#and writes smut for her crack ships

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the many firsts

a/n: you have no idea how many times while writing this first instalment that i needed to take a break, if you know what i meaannn 🫠

summary: “alright, I’m sorry, geez,” Steve huffed with only a whisper of sincerity, “just come tonight, please? I mean, have you ever even been to a real party before? So how would you know that you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it? Just stop by for a second, and if it’s not for you, then you can just leave, simple as that.” 

warnings: innocent!reader x stepbro!steve rogers, frat!bucky barnes, frat!ari levinson, smut, dark content, college au, move in day at university, frat party, alcohol consumption, kissing, virgin!reader, corruption kink, voyeurism, overstimulation, first orgasm, edging, dirty talk, size kink, masturbation, handjob

word count: 8043

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take her under your wing au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

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“Thanks for the ride,” you uttered as Steve’s car finally rolled to a stop in the campus parking lot. Cracking open the passenger side door, you slipped out and trailed back to open up the trunk, “but I can do this on my own, you know,” as the lid floated up to reveal the Tetris-like stacks of both of your stuff, you glanced up at Steve as he rounded the corner of the vehicle as well, “you really don’t have to keep up your end of the deal, our parents aren’t here to see.” 

“It’s alright,” his burly arm reached over you to fish out a laundry basket stuffed to the brim with your things, “I know it was just your mom babying you as usual and whispering in my dad’s ear to get him to make me watch after you.” 

“She doesn’t baby me, she just cares, a lot…” you shot back defensively, “and I don’t need anyone to watch out for me. I’m eighteen, not seven.” 

“Oh yeah?” he let out a faint scoff, “so you wanna just haul all this junk around campus, looking for your dorm, which you have no clue where is yet?” 

Your eyes then slowly narrowed in his direction before you muttered, “…well, maybe you could give me just a bit of a hand… just in the name of saving time instead of wasting my first day getting lost.” 

And as you filled your arms with as much stuff as you could carry, Steve noted, “hey, I'm not offering to be your fucking tour guide,” as he slammed the trunk shut behind you, “don’t worry, I won’t now try to make you suddenly like me,” he spoke of the ship that sailed away a long time ago. 

Arms full, you crossed the crowded parking lot till you reached one of the open gates leading into a lush green area where little paths weaved across the lawns and connected all of the towering buildings. 

“Welcome to Highridge University,” Steve breathed as you walked under the gateway, “best fucking years of your life.” 

For so long, you had dreamt of this moment, finally being out on your own, away at college, meeting kindred spirits and sipping from the well of knowledge. Glancing around, your teeth clamped down on the smile that rapidly grew and faintly calmed the jittery nerves that still tensed up your abdomen in nauseating butterflies. 

“Where are you gonna live, again?” his glance briefly drifted to you. 

“Uh…” one-handed, you swiftly scrambled to get out the papers folded up in your pocket, “… Manning Hall, room eight,” you read out loud once you finally found the information on the crumbled piece of paper. 

“Manning, alright,” he exhaled, “I started out in Lichfield myself, but I’ve, uh–, dated a few girls who lived in Manning,” his comment promptly caused your eyes to roll in your skull before your feet began to shuffle after him as he led the way. 

As you tried to keep up with his long stride, you watched as his gaze suddenly dipped to the contents of the laundry basket he carried before something caught his eye. 

“Ah, no way,” he chuckled as he shifted the hamper to free his one arm and snatch up an item, “I can’t believe you brought this with you.” 

Glancing over, fury swiftly began to simmer in your chest as you watched him clutch the brown plush bovine visage of Chocolate Milk, an old stuffed animal of yours. 

“Hey!” you swiftly snatched the soft cow out of his hand. 

But the loss didn’t get to diminish his flame as he only spotted the others buried deeper within the basket, hidden beneath the mass of Chocolate Milk, “oh my god, there’s more!”

“Will you please stop?” you begged as he picked up both an ivory bunny and a caramel-coloured bear, “okay, fine, so I brought a few stuffed animals with me, big whoop!” you screeched in hopes that he would for once show you an ounce of mercy as this was in fact your first time being away from home, so the sense of comfort that those toys brought seemed better than if you’d begged your own mother to stay with you till you settled in. 

But even when Steve let go of the teddy bears and settled them back into the hamper, his laughter still continued to rumble in his chest, “oh, you’re so adorable, fuck…” 

His laughter had thankfully subsided by the time you reached Manning Hall. Once you’d received your key, your feet began to carry you down the long corridors in search of your new home. 

When you found the correct door, it already stood ajar, prompting you to slowly push it open before you peeked your head inside. 

On the floor, next to one of the nightstands, there sat a dark-haired girl your age, haphazardly stuffing the small drawer with some of her things. 

“Hi,” you gently tapped your knuckles against the open door before crossing the threshold. 

Glancing over her shoulder, her eyebrows floated up before she exclaimed, “oh! You must be my roommate!” before she sprang up and rushed towards you, “hey, I’m Kate,” she reached out to shake your hand. 

Setting down enough stuff to free one palm, you grasped hers and offered her a timid smile, “nice to meet you, I’m Y/n.” 

Coming in behind you, Steve bumped against your side as he squeezed his eclipsing form in through the doorway, “where do you want this shit?”

“Oh,” you tried to get out of the way before his stride tumbled you down, “on the bed is fine, I think,” you gestured to the empty one. 

Slipping in past you both, Kate then asked as he placed the hamper down on the small mattress, “is this your boyfriend?”

You nearly choked on your giggle as your wide eyes soared to stare back at her, “him? My boy–, no,” you tried your best to ignore the flutter that tingled deep within your belly at her assumption, “that’s my stepbrother. He’s just already a senior here, so we drove together.” 

“Oh,” she exhaled before her face screwed up in immediate regret, “sorry.” 

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, your stepbrother briefly glanced down at the screen before muttering, “well, I'll let you girls talk. I'm gonna go grab the rest from the car and then be on my way.” 

Offering him a small nod, your gaze shadowed him as he exited the small dorm room, your eyes only ripping away from his fading visage down the hall when Kate soon uttered, “hey, I was about to go get my student ID. You wanna join?”

“Sure,” you nodded, stuffing both of your hands in your pockets, “do you know where it is?”

“Actually, I do,” she cocked her head proudly before sharing, “my girlfriend goes here, so I’ve already been visiting this place for an entire year.” 

“Wait, wait, wait, let me readjust my grip,” the frat bro with a buzzcut wheezed to the other guy carrying the heavy beer keg. They were barely halfway up the steps that led to the fraternity’s porch as you approached. 

“Seriously?” the one that looked like a Norse god halted with a huff, “you can’t keep pausing every five seconds or we won’t get this thing inside till next year!” 

“Hi,” the quiet tone of your voice caused them to drop their squabble as both of their eyes promptly drifted directly towards you, “I’m sorry, is this the Kappa Alpha Nu house?”

“It most certainly is, gorgeous,” the blonde one let his stare take a journey down over your frame, “why? You wanna join?”

“No,” you shook your head, “I'm just looking for someone.”

“Okay,” the other one nodded, “well I'm pretty sure everyone’s inside,” his head invitingly tilted towards the open front door behind them before he added, “except for if you’re looking for Frank or Billy, they haven’t arrived yet.” 

Slipping in behind them, the entryway that met you was generous and wide, with a broad staircase off to the side that stretched up to an open landing where numerous hallways spewed forth and weaved deeper into the house. Peeking around, you first poked your head inside the living room that bloomed off to the left, though the room that met you was completely vacant. 

Though as you twisted to take your search somewhere else, a figure appeared from out of nowhere, curving around the corner, before you blindly bumped directly into the mass. 

“Ow, fuck!” he cursed before you stepped off his toes that your shoes had accidentally stomped down on in the collision.

“Shit, sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going–…” your apology then promptly faded from your lips as you blinked up into the blue eyes of none other than Bucky Barnes. 

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” your stepbrother’s best friend blinked back into your wide eyes before his glance dipped down to the deep neckline of your shirt, “and since when did these stop being mosquito bites?” he teased as a smirk began to bloom on his lips. 

As you then tugged at your shirt to cover up more of your cleavage, Bucky only continued to brashly stare.  

“Do you know where Steve is?” you avoided his inappropriate comment with a roll of your eyes. 

“Yeah, he should be down any second,” his brawny arm curled up before he leaned his weight against the wall behind you, “so, how the hell are you? Taken any showers lately?” he briefly wiggled his brows, recalling the time over the summer when he had come over to hang out with his friend, only to naturally walk into your bathroom right as you were washing shampoo out of your hair. 

