles from this. It's something sort of angry, sort of reverent, like the worship of an evil god.

"You're such a fucking slut," you growl, and you're close enough to his throat to see the way it flexes when he swallows. "You wanted me to fuck you that first day, didn't you? With your poor family on the other side of those walls? Do you give it up that easy for everyone?"

Childe's breathing picks up; beneath your legs, you feel the muscles of his thighs twitch. When he opens his mouth to reply, you jam two fingers between his lips, feeling the inside of his mouth. He makes a choked noise, but his tongue immediately comes up to lap at the pads of your fingers, lips closing around the knuckle.

You sate yourself, taking several deep breaths even though the hot, wet inside of his mouth has your skin tingling. He makes a humming sound in the back of his throat that reverberates through your flesh, and when you press down on his tongue he makes a pretty gagging sound that makes you close your eyes briefly. Fuck, you want to hear it again.

Whilst your distracted, Childe shifts his leg; his knee slots itself between your own, pushing up against you with a suddenness that makes you inhale sharply and grit your teeth. Childe can't exactly smile with your fingers in his mouth, but he makes a smug noise and his eyes flutter with faux-innocence.

With your free hand, you wrestle his thigh from you and pin it to the floor with your knee. Childe is still making obscene noises around your fingers—putting it on, you'd wager. He sounds like the squealing painted girls in brothels, just stifled by the digits down his throat. You glare at him because it's easier than admitting how much it's turning you on.

With your free hand, you fumble for the opening of his trousers, delighting in the way his throat spasms with shock as you open up the slacks. It's tricky work to shuck the fabric down his thighs, and even trickier to restrain yourself when his legs come into view. They're built, stocky, crisscrossed with pale scars and freckles, and the urge to grab and squeeze is actually painful to resist. Instead you focus on the bulge in his dark briefs and the way his skin pebbles in the cold.

You push your fingers down his throat once, further, until he coughs and jerks and then you pull them free. In the cool evening light, they glisten with saliva, rolling down to your wrist. Childe's lips are glossy, eyes glazed over as he watches you; when you squeeze your dry hand over the tent in his underwear, the full force of his moan rips from him, loud and wavering, perhaps unaware that he'd have to stifle himself now without the gag of your fingers.

He flings his spare arm over his face, mortified.

"Cute," you croon, changing tack. "You're so cute like this, Childe. All small under me, yeah?"

"Shut up, scourge," he groans. "You know where I'm not small?"

You pinch his thigh, making it spasm prettily. You watch the red mark bloom up and fade, like a flower's life in fast motion. "I know where I'm not gonna be touching, sure."

Childe cracks open an eye, staring at you. "Huh?"

You shrug. "What'd you think you were getting my fingers wet for? Decoration?"

You can see his eyes widen with the realisation, even as you tug his underwear down along with his trousers. He casts another furtive look around, but there's no real concern in his gaze. In fact, if you had to guess, he looks almost hopeful that someone will stumble across you both like this. Degenerate.

You slip your hand down his stomach, feeling taut muscle and soft flesh, watching as it twitches with each sharp breath. Between his legs, he's half-hard already, and he twitches when you ghost your hand, feather-light over him. His hips cant up, once, as much as they can with you sitting on his thighs.

You bypass his cock, using your knee to knock his legs further apart and reach between his legs. The first light brush of your fingers over his hole has Childe gritting his teeth, biting the inside of his cheek very hard. His eyes burn into you, cold blue fire, when you carefully ease the tip of your index finger inside.

You let out a breath, chest aching. He's hot inside, tight; you feel him trembling against you as you glance up at him. "No shot you're a virgin here," you comment as languidly as possible, as if your heart isn't beating a harsh tattoo against your ribs. "There goes my theory of how you got so high up in the Fatui."

Childe makes a strangled noise that was probably supposed to be a retort. You don't move your finger either way, watching his face closely for signs of honest discomfort or pain. But there's just a concentrated furrow between his brows.

"You want me to go further?" you ask, voice like silk. "You wanna feel me inside?"

He groans, twisting simultaneously to and away from you. "Scourge—"

"Ask nicely, or I'll stop."

He swallows again; his internal conflict with his own pride is tantalising in the way you wish it could be made into something physical, something you could eat.

"Keep going," he pants. He blinks big, round eyes at you, playing the innocent lamb. "Pretty please?"

It should be no dice—you want him to ask as him, to feel the scorch of humiliation, not as some character. But before you realise it, your finger is sinking into the first knuckle, and his head thuds back against the snow with a punched-out gasp.

God, you wish you could fuck him properly. You'd give anything to stretch him out around you, but you don't have any of the tools or supplies you'd need. So your fingers would have to do for now. Your free hand gathers a handful of his ass and gropes, watching the fat bleed between your fingers as he yelps, hips squirming against your hand.

It takes several minutes and a lot more spit to ease another finger inside of him, and his thighs tense at the brush. His hips rock insistently against your hand, groaning behind a bitten lip, and when your fingers finally have enough give to start moving he makes a cut-off strangled sound in the back of his throat.

"Bet I could make you come like this," you mumble, more to yourself than anything else. "Won't even have to touch your pretty cock, will I? Look at it, crying for some attention." You sort of flick it with your spare hand and he makes a sound like he's dying, eyes flying open.

"Scourge, Archons," he curses, dick jumping in interest despite it all. His mouth hangs open, a slack 'O' of over-sensation. "You're so cruel. That hurt."

"That's the point," you mutter. "Otherwise you wouldn't come to me for this, would you?"

Childe squirms, pouts. "Still. I'm but a simple village boy. I'm not built for a beast like you."

You laugh, almost genuine. "'S that what I am? A beast?" Your fingers curl up inside him, brushing against a tough spot that makes him keen against you, hips jerking.

"I—" he pants, lip trembling. "What?"

"Beasts are selfish creatures," you comment. "A beast would never think of letting you come on their fingers. So surely you're confusing me with someone else, yeah?"

"Yeah," he gasps, rocking against your hand. "Scourge, please. You're killing me here."

"I wish. You'd probably be quieter." But you acquiesce, starting a slow rhythm of your fingers in and out of him. You're slow, working them up to the second knuckle, trying not to shiver at the heat inside of him. When you curl your fingers up against that spot, he keens like a dying dog, thighs clamping around your body slotted between them. It's... a pretty sight, you think. You've never been averse to admitting that he's handsome. You've always had an affinity for breaking pretty things.

It's part of the game, you think.

You move inside him like you're ringing a bell, and Childe's breathing starts coming in short, sharp bursts as he writhes against your hand. After not too long at all his witty remarks trail off into bitten-off grunts and moans, twisting his head into the snow in some effort to try and hide them. With your free hand, you curl your fingers in his hair and yank, feeling the feathery red strands go taut against your digits.

"Don't hide from me, sweet thing," you croon, and Childe shuts his eyes as though praying for patience; his cheeks are bright red, making his freckles more lurid. He shudders and gasps when you yank his hair, body arching so much that he lifts off the floor. You take the opportunity to painstakingly work in a third finger. He shudders at the stretch, the inevitable burn, so you try to distract him. You push his shirt away from the rest of his torso, finding the nipple with a healed slash through it and rolling it between your fingers.

Childe shudders; he looks strangely young in this moment, the age he truly is—what, twenty-five? Barely that? He's flushed down to the chest, stomach convulsing under the comparatively soft gestures. You stroke and pinch him until his hips push tentatively back at your hand again—signalling, in his way, consent for continuation.

You tut. "So greedy. Did you forget anyone could walk across us?" you ask, and Childe makes a broken-off groan. "Maybe you want that? How long do you think it would take the talk to get back to the Fatui, hm? Nobody would ever take you seriously again. Some warmonger you turned out to be, writhing in the snow like a helpless animal, about to come on my hand."

Childe gasps, nodding frantically. "Yes—yes—"

"Yes, you're going to come?" You can't help the wicked smile that spreads over your face, like an infection, like a blight, like something that doesn't look at home.

"Yes, Archons, scourge," he wails pitifully. You get the feeling his body would be spasming if you weren't pinning half of it down. He's bright red against the plains of snow, lips bitten red, eyes barely able to stay open. One of his hands wrapped around your wrists, dragged your hand to his cock; it looked painful now, weeping pre from the tip. "Touch me here."

You roll your eyes. "Why should I?"

"Please," he whines, blinking up at you. "I'm sorry for being annoying earlier. I just wanted you to..."

"I know what you wanted. I'm not in the habit of rewarding brats," you say, but your eyes are glued to where he's put your hand. You haven't moved it, yet. He's hot and hard and wet under your palm, twitching to life when your fingers brush over the burning skin. He makes a wavery, sort of sobbing noise when you don't make any move, hips jerking pathetically for some kind of friction.

"For fuck's sake," you mutter, making your hand into a loose fist and wrapping your fingers around him. His jaw hangs open, eyes rolling back as his pale lashes flutter, and you stroke him quickly in time with your fingers moving in, out, the pace brutal and punishing—exactly how he likes it, and exactly how you like it. Every breath punched from his chest is a moan, hoarse and desperate. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, and you realise he's torn the inside of his cheek to shreds with his teeth trying to be quiet.

It's thrilling, that he'd bloody himself just to try and get under your skin, and that he'd fail anyway. He's pretty like this. And close, you can tell by the way his muscles go tense, moving under pale skin like liquid. His throat is bared for you, head thrown back and he's uttering strings of unintelligible curses under his breath. Fuckohfuckpleasepleasescourgepleaseithurtsplease—

"Come on, Childe," you murmur, leaning in close, mouthing over his pulse point and feeling it jackrabbit against. "Make a mess for me."

With a few hoarse, desperate noises, a strangled "Fuck, fuck—" his body convulses beneath you, eyes squinching shut; his insides clamp around your fingers, spend spilling across your hands and his stomach in pearly arcs, hot and wet and pretty disgusting. You ease your fingers out of him as quickly and carefully as possible, not wanting to linger for the aftershocks.

He's limp like a dead fish beneath you, chest expanding, collapsing, over and over like a supernova as he struggles for breath. He looks physically winded, dazed like someone's beat the shit out of him. You take the opportunity to tuck him away and tug at his underwear and trousers, yanking them back up his thighs.

He mumbles something incoherently, sluggishly lifts his hips to assist you. After you button him back up he makes an effort to prop himself up on his elbows, looking up at you blearily.

"You didn't bite me this time," he says, sounding almost rueful. Your eyes dart to the healing ring of teeth at the junction of his shoulder, a mass of blunt scars coiled in a half-wreath. You pang at the thought that one day it might be replaced entirely by new, smooth skin, unmarred, unmarked.

You swallow. "There's still time."

"Nah. Moment's passed." He sighs, shaky fingers working at his shirt. "You'll have to do something worse next time."

Your mouth quirks into a smile before you can stop it. "Next time, huh?"

"I certainly hope so." He cocks his head, blue eyes catching the light briefly, the way they so often miss it. Like something inside it is permanently dampening it. "I'm only getting stronger, y'know. You'll have to fight me even harder for it next time. Or maybe I'll be the one telling you what to do."

"When hell freezes over, maybe," you say. The both of you cast a look around at the frozen wasteland around you and crack up laughing; it reminds you of the seldom times you'd spend together in taverns in Liyue, scarily normal for once.

"Well, I'll count the days," he hums, getting to his feet properly. His legs tremble a little, but he still offers you a hand. You take it. Maybe because it doesn't feel like it's accepting help, from someone so provably weaker.

Some feet away, the bandit's blood has turned the snow bright red.

[staarboyyy]

a worthy test

mark hoffman x gender neutral reader

18+ scenarios / characters - minors dni

tags / warnings ; dead dove, detective!reader, kidnapping, smut, gender neutral anatomy, gags, rough sex, slapping, needles, drugging, unhealthy dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, size difference kink, age difference, creampie, big ol man tiddies YEEHAWW!!

summary ; you and your team of investigators have been after jigsaw's apprentice for months, yet waking up bound to a chair makes way for suprises more sinister than you could have imagined

word count ; 1.6k

a/n; blame this fic on @sehtoast and all of cozy corner for being such lovely encouraging folk :) anyways enough mushy shit, take the long awaited nasty stuff!

You awoke to a strange sensation. Everything in the past 18 hours had been nothing more than a blur, your eyes opening slowly, squinting in the bright light that was forcing its way through your lids. It was a struggle to recall anything, swimming through the cloudy memories to sift out the important ones. You tried turning your head, desperate for some clue as to how you'd ended up in this room, let alone bound to a cold rusty chair.

"Morning Detective."

A familiar voice breathed into the cold air, causing you to jump slightly. You blinked with a harsh squint, eyes struggling to take in the form of the man before you, still adjusting to the dim room. All the while, your heart pounded in your chest as the large silhouette revealed itself. It was Mark - You and your team had been after him for months ever since you learned of his betrayal. His piercing eyes are fixed upon you, his expression hard and emotionless.

He kept his gaze on you as panic began to surface in the flush of your cheeks, blush rushing in your ears. No. This must be a nightmare, a delusion - Anything besides the truth. You struggled for a moment with the fabric gag wrapped around your mouth and jaw, tied behind your head. You were not just desperate to speak, you wanted to scream, to demand a fucking answer for everything as the man stood in front of you, hands behind his back. Was he pleased? His expression was difficult to read, head cocking slightly off to the side as he watched you struggle before him. A smirk pushed at the corner of his full lips, eyebrows twitching slightly - He looked almost confused at your panic and desperation to understand the situation. In his eyes, you should be thankful to still be afraid enough just to worry and wonder, taking in every shuddered breath with rousing appreciation. At this, you wanted to feel sick. You wanted to.

      The cold leather of his gloved sent rolling chills over the backs of your arms, hairs on your neck at a sharp standstill. He was your colleague. He had always been cold, brutally honest for the sake of what you thought had been good. Surely there had to be something good still in the man before you, who now wore a prowling gaze like a stalking predator. Your teeth grit at the red fabric tied tightly around your head, trying to bite back the words that roared in your mind - No way in hell you'd break first.

      "Somethin' wrong?"

     His voice was quiet, his body stilling as he walked behind you, gloved hands resting on your shoulders. The leather was cold, his thumbs digging uncomfortably hard into your back, causing you to grunt slightly.

      "You look like you've seen a ghost, sugar." 

     Mark's hands slid over your body, taking little time to savor how you felt under his hands, his fingers beginning to slowly unlatch your wrists from the chair. It wasn't hesitant, the movement was practiced - He knew his presence alone kept you pinned to the spot. No binds needed, not with the pooling arousal that now flushed your cheeks and mind, your thighs shifting uncomfortably in the rusting chair. The man's steps echoed through the dark warehouse, now facing you with a strangely bored expression, eyes darting towards your bound ankles. The detective pulled in a slow breath as your heartbeat rushed in your ears, tilting his head as he kept his gaze on your ankles.

     "You gonna be good?"

He didn't bother to look towards you as he spoke, practically speaking to himself as he slowly knelt before you. It would be so easy, you thought. To run, to push him away and fight him off. The latches came undone, and he rose to his full height once again. He shadowed over your figure, shoulders wide and dress shirt buttons straining, sleeves rolled over his thick forearms; There was no fight worth trying for, not as he pulled you like a ragdoll from the chair and pressed your cheek against the brick wall.

     Your blood ran cold. You were in over your head. You could feel Mark's grasp on your hips, thumbs rubbing over the protruding bones with a perverse hunger. His hands were able to cover your entire lower back, shamelessly palming at your ass. “Wait, just-” Your voice was silenced when one of the older man’s hands slid up your clothed back, fingers tangling in your hair for a moment, savoring the sudden sound of skin against skin. With a strangled gasp, Mark's fingers tightened on your hair, making a fist and forcing your body against his own; Somewhere in Mark’s mind, he could hear your screaming. Your abundant surprised gasps and yelps would surface over his clouded mind, as he watched you struggle helplessly, wincing at your outcries. With a clench of his jaw, he felt a proud smile prod at the corners of his lips, the thoughts brushing past him. He had just sunken half way inside, yet the strange pulling burn of being stretched open planting a growing arousal. Sweat rolled down his back in beads, bending in pools with his tensing body as he ruthlessly used you, pinned underneath him. You had been a vice on Mark's cock, suffocating your mind and body with an insatiable hunger, a chemical greed to be adequately filled and used, to be bred without gentle caresses or soft words. The man released your hair, reaching forward towards your throat and clasping his fingers tightly around it, using grip as leverage to tear through you even deeper. Every inch of your body roared in numbing desire, twitching as your senses ricocheted voraciously. You arched your back eagerly into the man above you, tears stinging your bottom lashes to fall as Mark remorselessly gripped your throat, ceasing the gasps instantly. The line between pleasure and pain began to blur as your vision did, eyes rolling shut, squeezing them closed as you endured the desperate assault, body licked and abused by unwavering flames and large animalistic hands - The smell of cologne smothered your consciousness, tears casing your flushed cheeks as strangled gasps emerged from your throat. Though you couldn't sense the words gathering in your mind, nor taste them leave your frantic lips, you could feel them in the air; The unabashed begging, pleading Mark not to stop. You sobbed bit hard onto the saliva soaked gag between your lips, aimless and muffled as Mark's pace began to slow.

