#Nera Writes

[neraawritesxx]

"You keep having strange dreams that turn out to be us in a past life and you’re determined to fine me again but in this life I’m already dead" Sasusaku or Kakasaku or whatever you'd like! Your writing is always spectacular ❤️

title: âme sœur pairing: kakashi x sakura; sasuke x sakura word count: 6,409 a/n: so you asked for either pairing and i figured why not give you a little bit of both. you reallllllyyyy hit the angst train on this one, anon. i hope you enjoy!

It starts as colors.

A warped picture of gray, black, and green.

Then it progresses; becomes more vivid. Those colors blend and bleed together, forming a silhouette of a man she knows is her soulmate. His face eludes her in her dreams, but she is sure that it is him. He visits her every night with vague memories of touches and a soliloquy of soft words that wrap her up like a blanket.

Sakura wakes every morning with a flutter in her chest, and idle praises still whispered along the edges of her consciousness. It stirs a deep longing that cannot be eased, as though half of her heart is still missing.

So, she dates. It’s what people do before meeting the one they’re destined for; it’s common practice. Some people never meet their soulmates, or others meet them late in life. Some have platonic or familial soulmates, but she knows hers is romantic. The emotions stirred within her could be from nothing but. It takes time, and Sakura is anything but patient, but she throws herself out there and hopes for the best.

It’s a struggle at first, as she does not imagine herself with anyone else, but after a while, she meets Sasuke Uchiha, and it’s perfect.

Everything seems perfect.

Sasuke is the epitome of what a soulmate should be. He’s polite, confident, and excitable, but he doesn’t seem as eager as Sakura to start dating. She is the one who asks him out first, and Sasuke gives her a slightly distressed and confused look, but then it suddenly vanishes, and he smiles, and then the rest of the world falls into place.

Except, it doesn’t.

Disquiet settles into Sakura’s bones despite everything working out as it should. Sasuke is everything someone would want in a partner; he gets along with her friends, he cooks most nights, and given her hectic schedule, he spends what free time he can making sure their plants are watered, and the apartment is clean. He’s doting and caring, and his reserved personality compliments Sakura’s outspokenness.

But, the dreams don’t stop.

Sakura dreams of more gray and green and black. Of sweet, succulent words kissed into her skin, and a feeling of love so resounding that it almost makes her want to cry. So why, if Sasuke is here, is she still having soulmate dreams? Why dream of the person you are meant to be with when they are right in front of you? Sasuke fits the mold, the description; he should be the one.

She wakes one night in a cold sweat, a scream caught in her throat. Sasuke lays next to her, softly snoring, ignorant to her distress. Her dreams have become more resound, sharp. She can make out the face of the figure in her dreams with striking clarity.

Sasuke is not her soulmate.

-o-

They’re in a war zone, fighting for their lives.

Blood and sweat are coating her skin, but all she can focus on is him.

Her hands glow green as she presses them to his chest, and she can hear the screams from those around her, but she can’t help them right now. She huddles closer to his wounds, calling his name like a prayer – the only prayer she knows.

His eyes flutter, and she cries with relief. “Stay with me, Kakashi!”

He groans in response, and Sakura helps him up, one arm thrown around his back, the other placed in the middle of his chest, continuing to heal the two intersecting gashes that reside there. She tucks herself close to him, enamored by the sight of him, alive and well.

“How do you feel,” she asks softly.

At first, he grunts a non-committal response and steadies himself on his own two feet.  “Better now, thanks to you.” He takes a long breath, then another, before pulling himself away from her. Sakura tries not to frown at the loss of his warmth.

“Come on,” he says, beginning to walk towards the fray of bodies. “We have to go help the others.”

“Right behind you, sensei,” she confirms before following him into the battle.

-o-

That morning she’s a little more than excited; she’s jubilant and joyful, dancing around their kitchen with her favorite coffee mug in hand while Sasuke is cooking breakfast.

He notices the change from her traditional morning mood but doesn’t immediately comment. It’s only when she starts to hum off-key while digging into her scrambled eggs that he mentions anything.

“You seem happy this morning. Good night’s sleep?” Sasuke questions.

Sakura smiles until her eyes crinkle. “You could say that,” she replies coyly.

She finally got his name.

-o-

Sasuke is in one of the dreams. It’s odd to see him there. A deep sense of sadness washes over her as she stares at him, but it’s like a piece of the puzzle that has been missing for so long has finally clicked into place.

He looks the same, yet different, hair wild and about, a dark cloak around his form. There’s something wrong with his eyes; they look like something out of a nightmare, one purple with rings around the iris, but the other is its ordinary charcoal, and he doesn’t look like he is in pain, so she doesn’t question it. He is calm and talking to her, thanking her for believing in him all this time. Dejection crosses her features when she tells her that she has to stay, and he needs to go, to find himself out in the world.

Her soulmate is there, standing ever the silent guard, watching their interaction.

It’s not long after that Sasuke takes his leave, but before he goes, he pokes her forehead with two fingers, a gesture of goodwill, then sees himself off.

When he is nothing but a blur on the horizon, her soulmate – no Kakashi – turns to her and says, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she replies, and honestly, she is. She is better than okay; she is complete. She has the closure she needs to move forward from this chapter in her life.

Kakashi looks at her with doubt clouding his expression, but she does not let it weigh on her. Instead, she grabs his hand, squeezing it tight, and starts to drag him back towards the entrance to the village.

“Come on. Naruto wants to meet us for lunch!”

-o-

“Do you still have dreams?” Sakura suddenly asks.

The conversation between Ino and TenTen slowly dies away. All three of them rarely have an afternoon off, and it’s even rarer that their schedules line up to allow them to try the new sandwich shop that opened up downtown. Tenten looks at her curiously, while Ino, meal now long forgotten, seems perturbed.

“Like in general?” TenTen asks. “Or are you talking about something specific?”

Sakura’s cheeks flush under their twin scrutiny. “Like soulmate dreams. Do you still have them now that you found yours?”

Ino and TenTen share a look that has Sakura answering her question before they can. Of course, they don’t have soulmate dreams. They found their soulmates around the same time Sakura insisted she found hers. Everything recorded about soulmates states that dreams should stop after you meet them.

“Did you ever see past lives?” Sakura follows up her question quickly.

Ino places her fork down and cocks her head to the side. “Forehead, what is this all about?” She looks concerned, and Sakura’s stomach twists uncomfortably. She grabs the napkin next to her tray and starts picking at the frayed edges, distracting herself.

There’s a prolonged silence, and only when it’s clear that Sakura is not going to answer does Ino break it with a sigh. “No, I don’t dream anymore, and yes, I did see past lives. In one of them, I owned a greenhouse.”

Sakura snorts, nerves temporarily forgotten. “Why do I find that very hard to believe.”

Ino could barely keep a goldfish alive, let alone a room full of plants. The blonde flips her ponytail over her shoulder, “Believe it, Forehead. You’re talking to the bona fide ancestor of a florist.”

TenTen rolls her eyes. “I’m pretty sure I was a martial artist in one of my past lives. I remember seeing a dojo and a strange man who I think was my teacher. He had the worst eyebrows imaginable.”

All three laugh at that, their mirth trailing into a companionable silence. TenTen starts to dig back into her sandwich, but Ino stares at Sakura, questions lingering in her gaze.

“Is there something you want to tell us, Sakura?” The blonde asks, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Sakura that Ino has foregone her favorite nickname.

“It’s just,” Sakura starts and then suddenly stops, exhales, and backtracks. “No, it’s just something Tsundae said on shift yesterday. Got me thinking about a couple of things, and I just wanted your opinions.”

Neither looks like they believe her lie, but no one presses her on it, and for that, Sakura is grateful.

“How’s Neji? How’s Sai?” Sakura inquires, and TenTen takes the bait, prattling on about her and Neji’s most recent bout of apartment shopping. Ino is slower to join the fray, blue eyes pinning Sakura with a look that states this is not over.

-o-

They’re fighting. Fighting over something that she cannot understand in this lifetime.

Something called Anbu.

“Is it because you don’t think I’m strong enough?” She yells, the hurt evident in her voice.

“No,” he croaks. “No. Not at all. I just…I can’t –”

“Can’t what, Kakashi? Can’t what? Can’t believe that I made Anbu? Can’t believe I’ve made something of myself after all these years?” She’s on the defensive, anger boiling beneath her skin. She must have struggled to prove herself in this life, making her defensive, hardened, and bitter.

There’s mention of Sasuke, of that man named Naruto again, and then the dam breaks, “I can’t lose you too!”

Sakura deflates, if only slightly. There’s something about the pitch of his voice, that broken tone, that pulls at her heart strings. “You and Naruto can’t keep me hidden away forever. Sasuke is out there getting stronger, and Naruto is on the verge of becoming Hokage. I need to try this. I need to see what I can do. What I’m capable of. I cannot live in your shadows anymore.”

She finishes packing her bag and walks over to his prone form, standing in the corner of her bedroom. She presses onto her toes – he’s always been so damn tall – and brushes a kiss along his cloth-covered cheek. She doesn’t know why he tries to keep up the facade; she’s seen his face before. But she doesn’t push, and he doesn’t change – and that seems to be the crux of their issue, doesn’t it.

“I’ll see you when I get back, Kakashi,” she says in the way of parting.

He doesn’t let her make it far before pulling her back with one hand, crushing her in his embrace. Sakura is stock still, tense as this is the most contact he has initiated between them. But the warmth of his hug unfurls her, and she melts into him after only a moment’s hesitance.

“You will come back,” he states with conviction, his lips pressed to the crown of her hair.

Sakura smiles into the skin of his neck. “I will come back,” she repeats, assurance evident in her tone.

-o-

Their first kiss is innocent.

A fleeting touch of his lips against hers, but it’s real; it happens.

She returns from her mission, the one they are fighting about, and he’s waiting for her at the gates. She doesn’t even have a moment to greet him before he’s pulling her into his arms, witnesses be damned, and his lips are on hers. She doesn’t see him pull down the cloth that covers his face, but it’s gone, and his lips are a little chapped, but they’re warm and welcoming, and they fight away the weariness in her bones.

He pulls back just enough to look at her, his eyes raking across her face. There’s a beat, then two, before he lowers his mouth to hers again. 

It feels like her every nerve is straining towards him so that even this whisper-light touch burns. The kiss is slow, a build-up of what they’ve created. Kakashi is trying to feel her out, trying to gauge what she likes and doesn’t like. She can’t tell him that she wants all of it – at least not right now. Not with the way his hand cups just beneath her jaw, the musky scent of his utility vest filling her nostrils. The heat of his mouth against hers. It’s all achingly gentle.

Sakura can feel her toes curl from the innocence of it.

When they part again, Sakura has to catch her breath. “Kakashi,” she whispers.

Genma releases a wolf-whistle behind them, a low, drawn-out note that has the others in her unit chuckling.

“What?” He questions, dark eyes filled with delight. “No kisses for the rest of us, Kakashi?”

“Fuck off, Genma,” Sakura snarks before pulling Kakashi down by the collar of his vest and sealing her lips against his.

-o-

When she wakes up, she has no idea what time it is. It’s still dark outside, and her blinds let in the full moonlight. Sakura is tangled in someone, his heavy arm pressing her against his chest so tight it feels like she can’t breathe. She can’t tell which world she is in, her reality or the one in her dreams, but it sparks something within her, and she must flee.

No one should be here. No – this man should not be here. Only her one is supposed to be here. Some dormant instinct kicks in, and Sakura furiously pushes at the body around hers, scrambling out of bed and falling on the floor. It’s panic—a feeling. A raw emotion vibrating under her skin and attempting to claw its way out. She’s sprawled on the floor, her head ringing and her breath coming out in little gasps as she scrambles away.

His voice is groggy, but he seems to understand what’s happening immediately.

“Sakura, baby girl, it’s me. It’s just me.”

She listens to the voice, her name falling from his mouth, and remembers who he is. She’s safe. It’s Sasuke. Sasuke, her boyfriend. The man who never hurt her, the man who has stuck by her side. Sasuke, her ­would-be soulmate. The relief she feels could drown her, but instead, she chokes on it because this is not real; this is a façade. A façade she has buried her life into, a twisted lie of happiness she is selling herself to. This is not real.

“Sakura, come back to bed,” he says, looking at her from over the edge of the mattress. In the dim light, his skin is pale, and his eyes are inky black.

But they’re not the eyes she wants.

She can’t move; she just stares at him. He’s not a mix of the right colors. His hair isn’t gray, and there’s no scar dissecting one eye. It’s not him. He must become impatient with her inability to formulate coherent words because he reaches his arm out and grabs her by the hand, half pulling her back onto the bed, but she squeals in protest and digs her heels into the carpet.

“You’re safe, come to bed,” he says, commanding. In control.

She nods slowly, realizing that she has been acting erratically. This is her home, her bed, and her lover. She is safe, the safest that she can be.

She says nothing even as he pulls her to the edge of the bed and tugs her back onto the mattress. He nestles her back into the cave of his body and puts his arm over her as she rests her head against her pillow. His other arm wiggles underneath her neck, reaching out to clasp her hand, intertwining their fingers. They resume their spooning, no other words shared between them, and for a while, all Sakura can hear is the jumping beat of her heart. His body is hot, and she lets the warmth seep through her. The panic recedes, replaced by that honey-warm yet empty feeling she always has when it comes to him.

She falls back asleep almost instantly, chasing the dreams that bring her true peace.

-o-

Of all the ways Sakura thought their first time might happen—being in the middle of nowhere, cramped in the confines of a tent, with nothing more than a pallet and a cup of tea between the two of them, never entered her mind.

He keeps touching her. It’s small things—brushes of his fingers, his shoulder warm and hard against hers. He strokes the inside of her forearm, and she sighs. In turn, she touches him, slowly prying that mask from his face, and brushes off his utility vest. She tucks the fingers of one of her hands under the hem of his black shirt, splaying them against his skin. She’s the one to turn into him, to kiss him.

It’s just a brush of her mouth against his, so soft it might have been accidental. But it isn’t.

“Sakura,” he breathes, and his hand is on her cheek, thumb against her chin. She tilts her head a little, and their lips meet again.

She doesn't try to cover herself when he pulls her shirt over her head. They know one another; they’ve been together for so many years, but not like this. She doesn’t have time to feel anxiety or the pull of her nerves.

“I love you,” she says softly when she pulls back.

He looks at her like he’s staring at the sun, like it hurts, but he doesn’t want to look away. His hand comes up and caresses her cheek, and then he’s tugging her closer, and he slants his mouth over hers.

It’s enough of an answer for her.

-o-

When the rest of their clothes disappear, and they come together for the first time, Sakura wakes up and cries.

-o-

Ino is the first person, including Sakura, to notice that she is unhappy. They’re out at a dive bar, getting drinks after a shift, when Ino looks her up and down, frowning slightly. Sakura likes to think that she keeps her innermost secrets hidden from those around her, but Ino stares at Sakra like she already knows.

“How are things with Sasuke going?” She asks, hitting the nail right on the head. Sakura flinches slightly, hands tightening on her cocktail. She’s sure Ino catches the movement.

Sakura has kept Sasuke hidden away throughout the last few weeks. It’s not that she’s embarrassed by him; on the contrary, he has been nothing but patient with what she has been going through, but the dreams don’t stop, and she is not happy, and this whole endeavor is consuming her from the inside out.

“Break up with him,” Ino states without so much of a preamble. “You’re not happy. It’s written all over your face.”

And that right there is the real problem because she has thought about it. Not about the breaking up part, but about the two of them together. Things have been a bit strained since her dreams have become more vivid – no, not dreams, memories. Sakura spends a lot of time contemplating the inner workings of her and Sasuke’s relationship – has spent a lot of time denying the possibility he might feel something real for her and she him, but they are trapped by the binds that she created. If she hadn’t rushed into things, they might have been different.

“Better off as friends,” Sakura mutters, agreeing. Ino takes another sip of her beer, waiting for Sakura to continue, but she doesn’t, and the two of them get lost within the beat of the bass playing from the speaker.

She certainly didn’t want how this turned out, to be trapped in some tiny metropolitan apartment with Sasuke living out some pale imitation of life that could not compare to what a genuine relationship could be like with a soulmate. But, from what she knew, he didn’t dream or at least hasn’t had one since they’ve been together – not that he’s ever told her. So she must be his soulmate, right?

Could you possibly belong to two separate people? Was the universe that fucked up?

She just hopes he isn’t going to use this against her, not that she thinks that he would. Not that it would work because she will likely hold onto this relationship for as long as she can. He is the foundation, the start of all of this that she is experiencing; without Sasuke, Sakura feels like she has amounted to nothing.

It's genuinely disheartening, like trying to catch sand between her fingers. Things just started getting back to normal between them – well, as normal as they ever could be. And she needs him fully committed to this if they’re ever going to make it through this hump.

“You’re not going to do a damn thing about what I just suggested, are you?” Ino questions.

Sakura’s reply is immediate, “No.”

And that is the real question, isn’t it? Why is she clinging to this relationship with Sasuke if she could be spending her time looking for her soulmate and working on their happy ending?

“I’m comfortable,” she says, taking a long sip of her drink. Ino snorts, and Sakura chooses to ignore it before continuing. “I’m comfortable and safe, and I’m with someone who is taking care of me. And most of all…I’m…I’m scared. Something is holding me back. Something is telling me that it’s not going to work, to stay. Stay comfortable; stay where I am. I’m secure here.”

Ino releases a breath from her nostrils and slugs back the remainder of her beer. Her best friend knows that it is all empty words, that Sakura is hiding from herself and what could be.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you fully,” she says, sliding off her chair. “But you’re going to tell me eventually.”

Sakura has to remind herself that she hasn’t told Ino about the dreams, about Kakashi, but it doesn’t seem like this seedy bar is the appropriate place, and luckily Ino continues not to press the issue. Her best friend might be a brat, but she is a godsend when it matters.

“Come on,” Ino states, grabbing Sakura’s drink and polishing off the rest of that as well, slamming the empty glass on the bar top. “I want to dance.”