“I’m fine,” you sighed as your cheeks began to burn, “glad to finally have a bathroom door with a lock that actually works.” 

But then, before Bucky could torment you any further, three separate pairs of footsteps creaked on the staircase. 

“Hey, Buck,” you heard Steve call out before he reached the bottom of the steps, “did you remember to invite the Delta Phi girls tonight, because–,” his sentence then crumbled as his gaze landed upon you. Stopping in his tracks, he blinked down at you with his eyebrows harshly knitted together before his glare flickered to his friend, “what is she doing here?” 

Crossing the width of the entryway, you dipped your fingers into your pocket and said, “you forgot your phone in my room,” before you fished the device out and stretched it up towards him. 

Finally crossing over the threshold behind you, the two guys hauling the keg perked up, “already trying out the new wares on campus? Nice.”

“What?” you twisted around to glare at them, your heart suddenly thumping in your chest, “I’m his stepsister…”

“Oh…” one of the guys on the staircase beside Steve murmured before turning to utter closer to him, “this is her? Seriously?” though hushed, his voice was still loud enough for each and every person in the room to hear what he said, “that’s your stepsister?” 

The clearly lewd undertones of his cadence flew directly over your head as you then blinked up at Steve and asked, “you told them about me?”

“Oh yeah, he has,” the shaggy-haired one on the other side of your stepbrother eyed you a moment before he shifted down the last steps, “I'm Ari, president of this madhouse,” the towering man leaned against the thick bannister before he pointed out each other fraternity members surrounding him, “this is Marc, Thor, Curtis and I'm guessing you already know Bucky.”

“Yeah,” you briefly entertained Bucky and threw a glare over your shoulder at him, “our paths unfortunately crossed back in high school.” 

As your eyes fluttered back, Ari, still standing tall before you, tilted his head and asked, “you stopping by our annual beginning of the semester bash tonight?” 

“Oh,” you breathed, taken aback by the unexpected invitation, “thanks, but I don’t think I should. I have freshman assembly early tomorrow morning, and anyhow, I’m not really much of a party girl,” your fingers began to fiddle with the hem of your sleeve. 

But then, before you could share any more of your completely valid reasons, Steve spoke up, “oh, come on,” he nearly groaned, “I was told to take you under my wing, so I can’t very well stand around and let you waste away your college years just like you did back in high school.” 

“What’s wrong with how I spent those years?” you scoffed and crossed your arms across your chest. 

“Uh, you had no life, no friends, nothing,” he counted on his fingers, “you were basically a nun.” 

Throwing your hands up into the air, you exclaimed, “oh, well, I’m sorry we can’t all be the fucking prom king and go to parties every weekend without it affecting one’s GPA!” 

“Alright, I’m sorry, geez,” Steve huffed with only a whisper of sincerity, “just come tonight, please? I mean, have you ever even been to a real party before? So how would you know that you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it? Just stop by for a second, and if it’s not for you, then you can just leave, simple as that.” 

“Drinks for the beautiful ladies,” Lloyd winked as he and Bucky slithered into the cluster of sorority girls to hand out some beverages. You were leaning up against the nearby wall, shyly only having one foot into the conversation as your new roommate, who now stood with her arm around her girlfriend, Yelena, encouraged you to join in and meet everybody. 

“Fuck off, Lloyd,” the redheaded ringleader of the girls barked after she’d seized a cup from him, “I can’t deal with you tonight.”

“Still playing hard to get, I see,” Lloyd only smirked back at Natasha’s scowl. 

“Oh, I very much am not,” she uttered coldly. 

“See, every party you tell me that and every party, I don’t care. It’s part of our thing,” he briefly waved a finger between the both of them. 

“It is not part of our thing, we don’t have a thing, we will never have a thing.” 

Though his feet didn’t shift at her warning, as his stare only narrowed to a squint before he concluded, “…so what you’re saying is there’s a chance.” 

“Just leave me alone,” she threw up a hand between them to shield her from any more of his desperate attempts, “go flirt with some sad, lonely freshman.”

Though as you watched from the sidelines, you swiftly felt yourself stiffen up as Lloyd suddenly saddled up next to you and flashed you a dazzling grin, “hello… are you by any chance sad and lonely?” 

Sucking in a breath, you nervously blinked up at him, “not particularly.” 

But before the frat guy could make any other attempts, and make you that much further overwhelmed, Bucky’s palm landed on Lloyd’s shoulder before he offered him a band-aid for the rejections.  

“Hey, I think I saw those twins from Callahan’s class out on the dance floor a bit ago,” he leaned in slightly to utter over the booming music that rattled the entire frat house. 

“Really?” Lloyd gasped, promptly renewed with vigour before he darted off, leaving Bucky alone next to you.  

“He seems… nice,” you tilted your head as your gaze traced him onto the dance floor, briefly flickering to Thor behind them all as he controlled the music and put his own spin on it. 

“Ah, he’s not that bad when he’s sober,” Bucky shrugged before shifting to face you, “here,” he then held out a plastic cup for you to grasp.  

“Oh, I’m not really much of a drinker–,” you tried to protest before Bucky rolled his eyes and shoved the beverage into your hand, “oh, okay, sure,” you blinked back into his steely blue eyes as he then brought the cup up to your lips and guided you to take a large gulp. The searing sting caused you to swiftly tilt your head back down as you then coughed because of how strong it was, “oh my god, what is that?”

“Just drink it, it’ll help, trust me,” he urged as you stared down into the well of what must have been pure liquor. 

Cautiously, you took the older guy’s advice, sipping slowly as you let your gaze wander the space, though as you did, you expected Bucky to leave, but to your surprise, he didn’t shift to move away from your side, which then only caused a timid bubble to ache within your belly as your stare nervously flickered up to him, clueless as to what you should do next.  

“So…” you exhaled tensely as you tried to make conversation, “you guys do this kind of thing a lot? Throw parties here?” 

“Yeah, pretty much every weekend,” Bucky nodded after taking a sip of his own drink, “although this one in particular, the beginning of the year bash, it always gets a bit wild. Probably because we haven’t seen each other all summer long, so some years it gets a bit out of hand.” 

“Oh… like, how wild do you mean? Does it turn into a clue movie?” you half-joked. 

“No, nothing quite like that,” he chuckled at your slight terror, “although Scott did almost drown in the pool one time, so…” he shared, pointing to the man erratically shaking his thing in the centre of the dance floor, “he was fine, woke back up, but just don’t get alarmed if anyone pulls something particularly stupid before the sun comes up.”

Pursing your lips, you nodded faintly, “thanks for the tip.” 

As your gaze continued to flicker across the expansive space and the drunken students letting loose, his own stayed glued to you before you eventually heard him utter, “so, have you gotten the grand tour yet?”

“What?” your neck swiftly twisted in his direction.  

“Of the house,” he faintly gestured to the walls around him. 

“…you wanna show me around?” 

“Sure,” he shrugged, “well, I’m kinda just waiting around for it to become my team’s turn in beer pong, so I’ve got the time to kill.” 

“Oh, alright,” you breathed, your pulse suddenly picking up at the thought of wandering the halls by his side. 

“Cool,” he nodded before shifting his gaze to the room you already stood in, “so, this is the place,” he spread out an arm as if you hadn’t just been standing in this spot for twenty minutes. 

“Yeah, I already figured that one out on my own,” you chuckled briefly before the palm he slid over your lower back caused it to fade away. 

With his hold, he guided you around the corner, into the entryway, “so, the kitchen, dining room and the door to the basement are through there,” he then pointed to the different corners of the abode, “and through there is the living room and this room we use for meetings and shit.” 

He then ushered you upstairs, where barely any partygoers had ventured up. Pointing down the various long hallways, he guided your vision to the different doors all down each of them, “so, Frank, Billy, Curtis and Miguel’s rooms are down that way,” he then gestured to the opposite direction, “Scott, Thor, Lloyd, Ransom and Marc are down there,” before his feet then shifted down the last corridor, “and down here is my room,” he pointed to the closed door that had his name on it, “Steve’s, Andy’s and Ari’s.”

Though as he spoke, your eyes fluttered to the door at the end of the hallway, standing slightly ajar. The movement that caught your eye on the other side caused you to swiftly glance to Bucky with a look of alarm, though he clearly couldn’t spot it from where he was standing as he continued to chat, his voice soon fading and flying over your head as your stare wandered back towards the dark room. 

On a bed in the centre of the room, there was Ari, hovering and grunting above some blonde girl you didn’t recognise. It took a second for you to realise what they were doing, though when it sank in, a small gasp escaped your lips and caused the leader’s eye to snap up from the whimpering girl beneath him and lock with your own stare through the sliver. You wanted to look away, you knew that you should have, but you couldn’t. 