     "Don't stop,"

    Mark's large hand glided over your hips, tracing down your arms to wrap over both your wrists. He gave a punctuating thrust forward, bottoming out inside of you with a strangled moan, head dipping forward as he pulled your body against his own. You were a toy to him, his hands exploring your body, groping your thighs and sliding his digits past your gag, groaning quietly at the feeling of your tongue against his gloved fingers. Your body was shaking, glazed in sweat as you stood on your tippy-toes to keep up with the man who so effortlessly pulled you into his demanding thrusts. His cock twitched as you squirmed, body wanting so badly to fight the pleasure that now threatened to spill over.

     "You're gonna be the death of me - So fuckin' tight,"

     Mark slammed his hips forward with every word, his hold on your wrists tightening, pulling you away from the wall to press impossibly deeper into you. Your body seared with pleasure and pain, rousing a euphoric heat to spark and glaze itself on your skin - It was electric, how he handled your full weight; No, not just handled it, he insisted it. He wanted you, all of you. He wanted you in tears, drool rolling down your lips as you beg for more in that precious muffled whimper. His cock pulsed inside you, thrusts becoming messy as he watched your ass push snugly against his hips, bouncing back, desperate for even more. No words could properly describe what you craved from the other, your body shaking and knees threatening to buckle underneath your weight, sweat dripping from your temples and jaw. It was a hot blinding spark, your body quaking as your scream pitched up to break, echoing throughout the abaonded warehouse. It didn't matter if you were limp, mind numb and broken as he kept your body tight against his own.

     "You're mine. Understand that?"

     You couldn't respond, hardly registering his voice until the leather palm came to slap hard against your flushed cheek. Your eyes flew open in shock, pulling in a deep gasp, only to be cut off by his hand gripping your throat.

     "Thaat's right, you're all mine - Fuck baby,"

     Marks euphoria reached it's peak, eyes glued to your body rutting shamelessly against him as his cock spilled messily into you. He fucked his cum deep, keeping ahold of you with a grasp sure enough to leave flowering bruises. He gasped sharply, eyes sliding shut as they rolled back, lips hanging open; You were his, entirely. Even as you woke from a fading haze, thighs messily stained with cum and flowered with large bruises, you were still wrapped in a thick quilt. It didn't matter where you were, your mind spinning as the cold puncture of a sedative filled needle pushed into your forearm. You would have atleast opened your eyes to see the perpetrator, but the feeling of his leather gloves against your skin had become a familar one.

     "Sleep well, detective."

[crappymixtape]

soft, sweet, sounds • part II

part II to this absolutely unhinged-fever-dream-blurb's worth of smut i wrote way too early in the morning – steve’s still your roommate and you’re still friends, right? or is there something more and you two just too chicken shit to put a label on it • 18+ | ( 1.5K – roommates -> something?, tiny fluff, medium smut, lots of idiocy, steve x you )

S O F T S W E E T S O U N D S •  P A R T T W O 🎶 swimming pools, dani stocksdale

It was sticky sweet like popsicles by the pool. Soft like cotton candy clouds pulled across the sky. Glittering like sun on the water and easy. Too easy. Like you’d done it countless times before. Like it was nothing. Like it was supposed to be like this and maybe it was your newly single mindset, or maybe it was Steve, but right now? It didn’t matter.

“Y’okay?” Steve asked, breaths falling quick between you. Sweat beading across his forehead, his hair stuck and messy as the fan above did absolutely nothing to cool down the room from the July heat outside.

“Yes–shit–yeah,” you hissed through gritted teeth, Steve’s fingers digging into the plush of your hip, his other hand bracing him above you on the bed.

It was a slow drag. A lazy push and pull that drove you both crazy. Hands needy and searching. Lips desperate, pressed skin to skin, sucking soft lilac bruises to leave behind tiny traces of you long after you’d parted.

“Oh god, o-okay, s’good,” Steve’s breath hitched in his throat as you tangled your fingers in his hair and tugged at it, nails scratching at his scalp and making him see stars.

Less than a week ago you’d broken up with your boyfriend and your room mate Steve had come home to find you coping with a hand pressed between your thighs and instead of moving on – instead of maintaining the line between roommates – you’d broken the rules and now here you were.

Laid out on his bed with your panties on the floor and your shirt rucked up under your arms so he could push the palm of his hand up your stomach. Could see your embarrassing, nothing special, I-need-to-do-laundry bra. All white and dotted with baby blue spots, but Steve couldn't have cared less. You made his shitty, faded, ripped up Hawkins Athletic Dept. shirt look good.

“Wait–” the pinch between your brows deepened as he hit the soft, squishy spot at the back of you, your knees pressing into his ribs.

“M’sorry, want me to stop–”

“No, god–don’t stop,” your voice edged on desperation as you squirmed and slipped a hand between your thighs so you could rub little circles over your clit. “Okay, keep going.”

And when Steve picked up the pace again, dragged himself in and out, in and out, the combination of your fingers and him filling you up so good pulled a moan from you that was utterly obscene. The coil at the pit of your stomach squeezing tight as the movement of your fingers grew frantic.

“Y’close? You’re close, huh?” Steve let his head drop down, rested his forehead on yours and pressed a kiss to your temple, the tops of his thighs smacking into the backs of yours. “Let go, babe–you go first.”

“Faster,” you pleaded and his jaw ticked as he bit down on the groan you pulled from his chest. A low, warm, rumble that pushed you over the edge as you sucked in a gasp. Arched your back up off the bed for more, more, more as your hand fisted into the sheets to hold on for dear life. Pressed your body into Steve’s and pulled him with you, his hips stuttering as he came.

And as your limbs grew heavy Steve gently pushed himself away, a small gasp escaping you as he eased out, breaths slowing as each second passed. The warm air wrapping itself around you, lulling you into a haze. The kind that made you feel like you were floating. Like being between sleep and dreams, fuzzy and blurring around the edges.

You watched the fan spin lazy overhead, uselessly pushing warm air around Steve’s room and tried to stay present. Tried not to let your mind wander. Tried not to think about what ‘this’ was, what you were doing with your room mate and tried to just be.

Steve shifted against the covers next to you, his arm pressing into yours as he rolled onto his side. Looked at you with those big brown eyes, brows lifted ever so slightly in question.

“You wanna shower first or…?” his voice drifted off at the end of his sentence, hand running through his hair in an attempt to keep it out of his eyes.

“Oh, you can? I don’t have to work today,” you tried to sound casual, like you hadn’t just fucked your best friend, but even you didn’t believe you.

“Could be responsible and go together, conserve water.”

His half-assed joke made you snort, but even Steve couldn’t deny the tension that had been building between you two.

The first time, the time he’d walked in on you, had been unreal. He’d made you come once on his fingers, again with his mouth, and a third time over the kitchen counter after you’d tried to stop and make food. Had done things your boyfriend wouldn’t have dreamed of doing, things he’d refused to do, and made you question your standards for men because what? Were men actually like this?

Like Steve?

Because he hadn’t blinked an eye when you’d started to be more vocal the second time around. When you’d told him where to put his fingers, when you asked him to apply more pressure, when you said you wanted it harder and he obliged, but never failed to ask you if it was good. If you were okay. If that was how you liked it.

He put you first and god, it was so hot and you were down so bad.

“You still with me?”

You heard Steve’s voice, felt it pull you out of your head and when you turned to look at him across the pillow he was looking at you like he’d just said something bad. Like he regretted it and your brain scrambled to catch up.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I just–there’s a lot on my mind and–”

“No, no! You don’t have to explain yourself,” Steve reassured you, lifting a hand to push your curls out of your face. “It’s okay. I’ll just get outta your hair,” and he pushed up on an elbow to leave, but you cracked.

“Don’t!” fell out too quick, too fast. Had you sounded desperate? “Please. Stay?” you asked and he eased back down next to you, a little smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“What’s going on up there?” he wondered quietly, gently tapping a finger on your forehead.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to decide how honest you wanted to be with him. Debating whether or not you wanted to risk ruining this – whatever this was – and pushed a sigh from your lungs.

“Steve Harrington,” you started, his cheeks growing pink at the way you said his name, “You’re an anomaly.”

Brows knitting together, his mouth dropped open into a little ‘o’, not wanting to admit he didn’t know what that meant and it made you laugh. A small, warm thing that made his expression soften and he laughed too.

“Listen, Princess. Not everyone took AP english.”

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously! I’m a what now?”

“An anomaly. Unexpected. Out of the ordinary.”

“Oh, great,” he teased, dragging out the vowels and you shoved at him as he chuckled, “I’m a weirdo.”

“It’s not a bad thing!” you insisted, feeling like you were losing the point, but then he smiled at you. Brushed the rough pad of his thumb over your cheek and shook his head.

“I know.”

“Good.”

Silence settled between the two of you then, the only sound coming from the fan whirring above. A quiet reminder that there were still words left unsaid and leveled the challenge of who would break it and of course Steve caved first.

“I just want you know that I’m not like, expecting anything from you. Or–or trying to put any pressure on this,” he gestured a hand in the space between you on the bed and gave you a small half-hearted smile.

“Oh, I don’t either! I mean, you’re part of this too,” you insisted, feeling guilty for the slightly crestfallen look on his face, and covered your face with your hands.

“Don’t run away,” he murmured, enveloping both your hands with one of his and tugging at it softly. Wanting, no, needing to be able to see you. “Let’s just be…whatever this is for now, hm? And–and we can decide if we want to make it something else later.”

You tentatively met his gaze through your fingers, let yourself get lost for just a minute in his warm, brown eyes, and realized how safe he made you feel. Realized how thankful you were for him.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Okay,” he whispered back.

Wrapping his arms around your waist he pulled you into him and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Your cheek. Your nose.

“Now about that shower–”

“Steve!”

“What? C’mon, race you?”

“You’re a menace.”

“I’m fun. I keep things interesting.”

And he did and for just a split second you were okay with just being where you were. No labels. No pressure.

Just Steve.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[bookshelf-dust]

the ache

billy hargrove x gn!byers!reader

word count: 625

warnings: grieving, mentions of death, post the battle of starcourt

a/n: um, so…i just wrote this in thirty minutes, give or take. it’s a bit of dialogue that i’ve been kind of toying with in my head for a few days, and here i am, at one in the fucking morning, writing this. i’m sorry in advance. (also for context, none of the season three hopper death shit happened.) i love you all. <3333

————

When you don’t show for dinner, Joyce knows exactly where you are.

There’s no guesswork, or calling around. She knows.

She knows because she’s been where you are. And she knows you shouldn’t be alone.

She remembers when Hopper had come and sat on the floor in front of her without a word. It had settled something inside of her, that small gesture. Sure, it hadn’t soothed the ache—nothing could do that, nothing but time—yet it had helped. It felt like a breath of fresh air.

Joyce parks the car, and makes her way to where she stood all those months ago as they lowered him into the ground.

You’d been silent then. She wasn’t sure you were breathing, really. And when they’d finished, when the funeral was over, you’d just stood there. And she’d waited until you made your way to the car, and she took you home. Anything for her baby.

————

The grass is chilly under your palms, where you’re desperately ripping the blades up and flinging them to the sides. There might be two sparse patches left by the time you’re finished, but that’s okay. It’ll grow back.

Your face is wet. You gave up on wiping it dry long ago.

When you hear footsteps behind you, you don’t even have to turn because you know exactly who it is. Who’s come for you.

You start to cry again, but this time it’s worse. This time you’re sobbing.

Joyce sits down beside you, settling on her knees.

You look up at her, but you can’t really see her because your eyes are filling with tears and blurring your vision.

“Oh, baby,” Joyce says. She runs her hand over your leg.

You cry out. You’re practically wailing. It hurts, you’ve noticed. It’s like an ache, and it won’t leave. It stays.

You look away from her and at his headstone. William Hargrove, it reads.

That’s all he is now, a plot. A marker. A memory.

“Mama.” Joyce never takes her eyes off of you. Seeing you like this fills her with an immense grief, and she wants nothing more than to make it all go away. To fix it. To kiss it better.

“Mama, I miss him.”

A sob wrenches free from your throat, and you’re wiping desperately at your face again because now she’s here and she can see you at your weakest. But it’s no use, so you let it come.

“My baby,” you cry.

Images of Billy flash through your mind: sitting with him in the staff room while it rained one day at the pool and no one could swim, helping him get a tangle out of his hair, kissing him on the cheeks just to see him blush.

He’s gone. He’s never coming back. Your Billy is dead.

“Mama, please.”

You don’t know why you’re begging, but you are. And you keep begging, like it’s going to fix something. It’s not.

Please what? Please bring my boyfriend back. Please undo what happened that night. Please let him be safe. Please.

Joyce wraps her arms around your shoulders and you cling to her like you’re afraid she’ll disappear too. Like she’ll be in the ground and you’ll be sitting and crying out for her just as you are now.

You’re not sure how long you cry for, but she lets you for as long as you need.

And when you’re done, you go home and lay in bed. You slip on one of his shirts, and you think about him.

You cry some more, and try to remember something Hopper told you after he’d taken you out of the mall that night.

“That feeling never goes away. But everyday it does get a little easier.”

You hope he’s right.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[ja3hwa]

Jongho | Blue Lagoon

「Synopsis」 : You head out to sea in hopes the storm hadn't hurt your lovers. But what you are met with was more than expected.

「Word count」 : 2.0k

-> Genre: Smut. Fluff. Fantasy. Adventure.

Paring: Vampire!Pirate!Jongho x Siren!Reader

[Warnings] : Swearing. Pet name. Blood. Bodily fluids. Blood drinking. Sir kink. Blowjob. Throat fucking. Dirty talk. Nudity (Sexual & Non-Sexual). Let me know If I missed anything.

<- Previous Part | M.list | Next Part ->

The cave was warm compared to the freezing storm out at sea. Yunho gave the all-clear when he jumped from the deck to the sand bank. He made sure the anchor was set so they wouldn’t float away, also giving the grounds around them a once over just in case something else decided to pick the same cave as a place of refuge from the hell-bent storm. Wooyoung shouted about getting dinner started making everyone head for the lower deck, sensing their stomachs empty and in need of Wooyoung’s cooking.

Jongho however stayed on the stern deck, looking out to the waterfall that had an opening in the cave roof, making some rain pour in with a loud trickle. He noticed little lagoon pockets, most of them looked shallow but he knew all too well that they were indefinitely deep, making a cave system right beneath their feet. Some blue glowworms gathered on the wet roof, lighting up the cave, making him suddenly see a shadow out of the corner of his eye. He turns and stood up from his slouched position on the railing, trying to get a better look at the figure in one of the small lagoon pools. Maybe it was something to fear or something that could harm the ship, but he suddenly saw a light mixer of colour painted on a long and elegant tail. He knew exactly what he was looking at and it made his heart skip a beat.

The sea was calming around your body. It’s quiet and peaceful compared to the world above. You took a large inhale, letting the gills on the side of your neck filter the water inside your system. It was comfortable, familiar. You missed being underwater, but you loved the surface world as well. You missed your tail every day, but not as much as you liked your legs. It was lonely in the sea. Being an outcast from your home because of your special ability. Being a shifter. A rare form of Siren, a mermaid crossbreed. In other words, an abomination. Something that shouldn’t exist, but I guess your parents didn’t get the memo about that.

You navigate the ocean with ease following the scent of the destiny―the ship Yeosang was aboard―. The smell of wet dark spruce, a hint of honey and chard coal, the scent you loved whenever you stood on the deck of the beautiful vessel. You look up to the break where the water meets the opened air, seeing rain dancing on the face of the big blue. It’s getting heavier, you thought, worried the boys might be in trouble, but when you spot teal blue light bubbles, you knew there is a cave system nearby. Maybe they took their ship into a cave?

Swimming through the small crevasse you try your best not to get your large tail suck. But luckily you were just able to wiggle yourself through. You see thousands of lights from glowworms in your blurred view. The surface. Your hands are the first to exit the water feeling the warm air on your cold fingertips. You close your eyes cutting through the water's face before taking a sharp breath of oxygen in, feeling your lung fill with air as your gills close and seal up against your skin from the loss of water around them.

You open your eyes, looking around the large structure, rubbing your eyes in order to clear your vision. A skip in your heart makes your worried nerves finally calm down, seeing the ship sitting out of the storm. Safe. Placing your arms on either side of the lagoon pocket trying to pull yourself up and after a small attempt you got up, twisting your body so your butt could sit on the ledge. You look around the large hollowed rock structure, suddenly grazing on a figure heading in your direction.