She grabs both of Sakura’s hands and drags her to the dancefloor, and for a moment, Sakura forgets her issues, her inner dilemma, and laughter bubbles to the surface, spilling out of her with glee. She feels like a teenager again, dancing soppily along, feet sticking to the floor of this dive bar playing old rock music, something they clearly should not be dancing to. But, Ino is here, and they are giggling like school girls, singing off-key and at a volume far too loud for the lack of people decorating this place, but she can’t bring herself to care and gets lost in the feel of her and her best friend enjoying themselves.

-o-

The dreams of their lovemaking are the worst.

She dreams of calloused hands inching up her thighs, hushed whispers in her ear, teeth nibbling at her skin – of cries praising her name. She can feel his touch, feel him,around her, inside her, and it brings tears to her eyes. 

She reaches for Sasuke during those nights, waking him up with wicked words and heated promises, with kisses to his most sensitive areas, and she gets lost in the feel of him against her.

When they’re finished, with sweat-stained brows and panting filling the silence of their room, after she calls out what she knows is the wrong name during her release, Sakura feels sated.

But it doesn’t last. It’s not long before the regret fills her gut, and it becomes an ugly knot of self-loathing and doubt that drags her into the dark recesses of her mind. She withdraws in on herself, curling on her side, pulling away from Sasuke’s embrace. He, again, bless him, never comments on how she self-isolates after they’re together. He grants her the space she needs, eventually losing himself to his own thoughts.

This is not enough – the dreams are not enough, but it is all she has, so it will have to do for now.

She chases that feeling of when she was dancing in the bar with Ino, where for a moment she was happy, contented with her life. She wants to go back to forgetting, to not having dreams that make her desire something coveted by others, something she has punished herself into thinking will never be hers.

She welcomes the abyss of sleep like an old friend.

-o-

By some cruel twist of fate, Sasuke leaves her in the fall of that same year.

He cites irresolvable differences, but she’s not an idiot. He can see the distance, the bags under her eyes. They fight more recently about little things – anything and everything. Sakura starts to think that he finally started having soulmate dreams, that they’ve become more vivid. That he finally knows who he belongs to. It’s not her; it has never been her. It was never their time – not then and not now. He chooses to pack up his stuff and leave without much fanfare. For the first time in their relationship, Sakura’s thankful for his stoic demeanor.

He walks towards the door, the last box of his belongings in his grasp. He suddenly stops and turns, staring at her for a long moment.

“I hope you find him,” Sasuke states simply, offering no further explanation.

Sakura finches. “What?”

He places the box down and crowds into her personal space, leaning down. At first, Sakura thinks he is going to kiss her, and she closes her eyes. She’s not strong enough to witness their end, their goodbye. Especially not if his version of ending their relationship is a goodbye kiss. It will break her. So she waits a long second, expecting the contact of his lips on hers, but it never comes.

She starts when she feels two fingers poke her in the middle of her forehead and opens her eyes. Sasuke smiles, that small, demure smile that he offers only to her. “I hope you find the man you keep dreaming about.”

He leaves without saying another word, picking up the discarded box. The door closes softly, echoing throughout their previously shared space. And then she is left alone in a half-empty apartment, and it feels like the walls are closing in on her.

Sakura breaks down into tears.

-o-

Ino comes over later that night, bringing over two bottles of cheap wine and some romantic comedies from the last 2000s that are guaranteed to make her laugh.  They don’t really pay much attention to the films playing in the background because Sakura spends most of that time spilling her secrets, baring her soul to her closest friend. They have polished off both bottles of wine and have moved to the leftover beer in Sakura’s fridge when Ino suggests it.

“We could look for him,” she slurs.

Sakura is lying on the floor next to the couch, sprawled out like a starfish with her can of alcohol balancing on her chest. She removes it, discarding it to the side before sitting up, swaying slightly as the world rights itself.

“Look for who, Pig?” She murmurs, losing her fight with gravity and unceremoniously falling back to the floor.

Ino chuckles at her antics from the sofa, then hiccups. “Your soulmate, duh.”

-o-

It’s their wedding day; she can tell from the way that she’s wrapped in white and he in all black, and they are kneeling in the front of a room of people Sakura has begun to recognize from other dreams.

She slides her eyes over to her soon-to-be husband; the wide sleeves of his ceremonial garb falls over his hands, hiding the anxious fidgeting underneath. She can tell he is nervous as he never liked to be the center of attention, and the gathering guests have him wound tight like a bowstring. His eyes are on the tatami, seeing yet unseeing, and Sakura subtly crawls her hand over to his, slipping it under the cloth to intertwine their fingers together. She realizes then that hers are slightly shaking as well, but they find strength together, and he squeezes her hand to the point where she is sure that both of their knuckles have turned white.

Tsunade stands close by, smiling beneath her wide-brimmed Hokage hat, ready and happy to officiate their wedding. Ino flitted about the room with TenTen’s help, adjusting the flowers and tapestries one final time.

In a bid to keep cold feet at bay, Sakura counts each of the guests off in her head, not just once but twice. It’s not that she does not want to marry the man of her dreams, but it’s a little hard to believe that they’ve gotten to this point with the type of life they have led. It’s far too soon that Tsunade calls for everyone to be seated as the final preparations have been completed.

“You ready?” He asks.

Sakura rolls her eyes skyward like she is asking for help from God and teases, “To be hitched to you? Forever? I’m not so sure.”

Kakashi offers her a blinding smile that steals her breath away before they are both ushered to face forward.

The ceremony blurs into a euphony of blessings and vows. The traditional sake is poured, and Kakashi takes a sip from the tiny glass before passing it to her. They share the medium and the large glass rather quickly, both of them a barely contained bundle of nerves. They continue to kneel before the small shrine and light candles in prayer, then receive the blessings of the guests and their precious people.

By the time it comes to exchanging rings, Kakashi has mellowed considerably compared to her. He smiles so brightly, and again Sakura has to remember how to breathe. She almost drops his wedding band with how bad her hands are shaking. Here she is, on the day she never thought she would get to see, green eyes awash with tears, happy tears, with a man who completes her body and mind.

Who completes her soul.

Sakura finally finds her inner strength and secures the gold band on his ring finger. There are a few more blessings, ceremonial words exchanged, and then they’re kissing, the room erupting in cheers.

Sakura doesn’t think she has ever been this happy in her entire life.

-o-

It seems silly, them playing detective in her small apartment, like something out of an internet meme.

But they scour as many social media and general search engines as possible and compile a list of fifty Kakashi’s within the tri-state area. Sakura offers Ino the best physical description of the man within her dreams. The two split the list down the middle and take off, noses buried in their laptops, looking for anything that could lead Sakura to her soulmate.

She knows that it’s a long shot because who is to say that her soulmate lives close by. But there is something in Sakura’s gut that tells her to pursue forward, to forget the fears that bound her for so long, that she will get the answers she needs.

Ultimately it doesn’t take long, only a matter of two days, and Sakura supposes this is the universe playing a sick joke on her because it’s easy, too easy.

“Sakura,” Ino calls in a tone that has Sakura lifting her head from her computer screen. The blonde is sitting on a stool at the island in Sakura’s kitchen, but the pitch of Ino’s voice has Sakura concerned. She looks pale, two shades whiter than is traditional for her already porcelain skin. She turns her computer slowly towards Sakura, and immediately emerald eyes are drawn to the screen.

In the top right corner is a picture of the man who has been haunting her dreams, decorating her past life with love-filled memories. Even from the distance across the room, Sakura can tell it is him. The same man who she married, the same man she had children with, the same man she grew old with. It may not have been in this lifetime, but it felt real enough, he felt real enough, and there he is staring back at her.

He is older than she expected. There are crows’ feet around his eyes and age lines around his mouth, but age doesn’t matter – she’s almost thirty-one, and this is her soulmate she is talking about. It’s him, it’s him, and she suppresses the squeal that bubbles up her throat.

He must be some big shot if an article is written about him, and Sakura finds herself scrambling to her feet so that she can get a better look and learn more about him. She should have realized something was wrong when she noticed that Ino was not sharing in her delight. Her best friend sits stock still, staring at Sakura with tears welling up in her too-blue eyes. Goosebumps break out across Sakura’s arm, the hair on the back of her neck standing on edge as her shoulders hike up to her ears. Something is wrong; something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Only when she gets closer to the laptop does she understand why her friend is so upset.

It’s not an article.

It’s an obituary.

-o-

Kakashi Hatake:

Born: September 15th, 1978 Died: July 3rd, 2022

Kakashi Hatake, 44, master sergeant, USAF (Ret.), passed away on Sunday, July 3rd, after a training drill at the local airbase went awry. Stg. Hatake was called into the base to train recruits and implement new safety procedures for the flight program. Kakashi, a beloved son and friend, leaves behind no living dependents. Services will be held at Saint Catherine’s Church on West 15th Street on July 6th at 2:00 PM.

-o-

Initially, she cries. She screams and cries and rants and raves—all for what she lost, all for what could have been. A part of her dies when she reads that obituary. It was from this year, and the moments that she spent with another man could have been memories made with her soulmate.

Ino sobs with her, holding her friend desperately, as they both release earth-shattering cries, huddled together on her couch. And when the tears are gone, and there is nothing left but aching emptiness, a loneliness that she does not believe she could face, Sakura comes to a semblance of a conclusion.

Every time you lose someone, it becomes a scar.

She doesn’t want any loss to outweigh or outshine another, but she doesn’t want this feeling to be something that just passes. She got her first scar when she lost her grandparents, second when she lost her father, and now a third when she lost Kakashi before she could even have him. Her scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that she had with these people. And even though the scars are deep, so was the love.

And it will continue as it should be.

Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that she can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that she can heal and continue to live and continue to love.

It takes a bit more research, and Ino holds her hand through the entire procedure, but she finds out where he is buried.

Ino offers to take her there, but Sakura decides against it. She has to do it alone to find that closure she so coveted in her previous life. She arrives with a small bouquet of white chrysanthemums that contrast brightly with the brown parchment paper they are wrapped in.

She wanders through the cemetery, down the path she is sure she will familiarize herself with over the next few weeks.

There is another person at the gravesite. He’s tall, with a close-cut head of black hair. The side of his face that is visible to her is covered with an eye patch, skin mottled with a twisting, ugly scar. It looks like the skin was torn apart and hastily put back together, leaving a grotesque aftermath.  He can’t see her approach, but he must hear the crunching of dead leaves underneath her feet because he suddenly turns to her and blanches at the sight of her. It gives her time to take him in more thoroughly, and Sakura thinks that in another life, without his scar, he would be extremely handsome.

He seems to collect himself with a slight shake and offers her a small smile. “Names Obito,” he states in greeting. “I take it you must be Sakura.”

Sakura hides her surprise, eyes awash with fresh tears. “How’d you know?”

Obito doesn’t verbally respond; he instead pulls at a lock of his onyx hair and then points toward her own. She approaches him slowly and settles herself next to him, placing the flowers on top of the grave. They lapse into silence for only a moment, both staring at the carved stone in front of them. It’s beautiful, the marble headstone. Decorated with angels and swirls, topped with the words “Here Lies.”

“He would talk about you, you know,” Obitos says after another moment. “Talk about how your hair was so bright, and your temper left something to be desired.” Sakura releases a laugh, wet and thick with emotion. She sniffles, and Obito reaches into his pocket and produces a tissue which she takes gratefully. “He was sure that you two were going to meet one day. All he could talk about was the dreams. Sometimes I was so jealous of the two of you, but I couldn’t get him to shut up about it.”

Sakura snorts, taking the tissue and blotting it in the corner of her eyes. She misses a tear or two but doesn’t bother to try and wipe them away.

There’s another bout of silence, and then, “Do you want me to tell you about him?” Obito asks.

“Yeah,” Sakura says. “Yeah, I do.”

[rainpebble3]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @thequeenofthewinter and for sharing your beautiful writing with us again 💖

Tagging: @oblivions-dawn @dirty-bosmer @paraparadigm @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @blossom-adventures @frankensonnet @tallmatcha @gilgamish @snippetsrus @changelingsandothernonsense @rose-like-the-phoenix@archangelsunited @friend-of-giants @thelightofmorning and anyone else who wants to join in!

Here is my hastily typed offering :D fresh off the press and still to be edited/tidied!

Chapter 11

She made her way towards a bench beneath an opening. It was like a window but there was no glass, but strangely enough there was no wind coming through the opening, instead she had a perfect view of the statue of Azura. She stood high on the mountains, the clouds draping over her arms and the rising sun cast a comforting golden glow over her. Nera studied Azura, utterly transfixed.

“The Goddess of Dawn and Dusk,” someone muttered behind her. They sounded old and weary.

Nera whirled around with a gasp and met the exhausted eyes of another Dunmer. He wore different robes to anyone she had seen around the college, but they had just arrived the night before.

“I’m sorry?” she finally said.

The Dunmer pointed out of the glassless window. “The Lady Azura, she watches over the land.”

“Yes, she does,” Nera mumbled, following his finger. “Although she has her back to us.”

“Perhaps an intentional move?” the Dunmer asked with a smirk. “Or perhaps she moves when no one is watching.”

Nera, feeling oddly at ease with this stranger, laughed. “In that case there would be no way to prove if she is watching.”

“Isn’t that part of the whole wonderous joy of faith?” His voice took on a more sardonic note as he sat on a bench beneath the opening, with his own back to Azura. “You must be a new apprentice?”

Just like that, her ease vanished, and Nera tensed. “Um, yes, or at least I’m hoping to be.”

Something flashed across his eyes for a moment before he sat back, crossing his arms. “And what is your name?”

Nera nearly answered but she recalled Brelyna’s attitude towards Faralda. If she wanted to pass as her sister, she needed to be more like her. Despite wanting to back off, she crossed her own arms, meeting the Dunmer’s stare.

“And who are you?”

He grinned, showing shiny teeth that reflected the blue light of a nearby light fountain. “My apologies. We are meeting before I give my introductory lecture. You may address me as Master Aren, the Archmage of this college.”

Nera swallowed. She didn’t understand the structure of the college yet, but given his attitude, she assumed he was quite important. He continued to grin widely at her until she cleared her throat.

“I see. Well, Master Aren, I’m Nera Maryon, I came with my sister.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Maryon? Hmm, I thought they only had one daughter, Brelyna?”

[xbuster]

I will forever be an を = “o” in romaji truther. You will never catch me writing it as “wo.”

[episims]

Household: Knight

Uhh, so the last time... *soap opera tune plays*

Mel got contacted by the witches' council, who weren't happy over a certain scientist from Foxfire publishing a physics theory about magic. So Mel used her newly gained position as the editor of the local newspaper to expose the military funding behind Julian's theory, hoping that undermining his credibility is enough to get the council off her (and Julian's) back.

I can't emphasize enough how much losing Cloud's friendship over it hurts her, though. Cloud is pretty much the opposite of unforgiving but anything that threatens Julian (or Jonas) just might be where he draws the line.

Knowing none of the above, Luke chose a poor moment to get on Mel's nerves and got hexed for it. And then he got gaslighted to question the whole incident as that was one issue too much for Mel to handle at the moment.

Tbh I don't like Luke living here and neither does Mel, but we both know very well that he doesn't have any other place to move in. Especially as he seems to be eternally stuck with his career, sigh.

[tarnera-blog]

Writing has many phases.

There is the Honeymoon phase, where you are walking along minding your own business, and the idea for a story hits you like a bolt from the blue, and you think, "Ah! What a delightful concept for a short story. This won't take much time to write at all!"

(this phase rarely lasts long.)

There is the Spite phase, where you have decided that no one else's opinion matters, you are writing this story for yourself and people are lucky you even want to share it at all, but it is getting written come hell or high water, and if you have to fistfight every single one of the gods along the way, so be it, at least that will make this Wednesday interesting.

There is the phase where you sit at your desk, cackling over how you are a writing DEITY and your readers will adore and worship you. There is also the phase where you sit in your bed under a blanket eating junk food in the dark, seriously considering never writing another word and also wondering if you can somehow just destroy everything you ever published anywhere. These phases often happen on the same day, at differing intensities, in no particular order, sometimes in rapid succession.

There are phases where ideas and words flow like water bursting from a dam and it's all you can do to write them down before they vanish out of your reach. There are phases where you must sift through the dross to find hidden gems that will reveal the world you're trying to describe in the glints of light reflecting off their surfaces.

There's the phase where you want to write anything but your story (case in point). There's the phase where you want to write nothing but your story. These often happen simultaneously.

Sometimes you say, "I don't know what I'm doing!", either before or after you exclaim, "Aha! I have it!"

Writing a story is a process of going through these phases again and again, hoping that the end result is worth all the pain and effort.

Anyway, I'm currently in this phase:

[frznkingdom]

🗡 - Lucretia would kill for her favorite Duchess. Not that she doubts Nera's ability, it's a romantic gesture :)

That certainly brings a smile to her face.

"I do hope you know I'd do the same for you, Princess~"

[felineamphibian]

Kink Blot

(reposting for various reasons)

So I decided to write a whole fanfiction about my oc Rosie having sex with Phantom blot for first time. I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope someone will appreciate it!

Words count: 7 203

Waking up in unknown room should be pretty scary. Especially when you know, that there is no reason, for you to wake up in any other place than your own bedroom. But when Rosie wake up, in unfamiliar room, she was calm. Probably because she noticed the man sitting in armchair nearby the bed she was in. With his long face and thin mustache, there is no way she would confuse him for anyone else. - Okay, why did you kidnap me this time? - She asked while yawning. The man’s attention was now focused on her getting up from bed. - You see – he made a dramatic pause. - I had to put an end to your evil deeds. - Rosie giggled, a little bit confused. - What? What crimes did I commit? - It was ridiculous to hear him accuse her of any wrongdoings. After all, he was the famous criminal mastermind, known as “The Phantom Blot”. He rose from his place to stand in front of Rosie, towering over her. He put his hand on her face to gently caress her white like snow cheek. - The abominable crime of hurting my dear Rose. You have been overworking yourself for the last two weeks! But you ignored all my letters, that were supposed to remind you to take care of yourself. That’s why I had to put matters in my own hands. - Oh, that’s why. - She softly jiggled, still a bit sleepy. - You know that I was fi- - No. No you weren’t, don’t lie to me. - He tiled her head to look her into her red eyes. - I know how much you care about your job, but that’s no excuse for neglecting your needs like that. Tell me, when was the last time you slept for 7 hours? - … Today actually! I think I even slept for more! - He rolled his eyes. - Yes but before that, you would go on mere 3 hours of sleep. And you know that’s not healthy, right? - He started to caress her hair, which make her relax a bit more. - Yeah, you right. I really did treated myself badly… I’m sorry. - I’m glad you understand. - He gave her a forehead kiss. - I will go make you breakfast, you can get dressed if you want to. -Thank you, but really, kidnapping is kinda an overkill, you know? - You should already know that doing things that are over the top is my specialty, dear. - And with that, he left her the bedroom.