And as you stood there, paralysed and suddenly panting, a wide grin began to bloom upon his lips as he held your eye and began to roll his hips with even more force, causing the chick on the bed to nearly fall off the mattress as each thrust drove her closer and closer to the edge. 

Though as you finally managed to snap out of your trance, you nearly coughed as you scrambled to blink back to Bucky, “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” 

“I said that I’m gonna go take a leak,” Bucky cocked an eyebrow as he watched your chest rise and fall rapidly beneath your shirt, “you good?”

“Yeah,” you breathed foggily, “I think I just need a second before heading back downstairs again…”

“Oh, well, I'm sure you can go hang out in Steve’s room for a bit,” he cracked open the door behind him and gestured for you to slip inside. 

Slowly, your feet shuffled deeper into the room, the plastic cup in your hand soon resting on the windowsill as you momentarily cast your glance outside at the people down in the front yard, playing a rambunctious drinking game. 

Though as your frame sank down with an exhale to sit on the edge of the bed, your head swiftly burying itself in your hands, loud moans seeped through the wall from the other room as they crescendoed in a cacophony that caused your head to spin. 

Or perhaps it wasn’t just the lewd acts that were to blame for why you suddenly felt so dizzy. Ground unsteady beneath your feet, even though you were already sitting down, you noticed how inebriated you truly had become. Not that you had imbibed that much, but as the lightweight that you admittedly were and the minuscule experience your body had with such substances, it didn’t take much to have you feeling more molten than you ever had before. 

“What are you doing up here?” you suddenly heard, causing your face to crawl out of its hiding place in your palms. Glancing up, you saw Steve’s shadow in the doorway.  

“Steve!” you jumped slightly at his unexpected arrival, “you scared me,” you clutched your chest gently as you watched him shut the door behind him. 

Moving over towards the desk in the corner, he briefly dipped down to find a bottle of whisky that rested in the bottom drawer. Casting a glance back at you over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed as he studied your form, “did I just walk in on something?” he asked as he unscrewed the lid, “you waiting for someone to come up here and fuck you on my bed? Kinky.”

“What? N-no! Oh my god, no,” you sputtered, sensing a mortified heat rush up to your cheeks, “I swear, Bucky was just showing me around a bit, and I wasn’t ready to go back to the chaos downstairs yet, that’s all, he was the one who said it was okay for me to take a break in here.”

“Hmm… you’re still sweet on him, aren’t you?” he guessed before tilting the bottle back for a swig, “is that what was happening here? Were you waiting for him to get back? Did I just cockblock you from finally getting that stick fucked out of your ass? If so, then I feel like I have a responsibility to warn you, he is hung like a fucking horse, so don’t be discouraged if you can’t take him.” 

“I–, what?” you panted, blinking back at him wildly, “no, I’m not! I-I don’t like him, I’ve never–, what are you talking about?” 

“Chill! I’m only joking,” Steve swiftly chuckled at your perplexed panic, “I mean, not about his size, both a blessing and a curse, you know,” he cocked his head, “seriously, you don’t gotta freak out like some innocent little virgin,” he laughed, though his words only caused you to freeze up, a reaction he swiftly picked up on, “…unless you–, oh shit,” growing silent, his stare stayed glued on you as he slowly sat the bottle in his hand down upon the desk behind him, “you are, aren’t you?” 

“Well, you don’t gotta say it like that!” you groaned, keeping your eyes averted to the floor, “it’s not some terminal illness.”

“Sorry, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just–… fuck…” he exhaled, “really?” 

“…yeah,” you nervously fiddled with the hem of your skirt as you felt the mattress dip beside you, “you know my mom has never let me date anyone…”

“What about like other stuff?” Steve’s tone tickled your hot skin as he now sat right next to you, “you’ve done that, right?” though you only managed to meekly shake your head as an answer, “really? No one’s ever like touched you before? Or you’ve played with someone else?” he pried, and you once again shook your burning face from side to side, “wow,” he exhaled, “well, then I can’t even begin to imagine how much you must masturbate, damn.”

“I–, I–…” you tried to utter, though the truth of your inexperience seemed too difficult to say out loud, rendering you to once again wobble your head. 

“Wait, seriously?” his eyebrows soared up even higher, “you haven’t that either?”

“Well, I’ve–, sort of–, I don’t know,” you stumbled, your gaze still hazy on the floor. 

“How have you done it?” he then asked, making it that much harder for you to fill up your lungs with oxygen. 

“Oh god,” you jaggedly shifted your vision to the ceiling, “this is so mortifying.”

“No, it’s okay, you can tell me,” he pushed in a gentle tone you didn’t think he had in him. 

Gnawing at your bottom lip till a metallic taste met your tongue, you hesitantly muttered, “…kinda just, I guess, sit on a pillow or a stuffed animal or something and then–…”

“Shit…” a low groan rumbled in his chest, a sound that shot straight down between your thighs and worsened the throbbing already distracting you down there, “that’s the only thing you do? You just hump your pretty little pillow till you cum?”

“Well, I don’t know if I–, uh, reach that per say, I just kind of rock till it builds and then I’ve always stopped because–, I don’t know…” you uttered, mortified that your inebriated state had nudged you to share such matters, especially with him, “it’s stupid, I know. My anatomy knowledge is great, much better than yours, I know where stuff is and how things technically work, but when I was younger, I know it’s dumb, but it all kind of scared me, like what if I did it wrong and ruined something, and I know now that statistically speaking the odds of something like that happening are really, really low, but–, yeah…” 

Steve’s eyes never left you for but a second, merely stared as you shared and eventually, after silence had swept through the room like a crisp breeze, he parted his lips and uttered, “do you want me to teach you?”

Finally, you turned your head to meet his gaze, “…you’re my stepbrother…” 

“Yeah, of a couple of years,” he had the audacity to shrug, “and for most of that time, I’ve been away at school, so like, are we really?” 

A stunned scoff then bubbled out of your throat, “our parents are married, so yes, that makes up stepsiblings.” 

“Well, for now,” he tilted his head slightly, “were you living in the same house as I was over this summer? They clearly aren’t newlyweds anymore…” he stated before leaning in closer, “so, what do you say? Will you let me help you?” your eyes flickered down to your knee as his knuckles slowly inched closer and ghosted against your skin, “I promise, it’ll feel so fucking good, you don’t even know…” he nearly whispered as if he was trying to sell you on a drug you’d instantly get addicted to. 

“I–…” you panted, “but wouldn’t it be weird that it’s you showing me?”

“No, it wouldn’t be weird at all,” his head gently shook from side to side, “unless you want me to go grab Bucky, I'm sure he wouldn’t mind either–”

“No, no!” you swiftly squeaked, “that’s not necessary,” as sharing such a secret with Steve had been bad enough, the thought of repeating the whole ordeal with someone else made you feel as if you might faint. 

“Okay,” he breathed before he slowly began to inch closer, an action you swiftly put a stop to when you pressed a palm to his chest.

“Wait, what if I don’t like it?”

“Then you just tell me, and I’ll stop,” one of his hands floated up to rest on top of your own, still pressed against him, “promise,” he offered you a reassuring smile. Steve’s glance then flickered down to your lips before his eyebrows twitched slightly as he wondered, “so, if you’ve never done any of that stuff before, does that mean you’ve also never been kissed?”

“…well, I've played spin the bottle a few times, many years ago, does that count?” you recalled the awkward pecks in your youth. 

“Not really,” the corners of his lips twitched before he asked you, “can I kiss you?”

“Can you–…” you echoed faintly before whispering, “okay,” utterly spellbound as you stared back at him, “what should I do?”

“Just relax,” he then gently grabbed each side of your face with his wide hands, “and follow my lead.” 

It simultaneously felt like an eternity as well as only the blink of an eye before Steve had closed the gap and pressed his lips to your own. At first, it was soft and slow, his right thumb briefly swiping against your cheekbone as he kissed you, but then you felt his tongue flicker forth, making you gasp, before he seized that opportunity to slip past your guard and let his tongue dance against your own, the sensation of which caused you to positively melt as you relaxed into the kiss and mirrored his efforts. 

You had no clue how much time had passed once you finally parted, and you blinked your dazed eyes back at him. 

And in your haze, he first shifted back deeper onto the bed, before he gently manoeuvred your frame to slot you in between his legs, “here, lean back against me,” he drew you closer till your back was pressed up against his chest. 

Twisting your neck to look up at him, you were still too stunned to speak, only suck in a shaky breath as he then pressed a peck to your temple. 