“Shit.” You flopped your tail out of the water, placing a hand on your chest before whispering an enchantment allowing you to shift from your tail to your human legs. You prepared to try and explain to whoever was heading your way why you were naked in a cave but before any excuses come to mind a sigh left your lungs as you spot who it was. “Jongho…”

“Hey there Honey. I thought it was you.” His soft voice and kind smile made your heart flutter. He knelled down to your sitting form not dropping his graze from your face. Such a gentleman. He opens a satchel that rests on the side of his hip, pulling out some clothes for you to dress in. He spoke of keeping clothing for you in the past once you told him about you being a shifter. You found it sweet that he and Yeosang were wanting to care for you so much. You always felt love with their protection.

You take the long shirt from the kind male, smiling with a small thank you leaving your lips. Pulling the cloth over your head to take notice that he finally dropped his view, looking at all of you now that you are covered. He let out a gulp as if he wanted to say something. But he couldn’t seem to find the right words.

“You okay Jong?” You tried to get up so you could stand with him but your legs wobbled and your knees buckled making you fall forward. Luckily Jongho caught you.

“Careful honey. Don’t want ya hurtin’ yourself.” He chuckled wrapping his arms around your soft waist, his fingers diving into your plump skin with care. His face was suddenly inches from yours, feeling his heart rate spike from the distance. Time froze as his red eyes glowed while they gaze into your teal ones. You lent in closer, hoping he would seal his lips against yours but he pulls away instead.

“Why are you here Sweetheart?” he whispers, making you let out a huff while rolling your eyes slightly.

“The storm… I wanted to….” You felt a lump in your throat overthinking basically setting you up for failure but yet here you are. Wanting to make sure he was safe. That they were all safe. Jongho gave a small kiss on your forehead, closing his eyes for a moment, taking in your scent that has lingering hints of sea salt.

“I get it…” His lips trail down from your forehead, the crease of your eye, cheeks, jaw and neck. You took a sharp inhale, letting your fingers slip into his belt loops to pull him closer to you. He placed open mouth kisses down your neck until he finds the right spot making you groan softly. A hunger was brewing in his gut, letting his fangs graze your jugular.

“Are you going to bite me, sir?” You teased suddenly feeling your head starting to spin. He just chuckled in response, licking a long strip up your neck before letting his fangs pierce your flesh. You let out a gasp, hands flying to his chest, scrunching the fabric of his blouse. Your blood trickles into his mouth letting him taste the sweet iron twang on his tongue. You felt lightheaded, trying your hardest to keep your body upright. He finally breaks his fangs from your skin. He watched the blood spill out of your neck, dripping down to your collarbone. Fuck, you are so beautiful when covered in blood.

“Baby…” He went to speak but you wasted no time in pushing him against the large flat rocks that lay beside the lagoon pools, making him lean back with a widen stance of his legs. You grinned while you watched him wipe your blood off his chin. You drop to your knees stalking over to your lover. He watched you with a sly smirk, feeling his cock twitch at your excitement. You really got horny from him drinking from you? Yes… You pull down his briefs and took his cock out quickly. Wasting no time in giving him a lick from his base to tip, flicking your tongue on his slit. Jongho let out a soft moan from your action. You lick him like that for a moment, getting him wet and sloppy. You wrap your hands around him and started jacking him off at full-speed. The filthy sounds of him getting wet and you pumping him echoes in the one side of the cave. The feeling made him close his eyes for a moment to just get lost in the pleasure before they popped open when you swallowed him.

“Honey─” He gasps, his hands flying to your head instinctively. His fingers curl as he felt your head move up and down at a quickened pace. He hums deep in his chest making you dig your nails into his thick thighs before pulling off him with a pop.

“Jongho please,” you moaned. “Can you please..use me.” You pressed kisses all over his cock, occasionally licking it from base to tip. Jongho cursed under his breath and took a hold of your head with both hands. You hum excitedly while he sighed deeply, looking at you as you open your mouth as your permission.

“Damn,” he whispers and with one more low curse, he slid himself in your mouth. Your throat muscles immediately hugged his hard cock tightly, and he felt them moving as you swallowed. He groans, hips moving back and forth slowly at first, giving you some time to adjust, but after a small tap on his thigh that he could translate as a go-ahead he picked up his pace. Soon, he was fucking your throat at a pace that could count as fast,

“You want me to use you, huh?” He rasped. His breath was coming out in pants. You swallowed and hummed around him. “Alright, baby, here it comes.” He tightened his hold on your head and thrusts in. He could feel you struggle a little, throat muscles spazaming and after a couple more seconds of having you there, he pulls your head off, and you gasps wetly and loudly. Your face was a mess, but holy shit did it turn on Jongho more than he ever got before…

“You look so ruined, Fuuck,” he curses. You moan and bent your head to take him in your mouth again, making him thrust in and out of you a couple more times before keeping himself buried there for a moment. He felt you gag softly, nails digging into his thighs, but he didn’t pull out, didn’t move, he just kept your head on his cock. The gagging intensified a bit, the spasms of your muscles following. Just when you dug your nails painfully deep, he pulls out. The gasp you let out was louder than the first one.

“Sir, shit,” you whispered. Your voice, horses and your face was painted with tears. Jongho clenched his jaw and buried himself deep in your throat making you moan when he did. Immediately, you start to swallow around him as you snake a hand to grasp his balls. He gasps when he felt the tight grip you had on them, doubling over, but not pulling out this time for a breather. You fondle his balls, holding them tightly, pulling on them and swallowed around his cock. You heard a strong thud before Jongho let out a punch sound and a choked moan, and he came down your throat. When he finally pulled out, he watches a string of saliva follow, connecting your mouth and his dick together.

“Holy shit,” he pants, breathless. You just smile making his heart flutter. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” he laid down on his back, letting the cold rock cool his body temperature.

“You love me.” You giggle using the lagoon water to wash your face and neck, letting the salty water tend to your wound.

“Of course I do.” He replies.

-

Ateez Masterlist

Navigation

Taglist : @yunhofingers @violetwinters @lmhmh01 @purrhwa @joti17 @jess-1404 @pinki-minki @yesv01 @minkiflwr @rielleluvs @dilfjohhny @whatudowhennooneseesyou   @az-con @jen176pink @sundaybossanova @8tinytings @mysticfire0435 @yeosan8 @spookyauthorspopmusictrash @zi-ever @fl0r4f4wn @candypop1611 @yvnjin-s @meltheninja13 @atinyreads @e-ahn19 @stardragongalaxy @kitten4sannie

© 𝐉𝐚𝟑𝐡𝐰𝐚. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 : 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑁 𝑁𝑂 𝑊𝐴𝑌 𝐴 𝑇𝑅𝑈𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑃𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑍 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑆. 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝑈𝑅𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐼𝑆 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝐴𝐾𝐸𝑁 𝑆𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐿𝑌.

[hanahaki-disease]

Choke Myself on Sacred Vapor

Hell or High Water - Percy Jackson/DC crossover

Summary:

“An ache panged in his chest when he saw the child. A banging in his head, a vague yell within the confines of his own mind. There was something in his head screaming that the child looks familiar, that he’s seen a little boy with green eyes and curly black hair before. Whose skin bronzed in the sun and freckles dotted their cheeks. And a contagious laughter that had dragged him into its of laughter as well. But where had he seen that boy before? Who was that boy?”

***********************************************

All he could see was green. There was no up or down. His fingers never touched the sides, toes never hitting the bottom. The air in his lungs burned, demanding for more, but the green kept him down. Suffocating him in the viscous liquid unlike anything he’s seen before.

What was here anyway? Why was he in the green? He could feel it sew his body back up, lacing itself in the skin and muscles of his limbs, crawling in his veins. It tugged at the loose flesh that littered his body, pulling it closed and leaving not a trace behind. The green was itchy. Like ants in his skin, nipping and biting at the tissue beneath. Scratching and poking in his head, mending whatever was broken.

The ache in his chest was hurting more now, like a fire it climbed up his throat and lodged itself in the middle. He needed to breathe, he needed air. He kicked the liquid and made his way to where he thought ‘up’ was. It was hard to tell. He could be dooming himself by swimming deeper into the pool, all the way to the bottom where his chances to rising to the top were slim. But something told him that the green wouldn’t kill him, it’d keep him alive and it’s hurt like hell, but he’d live.

How was this living? It seared his skin from the inside out, burning his eyes, and made his stomach churn with every aching push against it. There was another liquid he liked better than this one, it was calm and cool against his skin. Clear and blue and traveled the earth with nothing to go against it. He could live in that one. That one didn’t hurt his lungs, it didn’t send waves of fire in his veins, but that doesn’t mean it was the total opposite of the green.

He’s seen the devastation it could bring, the terror and death. Soaring into the skies, taking bits from the domain above to crash down and wipe out whatever was below. That one was an unstoppable force with winds fast enough to sweep one off their feet and power to flatten civilization, it was able to carve the land if it so wished. Splitting the earth, bending it to its will over years and years.

That’s the one that thrummed within him, it pushed against the green, fighting it to remain in control.

His lungs grasped for air when he surfaced, greedily swallowing it like a man deprived (which he was.) His eyes were blurred by the green, clinging to his lashes and covering the eyes like a membrane. Tinting the world in the same color below him. From what he could see, in the thinner parts of the film, the walls surrounding his were rock. Carved and cut into the earth by hand, with pillars eyes polished keeping the roof stable high above his head. Torches hung against the wall, the flame a green like the pool he was in, and at the far shore were people.

Elegant robes and uniforms lined with gold that reflected the glowing light of the green. Two people stood in front of the rest. A woman, tall with a solemn expression on her sharp features and tanned skin. Her hip cocked to one side, a hand resting on her hip inches away from he gun strapped to her thigh and the knives sheathed at her back. The man wore plated armor, black and gold, draped in dark greens and armed with a sword on his hip. His hair had streaks of white and his eyes reflected the green of the pool. Glowing the same color and just as deadly.

“The detective will have fun solving this little mystery, wouldn’t he?” The man said, his chuckles reverberated in the room and brought back the nausea in his stomach. “See to it that he is trained. He will be of no use should he not be able to survive again.”

“Yes, father,” The woman nodded her head as the man and most of the group left with him. The remaining people held cloths and towels, most likely to wipe off the green that still clung to him. One, however, held a pitcher. Brass and polished and painted with a mural he couldn’t quite tell of what from where he stood in the green. But he could feel what was inside, it was a pull in his gut, a call from somewhere within that wanted to reach out an grasp it. Pull it to him and heal what the green could not.

“Tayir. Come this way.” The woman held her hand out to him, stepping at the edge of the pool, letting the beads of green slide off her boots and into the rock beneath her.

Tayir? Was that his name, is that who he was? He didn’t know why but the name was wrong, it didn’t ring in his ears the way it should if it was his name. Wouldn’t he remember it if it was, and if it wasn’t, then what was it?

He could not remember his name nor who he was before the green. It was as if he had not existed till now, born in the green (yearning for blue. But why blue? What was special about blue?) She spoke his name gently, beckoning him closer. Was she his demise? A savior? He didn’t know, and he had no choice but to follow her command. The look in her eyes made it seem as if she knew him, how her green eyes racked over his body like a predator and it’s prey. Cunning, vicious, with a deceitful smile and cold hands.

“We must being your training,” She said guiding him out the green. His body felt different. It was bigger, denser, his muscles pulled him down more and his eyes looked at the world in a different angle. He was looking down at people, not up or eye-level. He didn’t know why it was different, just that it was. “We mustn’t waste any more time than we have already.”

The days pass in a blur after that. He can’t really recall much after the green. He knows the woman doesn’t hurt him if he listens, her cold hands pressing white cloth to the wounds and speaking in a hushed voice, her sympathy and gentleness forced with every action, as if she was not one to do such a thing. Tayir doesn’t like the man, hasn’t since he first seen him. He was cruel and vile and Tayir always had a new scar when he left.

There were days that were spent with non stop training. When the dawn broke, so did he. Hours spent under the morning sun refining the muscle memory of defense before reshaping his attacks in the afternoon. Nights forced outside the comfort of the compound for survival training only to have his continue his schedule the following day like normal.

The woman tended to his schedule, shifting the classes to suit her needs rather than his own. But he rose in the ranks as an expert marksman, bested his opponents in sword fighting, and was brutal when it came to hand to hand combat. It was as if she had an ulterior motive for him, what it was he didn’t know. His mind mush and responses mindless as he went about his routine like a puppet on a string. He didn’t think for himself, obeyed every command, and never once spoke. But there were days when that green would encapsulate his vision once again.

It’d stretch across his eyes and bathe the world in the neon color of his mysterious rebirth and fuel the anger bubbling within him. It was as if he had developed during then, his mind wanting nothing but the blood of his enemies on his tongue and dripping from his hand. To attack and satiate whatever was within him. But he didn’t know where that rage had come from, didn’t know where it originated or why it was there. The woman didn’t give him answers, and it wasn’t like he could ask her anyway. If anything she seemed to have a love-hate relationship with the green. One Tayir didn’t understand.

“Follow me. You have a new assignment.” The woman turned from where she stood of to the side of his class. Her green robe billowing as she walked down the cold stone halls, heels clicking with each step only because she wants to be heard. “Damian,” She called when they reached their destination.

“Hello, mother,”A small voice spoke from somewhere in the room. He didn’t turn to look at them, eyes following the woman until she spoke hi next command. “Who is this?”

“You may call him ‘Tayir,’ ” The woman motioned for the other to move closer to her and he watched as she lower herself to the floor. The fabric of her robe pooling into gentle waves and soft mounds at her feet, contradicting the sharp edges of her tongue and blades. “He is to be your guard. He will follow your command and protect you should I not be there.”

Tayir followed the woman’s gaze, turning his head to where her eyes were pointed and something…happened. An ache panged in his chest when he saw the child. A banging in his head, a vague yell within the confines of his own mind. There was something in his head screaming that the child looks familiar, that he’s seen a little boy with green eyes and curly black hair before. Whose skin bronzed in the sun and freckles dotted their cheeks. And a contagious laughter that had dragged him into boughts of laughter as well. But where had he seen that boy before? Who was that boy? It was on the tip of his tongue, the letters for the name bouncing off his head like an old DVD loading screen.

“I don’t need a guard mother,” The child, Damian, looked back to his mother.

“I understand that, and while your skills are formidable for your age, you are still a child,” The woman rose her position, turning to face him. Green eyes the same color as the child but oh so very different in a way Tayir couldn’t explain. “You are to obey his orders now. Protect him with your life, understand?” He nodded and she looked down to her child. “Good. Do with him as you please, but do not kill him for amusement. Now, continue on with your studies, Damian. I shall see you again as the next assessment.”

“Yes, mother,” Damian responded watching as his mother left the room, leaving Tayir and Damian alone. The child made no acknowledgments towards him, simply moving towards the low table where his books had been laid open. “Guard the perimeter.”

Tayir and Damian had fallen into a new routine after that day. One that passed with a bit more memory recall than before. Every day Tayir would accompany Damian to his own training and classes, sparing with him in needed by instructors, guarding him from any and all threats. In the evenings though, after supper and afternoon classes, Damian would talk to Tayir like a child would. Rambling about anything that came to mind in the orange light of dusk of in the steady accompany of rain. He would speak about what he’s learned in his studies, all the places his books describe, indulging in the fantasy of what it would be like to travel there. To see the world beyond the mountain peaks and centuries old walls of Nanda Parbat.

The fuzzy image, the faded and hard to grasp picture of that other boy in his head had begun to meld with the image of Damian. And while they might not act or spoke the same way, Tayir couldn’t help but bend to the will of the green-eyed, curly black-hair child. Something was important about it, something he should know by heart. Something that was just known about it that he couldn’t quite place. Like the inherent knowledge that his blood was red and his eyes were green (but that felt wrong too, why did that feel wrong?) the child in his head was more than just vague memories and a lost name on his tongue.

It came back though. The name. His name as well. In a wave that drowned the green for a moment and quieted the voice in his head.

It was cold and rainy and they were covered in mud and dirt and bloodied to all hell. Tayir had taken Damian out of the compound in the middle of the night, his intuition waking up as the first feeling of sudden wrongness. Damian was asleep beside him, tucked under the covers with a hand holding the hilt of a blade under his pillow. He shouldn’t technically be in a deep sleep, league training having them be alert enough while resting to anticipate an oncoming attack. But Damian had found himself falling into REM sleep more often with the knowledge of Tayir guarding him while he slept.

Tayir rolled out of bed, Damian in his arms, when the near inaudible whistle of a tranquilizer dart shot towards them, embedding itself in the headboard when Tayir had been. He followed the sight line of the dart, shutting the window shutters closed before the next dart followed. There were three assassins in the mountain face near by. The speed of the dart and the distance ruled out a blow-tube so it had to be a riffle of some kind. One, he could see, had a radio. They were telling others about their failure which meant there were more around the compound or inside. They had to get out.

There were tunnels beneath the compound, ones connected to the apartments belonging to the Al Ghuls and other very important people. Tayir gathered his weapons, made sure Damian had his shoes and his own blades, before making it to the tunnel entrance. Cold wind nipped at their skin when they entered, the light of lantern doing little to help them see. Their shoes growing wet and damp as the tunnel merged with a freshwater channel that opened into a basin for the village below.