After they had breakfast, the day was spent of making sure that Rosie was resting. She used that free time to do things like take a nice, long relaxing bath or stroll through the garden.

Turns out the place she was brought to was Blot’s home, which he used anytime he wasn’t scheming his evil plans. It was a very elegant mansion, not extraordinary big, but it still fit in Blot’s large collection of books and artworks. Rosie really liked it here and was pretty happy that he decided to bring her there. She felt like he was really opening up to her, sharing every part of him and not only his curated persona.

After a bit of exploration, they had lunch together and cuddled together on the sofa in the living room. Rosie was laying on top of Blot while he was caressing her pink, dyed hair.

- So… How long do you plan to keep me there? - She asked, while drawing circles on his chest.

- If I could I would keep here forever. But, I think a week should be enough for you to rest and back to your job.

- A week… Wow, we are going to have this whole week to only ourselves?! - They had knew each other for quite some time, but because of Phantom blot being a criminal and Rosie being a police intern, they couldn’t spent a lot of time together. Usually they would see each other a few times in a month – during either a secret date, or police confronting the Blot. They of course made every moment spent together count, but with a whole week, that meant they could whatever they wanted.

Seeing how enthusiastic was his beloved about this upcoming week, Blot smiled and replied

- Yes, we can do whatever you dreamed of, my little Rose.

- Anything, you say? - She gave it a thought. Even when they were cuddling right at this moment, she knew that she will want much, much more of his affection. And it struck her. There was something, she wanted to do with him, for a long time, but it couldn’t be done during their limited rendezvous. Her face turned red only thinking about it though. Can she really ask him for that?

Blot’s interest was visibly piqued, seeing his usually chatty lover go silent and red.

- What is it my dear? You seem like you have something on your mind. - She looked away, gathering up courage to share her idea.

- Well, the thing is. - She started, but then realized, it’s not something she can ask while laying. So she moved herself to be sitting on Blot’s lap, whose also has risen up into a sitting position.

- So. Em. We are lovers, right? - They both noticed, how awkward of a starter that was, but he didn’t commented on that and just nodded in reply.

- And we have been with each other for like, two years? So, I think that we could maybe consider, I mean, I want you to consider… Would like to make love to me? - She finally said the big question, after some trouble. Blot was visibly surprised by this question coming from his Rosie, but quickly his expression was changed into a tender smile.

- Of course, I wanted to hold you for long time… I wouldn’t expect you asking me for that. - Usually he was the one initiating physical affections of this kind.

- Well, I mean, I thought about it for some time, but I wanted to ask for that, when we will able to try that without any rush. And now, with us being here, at your home, when no one will bother us… Well, that seems like good opportunity to finally cross that line. - She sounded a little bit as she was rationalizing her request. Blot took a notice of that and stroked her head, to help her calm down.

- I see. Well, I agree, this is a perfect moment for it. - Rosie eased into his touch, snuggling up to his hand.

- So, can we try that tomorrow? I want to prepare myself… Mentally, before that happens.

- Of course, my little Rose. And I will do anything in my power, to make it the night of your dreams. - And he sealed that promise with a gentle kiss on the lips.

The day has come. Or rather the evening – during the day the lovers spend the time similarly to how they did yesterday, with an emphasis on rest for Rosie. But the atmosphere was definitely different that day. They touches longed just a bit more than usual and they both seemed to space out a little. Well, both of them were thinking about was their plans. It was making them excited, yet a bit nervous.

Rosie came out of the en suite bathroom, wearing a dark red off shoulder dress. It contrasted beautifully against her white fur. Her body smelled of roses and vanilla, thanks to cosmetics she used. While she was cleaning, and preparing herself, the bedroom was transformed into the most romantic place she ever seen. The tables were adorned with bouquets of fresh roses, the light was dim, but not too dark, and Blot was standing next to his record player, that was playing a familiar tune. He was wearing a black robe, which not only looked very good on him, but also seemed like a pretty practical choice of clothing, for what they were about to do. When he noticed her, coming out of the bathroom, he only thing he could do was just to stare at her with awe. She was so beautiful…

- That melody… I think I know it? - She commented, approaching both him and the player.

- You don’t remember? It’s the song to which we danced to at that charity ball.

- It was the same ball at which we kissed for the first time, right? - Rosie answered after a short pause, with a faint blush on her cheeks.

- The very same, my dear. - He extended his hand to her.

- Would you like to dance with me?

- O-oh, of course! - She answered, a bit flustered and put her hand in his.

Even with their height difference, the way they dances was graceful. Blot really outdid himself with preparations for this night. The way he was courting her was always very romantic, but today it made her feel a bit more emotional than usual. No one made her feel as special as he did. That’s why she wanted to have sex with him. She loved him, truly, and wanted to became as close to him, as she possibly could.

At some point of the dance, Blot dips Rosie and looks her, deep into her eyes.

- I love you. I love you so much, my little Rose.

- I love you too.

And with that, they lips connected in a kiss. It was gentle, but both of them felt the passion boiling in their veins. They both wanted it so badly, but Blot doesn’t want to rush it, for his beloved’s sake. After that kiss he brought her back up and went for an another one, this time at the corner of her mouth. He slowly moved his mouth, adoring her face, then neck, collarbone, and finishing with a kiss on her shoulder.

- I like this dress. It suits your greatly.

- Thank you, I’m glad you like it. - This was Rosie turn to kiss him, on forehead.

- Would you be okay if we moved to bed? I want to get you comfortable… - His voice got a bit quieter and much lower, which made Rosie feel butterflies in her stomach.

- Y-yeah, we can do that! - Blot lead her to the edge of the bed, where he sat down.

- Turn around. - Without any second thought, she did what he told her to do, and when she did, he pulled her into her lap.

- Are you comfortable? - He whispered, right into her ear, which twitched in response. Slowly Rosie’s face was becoming as red as her dress.

- Y-yes.

- Good. Remember, if you don’t like what I do, just tell me. - He reminded her and place a kiss on nape of her neck. His hands in meanwhile, which were still on her hips, were fondling her soft body. Just these touches made her let out a quiet whimper. He seemed like he was very experienced, when it came to pleasuring. She felt his hands move higher, closer to her chest. She was pretty endowed, up there, which usually was source of her problems, but in this situation… She felt glad that her breasts were on bigger side and she was hoping that he will like them. Blot’s hand moved higher, but stopped before touching her chest.

- May I- But before he finished his question, Rosie interrupted him by saying:

- Yes! Please, touch them. - Which immediately resulted in her embarrassment. Her lover chuckled at that reaction and as the same time he took her soft breasts into his hands he commented:

- I see you are very eager for my touch… That makes me very happy, my little Rose. - She moaned softly, probably as both reply for his words and his touch.

The way he caressed her was very gentle, but it still fueled her lust. When he saw that she was enjoying how he was touching her, he decided to proceed, by putting his hands into her dress, to touch her chest more directly. She squirmed in her place which resulted in her bottom brushing against Blot’s crotch. Her bashfulness and eagerness made her so alluring, like no other woman he had met. But he collected himself and concentrated to the matters that were literally in his hands. Even thought material of her bra, he felt her nipples hardening, which was a good sign. He put more emphasis on these hardened buds, which resulted in whimpers exacting from her mouth.

- Do you like it when I touch you like that? - He whispered into her ear.

- I-i think I do. It’s tickles a little, but in like a lewd way. - The rat girl answered, trying to explain what she was feeling. Being touched by someone, especially in that way, was something she wasn’t accustomed to. These sensations were foreign to her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy it. It just made her nervous, but Blot knew how to keep his lover’s nerves at bay.

- Good. You are being so good for me. I’m so proud of you. - With every new word of praise that had fallen from his mouth, Rosie felt like she was melting more and more. She was turning into a putty in his hands. It seems like he succeed at easing her tension. He smiled to himself, proud for taking good care of her needs.

- How about we get you out of this dress? - He suggested, while his hands left her chest, to instead embrace her.

- Hm? Ah yes, that’s probably a good idea. - She replied after a short moment. Next she stood up and gathered her skirt, pull out her dress and took it off. Now she fully revealed her white as snow fur and lingerie she was wearing under. It was a red matching set with lace in a pattern of roses. It suited her perfectly in not only visual sense. Even with her bashful behavior, she looked very seductive right now. She looked behind her shoulder, to see Blot’s reaction to her undergarments. His eyes were intensively admiring the form before him, and lower half of his face was covered by his hand.

- Perfect. - He let out in a raspy voice. - You look perfect. - But before Rosie could react, maybe thank him for compliment, she felt his hand pulling her onto the bed. In mere seconds, she found herself laying under large frame of her lover’s body, who was looking at her like a hungry beast. It’s was scary… But also very arousing to her? But before she could think more about these contradictory feelings, their lips met again in a greedy kiss. It left her messy and out of breath. Only then Blot backed out a little, noticing that he lost his cool for a moment.

- I’m sorry my dear, I should be gentler with you… - He caressed her cheek, with back of his hand, staring at her with worry in his eyes.

- Aah… Ah, don’t be. I liked it. I like to see you lose control, you know? - She admitted, still trying to calm her breaths.

- I’m happy that underwear I picked out for today made you… Like this. - She added, with a small smile. That was all Blot needed.

- Yes… Usually you are the most beautiful woman in my life, but now… - He moved his hand from her cheek, down to her shoulder, to hook the bra strap with his finger.

- Your beauty is more akin… To a goddess. - This statement made Rosie’s face red.

- T-that a bit of overstatement, don’t you think? - She let out shyly.

- No. I truly it mean it when I say that, Rosie. - His gaze went up, to look her into her eyes.

Now his words really got to her. She didn’t knew how to react, to that kind of compliment, so she just looked to the side, covering her mouth with back of her hand. Blot smirked, proud that this time, she did not denied his compliment. His hand moved again, tracing her curves softly and it stopped on top of her mound. She shuddered a bit, feeling his touch oh so close to her sensitive parts. She looked up to him and their gaze met. This moment lasted for a few seconds, before his fingers dipped lower, into her covered front. Rosie let out a quiet gasp, but keep her eyes fixed on her lover. His fingers circled gently until he felt her clitoris thought the fabric. That earned him an another reaction in form of a squeak. She was really so, so sensitive… He fondled her earnestly but still tenderly. But then unexpectedly, he heard a plead, falling from her mouth.

- More. Touch me more. - It seemed that even with her being inexperienced and very shy, she still was very straightforward about her wants.

- As you wish, my dear. - He replied to her and then proceeded to slide off her panties with both of his hands.

Finally, her most precious part was fully revealed in all of it’s glory. Her vagina was small, or rather it looked small for Blot, who was almost twice as tall as his lover. It was covered with white fur, just like rest of her body, giving it a very cute, fluffy look. By just looking at it, he was able to tell, that Rosie was truly aroused, with her genitals swollen and glistening with moisture. He licked his lips. His instincts were screaming at him to take a good smell of her by burying his face down there. But he restrained himself – he knew that would be embarrassing or scary for her, if he did that. He did inhale deeply, taking in how deliciously she smelled. She doesn’t need to know the reason behind his deep breaths. He settled between her legs and his hand returned to pleasuring her cute little pussy.

- … Do you like it? - Rosie asked looking shyly at her lover. Blot gave her a puzzling look, not quite sure if he understood her question. Having explain herself definitely made her even more flustered, but she added:

- Do you like my vagina? Is it up your standards? - He couldn’t help himself and he chuckled at this question. His rat lover however took an offense to that, that’s why he replied to her, right away he stopped laughing.

- Of course, I love it Rosie. I adore every part of you. But I must admit it… That’s it’s really something else. - His gaze returned to her hole and he started to push one of his finger in, slowly.

- It looks so tiny… I need to prepare you plenty, before I can properly make love to you. - His finger fully sunk in inside of her, making her let out a quiet moan.

- So tight… - He groaned, feeling how snug and hot her insides were. If he wasn’t a patient man, he would just pull out his member and invade her right now. But he wasn’t going to do that, he wants to give her all of the pleasure she simply deserved to experience. That’s why he continued to penetrate her insides with his finger, gently stretching her out. She relaxed into his touch, clearly enjoying it. He also took notice of her caressing one of her breasts through the laced material of her bra. The view was simply divine. If he wasn’t already absolutely smitten with her, he would probably fall for her at this moment. With her taking his one finger so well, he decided it was time to add one more. This time it was harder for her to fit it, so he also started to touch her sensitive bud, to help her relax her tight entrance. When she finally managed to take both of his fingers in, he praised her in low voice.

- Good girl. You are taking me so well. - The only answer that Rosie gave him was a whine, but he knew that she enjoyed it. Especially judging by how desperately she tugged on her nipple, which was pretty to hard to do with her bra still on.

- Can you take it off? - He asked, seeing her struggle.

- I-i think I could. Give me a moment. But don’t stop, please. - And with that she rose to a sitting position, while Blot was still working on her pussy. She grabbed her bra from behind, unhooked it and finally took it off, letting her hefty breasts spill out. They were beautiful, just like the rest of her body and her lover wished that he could shower them in love right now, but he had much more important on his hands. He couldn’t put his hands on them, but Rosie could, and she did that right away, gently pinching her nipples and letting out a symphony of moans. Her eyes were all hazy with the pleasure she was experiencing, it looked like she could come undone in any second, but that didn’t put a stop to Blot’s actions. On the contrary, he added another finger in, stretching her insides even further. That made Rosie moan in a bit different way, however, she didn’t voiced any objections, so he continued on. His right hand was caressing her clitoris in circle pattern and his left hand was pumping his fingers inside of her, scissoring her open. His always furrowed brows were even more wrinkled up, he was solely concentrating on his lover and on her pleasure. Nothing else mattered in this moment. At some point, Rosie moans became more similar to cries and she let out in shaky voice.

- I-i’m close… - That made the dog man perk up.

- Do you want to come now?

- N-no! - And right away she said that, he put a stop to his maneuvers, but still left his fingers inside of her. After a short pause, in which Rosie did her best to collect her thoughts, she added:

- I want to come when you are inside me… Please.

- Of course. As you wish. - He answered and gave a tender kiss to her forehead. He pulled out his fingers from her inside, leaving her empty, but not for long.

- I’m glad you want to come like that. I believe it was hard for you to resist the temptation of reaching orgasm right away.

- Yeah, very hard, I would say. - Her gaze lowered, noticing a certain outline on Blot’s robe.

- You have been taking care of me since the beginning. It’s my turn now. - And with that she reached her hand, to caress him though the black silky cloth. It made Blot let out a low groan, which aroused her even more.

- It’s a pleasure to take a care of you, my little Rose. But I won’t deny you. I’m all yours. - And after he said that, he took off his robe, showing off his naked form. His body was lean, but slightly muscular and his chest and arms were adorned with black hair. But definitely the part of his anatomy that stood out the most, at least in Rosie’s eyes, at that moment what his member. It was large and dark red in color. But most importantly – he had a knot. Which was to be expected, as he was a dog, but Rosie totally forgot, about this fact. She swallowed noticeably and rose to sitting position, so she could get close to his erected manhood.

- Y-you are pretty big. - She commented and took him in her hand, getting used to this new sensation.

- Actually, I’m medium sized, but I’m aware that I might seem large compared to you. - He was observing her, getting used to his member with curious gaze.

- Are you scared? - He asked.

- … A bit. I never had a lover with a knot. - While she answered that, she started to pump his length.

- If I remember well, when a dog have sex, it will result in knotting, right? So you will put all of it inside of me... - She bit her lower lip.

- Yes and after I reach orgasm, my knot will swell up in a way that I won’t be able to pull out. It can last from twenty minutes, to even a half of hour… Rosie, listen, we don’t have to do it today, I can just pull out before I come.

- No! - She suddenly exclaimed, but then lowered her voice and explained herself.

- No, I want you to knot me. I know that it might be uncomfortable… But I really want to feel truly connected to you. - She looked up to him with her large eyes. How could he say no, to these beautiful crimson eyes. He just furrowed his brows and let out a sign.

- I see. Well, I can’t deny your wishes, especially when you look at me like that. - He put his hand on her cheek, caressing it gently. She snuggled up to him, still with her hand on his member.

- Eheh, thank you. - She released his length from her embrace and lied on her back.

- Let me ask you that again. My dearest Phantom blot, could you do this honour and make love to me? - And after she said that, she reached her arms to him, invitingly. After a short pause, during which he was looking at her, speechless, he let out a menacing chuckle.

- With pleasure. - And with that, he grabbed her waist, to line her entrance with his erect manhood. That of course made his small lover let out a squeak, surprised by that sudden movement, but then her expression changed, looking intensely at their genitals, touching together. “It’s like he’s kissing my entrance, with his penis...” She thought to herself, while Blot grabbed his member to aim it directly at her hole. And then he pushed, slowly but steady. He might be “medium sized” like he pointed out earlier, but compared to Rosie’s tiny pussy, he seemed gigantic. But despise that, she doing a very good job at taking him. At some point, she squinted her eyes, feeling a sting of pain. This wasn’t overlooked by her lover, so immediately put his hand at her clitoris and started to gently rub it, pleasure soon overtaking the pain. She let out a relief sigh, signaling that his actions were not in vain.

- Almost there… - A whisper was heard, falling from Blot’s mouth. Soon after that his length was fully inside. He let out a low groan, feeling how tight and hot it was inside. If he doesn’t want to finish too early, he got to focus.

- Is it all in? - Rosie asked, with a breathy voice. Her expression seemed like she was uncomfortable, but one look into her eyes was enough to notice her lust burning within.