“You ready?” he murmured against your hairline as his hands slid down atop your own, his fingers swiftly interlocking with your smaller ones. 

“I think so,” you uttered nervously. 

“So, let’s start off with the basics,” his low voice only worsened the tingly sensation that now roared in your body like a roiling flame, “could you tell me what places you’ve explored before and where you haven’t yet?”

“…well, I guess I’ve touched most places before…” you hesitantly began, “my hands usually run all over my body when I–, you know�� but I’ve never put anything inside, and I only touched my–, uhm, clit one time, a really long ago,” your confession began to make you feel so dizzy, you feared you might faint at any moment, “and it was just really intense and–, I don’t know, I was scared that it was too much, so I never tried it again, not directly anyway, just–, you know, pillows and such…” 

“Alright,” he uttered, letting go of your hands. 

Your eyes grew as they then traced Steve’s touch, first sweeping up to gently cup both of your boobs. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he briefly brushed his thumbs over the pebbles of your nipples, poking through the thin fabric of your shirt. You found yourself barely breathing when he eventually let his palms roam further south till they were at your hips, and his fingers began to hike up your skirt and let it crumble around your waist. 

“Let me see…” he murmured directly in your ear as he poked at your bent legs to pry them open, “oh my god, look at you…” you felt the deep groan vibrate in his chest as he caught sight of your panties and the embarrassingly soaked patch darkening the cotton, “you are so fucking wet…”

Steve then slowly slid his touch down over your covered core, merely cupping your lightly, though still making it near impossible for you to breathe. But your whole body twitched as he lightly curled up his hand till only the tips of his fingers still grazed you, before he then began to draw a feathery pattern of circles, tickling your deprived centre. 

“How does that feel, huh?” he kept up the ghostly touch. 

“I-it’s–, o-oh my god,” you whimpered, doubtful if you could take whatever else he’d dare to throw at you when even such a light touch managed to make you tremble, “Steve.”

Seizing his teasing, his fingers then hooked in the hem of your underwear before pulling them to the side, sticky strings of your arousal clinging to the cotton, “oh, fuck…” he groaned before his instincts overtook him and his fingers caught the waistband before ripping them down your legs till their rushed journey halted at your ankles, resting around them and loosely trapping them together. 

Pushing your legs further apart, one hand then traced your inner thigh while he hooked his other burly arm across your chest, just beneath the swell of your tits, occasionally squeezing so tightly that your boobs were pushed up even higher as he efficiently strapped you in, impossibly close to his broad chest. 

Painstakingly slow, he slid his touch closer and closer to your glistening core, till he reached the places that you never had the nerve to truly touch on your own.

“Oh, f-fuck!” you gasped as the rough pads of his fingers just lightly dragged through your folds. 

“Christ, you’re sensitive,” he kept on peeking over your shoulder as he drew a slow circle over your clit, “look at you, fucking trembling like a leaf, and I've barely touched you yet.”

“Barely?” you echoed breathlessly, “what do you mean–, how is this barely? I-I don’t know if I can–, it’s–, fuck,” you whimpered against his touch, “it’s too much,” your thighs trembled on either side of his wide palm, “I don’t know if I can take it, I think you might have to stop.” 

“No, no, no, it’s not too much, you can take it, I know you can,” he urged before he bent his strong legs and hooked them over your own, trapping your wiggly limbs and holding you down and open for him, “just trust me, I’ve got you, all you gotta do is just relax, okay? Just give into it.” 

His feathery pressure on your puffy pearl then increased, making your hips buck beneath his touch as a moan rippled out from deep within your lungs.

“Oh, fucking hell, there you go,” he smiled from behind you, “look at that little pussy, fucking crying out now that she’s finally getting some attention.”

Your fingers twitched just beneath his arm, still flexing over your ribs, and a murmur slipped out past your whimpers, “I can’t believe this is actually happening…” 

Though as Steve’s touch drove you mad, his fingers slipped down to catch some of the slick that leaked out of your untouched hole, before he went into autopilot and didn’t sweep back up to bully your glistening clit, but instead began to circle your virginal entrance. 

“No, wait,” you instantly began to freak out, “n-not there!” 

“You sure?” he let himself trace your tight opening one last time, “alright, maybe next time then…” 

Once his fingers had swept back up and focused in on your puffy pearl, rolling it firmly beneath his touch, you felt your body reach the agonising point where you’d always chicken out. 

“Steve, I–”

“Hm?” he hummed in your ear and kept up his efforts, surely feeling your clit throb beneath his fingers, “you getting close?”

“I-I–,” you gasped, trying your best to fight the feeling, “this is usually when I stop.” 

“Oh yeah?” you could plainly hear the smirk on his lips. 

“Mhm,” you nodded, staring down at his efforts that barely even paused. 

“So, this is what you’d do, huh? You’d ride your pillow and then just stop?” as he uttered that last word, he abruptly took his hand away, “just leave yourself all edged and needy?” your hips bucked after his fading touch, “that’s usually something I’d do to my girls just to be a menace and make them all dumb and desperate, but that’s just what you do to yourself all of the time?” your whole frame quivered against him as you weakly tried to grab for his hand, even as he brought it completely out of your reach, “damn, gotta admit, wish I had known that earlier… I could have sneaked into your room afterwards and lent a hand, helped you go all the way. That’s what you needed, wasn’t it? You just needed your big bro to come in and hold your hand through it because you got scared? It’s okay, I’m here now, I’ve got you, big brother’s got you.”

“You’re not my brother–” 

“Damn right, I’m not,” he nearly chuckled before he began to touch you once again, rendering any retort you had lined up to fly straight out of the window as shaky moans instead flowed from your lungs.

Though the cruel pause had given your body enough time to calm down just a tad, it barely took any time at all for Steve to push you back towards that intimidating ledge and hold you there as you peeked over the edge. 

“Steve, I don’t know if I can–, it’s–” 

“Baby, it’s okay, you can do it,” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “just trust me, it’ll feel so fucking good, you don’t even know,” the hand he had plastered against your ribs slid up to grasp one of your tits, denting the softness with his long fingers, “just let it happen, relax.” 

Shaking uncontrollably, your face tilted to hide in the bulk of his arm as the most blinding and overwhelming sensation you’d ever felt in your entire life rippled through your form, white-hot pleasure in a dose that you hadn’t thought imaginable.

“Oh, there you go, fuck,” he moaned and tried to draw your very first orgasm out as long as he could, “atta girl, that’s it.” 

When his movements finally stopped, his messy hand slipped down to rest against your twitching thigh, hazy whimpers ever flowing from your lungs as you reeled in the staggering sensation. 

“Holy shit…” you eventually managed to pant shakily. 

“Told you it’d feel good,” he uttered cockily before pressing a kiss to your temple. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as he then began to caress your thigh gently, sweeping his touch up and down the goosebump-ridden flesh till your breathing began to slow. 

But then as you felt yourself relax even further back against him, wiggling slightly to get more comfortable, you noticed something hard poking your back. Assuming that it was something in his pocket, you shifted once again, but still couldn’t escape it, though with each of your squirming attempts, a low groan was conjured deep within Steve’s chest.

“What is that?” you then muttered, “is it your phone? Could you take it out of your pocket?”

“No, it’s not my phone,” he couldn’t help but chuckle at your innocence, swiftly causing you to freeze up, “you got me hard.”

Gasping loudly as if he hadn’t just had his hand on your pussy, you shot up to a sitting position and swiftly crawled around to direct your wide eyes straight at him. Skirt falling down to cover you back up, your panties however still remained around your ankles as you shifted to kneel on the bed before him. 

“Oh my god,” the stunned expression plastered all over your face caused him to melt, “you’re so cute…” 

Blinking back at him, you stammered, “that was–… you’re–…” 

“Hard? Yeah,” he casually uttered, “kinda impossible not to be after what just happened,” he let his hand drift down to palm himself through his pants, guiding your vision to flutter down as well to finally look at the prominent bulge that strained against the zipper of his jeans. And as his touch slowly rubbed against the mouthwatering hardness, teasingly squeezing it for an ounce of relief, his head then cocked as he continued to stare at you, “can I ask you something?”

Downright hypnotised as you stared down at the overwhelming display of his arousal, you only managed to hum as a reply, “mhm,” as you stayed transfixed on the clothed hardness that somehow both terrified and exhilarated you at the same time. 

“Have you ever seen a cock before?”

Meeting his unwavering gaze, you blinked, “…in textbooks and stuff…”

“How about up close?” he asked and you swiftly shook your hazy head, “you wanna see mine?”

“I–… what?” 

“Do you wanna see mine?” 