Something about the cold water felt off to Tayir. It was that same familiar pull in his stomach that happened when he emerged from the green all those days ago. A sense of rightness that calmed his nerves and steadied his mind. The freshness of the water held back the burning of the green, replacing the itch in his veins and soothing the aches and pains he’s endured from the ruthless training. He didn’t have the time to enjoy nor question why when the edge of a blade was pressed under his chin.

An ambush had been waiting for them when they left the tunnel, five men and an archer in the treeline at the end. Two of them restrained Damian, a gag over his mouth and a smaller knife held against his own neck. The leader of the small squadron spoke to them, his voice grating in his ears, but he was focused on Damian. He could hear him struggling in the assassins grasp, feet splashing in the water, growling at them as they tried to pull him out of the water. Out of his line of sight. Tayir couldn’t have that.

He ducked under the blade, sweeping the man’s feet from beneath him till he landed in the basin. Tayir stood, placed his foot on the man’s neck and threw a knife at the assassins holding Damian. The blade piercing him in the eye. The man beneath his foot, grabbed and pulled at Tayir’s robes, struggling for breath beneath the clear water. He heard Damian’s battle cry as he lunged at the other man with him, his knives clashing against the older man’s as they went back and forth. When Tayir looked back to the leader, he nearly missed the swipe of the man’s sword.

Back and forth they went, Tayir’s thinner katana against the other’s bigger short sword. Sometimes when they clashed, if it was at a certain angle, sparks would ignite. Fading back into nothing just as soon as they appeared. The water was holding the leader back, his movements slightly sluggish against the sloshing and splashing water, but Tayir had no issues. He moved through the clear liquid with an ease he’s never had before. He was sure that if he stepped out of the basin, exhaustion would drag at his limbs, a weight on sore and scrapped muscles. Tayir speared the blade in the leader, watching as the red of his blood stained the clear water.

There was a shout from the tree line and the whiz of an arrow. How had he forgotten about the archer? Green began to creep on his vision as he followed the arrow to it’s target. The tip impaling Damian in the thigh, a straight shot through and Damian’s cries of pain snapped the band of tension that had been growing in the pit of his stomach since he stepped foot in the water.

His voice scratched at his throat when he yelled in anger. Who knows how long it had been since he’s spoken, the sensation a familiar unfamiliarity, one that hurt and pulled at vocal chords that had been laid dormant since his awakening in the green. His gaze shifted to the archer in the tree. He was too high up and too far away from Tayir to reach him in time, the archer would be gone and lost in the thicket, but he needed to be stopped. The archer could call for backup, notify the enemy of their position, and gain access into the compound via the water tunnel.

Tayir looked to Damian, hands working on a tourniquet with what little he had, dripping red into the grass. He couldn’t leave the child either. It was his job, his new life’s meaning to protect him and keep him safe. And that damned archer shot him.

There was a rush in his ears as his green-tinted eyes focused on the archer. That tug in his stomach grew and the feeling of the cool water beneath him receded. It curved and wrapped around his body like a second skin, washing the green from his veins, from his sight, from his mind. Extending like an arrow towards the remaining enemy, it ran through him and twinged red as their blood melded with the water. The shock of the cold against his skin as the water returned to the basin made him gasp, clutching his throbbing head like a vice.

“Tayir!” Damian had called from outside the basin but that was not his name. It wasn’t the one his mother had given him or the one his little brother laughed. And Damian was not his little brother, no matter how much they looked alike, they could never be the same person. How could he have forgotten his little brother? How could he have forgotten Percy?

His mind came back in a tidal wave. Flooding the green and revving the once fractured mind that no human medicine could even attempt to heal. He looked at his arms, ones littered with wounds from the fight, and saw the clear water run up his limbs and mend the torn flesh. Healing him and leaving not a scar. The soreness of in his limbs had vanished, the heavy breaths in his chest gone, the blood lust and rage within his mind quieted fro just a moment as he sat in the swirling vortex of spring water.

What was he? Was he meta, some kind of water-based magic user? He would know if he was one, the signs would’ve been there since chil—they were there. All the indications of some sort of inhumane that separated both him and Percy from the others. They never got sick from the rain nor whenever they had fallen into the harbor. They would refuse to leave Bruce’s pool in the summer, spending the whole day submerged beneath the chlorine blue water, their skin never once pruning. And the most damning of all, the few times they’ve been to the aquarium, all the sea life just seemed attracted to them. Strutting form their attention, coming to the glass for them two to notice. And Jason remembers(his name was Jason! How could he forget that?) the one time he swore he could hear them talk. Their voices clear in his head, speaking with such joy and reverie that the “princes of the sea” had come to visit them.

Jason sat back on his feet, watching the water swirl around him with stripes of red from the blood of the assassins. It seemed to reflect his spinning head. His memories battling against the barely-there ones of his time spent here in Nanda Parbat. Slowly he staggered to his feet, the exhaustion finally hitting him like a truck and made the water drop back down to earth. Damian clung to the edge of the basin, little bloody hand prints dotted the gray rock and green eyes stared at him win a mix of shock, terror, and fascination.

Carefully he made his way to him, the water not affecting his stride like earlier, and inspected the wound. With one hand he helped Damian over the edge, watching the already copper tinged water develop a more red hue from the child’s’ blood. Jason snapped the arrow tip off the bolt, wincing as Damian cried out in pain as he removed the (thankfully) not splintered shaft of the arrow. He watched as the water ran up Damian’s leg, soaking the trousers as it climbed.

The kid’s breath slowly went from ragged and fast, in pain and trying to breathe through it like his lessons had taught him. But as the water mended the wound, sewing closed and running through the gap to numb the pain, his breath evened out. Dry gulps of air and a still racing heart, Damian looked at him, “Tayir? How are you able to do that?”

“I…don’t know,”he answered, inwardly chuckling as Damian’s eyes grew wide and mouth agape at his response. “And my name is Jason.”

***********************************************

HE’S BACK >:)

Did you like it? I hope you liked it.

The next time we visit Jason and Damian is gonna be fun, trust.

Thank you for reading!! ❤️❤️

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[midmourn]

drivers license

title drivers license

pairing huang renjun x gender neutral!reader

summary you don’t know how he can be so okay when you’re not.

warnings angst, post break up

word count 1308

“I hate him, but I miss him. How is that even possible?” You murmur into Karina’s shoulder, the dark haired girl frowning in sympathy as she wrapped her arms around you. A cold breeze flew through the air, making you shiver and Karina held you tighter, as if she was the only thing holding you together.

“Love sucks,” is all she had to offer. The two of you have already gone through this so much throughout the last month since you and Renjun broke up. She didn’t know how someone could love and miss and hate the same person all at once. You talked even more about the boy than you did when you were still dating. She thought it was bad enough back then, now she missed that time more than ever. She never thought she would.

“I wish …” You sniffed, feeling tears sting at your eyes. No, you weren’t going to cry. Not again. “I wish I never met him.”

Karina didn’t say anything. She was too distracted by the fact that the bane of your existence and the object of your desires all at once walked in, a familiar blonde girl walking in front of him. You heard her inhale sharply, pulling you away and grabbing your face in her hands. You frowned, looking at her in confusion as tears gathered in the corner of your eyes.

“Let’s go to a Rage Room,” she smiled, desperately trying to keep your eyes on her. She always did. “Get all our anger out there.” She then added, “Legally.”

Despite the tears, you laughed and wiped under your eyes, “OK. Let’s go.”

Karina didn’t tell you that Renjun was there, or that his eyes followed you out of the diner. She was terrible for it; but she couldn’t let him hurt you again.

After finally getting your driver’s license, you willingly drove everywhere. More often than not, you were out and about instead of wallowing in your room. Your friends would ask for rides in an attempt to distract you, but very rarely would it work. Especially when you always somehow found yourself driving through the same streets you once went to almost every other day. But instead, you weren’t the one driving back then— Renjun was.

The car slowed down as you drove past a familiar home, and you found yourself searching through the windows and yard for even a glance of Renjun. When you did, you regretted it immediately.

At the side of the house, Renjun wore swim trunks and held a pool floatie in his hand, looking behind him. Your heart soared at the sight of him in betrayal, before it dropped when you saw what he was looking at.

As soon as you saw the familiar, long, blonde hair, your foot pressed down on the gas and sped away from the house. Tears blurred your vision, blinking repeatedly to get them out as you could see as you drove. You hope he didn’t know what car you drove. You knew he didn’t.

How could he be so OK after you were gone? Did he never actually care? If he did care, he wouldn’t still be hanging out with the girl that broke the two of you up.

Your lips trembled, blinking furiously as your chest rose up and down at a pace that was concerning. A broken sob ripped out of your chest, making you immediately pull to the side of the road and park your car.

“Oh, come on, just show me!” You laughed, not understanding why Renjun was so worried for you to see the notebook in his hands.

“No! It’s embarrassing,” Renjun laughed in embarrassment, clutching his notebook to his chest tightly.

“Do you think I’ll laugh?” You tilted your head, looking at him with a soft smile. You then understood it was a vulnerable moment for him. “I won’t. I love everything you do.”

Renjun stared at you for a moment before relenting, slowly placing the notebook on the table, “OK, but … If you hate it, don’t tell me. Just pretend you like it.”

“No need to pretend,” you grin, sliding the notebook to your side of the table and flicking through it until you got to the last page that was written on. Your eyes carefully read through the lyrics, spotting your name with hearts decorated around it adorably on top. You swore your heart stopped beating for a moment before it rapidly increased in beats. When you finished, your face was blank and you didn’t say anything for a moment.

He sighed, throwing his head back as he closed his eyes in embarrassment and dread, “See, I knew you’d hate it. Why do you never listen to me—” He whined cutely, trying to change the topic so you two never had to speak about the damn song again.

“Shut up,” you cut him off, reaching over the table to grip his cheeks lightly, making him stare you in the eyes. “Huang Renjun, I love you. I love this song. And …” Your grin grew bashful, “I want us to be together forever, too.”

Guess he didn’t mean that.

For the next thirty minutes, you sobbed and screamed in the driver's seat of your car. You were sure you looked like a mess to the other people in their cars, but you didn’t care. Not at the moment, anyway.

Your crying fit was interrupted when red and blue lights shone through the car. You hadn’t realized how quickly it got dark in the past thirty minutes. Cursing when you saw the police car parking behind you, you threw your head back in frustration. It didn’t matter if Renjun didn’t love you anymore, because your parents would kill you if you got a ticket this early into your driver’s license.

You rolled down your window as the officer walked up to the car, his flashlight shining at the car.

“Everything alright here?” The brown haired man asked, glancing around inside the car before looking outside the car.

Clearing your throat, you forgot you had been crying and your eyes and face were flushed red. Your swiped at your face almost discreetly, but you knew he saw. “Um, yeah, I’m fine, Officer. Sorry, just …” You paused, unsure how to go about this. Law enforcement made you nervous. “Got some bad news.”

He nodded slowly, your eyes glancing down to his badge to read JUNG on the name tag. “I’m sorry to hear that. Alright, well … It’s dangerous out at night around here, you should get on home.”

“Yes, sir, thank you,” you forced a smile, nodding. Officer Jung stared at you for a moment before nodding once and walking back to his car. You watched him start to leave, the red and blue lights blinding you momentarily.

For a moment, you swore you could see Renjun’s face in the lights. You blinked, and he was gone. You scoffed at yourself in disbelief after pausing in shock, shaking your head and turning your car on. Were you going crazy?

It wasn’t abnormal for you to see Renjun’s face in everything. You’d think you saw him across the room, and almost give yourself whiplash trying to find him. He was never there.

You exhaled, glancing around as you came up to the street that held Renjun’s favorite cat cafe. You stopped at the red light just before you’d turn, thinking. Did you really want to drive past the cafe? Knowing you’d just torture yourself by being reminded of all the memories.

When the light turned green, you did an illegal U-turn and ignored the furious honking behind you. You sped down the street, letting out a breath of relief once you were away from the street.

You’d just find another way to get home. Even if it was longer.

sour masterlist. main masterlist.

[skeleton-mischief]

always have been a big fan when people write the reader as something else instead of a human, like an avian or a ghost.

can we get a siren reader? Like perhaps the skele’s house is near a huge lake or ocean and one day they hear a sirens song in the distance (Please add killer sans, he’s my bbg)

OOOOH I LOVE WHEN THEY DO THAT TOO!! I imagined Killer being with a Ghost reader because I'm honestly just a sucker for that vibe. However!!! Per request I shall indeed write a siren reader x killer just for you with the sweet treat of it being a pirate version 🫶

Please enjoy my awful attempt at it :-)

CW: a storm causes him to nearly drown, so I just wanted to give a heads up

It's terrible and quite embarrassing, honestly. He lives in the middle of the damn ocean yet he never learned how to swim? Killer knows how stupid it sounds, but acknowledging it while drowning makes him feel even worse.

A storm, quick and sudden ravaged the ship as waves crashed against the deck and licked at the edges like a hungry beast. The others had attempted to control the ship while others had gone inside to hide from the rain and sea, but he just had to go and attempt to save one of his fellow crew mates. He has always sworn up and down that he doesn't care for the others, too apathetic for their feelings and too careless for consideration. And yet, there he went, proving the others and even himself wrong.

He had just managed to haul them up from the side, pulling his weight in order to sloppily yank them back on board. Of course though, the sea demanded a meal, lapping it's cold and harsh tongue against the rim and pulling him backwards as the ship swayed to the side. He barely had time to take a breath, squeezing his eye sockets shut as his weight was yanked from beneath him.

If he managed to survive this, which was unlikely, of course, then he would never hear the end of it. Hah, he had to admit that sounded much better than this though...

His ability to hear anything up above was severed as soon as his body started to sink, black ink pooling from his eyes as his sockets burned with involuntary tears. He did his best to look up, the dark blue and green waves swishing his body like he was going to be nothing but backwash. He could feel his chest tightening with a desire to breathe, but he knew better than to gasp for air. He did, yes, but his body still caused him to almost involuntarily inhale sharply as salty and disgusting sea water filled his mouth.

He hacked back coughing, and only then did he start to struggle as he could see through the dark current that his eyelight was glowing as he was bombarded with panic. He thrashed and kicked, screaming as he didn't know what else to do other than exhaust his own body like a fool. That's what he was best known to be, after all, a fucking fool.

If he had bothered to look anywhere other than up, maybe down perhaps, then he would've seen the glowing eyes watching him with outstretched claws. But alas, the waves tired his body out twice as quickly since he had already swallowed down so much water, and his consciousness was climbing desperately to remain. Kick your legs forward, push your body beneath your hands, use the tides to your advantage to go up for air, do somethi-!

.....

______________________________________________

He wasn't conscious for long, a ragdoll tugged down by those clawed hands just as quickly as his consciousness was swept away and the ink from his eyes blurred his face like watercolor too wet until the paper tore from below.

You, of course, watched the ordeal and witnessed it without much thought. This happens often, you thought, but never before have you seen a living skeleton. How fascinating! His body worked similar to a human too, how peculiar. Sadly, he was about to flat out die from drowning by the time your arms pulled his body close.

You let out a low, clicking sound as one of your clawed fingers traced an outline along the corner of his socket and down his cheek. What a strange creature, oozing with ink that reminded you of a squid when he was a skeleton. Then again, seeing such odd things always piqued your curiosity. You didn't want him to die.

A small hum escaped you as you aggressively dug your hand into your satchel that you always carried with you. Pulling a small, blue pearl like orb between your fingers, you shoved it down unceremoniously down his jaw, thumb pressing it down to pop it inside and promptly shutting his mouth shut to keep the substance down. Sure this was less elegant than you would've preferred, but if you didn't act quickly he'd genuinely drown.

You heard the sounds of sparkling inside of him and with a satisfied coo, you wrapped your arms around his chest and pushed hard into his bones until you saw his eye sockets shoot open and cough out water. He seemed to still be disoriented, but now he had that water out of his system thankfully. You kept him wrapped up in your arms as you swam with ease, diving down low as you saw his consciousness blinking in and out with his eye lights.

They were pretty, bright....

Dismissing that, you decided that you like this strange skeleton enough to keep him, so you would wait until the waves calmed down before putting him back up. You only had a limited amount of pearls, after all. However, this was going to be a struggle by how his eyes happened to find yours before shrinking. Quick, maybe a smile will help?

______________________________________________

What is the strange taste in his mouth? Why is he awake? What has a hold of him? Oh my stars it's fucking huge! Oh it's genuinely so big and long this isn't a shark or a fish??? And and and it has an upper body of a human-esque figure and oh they're kind of pretty and scary with such bright and glowing eyes despite the sharp teeth and wait actually it's still terrifying just fucking great. He's struggling and the creature won't let go and it's dragging him somewhere oh stars it just bared its teeth at him-! There goes his consciousness again.

______________________________________________

By the time he woke up again, he felt something heavy laying on top of him. He felt sand beneath his bones as it irritably found its way into the cracks of his bones and he had to blink away the blue of his vision as he saw that the sun was just barely rising along the ocean waves. It must be dawn, he concluded dumbly, or maybe sunset? He can't tell.