- Yes. - He answered and then reached to caress her cheek. - You did great my little Rose. I’m so proud of how well you are taking me in. - Her eyes flattered shut and her body relaxed after hearing these praises. Blot really knew what words to pick to make her melt.

- Thank you… It hurts a little, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Please, touch me again, it makes me feel so good! - That last bit sounded a bit needy, but that made it even more arousing for Blot. To see his lover being so overwhelmed with pleasure, so out of her element, that it reduced her to this whiny and needy mess. Is there a more beautiful sight than this? He didn’t think so.

- Good girl. I will give you all of the pleasure that you yearn for. You earned it. - He got back to pleasuring outside of her genitals, just like she so nicely asked him too. Just a bit of touch was enough to get her to moan and spread her legs even wider.

- I will move now, alright? - He asked and she only replied by nodding her head. It was hard for her to think, left alone talking. Only after making sure, that she was okay with that, he started to pull out his length slowly. She was so tight, that it would be difficult to pull out it any faster, if he wanted to. Her grip was so strong, like her pussy didn’t wanted to let him go. So cute. After he withdrew almost his member fully, he started to again, push it in, this time going much more smoother. His moves were slow, gentle but very deep. It seemed like Rosie was steadily getting used to the size of his member, judging on her expressions and sounds. Her brows stopped being furrowed and she became much more vocal, letting out long whines, every time he moved inside.

- You are enjoying, aren’t you? - A silence between them was broken by this rhetorical question. It didn’t sounded like he was reassuring her, oh no, his tone was mocking.

- You are such a dirty little girl. You lay there, brain empty because of what I’m doing to your body. Just a bit of touching and all your reason seem to leave your head. Pathetic! … But that’s what it makes so enjoyable to fuck you my dear. Yes, there’s no other sight more beautiful than you destroyed by me! - And with that he picked up the pace, filling room with sounds of their bodies slapping together.

Rosie was taken aback by this dirty talk, but like Blot pointed out – her mind was too hazy to care or react, so she just took that in, maybe enjoying this degradation a little. She was ready to surrender all of herself to the pleasure, her hands returned to her breasts to tease her nipples. Her peak was rebuilding herself, but this time it felt different. Was it because her inside were filled to a brim with a hot member inside of fingers? Or was it because she denied herself that orgasm, prolonging her pleasure? It be even something else, that wasn’t important now. Now the thing that matter to Rosie the most was to reach orgasm while her lover was thoroughly making love to her.

- G-gosh, ah! I think I-i’m close… - She managed to get out with a shaky voice. A dangerous glint appeared in Blot’s eyes.

- Oh, are you now? - And he reached his hand to grab her by her jaw.

- If you want to come, you have to work for it. Beg for it and I, your master, will make that happened. - Again, that made Rosie strangely more aroused, even when she was a bit startled. It seemed like, everytime Blot showed his sadistic side, it scared her, but also fascinated. Her hobbies might have something to do with that thought… At first she didn’t knew what to do and was staring at him, like a deer in headlights. That annoyed him and he showed that annoyance by stopping pleasuring her with his hand. That made her understood the gravity of this situation.

- Please! I beg you, my master, don’t stop! I need it so bad, please make me come! - Dog man smirked sadistically, very pleased with her pleads.

- Good girl. - And with that, not only he returned his hand to her needy pussy, he also picked up the pace, slamming into her with all his strength. The sudden rush of pleasure overtook Rosie, making her tilt her head backwards and let out a scream. It was unbelievable how good all of theses stimuli felt. She was feeling the orgasm coming, with her whole body tensing up and her mind going blank.

- Thankyouthankyou, THANK YOU! Aaah! I’m coming!! - These were the last words she let out before she felt the peak engulf her body. She arched her back and then collapsed back on the bed. She never had come this hard before. Even Blot looked taken aback by her reactions, but also found it incredible difficult to concentrate, with her tight hole convulsing around him. He ceased his movement, to not overstimulate her any further. But her lack showing lack of any signs of being conscious made him worry. He moved his hand, from her jaw to cup her cheek.

- … Are you alright, my dear? - He asked with a concern in his voice. It took Rosie a moment, to register what was happening, she reached for his hand that was caressing her face and gave it a weak squeeze.

- Y-yes. I’m- She let out a squeak, still feeling the waves of pleasure from her orgasm. - I-i’m okay. It felt really, really good. - Hearing that from her made him smile a little, relieved.

- That’s good to hear. I hope you will forgive me for my remarks during the deed. It was difficult to control my urges, seeing how alluring you can be. - Rosie let out a small, embarrassed chuckle hearing Blot’s flattery. He was such a flirt sometimes… Or rather, most of the times, when he was with her.

- Actually… I don’t mind it? I don’t know what it is about me, but hearing you say such things was really a turn on for me. - He looked surprised by this answer, but then quickly his expression turned into a smug grin.

- Oh, I think I know why you might feel this way… But let’s discuss that another time. Now, excuse my impatience, but I don’t think I can stay like this any longer. Can I proceed? - Oh right, Rosie was so far the only one to reach her peak. She was still collecting herself from that experience, but felt like she was ready to take in more pounding – if it meant that her lover can also reach his peak. She nodded her head and answered.

- Yes, I can handle it. - She reassured.

- Of course you can. Such a good girl you are, my little Rose. - He grabbed her face with both of his hands and gave her a forehead kiss. Then he embraced her to raise them both to a position in which Rosie was straddling him. It was an even more intimate position, compared to the one they were just in – she felt so loved and safe in this embrace. She snuggled up to his chest, while he put his hands on her hips. He ever so gently bounced her on his member.

It was evident that he was being extra careful with her, after she orgasmed. She said she was fine, but he had his doubts about it. Rosie sometimes would avoid expressing her concerns to him, perhaps because she was used to being told that she is overeating or that she shouldn’t be upset in first place. That’s why he put so much effort into taking care of her – afraid that if he wouldn’t do it, no one will.

-How are you feeling now? - Blot asked after some time of very tender and slow love making.

- Mmmm, good. - She murmured out while still snuggling up to him, while looking absolutely relaxed. He chuckled at her answer and run his hand through her hair.

- I’m glad. Are you ready for me to pick up the pace? - When asking that, he lowered his voice a little, but that went unnoticed by Rosie.

- Yeah sure, go ahead. - And he did.

In blink of an eye, he flipped her over back to laying, but this time he positioned them in such way, that he was towering over her and her legs were lifted, giving him a better access to her hole. This turn of events made her let out a squeak, but soon the only noise that was let out from her mouth were pants and moans. After her lover received consent to go a bit harder, he decided to use all of his strength to pound her in this mating press position. She felt him reaching so deep into her, like no one ever did. Blot meanwhile was very much enjoying himself, which could be easily seen in his pleased expression.

- Ahhh… Your hole is simply delightful my dear. So tight, but still you can take me so well. Such a good, yet naughty girl. - He praised her between his own pants. He reached his hands to grab Rosie’s ankles, keeping her legs up. And then he let out a truly carnal groan.

-I’m going to come, you better be ready, because when I start, there’s no stopping me. - That really sounded like a threat. His pounding got even harder and that was then she felt it. Something large entering inside her already overcrowded pussy. It was finally happening. He put his knot inside of her and was about to fill her with seed.

- Y-yesh, please, come inside! - She managed to let out, with many moans interrupting her.

And that pushed him straight to the edge, making him reach his peak with an another groan. Insides of a petite rat girl were beginning to fill with his seed and his enlarged member plugged her hole, so that none of his seed would spill out. They stayed like this for a moment, quiet, except from their heavy breaths. Rosie felt him letting go of her legs, to instead embrace her. He yet again picked her up, but this time he laid on his back, letting her rest on his chest. It was definitely a much more comfortable position to stay in, especially if they were really going to stay connected like that for half an hour.

- I hope that wasn’t too much for you, my dear. - Blot said, while caressing her head. Ah, the duality of this man. One second he was a full on sadist, pounding at her like there was no tomorrow and then next second he’s the most tender gentleman she ever met. But Rosie did kinda like this about him.

- I don’t think so? I got a bit spooked when you flipped me, but it felt good when you pounded me so hard. Thought, I think I might be sore after it. - He let out a chuckle hearing that feedback from her and replied:

- I’m glad that you liked it after all. And don’t worry, I will prepare a bath for you and I have ointments you can use to help with your your pain.

-Wow, you really prepared yourself for this. - This was her turn to let out a giggle.

- Of course. It was my priority to make this as pleasurable and comfortable for you.

- But you also enjoyed it, right? - It might be a silly question, but it was typical of her to second guess matters like this. She had so many doubts about her being “good enough” or being a “bother”.

- I thought me losing my composure made it clear that I greatly enjoyed making love to you.

- … I guess you have a point there. - She let out a nervous giggle. But was still thankful, that he still confirmed that. She knows that people can get annoyed when someone seeks validation often, like she does, but Blot was very patient with her, comforting her anytime she expressed the need for it.

After that exchange, they reminded quiet. It was comfortable silence thought. They could just relish in the feeling of being so close to one another – there’s no getting closer than being literally bounded by their genitals, laying naked chest to chest. Even the tempo of their breathing synchronized, making them feel like they truly became one. And that made both of them feel so happy, that they could be together.

After that first time came many more, Rosie’s libido wasn’t usually very high, but something switched with her after that. During that week they had a long session of exploring how to pleasure each other with their mouths – Blot taking great pleasure in licking and smelling his beloved genitals and Rosie found out that with her having no gag reflex, it was possible for her to fit his whole member inside. They also did other things, not only the lewd acts – watched movies, cooked together. So neither of them was looking forward to that week ending. Yet a rat girl couldn’t stay in this paradise of the place forever. But when she was returned to her apartment, she found out what was happening at her work place during her absence.

Turns out that when Phantom blot kidnapped Rosie, he sent a ransom demand letter to police station, stating that he will release their intern only after they pay him a very high price. The only response he got back was “We won’t negotiate with terrorist!”. One of policeman pointed out thought “Wait, does this rule include kidnappers?”, to which Detective Casey clarified that this response was part of negotiation. “You lost me there” replied the constable, writing the response letter.

But even with Police doing nothing with that case, Rosie was released with her kidnapper claiming that someone else paid the ransom. “It looks like someone cared about the safety of this innocent girl, more than the whole police station did.” he pointed out in a letter that was sent right after the rat intern was released.

Everyone was relieved that she was safe after all, but were a bit concerned about how well she seemed to be doing. It looked like she was in better state of both mind and body, compared to how she was before the kidnapping.

“I was treated very well by my abductor!” She claimed, when someone pointed that out.

“That’s that Swedish decease I saw in kidnapped people many times!” Chief O’Hara let out in revelation.

“… You mean Stockholm syndrome?” Rosie corrected, cringing a little bit at calling this psychological phenomenon a “decease”.

“Yes, I remember it being called like that! What I’m trying to say here Rosie is that I think you should take a break. How about you take a week off and talk with psychologist about your abduction?” The irony of her boss only now deciding to grant her vacation, after she was kidnapped because she was being overworked. She thought about saying something, explaining yourself, but decided to sigh and answer him with:

“Thank you Chief, and I will.”

[saviorfoxowlis]

N:Era: Where We Lie Part 3: Bio Met Tricks

Special Thanks to @KIERAL for assisting with the Pet Names and translation of Sausage.

Special Thanks to Reality TV for helping people believe in lie detectors to the present day. You're sure spreading some reality alright.

Part 3: Bio Met Tricks

The four scavenged up one of the lie detectors they bought and hooked Cyras with cables and wires, like a meatball in spaghetti. Rosod administered the test.

"Lie detecting magic is usually very unstable because the truth is not measurable or quantifiable. If I am correct, when he said biometrics, these tests account for heartbeats and sweat as measures of truth. Since you're a borderline psychopath, I'm sure you'll cheat this easily. I will ask you a question and you must tell the truth.

"I have no idea what a Psychopath is, but okay." She figured that must be something positive.

Rosod said, "Is your name Cyras?"

"Yes."

Rosod nodded. "For this next one, you should lie. The color of the sky is..."

"Purple," Cyras said.

"The graphs remain the same."

They attempted again, except with Ahmond. "Being a more nervous test subject, I suppose you'll be a bit different. So Ahmond, tell me the truth, what color is the sky?"

"Blue."

"Now tell me, while lying, the color of your house."

"Yellow."

Slight spikes in the graph.

"Now, Ahmond, tell me if any of the stories you've about Owlis threatening you are true."

"Yes."

"Huh, says this is true."

Lilu said, "Now we know that machine is fake because obviously Ahmond was making that entire story up! I doubt Owlis has enough time in her day she can make marketable plush figures and beat them on a regular basis."

Ahmond pouted. "I'm telling the truth."

Each one went in a row. Rosod performed meditation, which beat the results because she kept her heart rate at a natural rhythm. Lilu didn't even touch the machine at all, and finally, Cyras went one more time.

"Okay, Cyras," Rosod said, "Tell me your last name."

"Sumhyr."

A yellow and black coywolf walked into the shop. Vanos. Cyras' pupils narrowed while she fixated on the slender figure as a faint beeping went off.

"The lie detector test determined that was a lie," Rosod said, raising a brow. "And also a major spike in amounts of sweat and heart rate."

Ahmond jealously growled.

Cyras said, "Oh I didn't know you would be here, Vanos."

"And caught lying again," Rosod said as she got the readings.

Vanos explained, "I'm afraid I can't be here for my shift, so Ahmond, I'll need you to handle the lunch rush. The ice cream delivery got snowed in. Emergency situation."

"Ironic that ice cream is getting snowed in," Cyras said. "Tell me more."

Vanos said, "Um... Such as?"

"Such as Cyras will be coming with me." Ahmond bit the fox by the nape and dragged her away behind the counter.

Lilu said, "No matter what you hear, Lie Detectors are bogus. We just tested them."

"I sincerely doubt a few girls testing in the privacy of an ice cream shop is a perfect indictment," Vanos said, rolling his eyes before patting her on the head. "Listen, at the police prisons and everything, they have great testing, you simply must use the machine accurately."

Vanos walked off. "Make sure you handle yourself well, sosisochka."

"Now you know why I was never attracted to him," Lilu said.

"Yeah, that's one reason." Rosod put the machine back in the box.

"What's sosisochka?" Cyras asked.

"Sausage," Ahmond said.

Lilu exploded with laughter, her bellowing humor fit disturbing the other girls. "Seriously, I thought that was some way of saying 'sister’, but he was always calling you a little sausage this entire time!?"

Ahmond folded her ears against her head.

Cyras glared at Lilu, before getting back to the important matters. "We should prevent these from spreading any further and cut down on their influence."

Rosod said, "Good luck with that. They're already being implemented in our facilities, and by now, every ordinary citizen is investing in one."

"We'll spread the word at the source," Cyras said. "Part of the reason they believe in them might be because I approved of them. People could get hurt."

Lilu said, "My mom is ordering them in every prison in Sandrun. We'll convince her first. Both of you, with me, N:Era mission: Stop the liars."

With that arrangement, Team N:Era set out so they could yell at people.

Rosod sat alone. "Yeah, I'll just sit here and watch your shop Ahmond." She mimicked the Coywolf's breathy and mumbly voice. "'Oh no, Rosod, I'd rather you leave because you actually have a life’.''Oh really, but who will look after your shop Ahmond?''I think I will since that's my job which I am ditching because I can't think for myself.'

"I gotta say that Ahmond is such a nice girl, I should bail her out. My parents are wealthy. I'll tell them I need a little bit of money for a school field trip, that way they'll give me money, and I can give that money to Ahmond. And if she doesn't pay me back, then I get to hold her prisoner."

Rosod saw a camera and realized she was caught talking with herself on film.

***

Cyras shouted at random passers-by: "Stop believing in lie detectors."

As always, everyone parted way from the screaming woman. One Crimson woman even pulled away at her child and told him, "No Petun, she probably bites."

"Good going, Cyras," Lilu said, as they got further towards the palace.

Cyras was still impressed by sandstone, millions of grains of sand compacted together. In a way, this structure was more clever than Owlis'.

They made their way through the palace halls, however, Cyras noticed one guard was giving her a glare. "Who's that?" she muttered.

Cyras flashed back to the first time she entered the palace, when she chained a guard outside in between stones, even trapping his muzzle. Lilu later told her how desert nights were stunningly freezing.

"His name is Karv," Lilu said, "He did not forget you."

Ahmond said, "Yet you wonder how Owlis can hold a grudge against me."

"Yeah," Lilu admitted. "I'm still upset you called me fat." They turned a corner towards the eastern wing of the palace, past white and gold tapestries.

"You laughed at Sosiska."

"Well pudgy puppy," Lilu said, "maybe when Owlis smacks you, the paddle will just bounce off."

"Not funny!" Ahmond whined.

As they reached the throne room, the sound of a screaming middle-aged woman filled the chamber. "I don't want my guests thinking we don't care about proper order here, so when I look around, there are no mints on pillows, I get so angry. Everyone will think we're a set of uncivilized, uncouth, Wilders-Oh, Cyras."

Cyras gave a half-lidded look.

Lilu said, "Mom, lie detectors aren't good, and we all tested them out. They're highly inaccurate."

Jazmyn narrowed her eyes. "I find that fascinating. So you wouldn't care if you took a test and I asked you a few questions."

"Actually, I do care."

"I don't see what the problem is or what you're gonna hide from me unless you have something you don't want me knowing about."

"I do."

"Is this something like 'I plan on usurping my mother for the throne'?" Jazmyn asked with a faint smile, her eyebrows lowered.

"No."

She giggled, her smile trying to be convincing, but the skin was so taut and stressed she was clearly being aggressive and dominant. "Then I don't see why you can't tell me."

Lilu froze, glanced at Cyras, off-put. Assuring her, the apparent troublemaker at the helm said, "I'll test them first, then Lilu can test them."

"Fair enough."

A few minutes later, Cyras was in the dungeon, hooked up.

Jazmyn said, "Here's my first question, how about you tell me what my daughter talks about when I'm not with her."

Cyras glared and said, "My next sentence is true. My last sentence was false."

The machine blew up.

Jazmyn hacked in the smoke as Lilu guided them towards a door. Inside, was a hallway within the walls.

Ahmond said, "I've never been here before."