“U-uh…” you could barely think as you felt the sore sensitivity between your unsteady thighs somehow blossom back into the same agonising tingles that had taken hold of you before, “okay.” 

A sharp breath filled your lungs as you watched him free his dick. Your eyes swiftly grew even wider as he enveloped the hand, still glistening with your juices, around the fat girth. Slick and sloppy sounds filled the room with every leisurely stroke as he began to slowly jerk himself, your thighs unconsciously squeezing together at the show. 

“You good?” he chuckled lightly at the way your eyes had gone glassy. 

“Mhm…” you foggily nodded, struggling to grasp onto even a single thought, “it’s–… a lot bigger than I imagined…” 

“Have you been imagining what my cock looked like?” he relentlessly teased. 

“No, no, I mean, just in general,” you fumbled over your words as he kept up his silky strokes, “yours is bigger than I imagined them to be in real life.” 

“You wanna touch it?”

“…t-touch?” your eyes fought to blink back up and lock with Steve’s own. 

“Yeah, come on,” he then grabbed your hand and brought it towards his length. At first, he let you just graze your fingertips against his dick, guiding your touch as he slowly dragged it across the velvety skin, all the way from the bulbous head, glistening with shiny precum that beaded at the tip, to the fat base where his heavy balls bloomed beneath. 

“Oh–,” you swallowed as he then wrapped your fingers around his girth before engulfing them with his own broad hand, still shiny from your wetness, “it’s–, really hard.”

“Yeah, well that’s what you do to me, baby,” he smiled as he tightened his fist around your own, though even so, his girth was still too big for your own fingers to meet on the other side, “this is all for you…” 

His free hand then grabbed your chin before he ravenously pressed his lips to your own, kissing you fiercely as he began to move your hand and guide your touch over his throbbing length. 

Eventually, as you broke from the kiss, you peeped down at his cock, tight in your grasp. 

His fingers kept on clutching your chin, holding you close, as he then purred, “here, like this,” his wide hand flexed around your smaller one, “a little tighter, don’t be scared, you won’t hurt me–, yeah,” he then moaned as you obeyed his command, “fuck, that’s it…” briefly letting his eyes flutter closed as he breathed through the pleasure. Though as he blinked his gaze back open, his broad thumb brushed against your knuckles as he asked, “you wanna try on your own?”

“O-okay,” you uttered before his guiding touch faded and you timidly tried to emulate his efforts, “like this?”

“Yeah, that’s good,” he groaned as you slowly slid your careful touch up and down the length of his cock, “shit, you’re a natural, baby,” his fingers that clutched your chin briefly shifted before his thumb poked up to brush the pad against your bottom lip, “keep going like that and I’ll blow in no fucking time.” 

“Oh,” you swiftly ripped your stare away from his dick as you misunderstood his words, “should I stop then?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled before claiming your lips once again, not holding back in the slightest as he let the kiss grow sloppy and desperate. 

Rejoining his touch to your own, he began to speed up your actions, making you stroke his thick girth even faster than before. And as he tilted away from the greedy kiss, a glossy string of saliva still kept you both connected. 

Panting as he neared the finish line, he cast a brief glance down at his fat cock slick in both of your hands, before he threw his head back and moaned loudly as he unravelled at your touch. 

“Fuck…” he panted as he let go of your palm, now sticky with his hot load just as his own hand was as well. Chest still rising and falling rapidly, he caught your frame and tugged you even closer, “come here,” he murmured as he pulled you into a limp hug. 

“Was that okay?” you asked in a small voice as you curled into his chest. 

Catching your jaw, he tilted your head back enough for you to catch his eye before he uttered, “that was fucking perfect,” and he kissed you once again. As he drew back, his gaze lingered, eventually fluttering down towards your lips before he brought his fingers up towards them, still messy with both your nectar as well as his own load, “open up.”

“What?” your brows knit together as you blinked down at the sticky digits he ghosted against your lips, tilting your head back slightly in confusion. 

“Give it a taste.” 

“Why would I do that?” you nearly laughed. 

“Because it’s normal,” the older guy told you, “most people love cleaning up after their messes, so you probably do too.”

“Seriously?” 

“I shit you not,” he said, though you kept on staring back at him in doubt, “what, do you want me to prove it to you? Fine,” he then extended his thumb for him to suck it clean, “there,” he released the dinger from his lips with a pop, “now it’s your turn,” he twisted his hand back down towards your mouth. 

And hesitantly, you found yourself parting your lips for him, “there you go…” he groaned as he slipped two of his long fingers inside your mouth, “see? Tastes good, doesn’t it?” his gaze stayed transfixed upon your lips wrapped around his messy digits as he slowly let himself shift his fingers, greedily fucking your face for a bit, “shit…” he cursed as you licked them clean and he pulled them back out, a murmur swiftly slipping from his lips as he continued to stare, “I can’t wait to train this little mouth to do all sorts of tricks…” 

“What?” you asked as your mind began to scramble for the meaning. 

“Oh, nothing,” he sighed and ignored your naiveté before he pulled you back in for another hug, “nothing at all, sis…”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[randomshyperson]

darling, can I be your favorite? - wanda maximoff x reader

summary: A game night at Agatha’s takes a chaotic turn when an old truth surfaces - one that Wanda didn’t expect, and one you thought had been buried by time. Sometimes, even the deepest love begs to be reassured.

warnings: jealousy; mentions of past sexual relationships; possessive behavior; magic-fueled argument; emotionally charged sex; explicit smut; fingering; oral sex (f receiving); praise kink; possessive!Wanda; soft aftermath; emotional vulnerability; affectionate teasing; pillow talk; mild angst with comfort; canon divergence. | words: 4.730k

a/n-> I wrote this as a draft, a couple of weeks ago, when I was going through a very intense Agatha's obsession period, and I totally forgot about it. I was not sure I would use it in a bigger fic because I do want to write immortal, vampire, etc y/n's, but since I didn't, you guys can read it while I work on the upcoming series.

General Masterlist | AO3 |

-&-

"Have you ever slept with my wife?"

The question fell like a thunderclap in the middle of a warm evening.

Silence followed it - dense, choking. Even the soft creak of the porch swing seemed to hold its breath.

You froze, arm still slung casually behind Wanda’s chair, the other hand mid-motion with the wine bottle tilted at a precarious angle. Agatha, across from you, mirrored your stillness, eyes wide, glass of red paused just shy of her lips.

Oh, you should’ve known. This was a terrible idea.

Go out with the witches, they said. Catch up. Share a drink. Invite the literal embodiment of Death, what could possibly go wrong?

It was supposed to be a pleasant night. Drinks on the porch, old stories, the comfort of familiar magic humming softly in the twilight air. But among the four of you, it was always hard to tell who had the sharpest claws - or the most fragile ego.

Your gaze flicked briefly to Wanda, who hadn’t moved. Her hand rested lightly on her thigh, but the tension in her knuckles betrayed her. Her eyes were locked onto Agatha with a heat that could’ve ignited the vineyard around you.

Of course, Agatha was the first to recover. That self-satisfied chuckle of hers was the sound of a match striking.

“What?” she said, tossing her curls over one shoulder like this was just another girls’ night and not a potential crime scene in the making. “Sweetheart, what kind of question is that?”

But Wanda didn’t blink. Her tone was even, and that was far more dangerous.

“A simple one, Aggie.” She leaned back, lacing her fingers on her stomach with rehearsed calm. “Did you two ever sleep together?”

You sucked in a slow breath and, with a tight-lipped smile, retracted your arm from behind Wanda’s chair. The bottle met the table with a soft clink as you moved the wine glass slightly out of reach. Your laugh - dry and brittle - escaped before you could stop it.

“Maybe we’ve had enough to drink for tonight. We should probably - ”

“We’re not leaving,” Wanda interrupted sharply, still staring at Agatha, “until she answers.”

You shifted in your seat, mouth already forming another protest when Rio spoke. Her voice was deceptively calm, but the gleam in her eyes was anything but.

“She?” she asked slowly, arms folding on the table, one brow arching. “What, Y/N can’t answer for herself? Or are you implying Agatha would… what? Force something? Be the only one to blame?”

“I didn’t say that,” Wanda replied coldly.

The atmosphere cracked - subtle, like a shift in the wind before a storm. You could feel it, static in your blood.

And then, Wanda turned her head toward you.

"So?" she asked, voice softer now, velvet over steel. “Tell us, darling - did you and Agatha ever sleep together?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked, maybe a little desperately, at Agatha, who, naturally, had decided to abandon ship entirely. That traitorous witch was lounging back, a slow grin tugging at her lips. She didn’t even bother to hide it. Especially not when Rio’s left hand slid beneath the table and gave her thigh a slow, possessive squeeze.