What he can tell, however, is that the weight on his body has shifted and he's now face to face with....oh.

You were...scary. Kind of?

What lay on top of him was a curled up sea creature lazily draped over his body, large and strong. Tied to an upper body that resembled almost a humanoid figure was a long, thick tail as it flicked partially in the water as the tides rose and fell along the beach line.

Your flesh wasn't made of scales, per say, and by the coloring he could see how it blended right into your upper body. Dark hues of blue with a hint of green undertones blended together to a sort of tabby style of pattern down the center of your tail. Your hands looked to be dipped in the same gradient with their own webbing and fins along your elbows, and as he looked at you, those same hands seemed to be caressing his cheek as your eyes watched the glow of his soul that promptly seemed to be unsteady as it visibly trembled on his chest.

A siren.

He stared at you, saw your pupils dilating as you made a low, repetitive trill. You haven't eaten him yet, and you seemed happy to see that he was awake. Where was he?? Why haven't you killed him?? Where was his crew? Your jaw opened to show sharpened teeth, but what came out was what resembled a melodic chime of....delight?

He couldn't understand you, and as he sat up, your body slowly moved back along the water as you dipped down for what he assumed was some air before you rose back up, splashing some water over your tail and upper body. You pointed to him before chirping again, but he could only cock his head to the side.

"H-haaah-....I'm sorry, I can't understand you. Did you....save me?" It couldn't hurt for him to try and speak to you, sirens could understand the common language, right? You seemed to perk up at his words, a gambled sound of speech blurting out of you. He winced at the sound, which only made you falter. "Ah-...sorry, I didn't mean to offend you by that." He was quick to apologize, a smile plastered on his face as he tried to save face. He didn't want to offend his savior, especially if you were capable of eating him.

"Y-yEs." You tried again. Better. Okay! Okay he was getting somewhere! "Do you know what happened to my ship??" "F- F-...LoaT." "Float? So they're okay?" You nodded your head, grinning widely. He promptly fell back on the sand in relief, sighing as he grasped his chest. "Okay....oh thank the stars..."

He laughed, and he didn't particularly understand why. Maybe he was relieved to the point of laughter, even if he already wanted to know how he could get back to them. But right now, he felt exhausted. Maybe though, maybe you would help him get back? Unless you intended to keep him, which wasn't ideal. Killing him would just suck, and killing you would leave him stranded and alone. He could think about that later though. He was a guy that needed a break from too much stress, even now in such a serious situation.

Never the less, he felt your hand resting on his arm as you hesitantly cooed at him, tilting your head at him curiously. He looked at you again, then back down at his soaked and torn attire. His white blouse was torn, pulled out from his black silk pants and one of his leather boots missing. His sword was gone too, which sucked tremendously. Any jewels he wore must be gone somewhere deep in the blue sea, and all that really remained somehow was the ring he wore on his phalanges. Thank the stars for that.

It was a custom ring that glinted bright, a sigil decorated by the captain himself. If he were to lose that? Well...he doesn't want to think about that. He felt a tugging on his shirt, flinching slightly with a wavering smile when he turned his head to the side. You were staring at him, faces near inches away from his own. He tried not to freak out, but instead he just adjusted his head back a little with a small laugh.

"What?"

You just stared, not saying anything, before you smiled. "...hAppy?" "Happy? Am I happy?" You nodded your head. "Well, I guess...I want to go back home to the others though; back to my crew, y'know?" He answered honestly, rolling his sleeves up as he rolled over on his side before rubbing his skull. You offered a reassuring pay on his back, running your fingers along his spine as you nodded your head. Maybe you would help him? "Let's not think about that now! Actually...let me check somethin'...."

Without looking at you, he patted himself down, trying to check if he had lost anything else. Maybe his sword was gone, but what about-.... "Ah- Hahaha-! Yes!" He cursed, cackling, before abruptly jerking his head towards you. He saw your confusion, but he simply grinned even wider, pulling the very small and intricate blade from his tucked in and hidden pocket. Hey, you never know when you need an extra blade, right?

"I found my knife," He promptly stated, proud of himself for keeping something he liked so much. You sort of just- blinked at him. However, you offered a confused, sort of disoriented sound of acknowledgement, so that was something.

He looked around his surroundings once more, and with great effort, he stood up finally. You stared up at him, your tail flicking once more. He, openly deciding to ignore his problems, finally clapped his hands together and spoke with confidence. "Why don't we get something to eat, hm? Does that sound good to you, pearl?"

______________________________________________

Closing Notes: I've been busy with stuff and I kinda didn't know how to end things, so I apologize if it's kinda bland or at least notttt my best writing. I hope you enjoyed it @alexsorsis 🫶

[firefirefruit]

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Thirty-Six

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

writer's notes: HEY! I'M BACK! I'm graduating for my BA soon, FINALLY! Being so busy and coming back to One Piece and writing has been such a refreshing and welcome feeling; I'm really glad to be back. I'm so excited to finally post a new chapter for you all! I wrote an extra long chapter to make it up to you guys for all the time I've lost, and truly, I hope you enjoy this one as much as I did writing it. PLEASE don't forget to reblog, like or comment, as that helps me a ton in terms of support! Enjoy <3 c:

Chapter Thirty-Six: Dragon Taxi

The echoes of exhilaration reverberate against the crumbling walls of the Draconian citadel, turning every curious dragon’s head in a thousand-mile radius. The beasts pause, mid-flight, wings aflutter before their proud chests like a halo of glittering thorns and observe.

Raya continues to scream, breath after breath after breath, her fingers rooting painfully into the metallic back of Aragnus, in the fear of slipping off. The wind rushes straight into her throat like heavy bullets, her dark hair wildly jumbling up into waves in midst of the ceasefire. Her fingers accidentally brush past his glittering scales, and she can’t help but laugh as each of them flitter in response to her touch. It’s been so long since the last time she’s felt happy – so happy, she’s intoxicated with the feeling and conveniently forgetful of the worries she normally harbours onto like a masochistic blanket.

Aragnus swerves into a harsh right, speeding through the airborne traffic of his fellow brethren; Raya glances around, and for a moment, it feels like time slows down. Her eyes raise upwards, her soft lips parting as she slowly lets out a breath. Beautiful, elegant creatures swerve on each of her vulnerable sides, the curved silhouettes of their bodies singing sweetly into the marrow of her bones. Colours – so many colours, she thinks passionately to herself– glint across their metallic talons, making them look so incredibly heavenly to her plain human eyes.

Without warning, Aragnus plunges upwards.

The obsidian beast drives her upwards like a slinging comet, his tail glowing hot white in reaction to the force of the pressure, before he lowly chitters in what could only be described as teasing as he takes the sight of his dishevelled, frightful passenger.

She accusingly stares back at his large, glossy eyes, shouting against the deafening atmospheric pressure. “What was that?”

He swerves his head away from her gaze. A presentation.

She laughs. Her whole body gleams to the bubbling drop in her stomach, and for a second her fingers seem to be swimming in a pool of glitter, her eyes blurring from the extreme dryness of the air. Her hair, wild and dark and present with palpable energy, begins to ascent above her shoulders in a pool of glow and she doesn’t know what to do besides scream to express her joy.

And then she hears it. The unanimous startled hum of the thousands of dragons within this enormous citadel.

Instantly, Aragnus slows, humming out a rough breath of endorsement. He treads air, facing his kind and offering them a look satisfaction.

Good, he mutters to himself.

“What?” Raya asks. She hesitantly pats his back. “You can keep going, I’m not against you wanting to perform, my little taxi.”

Aragnus scoffs enormously as a spark of fire exits from his snout. Please refrain from calling me transport. Besides, I think we have played quite enough.

“Alright, but…” The next words dies on the tip of the swordsmith’s tongue as she looks around, staring at the view as Aragnus soars them to their destination.

The way the tunnels and entrances are split off from the centre citadel are similar to ant colonies, she remarks, fascination bubbling in her eyes. Aragnus soars through one of the hundreds of tunnels present, gliding effortlessly in the embers of the fire.

When they arrive, Raya doesn’t know what to say.

Where they are now couldn’t be described as anything else but majestic in a wild sentiment. With eight towering boulders equidistantly set in a semi-circle, the rest of the cavern is empty except for the humongous platform in the centre. But Raya notices something – etched across the platform is an array of thousands of claw marks, so imprinted into the rock’s surface that Raya somehow felt the desperation and fear of the many who stood there before her. Raya can’t help but wonder what had happened to the owners of those marks.

Seven other dragons, similar to Aragnus’ enormous size, but not as broad as he, begin to slow to their descent onto each of their designated boulder. One yellow, the other red, and a glittering green all begin to snort in what sounded like chittering excitement – and for some inexplicable reason, it makes Raya’s blood run cold.

She swallows, now feeling incredibly distrustful of her taxi ride. Her brown eyes scan for his, yet they’re unable to reach them as they remain focussed ahead.

“So,” Raya casually says, desperately trying to steel herself from feeling the panic rising in her stomach. “Am I being publicly executed, or what?”

But Aragnus doesn’t respond.

Raya swallows. “I asked you a question,” she slowly enunciates, staring down at the dragon who now graces them onto the clawed out platform.

Calm yourself. We shall explain in mere moments.

She swerves herself away from him like a jerk reaction, now completely alarmed by his response.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

A scream echoes against the walls. Usopp, distraught, comes running through the entrance.

“Raya!”

Her head snaps towards her crew, her brain slowly taking in each of their panicking faces. A frightened Chopper, Usopp and Brook – they gape at Raya, who dumbfoundedly stands alone and vulnerable on the crumbling platform with eight looming beasts carefully tracking her movements.

Luffy, Sanji, and Franky – even she can feel the heat of their concern from miles away.

Nami and Robin.

“What…”

Nami is at a loss for words; her eyebrows are knit together with dread. Robin’s eyes cautiously flicker around the room, most likely trying to figure the situation out.

And, finally, a manic Zoro.

Her eyes lock onto his almost out of second nature, holding his gaze for a moment longer than the others. He’s silent – way too silent for her liking, as he darkens almost instantly when he sees her standing there, all frozen.

There’s a madness in his eye, that’s without question. His fingers instantly snap onto his hilt, furious veins protruding out from his scarred skin.

Then, everyone collapses onto the floor, shouting. A sudden wave of intense pressure invades their minds, their hands clawing at themselves in desperation. All thought and reason exits from their heads as they ground their knees deeper into rock.

We, the eights, call all forth. We, the eights, call all forth, multiple voices – masculine and feminine alike, resound heavily, echoing in clusters of hypnotising thrums in everyone’s thoughts.

Instantly, Usopp screams. He has his hands over his ears, his fingers clawing at his ears, his eyes, over and over with no thought but intense agony. Raya gasps as she remains the only one standing.

Even Luffy is on his arms and knees, but instead of screaming, he remains eerily still.

“Can you—” Bepo grunts out, lagging behind the Strawhats through tangled vocals. He stumbles over his own feet, Law immediately grabbing him by the shoulder. “Am I going crazy? Can you hear that?”

“Yeah,” Law says, raising his fingers as the blue circle around him merges outwards to absorb the incapacitated. He looks at Raya with pursed lips, deep concern shadowing his face. “It’s most definitely the dragons.”

A large swarm screeches in the distance, their wings billowing through the hollow colonies of caves like a thunderous harmony. They grow nearer and nearer to her judgement, making Raya worriedly twist around to stare at the great eight dragons.

Raya furiously swerves towards Aragnus, who now takes a graceful position on largest boulder of the eight. “How are you doing that? How are you speaking to them?”

Merely, the dragon’s eyes narrow. You think very little of us, caller.

“Raya, are you alright?” Sanji calls out, his teeth gritting hard in his jaw. “What the hell do they think they’re gonna do to you? I’m gonna beat the shit out of them, I swear.”

“Shut it, cook,” Zoro snarls maliciously, forcing himself onto his feet despite the pressure that slams thickly into him. His lips twitch from the pain, but instantly he erases the expression from his face. “You’re making things worse.”

He begins to unsheathe his swords, but Raya raises a hand at him with a fiery glare.

“No. Don’t even think about it.” She soberly looks at Aragnus. “I’m going to handle this.”

Suddenly, Zoro laughs out loud, his dark grey eye bulging with a sudden rush of insanity. His voice rises to an alarming level of anger - barely ever occurring for the swordsman in question which catches Raya off guard.

“Do you know what kind of fucking situation you’re in right now? What they’re gonna do to you?”

Luffy instantly snaps his head towards Zoro, his face darkening. “I’m not letting that happen.”

“Stop it, both of you. If she’s not asking for your heroics, then you don’t intervene.” Nami snaps, grabbing both of their arms.

“But—"

With an ear-splitting whoosh, the swarm now appears soaring through the room like screeching bats, shrouding the cavern into complete darkness. They soar behind the great eight, poising themselves in what seems to be crafted like a crude amphitheatre clawed out of stone. Thousands of beady eyes slink on her, watchfully gazing on their prey.

She bristles at their stares, causing her to gain more courage than she should be granted in a predicament like this.

“Why am I here? Is this some sort of morbid entertainment? You want me to fight till the death?” Her voice rises, staring each of the great eights down. She glares at the centre of the eight, onto the proud, towering Aragnus. She mutters lowly, “Because I’ll fight. Don’t think for a second I won’t.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Zoro madly yells, struggling to free himself from Robin’s impenetrable hands.

Aragnus merely chortles. It sounds like you have been bloodthirsty for much too long.

Zoro freezes. “I swear to fuck, Raya, don’t do anything-”

Raya swallows. “I’m parched.”

The samurai curses so loudly, his voice echoes again and again within the infinite chamber.

Then it will be an honour to aid your palate.

And he swerves towards her, his serrated obsidian claws ripping out from between its armoured skin. Zoro, finally bouldering himself out of Robin’s grasp, immediately tries to charge towards her, but Aragnus is too quick.  With one single flap of his wings, he musters enough force to throw the swordsman flying in the air. Zoro hurtles away like an asteroid from such intense pressure that even heavy-bodied Franky has to slam his fingers into a boulder to stop himself from flying away.

Crack.

The sound of multiple bones painfully breaking apart envelops the space.

Moments pass. Silence.

There’s a deep hole made in the wall, rock crumbling over like heavy rain, with no sight of Zoro.

Nothing.

Raya’s heart stops. Her face falters.

“What the fuck,” she mumbles through clenched teeth, “was that?”

Aragnus twists his head and takes a slash at her, but she dodges it almost immediately. He pauses to smirk at her.

A presentation.

Her breath comes out unevenly, the blood in her body rushing to her head in intoxicating patterns.

She swallows, fury consuming her as she says the next few words.

“I want your fucking head.”

Instantly, she unsheathes her longsword and strikes at his throat. Aragnus merely snaps his jaw at her advance, but that doesn’t stop Raya. She takes this as an opportunity to strike again – and strike, she does, as she spins herself around so magnificently and proceeds to slice the tip of Aragnus’ tongue.

Aragnus roars in pain. He claws at her again, but, again, it’s blocked, and she swears that now the metal sprouting from her skin begins humming to the blood that flows from her anger. This is exactly how light would feel like, she thinks quickly to herself, as she slams her longsword towards the distressed beast. The metal hums. Her blood thickens. Pure light flows. Glowing deliciously through her cache like fire, like dust, like power.

Raya, Aragnus roars, Granddaughter of the glorious. Niece of the burning. Kotetsu’s truth. You do not know who you are.

“Totally, because, like, I’m brilliant by association, right?” Raya mocks, tilting her head at him and twirling her hair. She scoffs, spinning her longsword across her shoulder to her hip, then piercing it into the ground before her. “Learning such plain facts about me is nothing but kind of… disappointing, to be honest, Aragnus.”

Is that so? The dragon drawls humorously. Then, I ask you to look at yourself. Look at your hands. Your hair. The metal in your skin. Do you know who you are?

“And who do you think you are, my behavioural therapist?”

The dark dragon spins instantaneously, his spiked tail thundering against the floor like a spinning boulder. Raya screams in a blend of pain and exhilaration, her fingers glowing brighter and brighter, her sword vibrating aggressively in her palms. She swings with an overarm, aiming her longsword across Aragnus’ metallic spikes – albeit instead of hitting her mark, stumbles before she does. The dragon thunders a claw onto the platform, splitting the rock into thin, crumbling veins.

You do not know of your true birth right, true or false?

Raya bristles at this. She screams out like a manic beast, completely taken over by her feral instinct. “Hey, how about you shut the fuck up and just fight me?”

Her arm strikes right in between nail and metal, slicing through impenetrable skin with ferocity and finesse. Her hair, flowing above her shoulders, moves as if it’s fire raging beneath a body of undisturbed water.

Instead of roaring, Aragnus only growls in what sounds like positive approval.

Who is your mother, Raya? He pesters. Who is your father? Who do you think you are? Look down at yourself, or I will make you myself!