Lilu said, "This is the servant's hallways. There are all these secret corridors so they can move around without Mom ever having to see them."

Ahmond muttered, "This is how she sees the lower class." Most of the walls were carpeted instead of being brick, that way Jazmyn couldn't hear anyone either.

Cyras said, "Great, Jazmyn and Vanos are stubborn and under the spell, and for all we know, so is Owlis."

"No, she'll listen," Ahmond said. "I was picked as the first member of Team N:Era for a reason, and if she hears this from me, she'll trust me."

Cyras stared into her eyes. "I'll protect you, please, believe me."

As Ahmond stared into Cyras' blue eyes, the coywolf's brows flickered. "Okay."

***

At Lavandar, the capital of Wysdom, they came upon the garden of the Empress. This time, Cyras took a potato.

"Owlis pronounces these Poh-Tah-toe, but I call them Poh-Tay-Toe because I like that better," Cyras said. In the Wilds, she didn't see many vegetables, much less poh-tay-toes and care-rots.

"I thought the name was Poh-tuh-toe," Ahmond admitted, earning a weird look from Lilu. "We didn't have them on Ralax Islands, and I only found out when I moved out here."

Lilu said, "Please tell me what you think fries are made out of."

They went in through the back door, walked up the stairs, up towards the balcony. Acrophobic Ahmond clung by the shoulder of Cyras, as they went towards Owlis' room.

Lilu knocked three times gently. As Owlis opened the door, Cyras pounced at the Empress, who returned the gesture by flipping Cyras over onto her tailbone.

The sequence repeated, with Cyras dropping on her back and bucking at Owlis, but Owlis slapped her feet, then headbutted her punch. Finally, Cyras charged again, but Owlis scooped her arm underneath the shoulder and arm dragged her to the floor.

"This is not working in your favor," Owlis told her, shaking her head.

"I can be way faster than you and you know that," she told the older fox.

"Lightning beats fire in speed, so I highly doubt that," Owlis said. "I do grant you're getting almost slightly better." She kissed Cyras on the forehead. "Oh, may I ask why the company?"

Lilu said, "We have some news Your Imperial Majesty, turns out Lie detectors are totally whack."

Owlis narrowed her eyes.

Ahmond told her, "Miss Imperial Highness Owlis, we tested them ourselves and know for sure they are garbage."

With a flick of her tail, the Empress said, "I've had my suspicions, and over my 6000 years I've never met a device quite like them, nor do I believe in them. My vulnerable yet dependable subject, I trust you."

"So you can shut them down?" Cyras asked.

"Oh Celestial Heavens no. If someone is planning on selling snake oil and others are buying this up thinking this will cure their cancer, that's not anything I can really influence, outside of introducing new laws, and that's really a process. If I was able to stop everyone here from doing stupid things, we wouldn't have annexed Sandrun."

Cyras' face fell. "I thought you had absolute power. I thought you were the Alpha!"

"You're the only one who says Alpha actually."

"People are getting scammed," Cyras said.

"I can only make sure that people aren't employing the product in the judicial systems but if this is advertised as a toy for fun then there's nothing I can do. You'll need some hard evidence."

"I'll get information from Rosod," Ahmond said.

"Will you also get money?" Owlis asked.

No response. Lilu and Cyras sighed at the sudden void where Ahmond was.

***

Rosod sat at her desk, one with only a lone light, the drapes pulled in, the television on in the background. She sat upright, cracked her knuckles on one fist with her thumb.

With a phone against her shoulder, she said, "Hey, Scarla, lemme tell you something. Those lie detectors are total shams."

As she did this, she dipped a feather in some ink and began writing on a blank piece of paper. Another slip sat beside, a field trip permission form she kept but she never attended the event because of... personal reasons. Regardless, this reference served her while she duplicated the letters.

"I think this should serve as a perfect replicate."

A news anchor Crimson came on her television. "And in today's news, we've heard about how one company has used the lie detector to figure out about snitches and spies. In fact, popular mascot for Pengin's Pizza Chain, a Twayt named Pengin, was found out as a spy. So the owner of the company had her tarred, feathered, and beheaded."

The news program showed several employees forcibly ripping the costume's head off of a dire wolf before they began throwing tar on the costume. And then they threw the costume's own feathers on top.

Rosod said, "Oh, that's not great."

[margowritesthings]

Vedova Nera

pairing: Dutch van der Linde x f!reader

summary: You've been Angelo Bronte's live-in assassin for years now, going undercover to kill those who have wronged him. Your next job seems rather simple: eliminate the outlaw Dutch van der Linde. What could go wrong?

word count: 5710 words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, violence, mentions of sex as part of a job, breath play, reader is an assassin, rough sex, choking, attempted murder, angelo bronte being a creep, sexual themes, cunnilingus (r receiving and giving)

a/n: this was a request from my beloved @cowboydisaster and god was it a wonderful prompt. I LOVED writing this, so thank you for the inspiration darling. So so glad to be publishing after such a long break, and I want to thank any and all of you who have stuck around to wait for me <3 love y'all, here's some filthy Daddy Dutch smut!

beta read by @cowboydisaster

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @beea-nie @cloudynoiire @punctillous @dutchysoriginalwife

support me by buying me a coffee!

When the sunlight streams through the gap between the red velvet curtains, peacefully stirring you awake, it feels like any other day. The silk sheets seduce you to stay, the feather pillow beneath your head luring you into five more minutes of dreaming, despite the noises of the hustle and bustle of Saint Denis penetrating the peace through a crack in your bedroom window. You really could stay here all day, cocooned in luxury while the staff serve your every whim.

But you can’t. The second your lashes flutter open and your eyes land on the dress hanging from your wardrobe, you’re reminded exactly why. While the fact that somebody must’ve delivered it to your room while you slept churns your stomach for a moment, you can’t deny that it’s an exquisite piece. The silk falls from the hook like a crimson waterfall and you know it will hug your body just perfectly by the way it hangs. You’ll look perfect tonight at the party, even if you will be draped on his arm. 

Urgh. The frown on your face is quickly pushed away at the sound of your door knocking. Nice of them to knock this time, though you’re sure it’s only because they know you’re awake and would knock whoever is brave enough to sneak into your room on their ass in seconds. 

“Miss? Mr. Bronte would like to see you.” The voice is somewhat muffled by the heavy wooden door, but your orders are clear as day, no matter how politely they’re worded. You’re to be downstairs in no more than five minutes. You huff, the only response you’re willing to give to the poor, innocent henchman at the other side of the door. Well, not exactly innocent, but who are you to talk? 

It doesn’t take long for you to brush your hair out of its braid with your fingers, the curls freely cascading down your back, get dressed, and find yourself knocking on the open, ornate door leading to the parlour. Bronte is waiting for you, arms stretched out around the back of the couch, taking up far more room than he deserves to. When he lays his eyes on you, he stands, reaching his arms out, palms upturned as he grins at you.

“Ah, il mio poccola ragna, how are you?” 

It feels like you’re being doused in lukewarm grease, but you allow him to hold your hands in his, pulling you just close enough to kiss you on the cheek, “I’m fine. Thank you for the dress, it’s beautiful.”

“And you will look stunning in it tonight, cara mia. Nothing but the best for la mia vedova nera.” 

You raise a brow, knowing that Angelo only calls you his black widow when he has a job for you. Of course he does. Nothing comes free in this world, and you have a deal. Bronte gives you a roof over your head, that plush bed you’ve grown awfully fond of, and all the luxuries a man of his stature could offer. In return, you work exclusively for him, as opposed to the freelance assassinations you used to offer to anyone with a fat enough wallet. In its simplest terms, that is your agreement with Angelo Bronte, but that doesn’t stop his wandering eyes, sickly terms of endearment and clammy hands wherever he can get them.

“It is with only the deepest regret that I shall not have you on my arm tonight, but alas, I have a job for you that requires a certain distance between the two of us, amore.”

It takes a level of restraint to not physically sigh in relief when you learn you won’t be spending the evening performing as Bronte’s woman, but your intrigue grows ever stronger when your curious gaze falls to the wanted poster laying on the table next to you. A sketch of a man steals your attention, and his intense stare threatens to never give it back despite being mere charcoal. Instinct tells you to reach out and run a finger lightly over the crumpled paper, tracing the man’s strong jawline, though you’re not quite sure why. You’ve never seen him before, nor have you heard his name: Dutch van der Linde. The poster isn’t from around here, it’s from Blackwater. You can tell, because you’ve seen your own face staring back at you on one just like it before finding yourself under Bronte’s protection. 

“This the guy?” You ask quietly, still entranced by this stranger etched into coffee coloured paper. Bronte doesn’t seem to notice, already leaning back into the loveseat.

“Sí, bella. He is new to town, he does not know of my vedova nera, and we must keep it that way. He dishonours me, dishonours my city. He will be at the mayor’s party tonight, but he will not see tomorrow, will he, cara mia?”

It isn’t a question, but you nod anyway.

Dutch van der Linde will not live to see another day. 

═══════☆═══════

Some consider this, the pomp and performance of high society, a gilded cage, forcing man into superficial roles to play and stripping him of any true freedoms, but you’ve learnt to see the beauty in taking advantage of it. You’re more than happy to put on a pretty dress and play pretend, laughing along to terrible anecdotes with a drink in your hand and a smile perfectly crafted on your reddened lips. After having truly nothing, living at the very bottom of the food chain, putting up with this farce is a small price to pay for a little security. Besides, drinking champagne while rich men call you beautiful is hardly a sacrifice. Most of them are old and rather greasy, but you’re more than capable of holding your own. They’re just microscopic cogs in a grand plan they’ll never even know about, orchestrated by someone they overlooked because of the way they look. Your greatest asset, you’re sure.

You reach for the champagne flute at the very top of the sparking pyramid, the bubbles dancing on your tongue from the first sip. When you make your way upstairs to the balcony, every tiny bubble rising to the top of your glass reflects the illuminated string lights wrapped around the iron gazebo and every pole in the perfectly tended garden, casting the who’s who of Saint Denis in a warm glow. From your spot on the balcony, you observe all, searching for your Dutch van der Linde. You can see your host, mayor Henri Lemieux, engaging in what could only be considered ‘schmoozing’ with a group of men in top hats by the fountain, and although you can’t see every face, you somehow know that none of them are the one you’re looking for. Those piercing eyes are sure to come with a presence to match, and you can’t feel it yet. 

That is, until the french doors into the house are opened and the hairs on your arm stand up straight. You blame the cool breeze that is pushed into you by the swing of the door, though that doesn’t account for the quickening pace of your heart. You rarely get nervous for a job, why would you? It’s all you’ve ever known. 

So why this one?

The thought falls down your spine with a shudder, and you try to shed your doubts quickly with a rather large sip of champagne that seems to numb the sharp edges to smooth curves just slightly. Your hand rests gently on the balcony, maintaining a facade that you’re looking out into the crowds below instead of listening in on the conversation between the group of men just feet away from you. In your peripheral vision, you spot him, dressed in a suit that simply must have been sewn around his body with the way it perfectly fits him. He wears a top hat, a large cigar burning between his gloved fingers. He takes your breath away upon first glance, your cheeks flushing when your eyes meet. You offer a small smile, before looking back over the ongoing party and finishing the rest of your champagne, leaving a red stain on the lip of the flute.

Now, you wait, hoping you left enough of an air of mystery and allure for your target to approach you. Bronte is with the group of men attending with Dutch, but neither of you acknowledges the other to maintain appearances. Definitely something you could get used to. 

Twirling the stem of your flute between your nimble fingers, you watch the crystal carvings refract and scatter beautiful dots of light over your dress as you listen in to Dutch, Bronte, and another man you’ve never seen before talk over their cigars. It’s all bullshit, Bronte bragging that the whole town fears him while he acts overly friendly to the man he has hired you to murder tonight, and it takes all the restraint you have to not visibly roll your eyes. You lift your glass to your lips again, before realising it’s empty. As you turn on your heel to head back to the drinks table, you’re met with an outstretched, gloved hand, bubbling flute presented to you in its grasp. 

It’s him.

Up close, you can see how beautifully he’s cleaned up from whenever he was sketched for his poster, his moustache gelled in an upward curve, his eyes a deep auburn that a charcoal sketch could never truly capture. He’s magnificent, his presence drowning you, and you’re sure even without the formalities he’d be just as stunning, a roughened cowboy with a drawl to send you weak in the knees. 

“For you, my dear.” He offers, watching intently as you take the flute between your fingers.

“Why, thank you, sir. I never knew they hired such well dressed gentlemen at these events.” You joke, smiling almost mischievously at him before taking a sip, “You surely can’t be a guest here, they’re never this kind.”

“Afraid so, miss. Dutch van der Linde, at your service.” He takes your free hand in his, lifting your knuckles to his mouth to kiss them tenderly. The sensation travels up your arm and sends a little flutter through your stomach. Quite the gentleman, it seems.

“A pleasure, Mr. Van der Linde.”

“Please, Dutch is fine. And the pleasure is all mine.”

You offer your name in return and a shy smile, the one that often has your victims bowing to your every need while they imagine you writhing beneath them, and by the way Dutch watches you, he’s no exception. 

“Tell me, Dutch,” you oblige, “what is a fine gentleman such as yourself doing at an event like this? Are you a friend of our host?”

“No, I am a guest of Mr Bronte’s, attending on a personal invitation.” You instantly sense it, the displeasure hidden in amongst the pleasantries. You’re not at all surprised, Angelo is hardly a likeable man. 

“Ah, I see.” “You know him?” “Not personally, no,” You lie, glancing over to the man in question, who appears to be boring the ears off Dutch’s abandoned friend as he downs his near full glass of whiskey, “But everyone who’s anyone in Saint Denis knows of him. He’s… real somethin’.” You match Dutch’s indignation with an expert precision, and you don’t need to pretend one bit. 

Dutch laughs, a hearty one at that, using the gesture to take a step closer to you, “Now that we agree on, my dear…”

A comfortable silence passes between the two of you and a waiter arrives, passing Dutch a rich amber drink that he thanks him for. You grab the waiter's attention, asking for a bourbon of your own. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Dutch looks impressed.

“I can admire a woman who appreciates a fine whiskey.” He remarks, tipping his glass to you and you smirk, raising a sharpened brow,

“I can appreciate much more than a fine whiskey, Mr Van der Linde.”

The air between the two of you is electric, charged with something inexplicable yet maybe the most powerful energy you’ve ever felt.

“Is that right?” It comes out almost a growl, which you feel deep in your core. The way he’s looking at you… it’s inevitable. Mission accomplished.

You lean in closer, glancing down to the snow white flower pinned to Dutch’s lapel. Your eyes linger on the thing, so stark a contrast to the jet black suit he’s wearing, so delicate a symbol for a hardened criminal you’ve been hired to murder. 

There’s little space between the two of you now, far less than is proper, but Dutch closes it, his hot breath tickling the lobe of your ear as he whispers to you,

“How about we get a real nice room somewhere and I show you just how much I can admire a woman who appreciates a good whiskey?”

═══════☆═══════

Sending Dutch back downstairs to the saloon for drinks gives you opportunity to reach under your skirts, pulling the dagger from your crimson garter and stashing it between the bed frame and mattress. It’s a simple routine, one that works every time to not only allow you time to prepare for the job, but to prove just how wrapped around your little finger your victims always are. Ever the gentleman, as you’re learning, it only took a simple comment of thirst and a bat of your thick lashes and Dutch was out the door. He returns to you quickly, hands full with two identical glasses of neat bourbon, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying click.

“Here we are, the finest this establishment has to offer.” He says, with just a touch of bravado as he goes to hand you the crystal glass. Your hand brushes with his own skin, tanned from what you assume to be hours out in the sun, and a jolt of electricity shoots up your arm, scattering your whole body with goosebumps. With strenuous effort, you collect yourself fast enough to thank Dutch, before letting that comfortable silence settle between the tiny space between your two bodies again. You’re so close to him you can smell the distinct cigar smoke and liquor burn on his breath, feel the energy buzzing off him. One deep breath and your supple chest would be pressed right against his hardened one. 

The golden liquid burns over your tongue and down your throat, but not nearly as much as your skin does under Dutch’s touch when he runs a thumb over your bottom lip. It feels as though your entire body heats from the contact, the only respite from the fever his contact elicits being the golden rings adorning his fingers, pressing up against your jaw when he cups the side of your face. It stops your heart, you’re sure of it.

“You, my dear, are exquisite.” He whispers tenderly.

In your line of work, there is violence. There is pain and fire and yes, sometimes passion, but never tenderness. But when Dutch van der Linde’s eyes roam over you, it feels different. Like he sees you, instead of seeking for whatever it is he’s looking for. They’re all looking for something, and they all seem to think you have it, but not Dutch… even if there is the most devilish grin tugging at the corner of his lips and a glint in his eye that tells you to be careful.

Your lips don’t meet, they collide, with a deafening crash that vibrates the earth below. Both yours and Dutch’s glasses are discarded on the table beside the four poster bed as you require both hands to grasp at his satin waistcoat while he reaches around your waist to pull you flush against him.

Every inch of him is solid, his hands moulding you around his frame as his tongue requests- no, demands entrance to your mouth. You’re happy to oblige, parting your lips so that he can run the muscle along your bottom lip, eliciting a real, sensual moan from deep within you. Most of the time, you feign interest and want and pleasure, using every tool at your disposal to have your victims as putty in your hands. Tonight, it would seem you have to fake nothing, feeling more like putty yourself, folding and sculpting around Dutch’s thick, strong fingers. 

Dutch growls, low and gravelly, and you feel it vibrate every part of you, leaving little cracks all over the shields you’ve grown so used to wielding. The tremors reach your knees and you have to put extra effort into not letting them buckle. He invades every sense, a smoky, powerful force that for a moment you worry you’ll never be rid of. It’s normally so easy to detach yourself from these men, seeing their demise as the only thing standing between you and the continuance of the life of luxury you’ve grown so accustomed to, but right now it takes everything you can to not fear a future haunted by Dutch’s ghost. It’s… strange, this attachment formed so quickly, so unexpectedly that you’re almost certain the only way to prevent it is to kill him now before anything else can happen. But you just can’t bring yourself to do it… you need him in this moment, need to take something from a man for yourself for once, instead of for your slimy Italian master. It’s a mistake, you know it is, but it’s one you can’t stop, like a train barreling towards you with broken breaks. The collision is going to hurt, but you’ll be damned if you don’t bask in the feeling of every bone in your body shattering for this moment, every speck of your being destroyed just for an evening. If your blackened soul must be broken, at least it’s your choice. And this is your choice. Dutch van der Linde is your choice.