You watched it happen. You felt it happen. And still, you were the one on the spot.

“Go on,” Rio said, her voice like dark honey. “Tell us if you fucked my wife.”

Your chair scraped loudly against the wood as you stood up, hands raised, gesturing wildly.

“Okay, no - this is a goddamn trap. I’m not stupid. I’m not answering that.”

“Oh, why so jumpy?” Wanda asked, a chuckle breaking through - but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s just a silly little question. We’re all friends here.”

“Debatable,” Agatha muttered under her breath. No one acknowledged it.

You laughed again. Hollow. “Nice try.”

“Darling,” Wanda said again, the smile falling away now. Her voice was raw silk. Dangerous. “Answer. My. Question.”

You sighed deeply, raking your hands through your hair. “I’m three hundred years old, Wanda.”

She arched an unimpressed brow. “That’s not what I asked.”

You groaned. Crossed your arms.

“You know I’ve been with other people before I met you.”

Her voice dropped. “Yes. Other people. But that’s not what I asked, either.”

You turned your eyes to Rio, who hadn’t blinked once since the start of this witch trial. She looked positively serene in her menace.

“I…” your throat tightened. “I want to go home.”

Wanda sighed, low and tight. “Darling, I swear - ”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Agatha snapped, standing abruptly, chair legs screeching against the wood. “Yes, Maximoff! Yes, we slept together. A hundred times. For fun. Out of boredom. Just because we could.”

The air trembled as her voice rose, the kind of voice that could split spells in two.

“You have no idea what eternity feels like, alright? We were friends and - what's the word the young ones use now… fuckbuddies, yes? That. We were that. Long before she decided to cross the ocean and play superhero. Then she met you. It's all good. It never meant anything like what I have with Rio. Or what she has with you. So, really, what are you even doing?”

The explosion was literal.

It happened fast. Magic burst like shrapnel. Spells lit the porch in violent flickers. Furniture launched into the air - an end table shattered against the railing, and you ducked just in time to avoid a cursed candlestick flying past your head.

You weren’t even sure who was fighting whom. At one point, you’re almost certain Wanda and Rio turned on each other, until Agatha yanked her wife out of the chaos with a flash of smoke and a hissed incantation. In the confusion, Rio still managed to catch your arm with a glancing slice - a clean little souvenir.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye properly. Just a muttered curse, a strained wave, and the metallic scent of blood on your sleeve as you guided your very pissed-off wife back to the car.

Wanda didn’t speak the whole drive home. Arms folded tight across her chest, lips pressed in a silent pout, gaze locked out the window. You just shook your head the whole way, fingers drumming against the steering wheel, trying to remind yourself that this was fine. That this wasn’t the first magical brawl you’d had to walk away from, and probably wouldn’t be the last.

The boys texted, cheerful and blissfully unaware. Billy, ever the optimist, had been the one to suggest the “moms’ night out.” A bonding experience. Something soft. Easy. He hadn’t accounted for jealousy spells and poorly buried history.

You replied simply:

“All good at Agatha’s. Hope your night was fun too. Love you.”

The house welcomed you with silence. The kind that echoes in corners and stretches across old wooden floors. You locked the door behind you, Wanda already halfway up the stairs without so much as a glance back. Her coat slipped off her shoulders and vanished midair with a lazy flick of magic.

You sighed.

Dropped your keys in the bowl by the door. Followed.

Neither of you spoke as you peeled off your clothes - the remnants of what was supposed to be a cute little night: soft slacks, silky blouses, the faint smell of wine and sandalwood still clinging to the fabric.

It was only once you were both half-undressed in the bedroom, the moonlight casting gentle patterns across the bedspread, that you couldn’t take her silence anymore.

“Wanda,” you said, voice low but sharp. “Can we talk about tonight?”

She stood with her back to you, fingers slowly working the buttons of her blouse. Her voice came clipped. “There’s nothing to say.”

You huffed a dry laugh, arms crossed loosely as you leaned against the edge of the dresser. “For you, maybe. You’ve been ignoring me since we left.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” she replied flatly. But she avoided your eyes.

You shot her a look that said really? And she sighed again, softer this time.

“I was thinking.”

You shifted your weight, still watching her. “I don’t like the silent treatment.”

She chuckled bitterly. “And I don’t like that you slept with our friend. But, you know, that’s life.”

“Oh my god.” You groaned, tugging your shirt off in one fluid motion and starting to work on your zipper. “This is absurd. You know that, right?”

“I quite agree,” she said dryly, snapping her gaze away from your exposed skin the second your shirt hit the floor. She turned, flustered, fingers unhooking her bra with brisk determination.

“I’m talking about you, Wanda,” you muttered, voice rising a little. “Getting worked up over something that happened a century ago.”

She barked out a sharp laugh and opened the closet, pulling a nightgown with far more force than necessary. “Worse,” you added, “over something that meant nothing.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed, eyes narrowed. “It meant nothing. Yet you did it. Hundreds of times, apparently. Just for fun. Like she said.”

“I didn’t even know you back then!” you snapped, incredulous.

The room pulsed with heat - part frustration, part something else, quieter and more tender. You hadn’t wanted to yell. But there was something under her sarcasm that stung. A crack in the armor.

She didn’t answer right away. Her jaw tightened, and she turned slightly, clutching the fabric of her gown as if it might shield her from this conversation entirely.

But she just gives a short, breathy laugh - a sound too bitter to be real - and shakes her head as she steps out of her pants.

For a fleeting second, the weight of the fight evaporates. There she is. Your wife. Bare but for her dark panties, her body bathed in the soft light coming through the curtains.

And you forget how to be mad. You forget the argument.

Until she turns back toward you, and her eyes, glassy and red at the edges, stop you cold.

The frustration in your chest vanishes instantly. You straighten, step forward, and your voice softens like instinct.

“Darling,” you say, barely above a whisper, your hands cradling her cheeks, “why are you crying?”

She sniffs, lashes fluttering as she tries to blink the tears away. Her gaze avoids yours, but she leans into your touch like her skin remembers you better than her pride does.

“If you don’t talk to me,” you murmur, brushing your thumbs along her cheekbones, “how am I supposed to make it better?”

Her hands rise to your forearms, light and hesitant, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed this comfort. Her cheeks are flushed, and for a long moment, all she does is breathe unevenly.

Then, finally, her voice cracks through the quiet.

“Three centuries is a long time, Y/N,” she begins, barely audible. “I’ve only known you for seven years.”

You don’t interrupt. You just listen.

“I know it’s silly, I know,” she continues, voice wavering, “but… you and Agatha have this thing. This rhythm. This history. She’s always throwing it in my face - how well she knows you, how she can predict you, finish your thoughts. And she’s so - so aggravating about it.”

She laughs weakly, then sniffles again, eyes still not quite meeting yours. “And I just… I’m afraid I’m never going to get there. That I’ll always be this late chapter in your life. That I’ll never matter as much.”

Your heart aches at her honesty.

“Oh, Wanda,” you breathe, pressing your forehead to hers. “That’s not true. That’s not true at all.”

She closes her eyes when you kiss her temple - soft, slow, reverent. Then you pull her close, wrapping your arms around her, grounding her in your warmth.

“I love you so much,” you whisper against her hair. “You know that, don’t you?”

She shakes her head, just barely, and your hands gently guide her face back to yours.

“I do, Wanda. I love you a terrifying amount. And yes, Agatha and I have history. But she’s not more important than you. Just like I’m not more important than Rio.”

Your fingers trace calming circles along her waist as her breathing begins to even out.

“We do love each other - Agatha and I - but it’s a different love. Yes, we had sex. But we never made love. We never broke the laws of nature and brought life into the world like she did with Rio. And I’ve never loved someone like I love you.”

Her eyes search yours now, uncertain and wet. You hold her face again, more firmly this time.

“I’ve lived for centuries, Wanda. But it’s only with you that I’ve felt truly alive. Happy. Like I belong somewhere.”

You kiss the corner of her lips, soft and slow.

“I don’t know where these insecurities came from,” you murmur, brushing her tears away with your thumbs, “but I’ll spend every day proving you wrong. Every single day, I’ll remind you how loved you are. What do you say to that?”

Your attempt at lightness breaks the tension just enough. She lets out a teary little laugh and bumps her forehead gently against yours.

“I say…” she whispers, voice trembling, “you better start now.”

She leans in first, lips brushing yours without urgency, just breath and warmth and something far too tender to rush. You both stay like that for a while - nose to nose, hands resting lightly on bare skin, letting the quiet carry all the weight words couldn’t.