Before Raya can even react, Aragnus hurtles towards her like a shooting star and slams her to the ground. The air blasts out of her lungs in an instantaneous explosion, her bones beginning to split from beneath Aragnus’ claw, and she cries out.

“Stop!” Luffy screams monsterously. His eyes flash and bulge with madness, with the agony of watching Raya pathetically lay there like that. But he can’t help, as Law continues to hold him hostage in his blue room. Luffy swerves around, slamming his fists on Law’s chest. “You fucking moron, that’s my crewmate!”

“Luffy, wait…” Brook mutters softly as he presses a bony palm against the blue wall. He stands there at the commotion, frozen.

Law doesn’t react to Luffy’s multiple attacks on his arms and chest, his fingers still raised in the air. His eyes are completely focussed on her. On… On who is supposed to be Kozuki Raya.

“Turn around, Mugiwara,” he says. “Look at her.”

Luffy falters. He spins around.

Aragnus pushes her head harder, forcing her eyes to lock onto her own body.

Look, I say.

Raya freezes in her position as she stares at herself. It hurts. It hurts to even look. Her eyes burn like they’re about to melt out of her face.

No. Surely this isn’t the power granted by her devil fruit.

This…

Aragnus poises himself upwards and lets her go, slamming his claw against the rock before her.

You shine. You melt. You release the metal from your veins that blossom like apples on a tree and glow with the power of a thousand consumed souls.

It’s gold. Glowing, beaming light. So bright her retinas are burning and the metal in her skin is melting in liquid silk. Raya stands with silver liquid webbing across her pulsating, golden form. She is ethereal. She is everything consisting of tan skin, golden light and silver steel. Breathing does not matter to her anymore. Her life is only in blinding colour.

Again, the beast charges at her; Raya screams, jumping out of her trance. She, too, charges forwards, and like a shooting asteroid, clashes her whole being, her sword, her arms, and her forehead, against his protruding nails.

You think a mere fruit offers you this? He chortles through his snout. No. This is in your blood. You were never altered. Your heart beats – yes, it has always beaten - with wrath.

“Then who am I?” Raya thunders, and with that burst of anger, a shining light pulsates around her form, forcing her crewmates and allies alike to cover their eyes.

Would you like me to show you?

Immediately, Aragnus soars into the sky and he moves in the most impossible way.

He begins spinning. He spins his entire heavy body like a tabletop turner. Slowly, at first, he moves as if to show off himself in his chromatic, gleaming splendour, twisting and twisting and twisting around until all fall in trance to the wonder of his existence.

He then gains momentum, swirling faster and faster until the dragon becomes nothing but a blur -a dagger-shaped blur - aiming right towards her crew. Raya’s eyes panickily flicker towards them, until she realises that the dragon’s shadow is not hovering over their path, no.

Instead, this looming, heavy beast has his beady eyes tracked on someone else. Tracking straight through the wide, human-shaped hole in the wall, spinning so furiously he turns into a shade of black, he’s found the immobile samurai.

Raya’s wet, silver face falters in horrid realisation. Aragnus lowers his dagger-shaped head, and into a curved dive, allows the rest of his body to elegantly ripple after him.

That was the absolute to Raya’s already manic breaking point, as the blood in her body begins to rush in an impossibly fast momentum throughout her, defying the biology of her simple human body. With one step, she lifts herself off the platform, grounding the rock beneath her into dust, before screaming out a battle cry and shooting into Aragnus’ line of sight.

It’s bright. It’s too bright.

In the corner of her eyes, all she can see and taste and smell is of pure, pulsating light. It consumes her, burns her - lungs, heart and veins alike – until she is nothing but an orb of metal and rock and gas and sulfur.

Her skin is made of gold. The metal that used to spike and plunder through her skin intertwines together all over her body like clasping hands, webbing her skin into an armour of light. She can’t stop screaming – not because she’s in any pain, but as if someone else has taken over her body. She can only feel the pulse of battle and the thrum of a warrior’s heart entwine into her own, her hands and arms blackening into a dark metallic splendour.

She clashes against Aragnus with the entirety of her being, and with an ear-piercing shatter, combusts everything and anything around them into matter of darkness and suffocation. A black hole expands from her hands, formed through the consumption and explosion of her own self, before it fragilely disappears back into herself.

A moment passes, her manic and bulging eyes locked onto the monster’s, before the dragon snorts and pushes himself away.

Everything goes silent. Franky’s body lays protectively over Chopper and Usopp, his robotic eyes wide in panic at the swordsmith. Law’s chest heaves, his fingers trembling before him as the blue orb around them flickers in hesitation. Luffy’s mouth doesn’t seem to be working, his eyes shadowed with a pure shade of Gear-five-purple.

And then, something clicks.

Raya and Luffy stare at each other as if they’ve only just met now.

What is this feeling? A yearning to embrace, to fight, to magnetise, to be whole.

Zoro grunts out loud from beneath the rubble.

Raya’s head instantly snaps over to his voice, staring at the man who lays immobile on the ground through the hole.

He does not even dare to look away from the brown-eyed woman, even as he’s paralysed, leaving himself broken and vulnerable in her sight. Raya’s throat goes dry, dread rushing through her.

Aragnus then releases a head-splitting roar, swerving through the air between her and Luffy.

My brethren, he starts, we see them again. We see Nika, the first half of the Sun, the caller of seas, the God of Liberation.

He turns to Raya, and then does the unexpected. His head slams into rock in some sort of deep, eternal bow, his breath fluttering out in humiliating submission.

We see Cyra, the other half of the Sun, caller of ours, the Goddess of Retribution.

[saltsicklover]

Part Eleven

Title: Once an Asshole, Always an Asshole

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2800+

Rating: R

Warnings: Swearing, Tobacco, Mentions and descriptions of eating, generalizations about people in CA, Bob tells a lie.

Second Chance Romance!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bob Floyd, or anything related to Top Gun Maverick within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

---

When the sun finally crests over the horizon, it brings white, fluffy clouds with it. The light smell of cherry tobacco lingers in the air inside of the house, like fingerprints left behind a the scene of a crime. 

When Natasha rose that morning, she crinkled her nose at the unfamiliar smell. It travelled with her from the hall and down the stairs. There is something unsettling about it and the way it ghosts over the inside of her lungs- like unshared secrets and old coffee rings. 

Sunny finds Natasha flipping pancakes, her back to the rest of the room as she works. The scent of the pancakes takes over the room, but Natasha still finds it difficult for her shoulders to relax, to pull her senses from the foreign smell in the air. 

"Good morning, Nash," Sunny hums, trying to cover up a yawn. Natasha replies with her own greeting, stacking a fresh tower of flapjacks onto a plate. She offers it to Sunny, who takes it with a gentle smile. 

The sun is streaming in through the large bay window at the back of the house, leaving spots of pure sunshine warming the hardwood floor. The curtains wave in the gentle morning breeze, the ever present smell of saltwater rolling in with it. The scene the two women find themselves in is beautifully domestic. Though the thought never crosses Natasha's mind, it makes Sunny think of home. 

It's the breeze she misses the most- crisp and fresh, blurring cold over her skin. She misses the feeling of pulling her large jacket closer to her body on chilly mornings, hiding in the warmth hidden between the stitches of the fabric. She misses wearing jeans in the summertime and the need to wear boots. 

Most of all, Sunny misses sneaking into the high school's pool to watch the swim team practice before school. From the way the humidity in the room would ease the gooseflesh that broke out over her skin from the walk in, to walking to class with Bob those first few months of freshman year- before everything went wrong between them.  

She still snuck into swim practice every morning, even after Bob decided to throw away their friendship. She used to claim it was because it was routine, something that she was used to doing everyday. She would say that she hated breaking routine, that she thrived off of it, when in reality, she was there to see Bobby. 

Of course she was- because she never gave up on him, even if he gave up on her. 

"How'd you sleep?" Natasha questions, drizzling her own stack of pancakes with syrup. Sunny sits down at the bar top, pulling herself up in to one of the stools. The syrup is passed along with the tray of butter, the quiet of the morning more present than not. 

"You know exactly how my night went," Sunny chuckles, wagging her fork in her best friend's direction. Natasha shoots her a questioning look complete with furrowed brows and a tilt of her head. 

"Who else would've brought me back to bed this morning, you goober?" Sunny shoves a forkful of food into her mouth, a bit of butter smudging itself to the corner of her mouth. 

"Sunny, I don't know what you're talking about," The giggles leaving Natasha's lips are soon covered up by a fork full of pancake. Sunny is not convinced. 

"You know exactly what I mean," Sunny chides with a roll of her eyes, "I got locked out of my room sometime in the middle of the night and I guess I must have fallen asleep in the hallway. You unlocked my door and brought me back to bed,"

Sunny speaks like it's the most obvious thing, with a shrug of her shoulders. She continues to cut into her breakfast, not thinking too much about it. 

Natasha thinks over her night, positive she wasn't the one who put Sunny back to bed. Then, a small smirk creeps over her lips. She leans over the bar top, bringing her hand up to Sunny's face. The other woman stops mid fork lift, making eye contact with her friend. Natasha swipes the smudge of butter from the corner of Sunny's lips.

"What's the last thing you remember about last night?" The grin on her lips is growing by the second. She pours two cups of coffee into mugs. They are plain in decoration, just dark blue in color. She noticed this morning when she pulled the mugs from the cupboard that Bob's mug was gone from it's usual place. 

"You mean besides falling asleep in the hallway?" Sunny's words are met with a nod. She takes another bite, chewing slowly as she gets her thoughts together. 

"I crawled into the back of Bradley's car and fully passed out. Between the long drive in yesterday with Jake and the flight with..." Sunny's voice trails off at the end as the pancakes in front of her become the most interesting thing in the room. 

Natasha leans her body against the counter top, a knowing smile adorning her face. "I didn't bring you back to bed last night," Her voice is quiet but easily heard in the quiet of the morning. Sunny pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, rolling the fullness of it gently before letting is slip back out. She continues this action as she tries to piece together her next thought. 

"Bobby," Phoenix almost misses the word between the clinking of Sunny's fork on her plate and the quiet creak of the steps. Sunny stares down at her plate, her forehead resting against her knuckles, completely lost in thought. 

She doesn't notice the creek of the stairs or the way Phoenix pushes herself from the counter and busies herself with her own plate of food. She doesn't notice the way Natasha tries to hide her smile behind her mug of coffee as she brings it to her lips or the way she sighs over the top of it after a moment of holding her breath. 

---

When Bob wakes, his thoughts are still tangled up with images of Sunny. From the way his shirt fit over the frame of her body, slightly clinging to the curvature of her hips, to the way she looked with her head pressed to his shoulder. The look of peace had been sculpted into her features and Bob couldn't seem to get it out of his mind. 

The craving for tobacco eats at his chest, his palms a bit itchy when he focuses too hard on it. He wants to reach for the silver case, to smoke another cigarillo and feel the way the tendrils of smoke caress his lungs, but he doesn't. Bob knows he shouldn't smoke inside, even if it's in his own room, in his own home. He knows that if Phoenix ever found out she would kill him. 

First of all, she doesn't know that Bob is a smoker- hell, he became good at covering his tracks the moment he stepped foot in California. 

In the eyes of the average Californian, Bob is the enemy. From his accent that sticks out from those of the coast, to the way his clothes fit. They hate his uniform and what it stands for. They hate his boots almost as much as they hate his flight suit. They hate the truck he drives and the plane he flies in- both too consuming of fossil fuels. And, maybe most of all, they hate the fact that he smokes. So, he started hiding it. It wasn't like he was living a lie or denying the fact that he may or may not enjoy tobacco a little too much, he just wasn't exactly forward about it. 

So Phoenix never found out about Bob's little habit. 

It became a small moment for Bob to steal away from himself. Usually in the dark veil of the California night, under the blankets of smog and darkness, Bob could take a walk and smoke until his the thick, overwhelming feelings from the training day fade into nothing more than the past behind him. 

But since Sunny walked back into his life, he wanted to smoke as often as he wanted to breathe. It isn't for the nicotine that would buzz under his skin or the way the smell of cherry would cling to his clothes. It isn't even the fact that she's there with him now, right across the hall. Instead, it's the desire to go backwards in time- to the part of his life where he would smoke a cigarillo before swim practice and watch as she would pull into the parking lot of the school. He would wait there just to catch a glimpse of her, to see the friend he threw away- to see the girl he loved.

He wants to smoke now. The tingle of the nicotine would mingle with the butterflies in his stomach that came from the sight of her and everything would feel just as it used to; he would feel sixteen again. 

Bob pulls himself from the prison of his bedsheets. They are coated in sweat, sticking to his already clammy skin. He didn't sleep well, the evidence of his tossing and turning laying in darkness under his eyes. 

Today, Bob pulls his clothes from the back of his closet, the forgotten garments of his past. Jeans that are worn in, in just the right places and faded to match. He pulls his belt through the loops, taking notice of how his thighs fill out the legs of his jeans more thoroughly than they used to. When he pulls his Carhart t-shirt on, he notices how the sleeves strain a bit around the fullness of his biceps, much like his uniform top does. 

Once Bob is dressed, boots and all, he brushes his teeth as quietly as he can in the bathroom, afraid of waking Sunny up with the sound of running water. He can feel the itchiness of need in his palms again; he pushes the his toothbrush so hard against his teeth that his gums bleed. 

He doesn't bother to style his hair, instead, he plops his hat atop his head as he heads for the stairs. He takes the stairs quietly, but a gasp from the kitchen stops him in his tracks, the stair creaking under his weight. 

"What is it?" Sunny looks up at Natasha, over her hands. Phoenix's own hands have come up to cover her now gaping mouth, her eyes wide with surprise. Then, her lips quirk up a bit, and her hands lower just a smidge, enough for Sunny to see the smile blooming in real time. 

Natasha's eyes trace over the shirt that is hanging over Sunny's frame, her gaze lingering over the US NAVY crest that is center on her chest. Her mind is brought back to what Bradley said yesterday, "I also threw some of your clothes from the dryer at the end of the bed for her." Suddenly, Natasha doesn't feel guilty about drying her clothes with the load Bob had left in the dryer. 

"Nash? What is it?" Sunny asks again, her hands dropping to her lap. 

"That's not my shirt," The words leave Natasha's lips like they are the most obvious thing in the world. Like Sunny would have known that the shirt she had pulled on in the middle of the night, that Bradley had left at the end of the bed for the other woman, wasn't hers. 

Natasha walks around the counter to look at the back. Sure enough, the words "NAS LEMOORE" are printed large across her shoulders. Natasha's smile only grows in size, like the Grinch's heart on Christmas. 

"What?" 

"That's not my shirt," Natasha says again, with more confidence and knowing this time. She shrugs her shoulders as she rounds back around the counter. She takes another bite of her pancakes.

"Who's shirt is it then?" Sunny asks, her voice a bit defeated. She already knows the answer. 

"Bobby's" The smirk is evident in her voice, Sunny doesn't even have to look at her face.

"Of course it is," Sunny rakes her hand down her face, letting the weight of it pull at her cheeks. 

"It looks good on you," Natasha compliments, again like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

"Thanks," Sunny's voice falls flat, "For it being Bobby's it sure doesn't smell like him." 

This time it's Sunny's turn to say something so out of pocket like it's not. Natasha quirks an eyebrow at her before leaning across the table. Sunny leans forward and pulls at the excess fabric of the shoulder, bringing it towards her friend. Nat takes in a deep breath, trying to pick up on anything different about the garment. There are traces of leftover perfume on it, no doubt from Sunny's skin, but other than that, it smells exactly like Phoenix was expecting it to. 

"Oh shit," Sunny mumbles, rolling her eyes, "I guess he never told you either, huh?" 

"Told me what?" 

"That he smokes! God, for being his friends, you guys really don't know Bobby. I was just talking about this exact thing to Bradley yesterday! He didn't know about the smoking either!" Sunny is laughing now. "God, even your house smells like the tobacco he smokes, and you didn't know!" 

Sunny can't stop the laughter from bubbling out of her and the sound does little to quell the frustration that is rising in Phoenix. 

"Hell, at this rate I could probably tell you exactly what he is going to wear today with more accuracy than a carnival psychic, and you'd be taking a shot in the dark!" Sunny is cradling her stomach, now cramping form laughter, as she chokes the words out between heaving breathes. 

"You wanna bet?" Natasha asks, her pride getting the better of her. 

"Absolutely," 

"I'll go first," Natasha leans across the table, making a show of tapping her finger to her chin like she is thinking. "Well, he's off work today, and he always wears the same thing when he is off work, so I am going with Khakis and a nice button up shirt."

"Khakis?!" Sunny busts out in another fit of uncontrollable giggles, "Khakis, fuck, Nash, you are going to kill me if you keep that shit up," Sunny runs a knuckle under her eye, wiping away a tear that is threatening to fall down her face. 