His hand burns through the silk on your back, searing your skin that itches for a release of its confines. He never breaks your hungry, needy kiss as his expert fingers make quick work of your bodice, pushing your dress off your shoulders until it falls at your feet like a scarlet pool of blood. Your chemise is just as deep a red as your dress and the stain covering your lips, as is the garter squeezing your thigh. Dutch takes a step back, drinking you in like a fine glass of wine. Under his gaze, you burn all over again, feeling the heat pulsing in your very core, your clit throbbing and cunt weeping for him. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt a yearning so intense that you feel you might combust if you don’t have this man inside you soon. 

“As I said…” he growls, tongue licking over his own bottom lip this time, “Exquisite.” 

Your exhale is shaky from the sheer effort to stay still, to not pounce on Dutch and take him. Somehow, you take a steady step towards him, out of the pile of silk discarded on the floor, reaching back to the buttons on his waistcoat to pull them apart. Your neck cranes up slightly to meet Dutch’s intense stare, catching him flick his eyes down to watch you undress him. Your bodies are so close now you can feel his hard cock pressing against you, branding you, even hotter than the rest of him. Even through his breeches, his size is evident. Intimidating, but you can all but feel yourself drooling at the thought of taking him all. Patience growing thin, your fingers speed up to finish their job, pushing both waistcoat and crisp shirt off Dutch’s shoulders and onto the floor, revealing a strong, sturdy chest underneath. You run both hands over it with a featherlight touch, feeling him shudder at the contact. 

Looking back up to meet his eye, tracing gentle circles over his skin, you whisper, “As are you, Mister Van der Linde…”

“Oh, my dear,” Dutch catches your chin between his fingers, squeezing gently to pull you closer, until your lips are just a hair away from each other. Your breath hitches in your throat, lips parted and waiting for him. A gasp escapes when he runs a finger of his free hand up your inner thigh, pressing firmly against your slit through your lingerie, the sensation shooting up your spine, “I think we’re past the formalities, don’t you? Dutch is fine.”

You swallow down the moan building deep down, attempting to hold onto whatever little decorum you can before you crumble beneath this outlaw. When Dutch removes his finger from against your heat, it takes everything to not whimper from the loss of him. Still holding your face, he presses a kiss to your lips, inhaling you in through his nose before pulling away, glancing down to the space between the two of you.

“Kneel for me, beautiful.”

It takes you less than a second to obey, feeling the plush of the carpet against your knees. Your hands are instantly on Dutch’s belt, unbuckling it with hands that are almost vibrating with anticipation. His trousers don’t even fall past his hips before his cock springs out and you almost gasp again. It’s huge, thick and long, twitching and pulsing all for you. A beautiful sight, truly. 

Both hands look tiny in comparison, wrapping around his base with a slight squeeze that has Dutch groaning already. Your eyes lock onto his, never leaving them as you lick a line up his shaft all the way to his rosy head, the salty spend dancing on your tongue a sure sign he’s as desperate for you as you are him. When you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you get as much of his length in as you can, Dutch grips into your hair, cursing through his teeth as you start to bob up and down. 

Using your mouth and hands in tandem, you work up and down his shaft, licking across a protruding vein that causes another growl to leave Dutch’s lips and charge the air with a near blinding want. His cock pumps and swells even more so in your mouth, and when you take a deep breath and push all of his length in and down your throat, Dutch lets out a visceral groan sure to reach the ears of the devil himself.

“Fuck, just like that, angel, just like that…” He whispers to you, watching as little tears fall down your cheeks, mixing with the spit escaping the corners of your lips. Dutch holds your face between his large palms, fucking into your throat. It isn’t until your lungs are burning for air that he relents, his cock sliding out of your mouth soaked in your saliva, a bead still clinging to your chin. He wipes it away with his thumb, guiding you to your feet with an extended hand. You gasp as he lifts you into the air and all you can do is wrap your legs around his waist. His cock nudges against your lingerie, the thin, scarlet silk the only barrier between the two of you. You’re writhing, desperate for him as his tongue licks the roof of your mouth, dominating you. 

Dutch throws you onto the bed and you land with a squeak, spreading your legs wide to allow him to crawl over you, propping himself up on his elbows. His eyes roam over you, pulling the straps of your chemise down to expose your breasts. He continues to undress you, each second stretching out to an eternity until you’re bare underneath him. There’s a fire burning in his eyes and it scorches you. You feel the fire spread over every inch of you, especially when he dips down to lick a line from your nipple, across your chest, down your stomach until he is hovering above your cunt. His breath tickles your soaked skin and it takes everything you have to restrain and be patient. The devil is merciful, and after torturing you for what feels like hours, watching you writhe and whine, Dutch delves into your folds, taking your clit in his mouth and sucking on it gently. You scream, hands instantly raking into his jet black hair, nails scratching his scalp.

He hums in content, as if tasting a delicacy, and it vibrates your inner thighs. Your eyes roll back, jaw dropping as your back arches for him. 

“Oh, God…” you moan, relenting your grip just a little when Dutch stops to look at you, eyebrow raised and smirk tugging his glistening lips,

“Now, dear, I said Dutch is fine.”

He doesn’t give you much time to digest his cocky words, plunging a finger deep inside you, finding that spot that makes you go dizzy and curling against it. You whine and purr, bucking your hips up to show Dutch what you need. He takes your silent command and submits to it, bowing his head to take your clit in between his teeth. It tethers you between pain and pleasure, threatening to tear you apart from the inside out. One finger becomes two, pumping into your core and you feel yourself hurtling towards climax faster than you ever have in your life. There’s a burning on your inner thigh from his moustache while he laps up your juices, kissing and nipping and sucking until you’re sure you’re going to break and shatter all over the hotel room floor.

“Oh, God, Dutch- fuck, Dutch, yes Dutch- I- I’m gonna-” 

The whine you let out when Dutch withdraws his fingers from you is downright tortured. You look up at him, the question of why written all over your face. He simply smirks, sliding those glistening fingers in between his lips and licking your juices clean off them. 

“Tell me what you want, beautiful.” 

The sweet endearment softens your frown, his demand driving you even wilder. It isn’t a matter of want anymore, you need him. Right at this moment, you’re gasping for air, and Dutch van der Linde is your only oxygen. 

“Everything,” you breathe out, “God, Dutch, I need you, please…”

You earn a satisfied grin as Dutch begins to crawl over you again, the length of his body consuming you wholly. “Hm… I like it when you beg for me, my dear.” 

When he lines himself up to your entrance, the feeling of his tip brushing far too gentle past your clit, you’re truly dizzy with need. You reach up to Dutch, nails digging deep into the flesh of his shoulders as if he's your only tether to the earth itself. Your mewls guide him in like a siren's call, filling you more than you ever thought possible. Though slowly, Dutch slides all the way in, until you’re connected by the pelvis, the head of his cock prodding gorgeously into that swollen sweet spot of yours.

“F-Fuck…” you gasp out, concurrently to Dutch’s carnal groan. He fills you to the brim, and you squeeze his throbbing cock perfectly. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, breaching past the barriers of what you once considered sex to be. When he steadily withdraws, pushing all the way back in, you see stars, scattering across the ceiling of the hotel room, falling into the faint freckles you’re sure nobody ever notices on Dutch’s cheeks. The pure lust ignited in his eyes burns hot as he begins to move, thrusting in and out at an excruciatingly deliberate pace.

When he picks up a little speed, you feel his hand brush against your cheek, finger tracing your jawline from ear to chin and back again. His expression as he fucks you is so intense, and there’s a certain darkness clouding it all that scares you. Dutch is otherworldly, and your mind briefly casts to under your back, where that little knife lays waiting. Your confidence in completing your mission is faltering, picturing golden ichor bleeding from Dutch’s chest in lieu of blood. He is so far removed from anybody Bronte has ever had you kill, so divine an energy that you’re starting to wonder what your failure would mean for you. It has never been an option before, but the possibility wanders into your mind as if it belongs there. 

Your whines and moans harmonise with Dutch’s groans and curses, the room filled with purely obscene, visceral vibrations. He fucks into you, one hand gripping onto the sheets, the other cupping the side of your face, slowly snaking downwards to cover your neck. He doesn’t put any pressure on yet, but can surely feel the thrumming of your pulse against his palm. The possessive way his hand covers your whole throat makes your heart skip a beat, your now untouched clit twitching at the thought of Dutch restricting your airways. 

“God, you are so beautiful…” Dutch purrs, teasing a hint of pressure on your jugular. He’s getting faster now, just faintly more erratic. That darkness is flaring in his eyes, spreading over his whole expression as he begins to squeeze at your windpipe. It's gentle at first, just slightly cutting off the blood flow to your head, making your cheeks flush red. Your lips part in gasps, less than an inch away from Dutch’s as you feel your orgasm building again, no external stimulation needed. You’re so close now, nirvana within reach, Dutch’s hold getting ever stronger. 

“So beautiful… such a shame.” He growls, not relenting his now iron-grip to give you the air to consider what he just said. You try to speak, try to ask what he means, but you suddenly can’t. He’s clenching too tight on your neck. It hurts, but coupled with the dizzying lack of breath, it’s only furthering your journey over the edge. Your vision is blackening at the corners, an unknown fear striking you in the chest. He isn’t letting up, and you’re not sure if you even want him to, but you have no idea where this is going now. The energy in the air is changing faster than you can keep up with, your chest feeling hollow as your futile attempts at breath go ignored.

“A-A shame?” You just about manage, Dutch still pounding relentlessly, gloriously into your tight cunt. 

“Oh, my dear…” he squeezes once more, a bruising grip, and it hurts so much that your hands fly up to claw at his wrist. It’s unavailing, Dutch far too strong to be deterred by the little scratches your nails are leaving on his skin, “That you’re trying to kill me, darling.”

Your eyes fly wide open, pupils shrinking to barely a drop in a sea of panic. Your hands barely make it an inch towards reaching for the dagger under the mattress before Dutch grabs them with the hand not already holding you, pinning both wrists above your head. He’s still fucking you hard, and it still feels incredible despite the pure terror coursing through your veins. 

“Oh, little vedova nera, did you really think it would be so easy?”

It’s hardly even a struggle, your scratching is no match for Dutch’s strength. You can’t move, can barely breathe, and you’re genuinely terrified he’s going to kill you before you even get the chance to fight back. His grasp relents, just enough to allow a small, struggled gulp of breath, but it’s seemingly only so you can hear his next words before blacking out.

“Now here’s what's gonna happen…” He growls at you, not once faltering from his pace. Despite everything, you’re still so close, on the verge of a blinding climax that may actually kill you. “That pretty little pussy of yours is going to cum all over my cock, and then you’re gonna go back to our friend Mr. Bronte and tell him just how well Dutch van der Linde fucked his woman and lived to tell the tale. Got it, my pretty little thing?”

Your heart is pounding, and you’re certain you only have seconds of consciousness left in you, but you manage a frantic nod, your nails leaving reddened crescent moons all over the skin of Dutch’s wrist. You’ll do anything, the terrifying part being that you’re not sure if you’re begging for your life or your death, your petite mort, if you will. 

“Good girl.”

He releases your throat, instead squeezing your cheeks together harshly, forcing your lips into a pout. The blood rushes everywhere, sending you hurtling over the edge, clenching on Dutch’s cock and keeping your promise and then some. Tears are streaming down your cheeks from the intensity of everything, screams falling from your lips as best they can through Dutch’s hands. He’s groaning loudly, vibrating your being as the two of you cum together, Dutch pumping rope upon rope of his spend deep inside you. Time stretches, seconds becoming minutes becoming an eternity falling through the stratosphere as waves of white hot pleasure mix stunningly with the pain you feel all over. 

Dutch finishes with one last thrust, so hard you’re sure you’ll never recover from him. You’ve never felt anything like this, never felt an orgasm wrack through every atom like this one, pumped through your body with a heart running on pure fear. 

Mere seconds ago you were convinced Dutch was going to end your life, but when he pulls out of you and removes all contact from your panting body, the loss is immense. By the time you manage to come around, your arms finally having enough integrity to prop yourself up, he’s already dressing himself, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. You can’t think, let alone speak. What would you even say? The tear marks falling down your cheeks are inky black from your makeup, but you let them fall as the realisation of what just happened hits with enough force to shatter you, just as you predicted. 

You’re both silent as Dutch dresses, and all you can do is sit and cover yourself with the sheet on the bed. When he reaches the door, he stops, hand resting on the doorframe as he glances over his shoulder to you, “Tell Bronte I said hello, won’t you?”

And he walks out of the hotel room, leaving you alone, dripping with his spend, wondering what the hell you’re supposed to do now.

[neraawritesxx]

Are you still taking prompts? :) If so, could you write “You’re bleeding all over my carpet." for deisaku, please?

title: longing pairing: deidara x sakura word count: 2,273 a/n: it's been years since i've written anything. take it easy on me, anon. hope you enjoy!

Her front door closes softly, and Sakura presses herself against it. She releases a long-winded sigh, head tossed back and eyes towards the ceiling. She doesn’t know what it is about Wednesday evening shifts, but they never ran smoothly.

Maybe it was just her continuous lousy luck, or perhaps something in the hospital's ventilation system. Still, every patient was needier than usual, not a single chart was filed correctly, and any alternate nurses were nowhere to be found when they were needed.

She shakes off her despair, happy to leave work stress behind her. Kicking off her shoes unceremoniously, she doesn’t bother to turn on the lights as she pads into her kitchen.

It’s only when she’s half-buried in her open refrigerator, sniffing at a container of take-out that she realizes that she’s not alone.

The kunai is out of her hand before she turns around, the fast-food container now a discarded pile on her hardwood floor. Her weapon misses its mark, and judging by the muted ‘thunk’, it’s embedded into the wall. She scowls slightly at her skewed aim – and the fact that she will have to patch a hole – but her secret visitor has stopped skulking around in the shadows of her living room, so she considers it a small victory.

When his chakra washes over her, Sakura relaxes – only slightly. She flicks her ankle, discarding some of the mangled mess of beef and broccoli spilled on her foot, then stomps her way to the closest wall and slaps her hand against the light switch.

“What the hell are you doing, Deidara!?” She seethes.

Should she be surprised that an ex-war criminal had broken into her apartment? Probably.

Is she? Not really.

They fought side by side during the war, and despite not being within immediate proximity for most of it, Sakura can still hear the resounding explosions of his bombs connecting with their targets. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but from how he revisits the memories during their late-night tirades, she is sure he kept a close eye on her while she was fighting. He knows too many details of her shining moments and the enemies that she took down. She doesn’t know if she should have been scared or exasperated by his interest in her, but she chooses not to ask herself that question often.

These little midnight visits started when the village was rebuilt and a sense of normalcy washed over the nation. Most of the time, they were to avoid getting into immediate trouble within his home village – he did have a knack for blowing things up, after all. Some were for healing minor wounds he received on his probationary missions; others were for absolutely nothing but to annoy her in her free time.  

She couldn’t tell if he was on the right side of genius or the wrong side of crazy, but she enjoyed herself in his company. Most of their visits were spent with her listening to him talk about his art and medians. She couldn’t help but be enthralled by him, as he was enthusiastic. Sakura thinks she’s the only one who truly listens to him as he rants and raves, hence why he keeps coming back.

Though, there is something different as of late. It’s the way he looks at her. It’s guarded and apprehensive, like he wants to tell her something but is holding himself back. She never asks about his change in demeanor, hoping that he would figure it out on his own.

Her interloper has one hand raised, brows high on his forehead like he’s shocked that she would throw a sharp object in the general direction of his face. The lone blue eye not tucked behind his bangs slides to the kunai next to his ear. Sakura silently preens at noting it cut off some of his luscious blonde hair.

“You could have killed me, yeah!”

Sakura scoffs at his dramatics, eyes-rolling. “More like barely maim,” she says. She points a finger in his general direction, wiggling it up and down. “Doesn’t answer my question. What’s with the cloak and dagger routine?”

Much like his fighting style, Deidara is not the quiet type. Typically he makes his presence known while sneaking in her window or breaking in through her balcony door.

Deidara raises his other hand, the one pressed against his side, and Sakura catches the site of his palm covered in sticky, crimson blood.

“I need your help, yeah. Otherwise, I might bleed out on your carpet.”

“Bleed out on my –,” Sakura pauses, taking the time to skirt around the island in her kitchen to peer into her living room where Deidara stood. “Might? Might? You’re already leaking all over it!” She takes in the muddy red stains marring her yellow rug and growls, “I just bought that last week!”

Deidara winces slightly at her screeching and presses his coated hand back to his hip. “I’ll buy you a new one, yeah? So help me out here.”

Her gaze turns into a hate-filled glower, and Deidara grimaces again. He steps towards her but stops mid-stride when Sakura crosses her arms over her chest, anger not diminishing. He knew that look and what it meant.

“You do realize that you’re on probation, right?” Sakura questions. “You’re not even supposed to be within fifty miles of Konoha, let alone bleeding on my carpet.”

Deidara makes a noise that makes Sakura believe that he doesn’t particularly care about the aspects of his sentencing. “Hasn’t stopped me before,” he says. “And it won’t stop me in the future. You should start coming up with some new excuses. Come on, pinkie, help me out.”

He cocks his head to the side, bobbing it slightly, eyebrow raised and a sad pout plastered on his face. He knows she won’t last long with him begging; her good-natured heart would never turn down someone in need. It’s only a matter of time and a waiting game.

They lapse into prolonged silence, their stare-off becoming a battle of wills. She thinks she might have him beat, but the longer she stands there, the more exhaustion creeps into her bones. All she wants to do is take a shower, wash the day away, and crawl into her bed. Deidara, for his part, is starting to hunch in on himself, breath coming out in short parts – the pitter-patter of his blood continuing to stain her carpet. The last of Sakura’s stubbornness subsides when she takes in the twist of his mouth and the pinch between his brows. She doesn’t know what he’s done, but clearly, whatever it is bothering him enough that he’s wobbling on his own two feet.