When your hands begin to move, it’s with a slowness that almost feels sacred. You know exactly where to touch - where her skin burns hotter, where she arches, where she melts. Your fingers trail down her back, pausing just long enough to tease, before pressing into her hips and lifting her effortlessly into your lap.

She doesn’t stop kissing you - deep and unhurried, her tongue moving against yours with the kind of longing that makes your bones ache. She moans softly when you break the kiss just long enough to ask:

“Shower or bed?”

But the way she clutches your jaw and kisses you harder is answer enough. You're lucky you made it as far as the bed.

She falls back against the mattress with a gasp, her hair fanned out like a halo in disarray. You move to follow, but she tugs you down with her, mouth never leaving yours, legs wrapping tightly around your waist.

The friction when your bodies align makes both of you shudder. Clothes half-on, half-off, hearts racing, and breath hitching.

You look down at her - cheeks flushed, pupils blown, lips kiss-bruised - and think this is what eternity was always meant to feel like.

Your lips trail down Wanda’s throat, lingering at the base where her pulse jumps under your mouth. Her fingers tangle in your hair, her legs tightening around you with a quiet urgency she hasn’t put into words yet.

She’s warm, flushed, her skin humming under your palms. Every breath she takes is just a little shakier, a little more desperate - and it draws something low and primal from inside you.

You kiss along her collarbone, slow and reverent, until her breath hitches and she arches up to meet you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper against her skin, your voice already rough with want. “So, so beautiful, Wanda…”

She exhales shakily, but instead of softening, something sharper slips into her expression. Her hand cradles your cheek for just a second, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, and then she says - quiet but certain - “I want you to forget her.”

You blink, breath catching.

She leans up to kiss you - not gently, this time, but deep, wet, almost possessive. Her fingers clutch at your sides, pulling you tighter against her until there’s no air left between your bodies.

“I want to be the only one you remember,” she whispers into your mouth. “The only one who ever made you feel like this.”

Her hips roll up against yours, grinding with slow, aching precision, and the friction makes you gasp.

You answer with your hands, gripping her thighs, pushing them apart just a little further. Her panties are soaked, clinging to her, and the heat of her against you makes your whole body throb.

“You are,” you breathe, your voice uneven. “You already are, Wanda - fuck - there’s never been anyone like you.”

But it’s not enough. Not for her.

“Then prove it,” she says.

Her fingers curl into the waistband of your underwear and tug - insistent, wordless. She strips you down without hesitation and pushes her own panties off in a single, impatient motion. The moment you’re bare, she pulls you into her again, gasping at the skin-to-skin contact, her legs locking around you like she needs to keep you there, tethered, owned.

“Say it again,” she whispers, her mouth at your ear now, her nails dragging lightly down your back. “Say you love me.”

“I love you,” you murmur into her hair. “God, I love you.”

Your hand slips between you, fingers finding her soaked and aching. She shudders as you circle her clit, your strokes slow and deliberate. Her hips stutter, trying to chase more, but you keep the rhythm steady.

She whines in frustration and grabs your wrist.

“Inside,” she pants. “Now. I want you inside me.”

You oblige - because how could you not? You push in slowly, letting her stretch around you, savoring the way her breath trembles and her eyes flutter closed.

She gasps when you're fully inside her, her arms wrapping around your shoulders as if anchoring herself to this moment, this feeling.

“You feel so good,” she moans, her voice breaking into a breathless laugh. “So good - better than anyone else, right?”

You thrust slowly, deliberately deep. “Wanda…”

“Say it,” she demands again, her voice strained. “I want to hear you say I’m better than her.”

Your breath catches as you rock your hips into her again, and she tightens around you at the praise in your voice.

“You are,” you groan. “You’re better. The best. No one’s ever made me feel like this.”

She moans, high and desperate, nails digging into your back now, and you love the way she falls apart when she feels worshipped.

You keep the pace slow but deep, driving into her with just enough power to make her eyes roll back. She keeps clinging, gasping, her legs wrapped tight and her lips seeking yours over and over like she’s scared you’ll disappear.

“You're mine,” she says through gritted teeth, her voice raw. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, thrusting harder now. “Only yours, Wanda. Always.”

Something breaks in her then. She pulls you down into a messy, desperate kiss, hips jerking against your hand in time with your rhythm. You can feel her building - her walls fluttering, breath hitching, thighs trembling.

“Don’t stop,” she cries. “Don’t stop, don’t stop - ”

You don’t. You couldn’t if you tried.

Her release crashes over her like a wave - her whole body arching, a broken moan leaving her throat as she clings to you like she’ll drown without your touch.

You groan against her neck, the world blurring around you both.

After, when you’re breathless and tangled and coated in sweat, she still refuses to let you go. Her fingers rest lightly on your spine, her cheek pressed to your shoulder, and her voice - softer now - fills the silence.

“I meant it,” she murmurs. “I want to be your best. Your only.”

You press a kiss to her temple, still catching your breath, and answer simply:

“You are.”

Wanda doesn’t wait this time.

The moment you’re fingers move out, she shifts you both on the bed, her thighs straddle your hips, and her fingers grip your wrists, pushing them into the mattress above your head. Her eyes - glassy, burning - search yours with something between a challenge and a plea.

“Let me,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Let me use you. I need to feel it.”

Your heart stutters. You nod. You’d give her anything.

Wanda kisses you - fierce, almost bruising - and she grinds down against your stomach, soaking and needy, desperate for friction. Her breath hitches, and she breaks the kiss just long enough to sit up on your lap. The sight is devastating - her flushed chest rising and falling, her thighs tight around you, her fingers trembling as she reaches between her legs to line herself up with your thigh.

She doesn’t ride your fingers. She doesn’t ask for your mouth.

She rides your body.

The slick heat of her folds drags along your skin as she rocks forward, her hands planted firmly on your chest. She sets the rhythm, grinding her clit against your hip bone like she’s chasing something she’s been denied for years.

You moan under her, completely helpless to do anything but watch her fall apart.

“I want to hear you,” she breathes, her voice already breaking. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?” you manage to ask, breathless, utterly entranced by the way she moves - by the way her wetness smears across your skin, by the needy roll of her hips.

“That I’m better,” she pants, leaning down again, her mouth hovering over yours. “That I’m better than her. That you’ve never felt this way with anyone else.”

You blink up at her, stunned by the sharp ache in her voice.

Then you speak - raw and reverent.

“You’re the best I’ve ever had, Wanda. No one’s even close. No one’s ever touched me like this, made me feel like this. It’s you. Only you.”

A sound leaves her throat - half gasp, half sob - and her pace falters for just a moment before picking up again, faster now. She leans into your shoulder, moaning as she grinds against you, desperate, frantic, like she’s trying to brand the memory into both your skins.

Her walls flutter around nothing, her clit dragging over the line of your hip, and you can feel how close she is - how badly she wants to come from this alone.

You free your hands from hers gently and cup her face, guiding her to look at you again. “Let me touch you,” you whisper.

She nods, dazed, panting. “Yes - God, yes - please - ”

You flip her with ease - just enough to roll her under you - and immediately settle between her thighs. She moans at the shift, at the sudden emptiness, but then you’re there - mouth warm, hands steady, tongue pressed flat and slow against her soaked folds.

Wanda cries out, her back arching off the bed.

You hold her hips still as you suck her clit into your mouth, slow and deep, and you swear she’s trembling already.

“You taste like fucking heaven,” you murmur, lips brushing her as you speak. “This is mine, Wanda. No one else’s. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you if I have to.”

She’s already shaking her head, eyes squeezed shut, too overwhelmed to answer - but you don’t stop.

You fuck her with your mouth until she’s begging. Until her fingers clutch at the sheets, then at your hair, and her thighs start to close around your head.

“I’m gonna - oh God, Y/N - fuck, I’m - ”

She comes with a choked moan, clit pulsing against your tongue. But you don’t stop.

You moan softly as you keep licking her through it - slower, deeper, dragging it out until her legs tremble violently under your grip.

“Too much - ” she whines, trying to squirm away, but you pin her hips down, unrelenting, drunk on the taste of her.

“You said you wanted me to never forget,” you murmur, tongue still working her oversensitive flesh. “I’m making sure of it.”

Her next orgasm builds too fast. It rips through her with a sob, her fingers tangled in your hair like she’s holding on for dear life. Her voice breaks open as she moans your name, high and hoarse and wrecked.

When you finally pull away, her chest is heaving, her thighs soaked and twitching, her body flushed all over like she’s burning from the inside.

You crawl back up to her, kiss her slowly, and wipe her tears with your thumbs again.