"Jeans, probably faded around the thighs, and a t-shirt since it's warm out. Boots, and a hat, for sure. Can't forget the cowboy hat," 

"Cowboy hat?!" It's Phoenix's turn to burst into laughs now. "Robert Floyd, in a cowboy hat? That's a fucking picture," 

"It's what he wore everyday in school, except when it got cold. I remember he had this awful green sweater that had all of these holes in the knit near the collar. God, he wore that thing all the time, but one thing for sure is he always had his hat!" Sunny drags a finger over her heart, crossing it. 

Bob looks down at his clothes, smiling to himself. Maybe it was his subconscious, dressing like he did while they were growing up, or maybe it was fate, but Sunny was right. 

"I guess we will have to wait for him to come down and see," Phoenix says, the end of her sentence more forward than the rest. 

"Yeah, I guess," Sunny shrugs, turning her attention back to her now room temperature plate. 

"Yeah, he always gets a cup of coffee around this time," Natasha draws her words out a bit, trying to make it clear that she knows that he has been listening in. The creak of the stairs gave him away.

So, Bob takes a deep breath, adjusting his hat on his head before walking down the rest of the stairs.

"Hey, Phoenix, I am going to head to base, I got'ta pick up a couple things, do you need anything?" He asks, rounding the corner and entering the room. The cool air blowing through the kitchen meets Bob's already red cheeks, the feeling welcome against his warm skin. 

Phoenix all but drops her coffee cup at the sight of him. She eyes him from hat to boots and then back up again. Her mouth hangs open for a second before she catches herself, a whisper of 'oh my god' leaving her lips. Bob just stands there like he is on full display for the women, his large hands buried in his pockets.

That is a reaction Bob was ready for. 

Sunny looks over her shoulder, a small, knowing smile dancing on her lips. It's gone with a hitch of her breath, almost as soon as he sees it. It's replaced with a sadness swimming through her glassy eyes. He swears he can see the expanse of their entire relationship flickering just behind her irises, gray toned and faded like old film. It is short and bitter, just like the bile creeping up the back of his throat. 

That is a reaction Bob could have never prepared for. 

TAG LIST @harperdoodle

[lemonyinks]

Acrophobia and The Nightmare

A Lyle oneshot

1252 words

Lyle wasn’t sure which came first: the phobia or the dream. They were both something that had always been there, lingering ever present in the back of his mind for as long as he could remember having conscious thoughts. 

In the dream - more accurately, the nightmare - he would be free falling. 

Hands of an indistinguishable size, shape, and colour reach out to him as an unfamiliar voice, different every time, screams his name. He tries to reach back, but his limbs are weighed down by the same rushing air that robs him of his words and breath.

It whistles through his ears like the howling of a monster or the scream of a siren. Its loud shrieking is like a warning, like death herself was calling out to him as he fell into her embrace.  He is left helpless, eyes wide with terror, as he rapidly approaches the ground below.

He never knows how close or far he is to the ground, the distance changes every time he has the dream, but the anticipation of the impact is the worst part. The fear grows, the desperation rages. He pleads and pleads for the hands to reach him, to stop his demise, but he always knows he is going to hit the ground no matter what. 

That is always the outcome.

He gains speed as he gets closer and closer to the end of the fall. His heart, high up in his throat, beats as fast as a hummingbird's wings. 

He tries to close his eyes everytime, but everytime he is unable to. Instead, he is forced to watch. Forced to watch his paralyzed limbs struggling to move. Forced to watch the colours blur and shift. Forced to watch the hands reaching out to him growing smaller and further away until finally his body meets the ground.

The loud crunch of his body colliding with the ground (he never knows if it's grass or concrete or metal or something else underneath him) is something horribly unnatural that haunts him even in his waking hours. The pain is unbearable and all consuming like a thousand flames eating away at his being. 

He is still unable to move his head from where he stares up at the mockingly blue sky, vision swimming nauseatingly, but out of his fading peripheral vision he can see his twisted limbs. There is blood pooling rapidly around him, the thick crimson coating everything in the vicinity until he lays in a sea of it.

He lays in agony as his vision fades in and out.  Blood soon begins to choke him, his chest spasming as it bubbles up his throat and spills out of his mouth in quantities greater than a body should be able to produce. He’s drowning, his broken and mangled body struggling to keep itself alive on instinct even though he begs it to stop.

There's no more hands, no more voice calling out to him, no spectre trying in vain to save him any longer. He is alone and he is cold. He tries to move, to close his eyes. He can’t. Eventually his vision fully fades, the pain subsides, and he dies. Alone and scared.

When he was younger he would wake up every night screaming and crying, almost always tangled up in his blankets or having fallen off of his bed and onto the cold ground, which never failed to make him panic that much harder.

In the beginning, His parents would come into his room to comfort him, but as the years went on they grew too busy to be home much and he would wake up to an empty house. Those nights were the worst, and he barely slept a wink during period of his life. 

Things got a little bit better once he started staying with the Foccarts while his parents were away. He loved sharing a room with Jacques, it was nice to have another person in the room with him at all times. He always did feel horrible whenever he inevitably woke Jacques with his screaming, though. Not that the other boy would complain, he would just sleepily pat his back and tell him it was alright until the two of them fell back to sleep, but the guilt was still there regardless.

Eventually he grew accustomed to the fear and the pain of the nightmare, and while he would still wake up full of terror, he would do it much quieter. When he was asked about it, he would claim that he no longer had the dream, that it had faded away with his age. It was a burden that he didn’t want to force onto others, a weakness he didn’t like sharing. 

The phobia, however, was much harder to hide.

He could barely go up a flight of stairs or look over the second story railing without his knees going weak and shaky, his heart climbing high up into his throat as his lungs spasmed in an attempt to take in oxygen. Tears would well up in his eyes entirely against his will and he would squeeze them shut as tight as they would go while he tried to tame the twisting nausea in his stomach.

There were more than a few times when he was young where he either threw up because the fear was so great, or he had to be carried the rest of the way.

It was embarrassing. 

He felt a sinking sense of shame every time he stood near an edge, glanced out of a ship window, or climbed a particularly tall flight of stairs with a banister he could look over and he felt that fear grip his very being all over again.

He tried, oh how he tried so very hard to get over this fear, but the thing about phobias is that they are hardly logical things. No matter how much hard reasoning or exposure therapy he subjected himself to, it did little to help.

When Querl’s abandoned alloy floated past him that fateful day during the Legion’s infancy, he had felt a surge of hope. He poured hours into his experimentation and creation of the legion flight rings. He was giddy with pride when they worked the first time he tested them and actually managed to hover a few feet in the air instead of crashing to the ground after jumping from his testing table.

Truthfully, the flight rings did help to reign in his fear just a little in the end. At the very least he had a semi-reliable guarantee that he would not be plummeting to his death anytime soon even if he should slip off of one of those horrible, unforgiving heights. 

The fear was still there, though, floating around in the back of his mind like an unkillable parasite. The dream never did go away either, and he was left lying awake each night he didn’t spend passed out in his lab dreading closing his eyes. 

So, he holds the banister a little tighter than the average person when he’s climbing high stairs. He stands as far from the edge as possible on raised platforms, uneasy eyes ensuring that he’s not too close and trying his best to mask the way his knees tremble. His eyes never stray towards the wind whipped windows of ships in motion.

He twists and turns the flight ring on his finger, praying to whatever higher power may be out there that it won’t fail him in his time of need.

He can only hope that the nightmare isn’t an omen.

[lionlena]

4. Too hot (JaviGxreader) - one-shot

The fourth one shot of one shots week.

Summary: It's hot... too hot, and your loved one has chosen the worst weekend to spend away from an air-conditioned villa. He'll have to help you get through this.

Warnings: none, just fluff

You loved Javi. You really loved him. But sometimes you hated him. Or rather, his obsession with Nicolas Cage movies… and his obsession with movies in general.

This obsession has led you to your current situation. It was blisteringly hot all over Spain, and instead of sitting in an air-conditioned villa or in a swimming pool, You were standing on some goddamn hill and dying.

But why?

Because Javi decided to spend the weekend showing you where some movie was shot. At this point, you really didn't care what movie it was.

You watched with blurred eyes as Javi waved his hands in excitedly.

"And right there. Standing right there, he said..." He stopped suddenly and looked at you carefully. "Mi amor, are you listening to me?"

"NO!" You groaned in tears and just sat down on the ground.

You've had enough of everything. You were already so tired and you just discovered that you ran out of water. Javi immediately knelt down beside you and gently cupped your face in his hands.

"You seem so hot."

"Because it's hot," you gasped and pushed his hands away.

You didn't want to act like a spoiled child, but you were really tired. Javi looked at you sadly. And oh my god… Those eyes tore your heart apart. He looked like a kicked puppy.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I love your passion for movies but... I really don't feel well and your hands are too warm."

Javi nodded. "No, I'm sorry, Princessa. I should take better care of you. Let me fix it."

He got up and held out his hand to help you up. You thought you'd pass out on the way to the car, but with Javi's help, you made it. Javi turned the car's air conditioning on full blast and took you to the little house you'd been renting for the weekend. Of course no air conditioning.

Once inside, Javi immediately led you to the couch and said, "Sit down and relax. I'll take care of everything."

He covered all the windows, turned on the fan, and brought you cold juice with ice cubes. You sighed in relief and stretched out on the couch. You closed your eyes and felt Javi lay down next to you and you winced. You pulled away from him a bit and groaned.

"What's the matter, honey?" He asked.

"Your body is too hot," you murmured.

He winked at you and said, "Normally you don't mind."

"Normally I'm not one step away from heatstroke."

Javi sighed heavily and kissed you. "I have an idea," he said. "Wait here a minute."

"I'm not going to move," you replied.

Your boyfriend ran somewhere. You thought about it for a moment but finally closed your eyes.

A few minutes later, Javi came back to you. He was wearing nothing but his boxer shorts and his cute curls were wet. You felt that his skin was cool as he hugged you.

"Javi," you murmured. "Did you take an ice-cold shower?"

He chuckled lightly and pecked you on the cheek. "Do you like it?"

"Very much" you purred.

You hugged him tightly and ran one hand through his hair.

"Now finish what you said on the hill. Tell me about that scene."

You immediately noticed how his eyes lit up with excitement. You really loved him… Even if he nearly made you die of heatstroke.

Tag list: @creedslove

[jurijyuu]

Scratch an Itch Chapter 30: Tinnitus

Link to full chapter on AO3

Alastor’s POV

Heated anger burned in her eyes as she gripped onto the chain around her neck. They watched him with boiling venom, betrayal, disbelief and a sense of displacement swimming in the once affectionate pools. How hideously they glittered, tainted in the green of his magick. He smiled like they were the most amusing things in the world.

“Well then, I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow. Bring your appetite, dearest. I’ll make sure to make it delicious.” With a single clap to end this unpleasant encounter, the chains disappeared and he walked away from the scene. The dull thud of knees hitting the ground was distressing but he resisted the urge to turn back. He would at least give Ynna the decency to process this new grievance he’d dealt her in private.

So he walked. And walked faster. Hah. Why was he walking? Why waste so much time? Haha. How silly of him when he had magick at his fingertips. Shadows embraced him with cold tendrils that whispered things his mind couldn’t grasp, too distracted by a distant screeching in his ear. At his command, they brought him to his home, his true home in the bayou, the one that was supposed to bring him the most peace. Yet as he tread across the old creaking floorboards, everything felt muffled and hazy. Amidst the blur of the familiar, he felt displaced. Everything, from the ringing in his ears to the dust floating in the unmoving air, felt wrong.

So very wrong. 

Everything had gone so incredibly wrong.

He threw himself onto the old worn out couch, its fraying threads and worn leather catching him as he splayed upon it in a daze.

I hate your fucking guts.

I hate your fucking guts.

I FUCKING HATE YOU.

The words tore through his ears and his chest with the ferocity of a chainsaw, lethal, painful and leaving a mess of a man in their wake. How could she say that to him? After all they’ve been through? After all he’d done to win her back? The finality in her tone paired with the vitriol she spat so easily in his face had been devastating in a way he’d only felt once before, when he’d been told to prepare his mother’s funeral. 

Something snapped in his mind. A line had been cut.

This was the end. All of the carefully, preciously fostered affection between them, thrown away within the span of a few careless moments. Each step she took from him, another nail in the coffin of the first love he’d ever found, a bond he never even thought possible. This wretched realization clogged his mind and choked his lungs. It was over. It was over. Screams. Something was screaming bloody murder in his ears. Painful and tortured, an anguished cry but it sounded nothing like the serenade of a hateful wretch’s demise at the tip of his knife. 

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up! 

She was walking away from him and he needed to think of something. Something! Anything to keep her. He couldn’t be without her. He couldn’t lose someone precious again. Why wasn’t she turning around? 

Stop. Stop. Stop!

Click.

The magick manifested quickly enough, born of hasty reflex, made heinous by ravenous desperation. By the time his mind caught up with his actions, the damage had been done.

Heated anger burned in her eyes as she gripped onto the chain around her neck. They watched him with boiling venom, betrayal, disbelief and a sense of displacement swimming in the once affectionate pools. How hideously they glittered. How much they loathed him. But she couldn’t walk away from him anymore.

A grin split his face, a wretched ugly thing.

[benev0lence]

but with you, I see hope again

pairing: logan sargeant/oscar piastri

warnings: anxiety attacks

genre: angst/fluff

word count: 590

notes: hey, so this is my first official fic. I hope you enjoy it though! also on ao3

requested: no

“I’m sorry, guys.”

It was just a practice session, yet the remorse from it stung like salt to a wound for Logan.

No, the pain he felt couldn’t even be compared to salt on an open scar. It was like he had been thrown into a deep pool, and he couldn’t swim out.

P20. P20 for qualifying, and he couldn’t even improve his time with another fresh set of softs.

Logan exhaled shakily, letting the mask he put on in public drop as he slammed shut the door to his driver’s room. He wasn’t going to let the media, the fans, the haters know that he was not in his best shape at the moment.

P20. What a disgrace, only in Formula One because of backing money.

Why is he even in this sport? Latifi deserved the seat more than him.

Williams should have taken Nyck de Vries as soon as possible instead of this waste of grid space.

The echoes. Logan’s heart was racing. He inhaled deeply once more, exhaled, but as if he was drowning, the air got knocked out of his lungs immediately, but not like when he was in love.

Logan Sargeant shouldn’t deserve to race at all.

He raised his clammy fists, rubbed them on his face despite his muscles protesting, not even noticing that cold sweat was already beading at his eyebrows. He breathed loudly, fast-paced, savouring every bit of oxygen that was able to enter his lungs, which wasn’t much to him. Once again, he didn’t notice that this time, tears were already flowing down.

He let his brain then wonder to why he can’t be as good as Oscar. Oscar, who went into almost every stage of life with him. Oscar, who was always with him. Oscar, who did wonders this qualifying, being able to drive so fast he got p2 and p1 at points in time. Oscar, who he needed next to him right now, needed his embrace.

James isn’t defending you because he wants you to stay in the team, it’s because he wants to keep his reputation.

A sob tore through Logan. The echoes were getting more and more loud, more overwhelming, so loud he didn’t hear the sound of his driver’s room door clicking open, and when he did, he didn’t even bother looking up.

“Benny,” he muttered, grinning a bit, trying to find that lost mask that he had just dropped minutes ago, but not even bothering to look up.

It wasn’t Benny.

“Logan…” That voice.

A blur of orange emerged, kneeling in front of him. Logan’s cheeks were still wet with tears, tears that couldn’t seem to stop flowing.

“It’s okay, breathe, breathe” The calming voice muttered, a pair of warm yet strong arms enveloping Logan’s body. Another sob, and another, as Oscar ran his hands through Logan’s hair softly, in a way that did help Logan feel better, but he was still trembling.

“Logan, it’s okay. It’s okay. James isn’t going to get you replaced, it’s okay.” Oscar whispered into Logan’s ear, pressing a soft kiss to Logan’s temple, in hopes of calming him down. His slate nomex was being stained by Logan’s tears, but he didn’t seem too bothered by it.

Oscar’s warmth was comforting, comforting enough to slow down Logan’s hyperventilation. He held Oscar tighter, burying his face into the brunette’s neck. His tears lessened, as Oscar pressed his lips onto Logan’s messy blonde hair.

“It’s okay” Oscar whispered. Logan knew it would be, as long as the two of them were together.

[mochiwrites]

so I know I said I was taking a break from writing but I edited the first chapter of my last life au and I decided everyone needed to be subjected to it. so here’s a snippet of my fic! now with added pain!

————————— read the full thing on ao3!

Grian won alone.

He doesn’t feel like a winner.

He doesn’t even want that title.

The guilt is eating at him. Why? Why is he the one that survived? The point of all of this was so that Scar could win! That’s why Grian stayed with him!

(He won’t admit to himself that there’s more to it than that. He won’t admit to himself that somewhere along the way his feelings changed. No longer was he staying by Scar’s side out of guilt or obligation. Without Grian even noticing, Scar grew on him. Scar broke through his walls with his ridiculous yet charming nature, and Grian found himself wanting to stay with Scar because he wanted to see him win. Because somehow, somewhere, Grian’s heart had been swayed and stolen. Somewhere, he had fallen in love.)