She clicks her tongue, brushes a hand down her face, and states, “You know where the bathroom is. Go get the kit and sit down.” She waves him away with a hand.

Deidara is off before she could even second guess her discission, trotting down the hallway to her restroom, a trail of blood following behind him. She joins him at a much slower pace, taking the time to inspect the damage done to her rug. She will have to throw the whole thing away; what a pain.

By the time she’s reached the bathroom, he’s sitting on the lip of her tub, shirtless, wound oozing openly. It’s not the worst thing she’s seen; a decent-sized chunk of skin is missing close to his hip. It looks like someone or something took a bite out of him. She steps into the room, grabbing bandages from the first aid kit he kindly left next to her sink. She kneels on the floor, trying not to think about the fact that she is trapped between his thighs, and closes in on the wound.

Her hands start to glow a soft green, and she hovers them over the injury.

“Do I even want to know how you got this?” She asks.

Deidara sighs almost blissfully. “It was beautiful, beautiful art. You should have seen it, yeah.”

Sakura snorts, “I’m good. The last thing I need is to be caught interloping with one of the world’s reformed criminals.”

He chuckles, “Hasn’t stopped you from locking your windows or balcony door. Also, the key word in that sentence is reformed, yeah.”

She grumbles, caught red-handed, and heat blooms in her cheeks. “So, you blew yourself up by accident?” Sakura retaliates, trying to distract them both.

He smirks, knowing he has her beat. He leans further back on the tub’s edge for her to access his injury better. “A piece of debris clipped me when my newest formation exploded.”

The wound has closed enough for her to consider him out of any immediate danger. She doesn’t heal him entirely, just enough for the damage to be scabbed over and the skin to be mended.

Sakura considers it payback for her rug.

She reaches beside her, where she discarded the bandages, and motions for him to sit up straight. He does as she asks, and they lapse into companionable silence as she wraps his torso. She is so focused on her task that she doesn’t even bother to push her hair back as it falls into her eyes.

Sakura starts when she feels his fingers brush against the skin of her forehead, sliding down the side of her cheek to brush that hair behind her ear. Her eyes dart to his face, taking in his relaxed smile. It makes him look younger and boyish. It’s something that she would like to see on him more often. She bites her tongue, stopping herself from saying anything as that look starts to bleed back into his features. The one that she can’t place an emotion for.  She turns from him and finishes her task, tying off the bandages with a small knot.

“There you go,” she says as she sits back on her knees. “All finished.”

He flexes the muscles in his stomach once, twice, then twists from side to side, judging the strength of her healing.

“As always, pinkie, you’re the best, yeah!”

She smiles at the nickname. “Yeah yeah,” she boasts, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

He immediately reaches for his undershirt and cloak, discarded on the toilet seat next to them. He slips them on quickly before standing and moving around her towards the door. Sakura fights the jolting disappointment at realizing that he is most likely not staying tonight.

She stands slowly, and some of her emotion must have slipped into her expression because Deidara's smiling again when he turns towards her. It’s a cocky twist of his lips, and he's leaning towards her before she has a chance to ask him what’s so damn funny.

 It’s a shock to feel the brush of his lips across her cheek. It feels like someone had dumped a cold drink over her head; she went still and frigid, face freezing in place. She looks up at him with her mouth agape; all the while, he looks like the cat who got the canary.

Eventually, when Sakura’s brain can formulate coherent thoughts, she smacks her hand against her cheek, where his lips were only a few seconds before.

“What the hell are you doing?” She tries to sound affronted, but her voice fails her, and her challenge comes out more like a shocked, subdued whisper.

“Saying thank you, yeah,” Deidara simply replies, roguish smile still in place.

“The hell you are. Are you out of your god damn m –,” Sakura begins to say, but then his hand is on her hip, and his other is at her cheek, and his fingers were warm and callused, and he smelled a bit like gun powder and his cloak was worn against her hands and—

He kisses her, and it’s gentle and a little unassuming, like he is asking her a question. It’s just a brush of his mouth against hers, but she feels it from the top of her head down to her toes – Sakura could feel them curling against the tiles of her bathroom floor. There’s only a second’s hesitation before she’s kissing him back, and the world goes a little quiet, a little away. She likes everything about the kiss: the soft press of his body against hers, the slowness of it, the way he draws away, if only for a moment, as if to check she is all right with this.

He dips back in quickly for a second kiss, this one lasting a little longer than the first, but she the one pulls away this time, much too soon than she would like, but she feels like she needs to get her head on straight before she gets lost in the feel of him.

She doesn’t know how the night’s events have turned to this, nor when Deidara’s infatuation turned from curiosity to friendly to extremely fond, but she can now place that look in his eye: longing. She adds some questions – and a lot more – to the steady-growing pile in the back of her mind. There’s a time and place, and she’s immensely enjoying herself right now.

“This doesn’t get you out of buying me a new rug, you know,” she says, her voice breathless.

Deidara laughs, a loud, hearty sound rattling his chest, and leans down to claim her lips again.

Sakura pulls back once more. “And you’re cleaning up the mess in the kitchen.”

“Whatever you say, pinkie. Let me finish saying thank you, yeah?” He murmurs, dipping his head once more.

-o-

Sakura finds that Deidara’s definition of ‘thank you’ is much more thorough than she initially anticipated.

[rainpebble3]

Sharing Sunday?

I've been in a major funk lately so I'm smashing it by sharing a new chapter for Layers of Snow and Ash called Into the Midden, or unofficially called Nera's first kill!

A wee snippet for you if you have been following the story!

“Come now! Or I’ll leave you to fend for yourself down here!” Calmlinde called, snapping her out of her daze.

Nera gasped and sped up, running forward now, trying to find Calmlinde. She didn’t want to end up stuck down here. The Midden was already creeping her out. She was too distracted and soon her feet caught a slimy patch of moss or mud. Nera skidded forward, falling onto her face.

“Ow,” she hissed softly, sitting back up. Her beige robes had blackened and were coated with vile sludge. It stained her hands and seeped under her nails.

Above her, Calmlinde chuckled as she stepped out of a shadowy alcove. “Now Miss Maryon, are you simply clumsy or seeking camouflage?”

“I tripped,” Nera muttered, scrambling to her feet. “This place is… different to what I expected.”

“Indeed, we’ll be passing under the cliffs soon.”

Nera frowned. “How is that possible?”

Calmlinde stared past Nera, looking deeper into the Midden. “No one in Winterhold recalls the Great Collapse. Even the Mer here who are old enough were nowhere near this once great city when it happened… Everyone believes the destruction came from the sea, which to an extent is true, but no one remembers that there was a force rivalling that of the sea which came from the mountains. Landslides flattened the city, driving it to the sea and burying it entirely underground, while the crashing waves reshaped the land.”

“How do you know?”

Calmlinde smirked. “I watched it happen.”

[thyln4gf]

Light me up

✞ You, a well known rockstar. Your boyfriend, the golden boy of F1. Its a constant "battle" of "who's gonna have more of their fans turn to the 'other side?'"

✞ I have synesthesia! Here's 5 songs that I associate with this fic: "Light me up" - The Pretty Reckless, "Scarlet cross" - Black Veil Brides, "Scars" - Papa Roach, "honey (are u coming?)" & "baby said" - Måneskin.

✞ Warnings: Suggestive comments and pictures, fluffy relationship shite, cursing, google translate (italian). SMAU.

✞ Charles x rockstar!reader

✞ Face Claim - Taylor Momsen (The Pretty Reckless)

theprettyreckless

liked by yourusername, markdamonbass, charles_leclerc and others !

theprettyreckless: AND THAT'S A WRAP! Thank you, Montreal, for being so welcoming. Three cheers for this sweet, sweet tour. And to many more in the future. À la prochaine, mes chéris.

tagged; yourusername, markdamonbass, oneguitartorulethemall, cptncvmn

yourusername: LETSFUCKINGGOOOO

yourbsf1: you were crying about this to me on facetime for half an hour. Then while picking the photos for the post. Then writing the caption.

yourusername: exposing me? Just like that? Bro... :(

yourbsf1: L

yourbsf2: #exposingy/nera

username1: I CAN SEE MY HAND!!! #famousera

username2: y/n's mic stand wasn't the only thing whose straightness has been broken tonight (liked by yourusername)

username3: yo... leclerc in the likes👀

username4: holy shit??? You're right

username6: calm down, y/n is friends with Damiano. Charles probably just likes her band too!

username5: who the hell is leclerc???

username7: what rock have all of you been living under? They have been together for years.

damianodavid: onorato che tu ci abbia portato in tour con te! Un sacco d'amore❤️(liked by yourusername, theprettyreckless, maneskinofficial)

yourusername: Grazie🫶

carlossainz55: 🖤 (liked by yourusername)

username8: ariana... what are you doing here??

username9: what the fuck

username10: Charles got too nervous and asked Carlos to comment something methinks (liked by carlossainz55, yourusername)

yourusername

liked by yourbsf1, danielricciardo, vicdeangelis and others !

yourusername: life recently: post tour edition. The depression is hitting HARD. #noonetalktomeimturningemo

yourbsf2: mommy?? (liked by yourusername)

yourusername: not here, kitten whiskers...

yourbsf2: but...☹️

yourbsf1: get a ROOM. Jesus....

charles_leclerc: right? I agree. (liked by yourusername)

yourusername: 😇

yourbsf2: i saw her take that shirt off, and y'all did not🧚

charles_leclerc: @/yourusername ???

yourusername: uhhh.... 🏃‍♀️💨

username11: you just made eggs look tasty

username12: FUUUUCK them eggs. Have you seen the last slide??

username13: THE LAST PHOTO??? MOTHER.

username14: I don't know what to be jealous of first - her tits, the food, or the fact that she got some good dick IN the car... (liked by yourusername)

username15: im fine!! This is fine!!!

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, pierregasly and others !

charles_leclerc: sk8er boiii

tagged; yourusername

yourusername: B) im so cool bro

charles_leclerc: you cried when the cat decided to leave your lap.

yourusername: :,( bro...

yourbsf1: yeah bro!!!

charles_leclerc: I'm not sorry.

charles_leclerc: waitwaitwait @/yourusername WHY IS SHE CALLING ME.

yourusername: 😇

charles_leclerc: Y/N L/N

yourusername: neither of us is a punk OR does ballet tho... (liked by charles_leclerc)

username16: emo Charles era when?? (liked by yourusername)

yourusername: @/charles_leclerc !!!

username16: OHMYGODJDJDJ???

scuderiaferrari: 😎 (liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername)

yourusername uploaded a story:

(Caption: 🖤)

yourusername uploaded a story:

(caption1: 👀👀) (caption2: oops.)

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, mariabrinkofficial and others !

yourusername: datenightdatenightdatenightdatenightdateni-

tagged; charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: couldn't you have taken any longer?🙄 (liked by yourusername)

yourusername: darling... you fell asleep.

charles_leclerc: i was resting my eyes!

yourusername: you snored. I have a picture of you drooling. (liked by yourbsf1, yourbsf2, landonorris)

landonorris: can confirm

charles_leclerc: Y/N??

vicdeangelis: bellissima! (liked by yourusername, damianodavid)

yourusername: fermare! Sto arrossendo🫠

charles_leclerc: sono d'accordo. (liked by yourusername, vicdeangelis)

yourbsf2: @/charles_leclerc I'll have you know that y/n is currently dying. Send her exactly what you just typed out, just in the form of a voice message, to save her. Quick! (liked by yourusername)

lewishamilton: this is empowering and all, but there are children on this app. (Lando) (liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, danielricciardo)

landonorris: right. Smh, mother. Do better🙄 (liked by yourusername, danielricciardo)

username17: AYO???

username18: im not okay. Im not fine. WHAT????

username19: the handprints were def made by charles... lucky bastard. (liked by yourusername)

username20: the last slide... does that mean exactly what i think it does?

username21: oh it definitely does.

username22: the sexual tension between me, the fork, and the toaster right now...

username23: the final boss WAG

username24: i'd call y/n the best wag ever, but she's kinda the main character here...

yourusername uploaded a story:

[bora-in-tamriel]

Neralion and Teldryn once more, they have consumed my brain

Let the man eat, he’s been sword fighting for you all day >:(

a blurb, no plot but i dont wann adelete it after writing it lol

The Retching Netch had calmed down for the night, with most residents heading home or visitors heading to their rooms. The only sounds filling the open inn were cups hitting the wooden bar counter, as Geldis scrubbed each one clean. About an hour after midnight, the door to the inn opened, wind whistling upstairs, before a faint slam ceased the intruding ash. 

Teldryn and Neralion came walking down the steps to the bar, the Dunmer ruffling his sweaty hair off his scalp, while the other dusted his coat. Teldryn  placed his helmet on the wooden counter, saying his greetings to Geldis as usual. Neralion followed suit, sitting down beside him. They’d always come back either before the first crack of dawn or after midnight, so Geldis was accustomed to the odd hours of preparing food for two hungry people. 

With some hot stew and fried egg, along with some rye bread to boot, both Neralion and Teldryn were chowing down without a word. Teldryn showed little care for utensils when he was really hungry, opting to scoop the stew with the bread and egg. Neralion used utensils, but he didn’t fall behind on emptying his bowl, he was a big lad with an appetite, and no one can really beat him in his speed of eating, not even Teldryn. 

Chugging some of his drink, Neralion hit his chest with a supressed burp, sighing full and content. 

Teldryn shook his head, scooping up more of his stew. “No one’s going to take your food from you, Nera, try to taste it next time,” he joked. 

“Old habits die hard, what can I say, “ Neralion chuckled, stretching. “Besides,” he wrapped an arm around Teldryn, hugging him. “Knowing your appetite, if I have any left by the time you’re done it does tend to disappear.” 

Teldryn scoffed, stuffing his face with another bite. “That was one time, and only because you didn’t seem to be eating it,” he argued, “I didn’t want you wasting any of it.” 

“Mmm, whatever you say.” Neralion pressed a long kiss on his cheek, tipping Teldryn back into an embrace. 

Nearly spilling his meal, Teldryn grumbled in defiance. “Watch it! This couldn’t wait until I was done?”

“Mmm... no.” Neralion smiled against his cheek.

[i-fondued]

Kinktober 2022 | Ghost - Confessions and Chambers

Terzo can’t help but whisk his favorite sister of sin from the dining hall to his private rooms to give her and exclusive tour… Pairing: Papa Emeritus III / Terzo x Sister of Sin Rating: Explicit Warnings: SMUT, fluff!Terzo, surprisingly vanilla sex tbh A/N: SURPRISE! These two may actually end up as semi regulars like Copia and his Sister of Sin. What was going to be really perverse breeding kink Terzo ended up being fluffy instead ahahaha still gonna write the breeding kink eventually tho…

AO3 LINK CAN BE FOUND HERE

“Sister, you haven’t eaten any dinner.”

I tore my gaze away from the head table where Terzo had been making faces at me while ignoring his brothers who were clearly bickering, my cheeks flushing as I looked back at the sister who spoke to me. She smiled at me, gesturing to my plate where I had been pushing my food around.

“Oh, sorry. It’s just been a long day is all!” I joked, picking at the pasta on my plate. “Besides I think I’m just partial to my own cooking.”

“I know I am, Sorella.” A voice purred from behind me, a shiver running down my spine.

“Papa!” The sister next to me exclaimed, a twinkle in her eyes. “Good evening, Sir.”

“Evening, Sorellas.” Terzo smiled brightly while leaning with his hand on the back of my chair. His fingertips brushed softly against my shoulder and I had to fight the urge to squirm. “I trust I will see you all at massa nera on Sunday, Si?”

“Yes of course, Papa.” Another sister perked up, a blush on her cheeks as he flashed her another bright smile. 

“Bene, excuse me Sisters. But I have a task for our friend here, you mind if I borrow her?” He chuckled, hand resting warmly on my shoulder.

“Of course not Papa, please.” I had to hold back my eye roll at the overeager sisters, all practically giddy under the attention of our Papa. I had gotten so used to his theatrics, it didn’t even occur to me that I used to be just like them.

Terzo, ever the gentleman, held his hand out for me to take. His silk gloved hand was warm in my own bare one, his fingers twitched slightly as he had to stop himself from tangling our fingers together. More of the tables near us were now looking at us, curious whispers being passed back and forth, and I couldn’t help but shy away from them and closer to Terzo. I never liked being the center of attention if I was being honest with myself but Terzo had always been there to steady me. He tucked my arm into the crux of his own as he escorted me from the dining room. 

We had moved down the hallways in a comfortable silence, the sound of our shoes on the marble floor echoing down the hall. When we took a turn down a corridor I’d never gone to before I looked up at Terzo quizzically. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Somewhere I have not brought you before, Sorella.” He smiled, tugging me past many sets of double doors before pausing and looking down the hallway. Once he checked that the coast was clear he pushed open the doors, slipping us inside before he shut them quickly. “This is mia stanza, my personal quarters.”

I took my time to look around the space, a large and welcoming sitting room where we had entered. A set of plush couches sat in front of a roaring fireplace, warm and inviting looking from where I stood. Behind there was an ornately carved set of bookshelves bracketing an open doorway, the shelves filled with his personal books, photos and trinkets from Terzo’s tours. Through the doorway I could see his bed was situated against the back wall. Even from here the bed looked big enough to comfortably sleep a family of four and I had to bite my cheek before I laughed at the audacity of such a bed for just him.

“It’s much nicer than mine,” I said as I couldn’t help but picture my tiny box of a room on the other side of the abbey, little more than a desk, bed and small wardrobe taking up space in there. “It’s a bit more…utilitarian.”

“You stay here then.” Terzo said mischievously, as he scooped me up into his arms, and stalked towards the bed. “Plenty of room for you, Sorella.”

“Terzo put me down!” I cried, trying to keep my laughter from spilling out as I remembered where I was. “What if someone catches me here?”

He tossed me on the bed gently, a small wicked gleam to his eyes as he crawled over to me. He slotted himself between my legs, which happily welcomed him, resting his weight on his elbows as he leaned in to whisper in my ear.