For a moment, he’s angry. He’s angry at the blood lusting ghosts for demanding a final fight. He’s angry at Scar for letting him win, for making him win. Frustrated, bitter words lay on his tongue as he turns around to admonish the man, emotions getting the better of him.

Only to turn and be met with his corpse. Blood pools around Scar’s body, bruises littering his face and chest. Grian had been throwing punches wildly.

His stomach lurches, and he covers his mouth again. Copper fills his nostrils, heavy and thick. “Oh… I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, but there’s no one around to hear him.

There’s something that eats at him, that takes one look at Scar’s dying body and deems it wrong. Grian feels as if he’s going to drown in the feeling, and in the smell of copper. It clings to his nose, fills his mouth until it is all he can taste. His hands twitch with the need to make it better. To create a better sight. For Scar or his guilt, he doesn’t know. But he wants, he needs something to settle the feeling clawing at his chest.

With near desperate movements, Grian’s hand dives into his pocket. His fingers curl around something soft and silk like and when he puts his hand in front of his face, six little petals sit in the palm of his hand. Four petals of poppies, and two lilac. These are the only remains of the flowers Scar had given him, found in the rubble of their home atop the hill.

He gulps at the sight of them, vision blurring with tears as he fights them back. He doesn’t deserve it. Even as memories fill his head, and a shy voice is whispered by the wind, “Can we still be friends?”

Looking back at Scar, Grian walks over to him. With more and more tears filling his eyes, and as guilt bites at his chest like a rabid animal, Grian squats down beside his partner. He gently sets the petals over his chest, pressing his hand against Scar’s rapidly cooling skin.

He keeps it there for a moment, if only to feel Scar’s skin against his one last time.

Grian forces himself to tear his hand away shortly after, standing up. He stares down at the petals on Scar’s chest, wishing he’d see it expand with air again.

It doesn’t. The petals don’t move. They’ll be blown away with the wind eventually.

He tears his gaze away, instead surveying the desert around him. His blood is rushing in his ears, making it hard to hear. His head swims as he stands still, looking over at the rivers of lava throughout the desert.

Grian’s eyes settle on the cliff face.

This desert isn’t a home anymore. It’s vacant, empty. Pointless. His home doesn’t exist, not without Scar.

He walks toward the cliff.

“Scar, I’m so sorry!”

“I’m sorry too!”

The desert is unfamiliar, morphing and twisting into something dark and unwelcoming. It has become a monster of Grian’s own creation. It has become something that Grian has ripped apart with his own two hands. Something that once brought him warmth is now cold and barren. The desert is a shadow, a weak imitation of what it once was.

He stands on the ledge.

He wonders what was going through Scar’s mind during all of this. What was he thinking? Does he hate Grian for being the one to survive? Is he at peace, having been the one to die? Does he hate Grian for killing him? Does he hate Grian for ruining their home? Or is he happy with the way that things have gone? Grian supposes he’ll never get to know.

He shuts his eyes and jumps. A breeze sweeps through. The petals on Scar’s body are swooped up with the air.

[storytowrite]

Love Untold (OT8 x F! Reader)

Chapter 7

Paring: Jeongin x reader

Genre: angst

Warnings: threats, panic attacks, bullying, swoon, sprain

Word Count: 3103

Masterlist

Due to the work of your parents, you are forcet to constantly move. However, this time moving houses let to interesting and unusual events. You met 8 handsome boys at school and somehow you managed to move in with them. How will your fate go?

.......................................................................................................................

Once you got home, you rushed to your room. You cuddle up to your favorite stuffed animal, to control your emotions. Your grieving was interrupted by a knock on the door. Sebastian entered the room, a worried expression on his face equal to steadiness.

The obviously pissed-off man wrapped you in his warmth and confirmed to you that by tomorrow everything would be sorted out in detail, namely that it occurred there.

Believing in Sebastian's words, you can finally rest from that day. When the man walked out from the room, you sat down at the computer and turned on the first movie you came across.

Of course it was a romance novel about a girl who fell in love with two brothers. She felt terrible about it, but she can't choose between the two. She had a feeling for both that couldn't be found. In the end, her parts of the heart were removed by her parents who moved to another country, and with them she. Her heart shattered into little pieces, and she can never handle herself the way she always did. Her sadness was interrupted by meeting a new boy who treated her like a princess.

You didn't find out what the ending was because your session was interrupted by the sound of an incoming message. You saw an unfamiliar number and immediately knew who it was from. Lee Minho…He started texting you again, and again from a new number.

You carefully grabbed your phone and clicked on the app. Your whole body went rigid as you noticed the video of the pool. You turned it on and couldn't believe you were seeing the footage from this morning. After all, there were no cameras in the pool, or at least you didn't know they were there.

You felt like you were drowning again, water was rushing into your lungs and your air was getting less and less.

Unknown: I see you can't swim. It's good to have it in the back of my mind and use it at the right moment.

Before you knew it, you were in a cold sweat and you were lying on the ground, curled up in a ball, unable to calm down. Your whole body trembled and tears flowed from your eyes.

The whole world around you turned black. You were alone in an empty room, all you could see was water pouring into the room, which was slowly getting deeper. You screamed but no one heard you, no one came to your aid. Suddenly, a figure dressed all in black appeared in front of you. You tried to get its attention, you grabbed its leg with the last of your strength. The person slowly turned to you and crouched down beside you. You saw none other than Minho. Panicked, you tried to move as far away from him as possible, but you were interrupted by the wall of the room, which seemed to shrink.

The water was already up to your knees, and you still couldn't get out of the room. You felt like you were trapped, the water was overwhelming you from every side, and the boy was standing in front of you.

"The clock is ticking and you have less and less time left to move." The boy sneered, taking another step towards you.

Your body completely refused to obey, and each subsequent breath caused you great pain. It felt like millions of tiny needles were poking into your throat.

“Don't stress baby girl, everything will be fine. Just say the word and I'll save you from here." Minho's figure slowly blurred, walking away into the depths of the black room. His voice echoed off the walls.

You were left alone… Alone in a room full of water… In a room where you couldn't see anything. The water flooded the whole room, you tried desperately to reach the ground with your feet, but you couldn't. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't float. You started to sink deeper and deeper every second, the room seemed to have no bottom… You were dying.

You were surrounded by a bottomless emptiness. The only thing you heard was a quiet, incomprehensible male voice, which became more and more clear with every second.

"Young lady! Miss! Miss!” It was echoing in your ears.

You snapped your eyes open and a strong white light hit your face. You greedily gasped for air. You were stunned, but still the terror did not leave your body.

"Miss what happened? It's good that the Lady woke up. I was very worried about Miss. The anxious butler was kneeling beside you, holding you in his arms.

"What happened Sebastian?" You asked confused, clutching your throbbing head.

“I heard a scream, so I quickly ran to the Lady's room. I noticed the Lady was laying unconscious on the ground. I tried to wake Young Lady up, but Lady didn't react for so long. I was so worried about Miss. You heard great concern in the man's voice.

“Oh Sebastian…I'm sorry to upset you.”

“Miss has nothing to apologize for, the most important thing is Miss's health. What happened? Maybe we should go to the hospital?"

"Oh no Sebastian, everything's fine. I was just too emotional today. I need to rest for a while." You tried to reassure the man. You didn't want to worry him, an added problem that was Minho. You slowly got up, swaying slightly. The butler was at your side right away, grabbing your arm and leading you to bed.

"Okay, let the lady rest. If Miss needs anything, let Miss give me a call and I'll be there right away." He assured you by placing your phone on the nightstand by the bed.

After these words, the man left the room, and your eyes went to the phone. Minho appeared in front of your eyes. This Minho who reminded you once again of the obligation to move. You decided that the only option to forget about the whole situation was to go to sleep. You laid down and closed your eyes and you don't know when you drifted off to dreamland.

When you woke up the next day, you felt much better, but you still didn't feel like doing anything in particular. Good thing it was the weekend so you could rest. You needed a complete reboot to go back to school and function.

You've been very mellow lately, and you don't like it very much. Where did that tough, sharp chick that could handle everything on her own go away? You had to get over yourself and go back to your old self. That's why you were going to work on yourself all weekend and cut yourself off from the Internet and your parents.

After a very productive weekend, it was time for another day at school. You put on a nice outfit and went down to the kitchen. You ate your breakfast quickly and walked to your car with a smile. You felt like a completely different person, you were confident and with your chest sticking out, you entered the school.

You knew you were attracting the eyes of others, but you didn't mind, and you were even secretly happy that you had such an effect on people.

With a charming smile, you entered the main corridor, where there were a lot of people, including dozens of guys. Despite the headphones in your ears, you heard loud whistles echoing behind you. You felt beautiful, and judging by the reactions, you must have looked that way too.

You immediately decided to go to the PE teacher's office to give him the exemption from PE until the end of the year, which Sebastian somehow arranged. It still didn't stop surprising you that when this guy said something, he did it.

“Sir.” You knocked but heard no answer. “Sir!” Your voice was a little firmer and definitely louder, but you still didn't get an answer, so you decided to enter the room.

You swung the door open and walked confidently into the PE teacher's room. The room wasn't too big. There were a lot of posters and diplomas on the walls. Most of which were Chan, Felix and Minho's names.

You wondered if they were the same ones as you met, but you didn't believe it. Well, except for Chan, who you know swims, or rather swam.

Taking advantage of the man's absence, you looked around the room. You couldn't get over the amount of cups, medals and other trophies laid out in various places.

Your eyes, however, stopped on a modern laptop standing on the coach's desk. Curiosity ate you mercilessly and you couldn't resist to check what was on it.

You slowly and carefully opened the lid of his laptop. Your whole body was filled with great excitement, but also a certain anxiety.

You felt like you were in an action movie where the teacher could walk into the room at any moment. To your surprise, the laptop was not locked.

As soon as you saw the first thing that showed up on the screen, you were stunned. You never expected what you saw there. On the coach's laptop, there were plenty of pictures of a half-naked or naked girl who was bullying you. These were definitely not photos taken secretly, but selfies sent specifically to a person. You clicked on the file with the name "playboy bunny" and discovered even more interesting things. It was a video of your bully getting naked in front of the PE teacher.

However, you don't know what happened next, because you quickly turned off the video. You definitely didn't want to know how it ended.

Suddenly you heard the sound of the door opening, you quickly closed the laptop and stood in front of the desk. The teacher entered the room, apparently pleased, with a slight problem in his pants. Immediately behind him entered your hated girl, also just as cheerful.

As soon as they saw you, their smile disappeared. The man crossed his arms over his crotch, trying to pretend that nothing had ever happened here.

“Y/n what are you doing here?” The man started extremely calmly, but you could see that he was very confused.

“I just came to give my PE waiver. Here, please, I put it on the desk and leave now." You smiled insincerely at both of them and quickly slipped out of the room.

Before you left, you turned to the two standing like pillars of salt in the room and you bit your lip lightly. You now had a wonderful plan for if that chick bothered you too much. You took a few steps away from the office and let out all the air in your lungs.

The rest of the class passed pretty quickly and calmly. You started to like the school more and more. You even managed to make new friends: Daisy and Cameron. The girls were twins and had wonderful personalities. They were loving, helpful and a little crazy. Just like you.

With the sound of the last bell, the three of you went to the locker room, which was located in the basement. As you were walking down the stairs, you felt something hit you hard on the head. You turned around, and you couldn't expect anyone else. Your beloved bullies have arrived… All five.

“You whore!” Victoria screamed.

Thanks to your new friends, you found out that the 5 girls who get on your nerves all the time are school bullies who belong to Minho's funclub and are crazy about him. You also found out their names. The leader was Victoria, who believes that every boy in school is hers. Camila and Minjae are sisters, such assholes who follow Victoria step by step. And there were Edna and Sunny, who joined the group recently and still didn’t know what they were doing in it.

"And what are you trying to say? Is it pressing on your brain again?" You started out calmly, not getting carried away.

“How dare you hit my Minho? Only I can touch him, and the most you can do is clean up after him." Still indignant, she grabbed you by the shirt.

You looked at her hand and slowly looked up at her with already slightly annoyed eyes.

"Let me go." You spoke in a low but firm voice. You were completely serious and didn't hesitate a bit.

Both the group of bullies and your friends stood by you and watched. Bullies with a crooked smile on their face, and Daisy and Cameron with horror in their eyes.

"And what are you going to do to me?" The leader asked, mocking you.

“Heh…I'll tell the whole school what you're doing with the PE teacher.” A victorious grimace formed on your face.

For a moment, you noticed in Victoria's eyes, great fear and anxiety, but it was quickly replaced with nothing but anger, and even fury. The girl swung and you felt a strong slap to the face.

All the hustle and bustle of the school ceased, as if everything had stopped. The eyes of the students were on you.

You put your hand to your burning cheek and you knew it was the inflammatory factor, you knew you were about to lose your temper. A group of bullies laughed victoriously as they congratulated and cheered their group leader. Your friends, on the other hand, were talking to you, but you weren't listening. All your attention was on Victoria.

Without thinking twice, you ran over to her and grabbed her by the hair. A scuffle ensued, each of you giving the other no respite. The jerks and punches became stronger, and the screams of the crowd grew louder.

Daisy and Cameron ran down the stairs, probably in search of some teacher to separate you, and the rest of the bullies didn't know what to do with themselves. They stood like idiots, trying to somehow join the fight.

You didn't give up, you felt battered and you knew it was going to be bruised, but you couldn't stop now. You pulled away from each other for a moment, wanting to take a bigger swing to land a stronger blow.

But before you could strike, Camila kicked you in the stomach. It wasn't a hard kick, but it was enough to knock you off of balance. You took a step back trying to get back. However, your foot didn't hit the floor, it slid down the step.

You started to fall down the stairs, bouncing hard. Unfortunately for you, the stairs were quite long and you were rolling around for quite a while. Despite everything, you tried to keep a safe position, protecting your head.

You stopped at the end of the stairs. When you opened your eyes, you saw the face of a young-looking boy. Your faces were inches apart. You felt his warm breath on your cheek. Your eyes met, and you felt the familiar warm feeling in your stomach again.

The boy had beautiful light brown eyes and beautiful pink-blonde hair. The boy's appearance stunned you. You felt like you were hypnotized by him.

Only after a while, when the teacher approached you, did you realize that all the gathered people were standing above you and looking at you with curiosity.

“Can you get up Y/n?” the teacher asked anxiously, crouching down beside you.

"Yes, I'm fine." You reassured the adult and leaned on your hand, trying to get out of the boy's hands. A piercing scream of pain escaped your lips. Everyone moved closer to you, including your saviors.

“I guess something happened y/n though. What is it about?" The worried teacher continued.

“My wrist hurts terribly, I think I sprained it. I'll go to the nurse right away to check it out." You said getting to your feet.

"I'll go with her to make sure she gets to the nurse." Said the boy who just saved you. His voice was melodic, charming, and very memorable.

He smiled at you and you both walked towards the nurse’s office. You passed between people efficiently, and the boy protected you so that no one accidentally nudged you.

"Thank you for catching me." You broke the awkward silence between you with a genuine smile.

"You have nothing to be thankful for. It's my pleasure to help a pretty girl like you." He replied, lightly scratching the back of his neck.

A bright blush appeared on your face. "Thank you." That's all you managed to get out of yourself.

“I'm Jeongin but everyone calls me IN.” He smiled, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you closer to him. Pushing you away from the group of people who were walking on the other side.

Your eyes immediately turned to the boy, but he was completely unmoved, staring straight ahead. You felt lots of butterflies in your stomach.

“I…I'm Y/n nice to meet y…you.” Slightly flustered, you tried to keep up the semblance of logical thinking.

Fortunately, the nurse's office saved you. You both walked in and sat on the couch. When suddenly the boy got a phone call. He quickly picked it up, smiled at you and left.

You waited there alone, looking around the room. You were getting a little bored and the nurse was nowhere to be found. The office door had opened and you expected to see a well-known woman, but instead Han Jisung was standing in front of you.

You could see he was running because he was all out of breath and sweaty.

"Han? What are you doing here? Didn’t you have classes today?" You asked surprised as you stood up.

The boy just walked over to you, grabbed you gently by the shoulders and looked closely at your whole body.

“Are you okay except your wrist?” he asked. There was nothing but concern in his eyes.

“I'm fine...wait...how do you know about the wrist?” You asked suspiciously, raising one eyebrow.

“Jeo…” But before he could finish, a nurse entered the room.

She told you to lie down on the bed and Jisung to leave the room as she had to examine you carefully for any other possible wounds. Fortunately, apart from a slightly sprained wrist and bruises, you were fine. The woman bandaged your hand and you went out into the corridor in search of Jisung and Jeongin, but neither of them were there anymore and the school was deserted.

You called Sebastian, who came quickly to pick you up as usual, and you drove home.

<- PART 6 | PART 8 ->

TAGLIST

@nobody3210