“Let them dare to challenge their Papa.” He purred, a shiver running down my spine. He pressed a soft kiss to my lips before resting his head on my chest. 

Terzo’s weight on top of me was a comfort as we soaked up each other’s company, the fire in the other room casting shadow as the flames cracked happily in the grate. His right hand caressed at my side rhythmically, a soothing feeling as my eyes grew heavy. My own fingers ran absentmindedly through his hair, I felt the man practically purring under my ministrations and I smiled sleepily, a warm sort of pleasure spreading in my chest. 

“Bella?” Terzo’s voice was soft as I felt him lift his head from my chest. I turned to look down at him, my breath drew sharp at the sight of him. The light from the other room illuminating him from behind with what looked like a golden halo behind his head. 

“Yes Papa?” I whispered, taken aback at the look of the man in my arms. His hand came up to cup my cheek tenderly, a warm look crossed his mismatched gaze. 

“No Papa here, in these rooms, only Terzo.” He mumbled, leaning up to press a soft kiss to my lips. My eyes fluttered close, heart thrumming in my chest.

“Terzo…” I sighed as his lips pressed against mine again. My hand cupped his cheeks, my pinky curling against his sharp jawline. 

“Amore.” He mumbled against my lips, his teeth nibbling at my bottom lip. I gasped, fingers slipping into his hair and pulling him to me. 

He slipped up my body, pressing firmly against me as he pinned me to the mattress. I whimpered as his hand pulled the habit from my head and tossed it to the side, my hair spilling against the pillows. My heart swelled in my chest, a warm and sticky feeling spilling from my chest to my belly. Terzo pulled back slightly, our breaths mingling, and I took advantage of his distraction. 

I pushed on his shoulder and his side with my leg, he wordlessly understood what I needed and flipped us over. He was now leaning back against the headboard and I was tucked in his lap, knees on either side of his hips. I rolled my hips forwards slightly and he groaned, head leaning forward to rest against my chest. 

My eyes closed and I sighed contentedly as I watched him pull his gloves off, tossing them on the bedside table, before his mismatched eyes locked with mine as I started to unbutton my robes. As skin was exposed, Terso leaned forward and pressed soft kisses and nipped at my sensitive skin. His hand pressed firmly against my lower back, holding me against him as I squirmed against his lips and tongue. Finally I had undone all the buttons and pulled back to pull the dress over my head and tossed it on the floor. 

“Satana, Sorella…” Terzo hissed as he surged forward, his lips pressing against mine possessively. “Tu mi appartieni…”

I felt him suck my bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling it before pressing soft loving kisses. His tongue slipped into my mouth as I gasped, his wet muscle teasing and coaxing my own to meet his. I couldn’t help but rock my hips as I sought out any relief of friction, a groan slipped from my lips as I felt him bite my lip and moan my name. I could feel Terzo’s cock underneath me as he bucked up against my soaked underwear. His warm calloused hands ran up my back, swift fingers unhooking my bra and slipping the straps down my arms. I tossed the thing to the side, arching my back to press my breasts into Terzo’s hands. 

“I want you…” I whimpered as my hands tangled in his hair, pulling him to kiss me again. This time I was the needy one, my teeth digging sharply into his bottom lip. “Please Terzo.”

“Soon, presto dolce ragazza…” Terzo chuckled as he pulled away to press soft kisses into my neck, the spot he knew drove me wild. “Vogilo assaporarti, I want to take my time…”

I rocked my hips against him again as he nipped and sucked love bites into my skin, teeth digging into my collarbones, before I felt him take my nipple into his hot mouth. I cried out, pressing against him as he teased me and felt the little bud pebble against his tongue. I felt the heat bundling in my belly, my core practically dripping in his lap. I needed to feel more of him, I wanted to touch his skin, I had to be able to leave my own mark.

Frantically I pulled away, tugging at his overcoat as my fingers stumbled over the buttons. I felt Terzo’s rumbling laughter as he pulled his lips from my breast and helped me to unbutton his coat. I slipped it from his shoulders, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his shoulder before sucking his skin sharply and digging my teeth in. He hissed, jumbled words of English and Italian slipping from his lips as I lapped at my love bite with a wicked gleam in my eyes. 

“Sorella…” He groaned, head leaning back against the pillows and looking up at me. His fingers tangled in my hair at the base of my neck.  “Bellissima…”

He pulled me to him again, kissing me as I reached between us to run my hands down his broad shoulders. His skin was soft and warm beneath my fingertips and I could feel goosebumps running across his skin as a shudder sputtered through him. I dragged my hands down his chest, nails raking through his light chest hair. I followed the trail down his taut stomach, the muscles below the pads of my fingers contracting as I passed. Terzo groaned as my fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his trousers. I felt his cock twitch against my inner thigh as I teased him, fingertips sliding softly against his skin as he writhed beneath me. 

“Mia caro…per favore…” He begged, reaching between us to undo his belt and trousers. I smiled warmly at him, sitting up slightly as Terzo slid the fabric separating us down his legs. “I cannot wait any longer.”

Ever the sneaky little shit, he pushed my panties aside and ran his bare fingers against my dripping wet slit. I gasped, rolling my hips against the friction, and his eyes bore into mine. The glow of the fire making his one white iris light up hauntingly. 

“It seems, amore, that I am not alone in my lust.” He teased, lips brushing against the shell of my ear as he leaned forward to pull my panties down entirely. “You are so wet for me…”

His skilled fingers teased my opening, my cunt clenching almost painfully at the emptiness and I groaned low as my forehead came to rest on his bare shoulder. He chucked at me, his free hand stroking himself absentmindedly. Terzo’s hand left the throbbing apex between my thighs and I almost sobbed till I watched him slip his fingers between his painted lips, sucking off my wetness from them. A whimper left my lips before I could stop it. 

I moved without thinking, swatting his hand away from his cock, before positioning him against my wet heat. Slowly I sank down on his length, feeling every inch as he buried deep inside me. Terzo’s hands gripped my waist, helping me as I lifted myself and rocked my hips. My head fell backwards, hands settling on his thighs as I slowly began to ride his cock. Little breathy moans slipped past my lips while groaned and unintelligible Italian came from Terzo as we explored each other’s bodies slowly.

I was so used to our quick encounters in the kitchens or abandoned storage closets, I’d never even seen Terzo fully naked before. Heat flushed my face and pooled in my belly as he praised me, his hips beginning to rock up to meet me as I rode him. His fingers brushed against the bottoms of my breasts as his fingers teased my nipples, I arched my back towards him as he sat up and nipped at my chest. 

“Terzo…” I panted as my thighs began to burn with my movements. The heat in my belly growing hot, the coil of my orgasam turning ever so slowly. He looked up at me, awe in his mismatched eyes, as he smiled at me. One hand was steadily gripping my hip, helping me roll against his thrusts, the other came up to cup my cheek. I leaned into his touch, a knot forming in my throat.

“Mia bella ragazza,” He purred while pulling me down to his lips. “Ti amo, I love you…”

“I-I love you too, Terzo.” I moaned, my hips stuttering against him as I lost my pace. Ever the observant one, Terzo took advantage of my distraction and rolled us over. 

He was on top now, pulling my leg to curl around his waist as he began pounding into me. I cried out, my hands coming to curl around his biceps as he placed his hands on either side of my head. I ran my hands down his chest, committing the sight of him naked and looming above me as he fucked me wildly to memory. I felt myself edging towards my orgasam, my pants coming faster and harder as Terzo bottomed out inside of me. 

“Terzo…I’m so close.” I whimpered as he leaned back, slipping his fingers to touch my swollen clit. I felt the walls of my cunt flutter as my orgasam surged. 

“Sborra per me amore,” He groaned, hips losing their rhythm slightly at my confession as he slung one of my legs over his arms to be able to hit deeper inside me. “Come for me.”

I felt my eyes roll in the back of my head as my orgasam slammed into me, my back arching sharply as my hands reached out to pull Terzo down to me. I kissed him, our mouths swallowing the sounds I couldn’t help making, and I felt him chase his own bliss. A few more sharp swirled thrusts and I felt his cock twitch inside me as he came, filling me up inside. He hissed a string of mixed italian as he rocked slowly inside me, riding out our afterglow before he let out a breathy laugh.

Terzo collapsed on top of me, our bodies slick with sweat as we took our time to catch our breath. I felt Terzo’s arms slip under me as he hugged me tightly. I smiled with a flush to my cheeks as I absentmindedly brushed his hair back from his face. His Papa paints, normally neat and tidy, were smeared all over his face. Some spots more grey than black or white, especially around his lips. 

“Stay tonight, mio amato…” He rolled onto his side as he spoke, pulling me under the covers with him. “Do not leave me alone in this big bed…”

“You drive a hard bargain, how could I ever want to stay in your lovely massive bed.” I teased him, tangling my legs with his as he pulled me against him, nuzzling his face against the top of my head. 

“No tease, bella.” He mumbled, his hands brushing up and down my back as he spoke. I leaned into his touch, eyes slipping closed sleepily, and smiled before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Terzo?” I spoke while suddenly feeling shy, a deep flush blossoming on my cheeks.

“Si, Sorella?”

“D-did you mean what you said?”

“What I say?” He asked, clearly confused. I opened my eyes to see him looking at me, his brow furrowed. “Che cosa?”

“T-that you loved me…” I trailed off. My eyes were unable to meet his as he sighed, his fingers tilting my chin to try and catch my gaze. 

“Bella…mi amore. You do not believe this?”

I shook my head, unable to speak with the lump in my throat. Terzo smiled softly, his fingers coming to run through my hair and tangle at the base of my neck. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to my crumpled brow.

“Sorella…Si. It is true. I love you, I am very fond of you too.” He chucked, brushing the tears that spilled from my eyes with his thumb. “Please do not cry, bella.”

“I love you too, Terzo.” I held back a laugh at the look of concern on his face, smothering his face with little kisses. “It’s happy tears.”

“Ah, I understand.” He smiled, the look on his face telling me he didn’t quite understand but that he didn’t want to hurt my feelings like he was already worried he had. “Come, Sorella. Sleep.”

I closed my eyes as he rolled onto his back while pulling me with him; I rested my head on his chest and felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat in my ear. My eyelids were heavy, feeling like they were being pulled closed by magnets, and before I knew it I was fast asleep.

[frznkingdom]

samael smirked, taking his white top hat into his hand and bowing towards nera, " your lips are quite captivating, my dear~ " forest green peeked up between iridescent hair, the demon's teeth glinting, " but there isn't an inch of you that isn't utterly captivating~☆ " (for recent meme. meph cant help himself he finds nera so PRETTY)

Well, he certainly had a way with words. That immediately caught Nera's attention, causing a smirk to form on her lips as she raised an eyebrow.

"Quite the observant one, aren't you~?" She knew that her looks could draw the attention of many, men and women alike. "Glad I caught your eye, handsome~"

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Love Me Bitterly [Chapter Five] Labyrinth [Adam]

Warning(s): Foreshadowing, OC, short chapter, Adam being Adam, mixed emotions, religious themes.

Tag list: @lala-1516

Previous Chapter

No Minors Allowed!!

“I'm so jealous,” Rilea whined. She fell back in her seat and despite Marcella's plea to be quiet, she continued to wiggle restlessly until the blonde turned to her and raised a curious brow.

“And why might that be?” She asked. She was not curious, but she knew Rilea would not be quiet until she asked. 

Rilea got up and moved to sit beside her near the viewing portal. Her green eyes stared at the glistening cosmos in front of her before she turned to Marcella. 

“Because Adam is so into you and he's hot.”

He's OK, in Marcella's opinion. His personality is terrible, but he can be nice if he feels motivated. 

“I honestly think he's into me just because he's bored.” 

Rilea frowned. “Did he say that? Assumptions and truth are frequent bedfellows.”

Marcella snorted. 

“So is love and desire.” 

The redhead turned up her eyes. She understood the point Marcella was trying to make, but honestly, she didn't think her assumption of Adam was the case. Yes, he was a jerk, but based on what Nera told her, he talked frequently about the Commander's daughter. Her recent performance in Seraphim Square really struck a chord with him. 

Even so, it was not her business to push them together. If Marcella gave him an option, something to think about, then it was between them. She and Nera were already giving Adam information; he was just too ignorant when it came to relationships to know what to do with it. 

Rilea took an uneasy breath.

“What do you want out of this?”

Marcella hummed. She reached forward and touched the portal, watching as it switched to Earth, a peaceful meadow somewhere in Iceland. 

“I'm not sure and for some reason, I'm fine with that.”

On one hand, a relationship with Adam seemed impossible. He was too loud; too full of himself. A one-night stand, on the other, meant that there were no strings attached. Adam did have sex appeal; his mouth made it hard to like him, however. 

“It's up to Adam at this point.” 

Rilea said nothing more about it. She sat in silence with Marcella until the door opened and Leena sauntered in. She was an anthropomorphic lioness with a brunette mane styled in dreads and dark fur. Sometimes she swapped duties with Rilea but today she was meant to be in the field. 

“Is watch over today, sister?”

Leena turned up her slitted brown eyes. 

“No. I left Earth early. The observee is grating my nerves.”

Marcella knew the feeling. She gave the lioness a sympathetic look. 

“I'm sorry, sister. Perhaps it will get better.”

Leena hummed.

“Perhaps. But I doubt it. I reported him to the Commander once already for misuse of his authority, but she insisted that I ignore it. You would understand, Marcella, he was yours before your demotion.” 

That creep. Marcella tightened her jaw and turned to the portal, switching it to a view of the man. He was Caucasian with salt and pepper hair, a charming manipulator, in her opinion. At the moment, he was writing in a ledger of some kind, listing names and ages.

“That is…ominous,” Rilea stated. 

No kidding. What was he doing? 

“Self-proclaimed Saint Hunter,” Leena mentioned with a frown. “He is currently amassing followers who share his views.”

“And Imelda is ignoring this?” Rilea asked in disbelief. 

Leena nodded. She had no idea why and based on the look Marcella was giving him, neither did she. 

“The best we can do is keep an eye on him.”

If things continued to escalate then Marcella would have no choice but to take the matter to a Seraphim. Wickedness no matter how small had a connection to the Root of All Evil, and it was the “Powers” job to find and eliminate it. 

This was not good. 

–

‘Saint’ Hunter stayed on Marcella's mind long after she left headquarters. He put her on edge and the more she tried to ignore him, thinking that things would fix themselves, the more worried she got. She was starting to question whether the Seraphim would intervene or not. 

Her mind was a labyrinth. Marcella did not even hear her name being called until whoever had addressed her chased her down, nearly frightening her when they leaped in front of her. 

“Sorry, mate. Yor an easy one to spook,” Willow stated with a laugh. She was the lead singer of Frisson, a songbird with white plumage and ombre feathers that faded to mint green.

Marcella sighed in relief.

“I'm sorry. I was distracted. How are you?”

Willow snorted. 

“Good ‘nough. Yor gonna freak when I tell ya this, but we got a gig.”

A gig. Marcella widened her eyes. 

“Where? When?” 

She honestly needed a distraction to clear her head, at least for a brief moment.

“At Seraphim Square in two days,” Willow chirped. “The Celebration of Lights festival, ya know. The band ‘as to keep it cleaner than usual, but that's no problem.”

“That's amazing,” Marcella stated. 

She was excited, but her mind was so exhausted, a notion that reflected on her face. 

“Yor up for this, right mate?” Willow asked, raising a worried brow. “I ‘eard the “Arches” might show. Ya know what that means.” 

Azrael. The blonde felt her face heat up. Was he really going to be there? She had never performed in front of the “Archangels” or the “Seraphim” before. All this was so exciting. 

“You don't have to worry about me. I'll have my head in the game by then.” 

“Rock on,” Willow retorted, bouncing on her feet. “I'll see ya at Lita's house tomorrow for rehearsal.”

Marcella agreed with a nod, then saw her off as she flew away. She felt a bit better, but work still put a damper on her mood. Opting to turn in early, after a long shower, she hurried home unaware of the attention that she had drawn.

–

Two months and fourteen days was what stood between the Exorcists and Extermination Day. Two months and fourteen days, Lute reminded herself, and Adam was not feeling it. 

The stoic woman watched him shove a donut into his mouth from across the table, having been dragged to some café on the square with him. At first, he was attentive, then like the flip of a coin, his attention went elsewhere. It was not unusual for Adam to lose interest in what she had to say, but when his attention diverted to a certain blonde-haired Heaven-born, she grew curious.

“She must live around here,” Lute stated. 

It was just a test, but Adam fell for it hook, line, and sinker. 

“Does she?” 

“I'd imagine, sir. The “Powers” set up their headquarters near here.”

Adam tossed her a glare. 

“No shit. Like I hadn't fucking noticed.” 

She knew he had. Adam went there to talk to their Commander. Her point was that it made sense for Marcella to live nearby. He could be dense. 

“That bird is a bandmate of hers,” Lute pointed out.  

Adam didn't seem to care. He puffed his cheeks and blew bubbles in his cup via the straw. Lute turned up her eyes. 

“They might play at the festival. You can see her there.”

Adam groaned. His mask flashed to show a look of annoyance. 

“If you don't want me to get to know you as a person, then we need to draw a line here and now.”

What did he want? 

“She wants to get to know me,” he blurted out.

“And?” Lute asked. 

Adam shot her a glare. What the hell did she mean?

“And what?”

“It's not my place to tell you what to do, sir, but if you want her to get to know you better you might want to put aside your insecurities,” Lute stated. She tapped her face to emphasize her point. 

Insecurities. What a joke. 

I'm Adam. The first-fucking-man. I don't have–

His mask glitched, interrupting him. Adam frowned. His mask. He hid his face for a reason. Hesitantly his hand went to his stomach, feeling the pudginess beneath his fingers. So what; he wasn't muscular, but he also wasn't overweight. It had been so long since he let a woman get to know him. 

What would Marcella even think? 

Insecurities. Yeah, he had a few, he reckoned. But he understood what Lute meant. For once he understood. 

Frowning, he took a drink from his soda. 

“Who the fuck asked you?”

His lieutenant grinned. 

“No one, sir.”