And when her trembling fingers cup your cheek, she whispers, raw and hoarse:

“Mine.”

You kiss the corner of her lips. “Yours,” you promise. “Always yours.”

The air is thick with heat and the scent of sex, but it’s the quiet that lingers most.

Wanda lies boneless against you, one leg thrown over your hip, her cheek pressed to your shoulder, lips parted against your skin as she catches her breath. You hold her close, tracing lazy shapes along her spine, the softness of her skin still slightly damp beneath your fingertips.

Neither of you rushes to speak. It’s a sacred kind of silence. The kind that feels earned.

Eventually, you feel Wanda shift - just enough to rest her chin on your chest and glance up at you with glassy, blissed-out eyes. She’s flushed and glowing, her hair a wild mess over her face, and you grin as you tuck a strand behind her ear.

“You okay?” you murmur, voice husky but gentle.

She nods slowly. “Better than okay.” Her smile is sleepy, but a little shy, too. “Did I… go too far?”

You blink, then laugh softly, lifting your hand to cup her cheek. “Wanda. That was hot as fuck. If that’s what jealous and possessive feels like, I might have to make Agatha say something smug more often.”

Wanda gasps and hides her face in your chest, groaning. “Y/N!”

You laugh louder this time, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her close. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”

She mumbles something against your skin, clearly flustered, and you kiss the top of her head.

“But seriously,” you say, quieter now, “we didn’t cross any lines. You didn’t hurt me. I didn’t push too much?”

Wanda shakes her head, nuzzling against you with a soft sigh. “You were perfect. You always are.”

“Debatable,” you whisper with a crooked grin, earning a small swat to your side.

You let the moment settle again before you shift just slightly, enough to look into her eyes.

“I get it, you know,” you murmur. “I really do.”

Wanda frowns softly. “Get what?”

“The feeling,” you admit, your voice dipping into something more vulnerable. “Of wondering if someone else meant more. If you’ll ever measure up to something you weren’t part of.”

You pause. Breathe. Let the words come slowly.

“Sometimes I think about Vision. The Mind Stone. That… connection you two had. And the twins - before they were mine, before I got to call them ours. I wonder if I’ll ever compare to what you had with him. If you’ll ever look at me the way you looked at him.”

Her breath hitches, and you almost regret saying it. Almost.

But then she cups your face and kisses you - slow, deep, and full of something so real it nearly brings tears to your eyes.

When she pulls back, she presses her forehead to yours and whispers, “I’ve never looked at anyone the way I look at you. Never loved anyone the way I love you.”

You blink hard. Your throat tightens.

“He wasn’t my soulmate, Y/N,” she says. “He was comfort. He was safety. He gave me something when I was lost. But you… you found me. You brought me back to life. You’re the one who made me feel again.”

You don’t say anything at first. You just wrap your arms around her, tighter than before, and bury your face in her hair.

“I don’t care what fate or magic or some glowing rock decided,” she murmurs. “I choose you. Every time.”

Your voice is a little wrecked when you speak. “God, I love you.”

She smiles against your cheek. “I know.”

You pull back just enough to look at her again. “And just so we’re clear,” you add, grinning as you lean in close, your voice dipping with playful warmth, “you’re also definitely the best I’ve ever had.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, blushing to her ears. “Stop.”

“Never.”

You both dissolve into quiet giggles, tangled up in each other like vines, warm and safe and endlessly close. And even with everything unsaid still lingering in the shadows, what remains between you feels stronger than ever.

There’s no need to rush. Tonight, you’ve got time.

And tomorrow, too.

[inseobts]

Fire in Our Hearts

portgas d. ace x fem!reader

after a painful breakup ace and you are forced to face everything unsaid — in a night of anger, longing, and love that neither of you can walk away from.

a/n: second attempt at writing smut, and second failure lmao sorry

words count: 2.3k

tags: no graphic body part descriptions, breakup, jealousy, argument, mild smut (it's just spicy), angst to fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The sun burns high over the Moby Dick, but the air between you and Ace is heavier than a storm.

“You never listen to me” you snap, arms tight around yourself.

Ace stands there, frowning “I don’t need you telling me how to live my life.”

You feel your heart break a little “I’m not trying to control you! I just want you to be careful!”

Ace scoffs, turning his head like he can’t even look at you and that hurts more than anything.

You take a shaky breath, then say the words you can’t take back “Then you’re better off without me. So you can do whatever the hell you want.”

Ace freezes. You wait for him to say something. Anything.

But he doesn’t. He just stands there, silent.

Your chest tightens painfully. You laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“Fine,” you say, voice cracking “Have it your way.”

You turn and walk away and Ace doesn’t follow.

And just like that, it’s over.

A week later…

The ship docks at a lively island. Whitebeard gives everyone a day off to party. You wish you could stay in your room, but Marco pulls you out by the arm.

“Come on, you’ll feel better after a few drinks” he says.

You don’t argue. You’re too tired to argue.

The tavern is packed, music loud and messy. The crew drinks and laughs, filling the place with noise. You sit at a corner table, nursing a drink, trying not to look at Ace. Trying and failing.

He’s across the room, leaning back in his chair, relaxed. Too relaxed.

That’s when you see two girls, pretty and smiling, slide into the seats beside him. They giggle, touching his arm, whispering in his ear.

And Ace... let them do it.

He smiles a little, says something you can’t hear. One of the girls leans closer, brushing her chest against him.

Your stomach twists.

You slam your drink down harder than you mean to. Some beer splashes over the edge.

Thatch whistles low beside you “Ouch. Looks like he’s moving on fast.”

You glare at him. Thatch raises his hands like he’s innocent.

You can’t stay here. Not another second.

You get up fast, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Without a word, you push through the crowd and stumble out the door.

The cold night air hits you hard. You breathe in deep, trying to stop the burning in your chest.

“Stupid,” you whisper “I’m so stupid.”

You wipe your eyes quickly. You’re halfway back to the ship when you hear footsteps behind you.

You spin around.

Ace.

He’s jogging after you, face serious.

“What do you want?” you snap, voice sharp.

Ace stops a few feet away, breathing hard “We need to talk.”

You cross your arms “Oh, now you want to talk?”

He frowns “You just ran out! What was I supposed to do?”

You laugh bitterly “Maybe not flirt with the first girl who smiled at you!”

“I wasn’t flirting!”

“Oh yeah? Looked like you were having fun!”

Ace steps closer, eyes burning “You were the one who said we’re better off apart! You’re the one who walked away!”

You feel your whole body shaking.

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt!” you shout “It killed me, Ace! And you just—you just sat there! Like you didn’t care!”

Ace opens his mouth, then closes it. He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he says, voice low “I didn’t want to lose you. I just… froze.”

You glare at him, breathing hard “Well. You lost me anyway.”

The space between you is full of all the things you didn’t say. All the things you should have said.

Ace takes another step closer. You don’t move away.

“You think I don’t miss you?” he says, voice rough “Every damn day?”

You feel the tears threaten to spill again. But you don’t look away.

“And you think I don’t miss you?” you whisper.

For a long second, neither of you speak. The night is too quiet. Your heart pounds loud in your ears.

Ace’s hand twitches at his side.

You know if he touches you now, you’ll break... but you really want him to.

You stand there, fists clenched at your sides, heart hammering in your chest.

“You don’t get it, Ace!” you yell, voice cracking “You don’t get how much it hurt! You acted like I meant nothing! Like you didn’t even care if I left!”

Ace’s jaw tightens “That’s not true—”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?!” you shout, louder this time “Why didn’t you chase after me, Ace?!”

Your voice shakes, broken “You’re supposed to fight for the people you love!”

Ace looks like you just punched him in the gut.

For a second, he doesn’t move. Then he crosses the space between you in two fast steps.

You’re about to yell again, to push him away, to scream everything you’ve been holding in but Ace grabs your face in his hands and crashes his mouth onto yours.

You gasp, stiff for a moment, shocked.

Then you melt against him.

The kiss is rough, desperate, full of all the anger and love you couldn’t say in words. His hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, closer, like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

You clutch at his shirt, fists twisting in the fabric, holding onto him like you’re drowning.

Ace groans low in his throat, deepening the kiss. His lips are hot and wild against yours, like he’s trying to pour all his feelings into you at once.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard, faces inches apart.

Ace leans his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice wrecked “I’m so damn sorry.”

Tears blur your eyes, but you smile a little, shaky “You’re such an idiot.”

He chuckles, broken and soft “Yeah. But I’m your idiot. If you’ll still have me.”

You don’t answer, you just kiss him again, harder this time.

He lifts you up without warning, making you yelp against his mouth. You wrap your legs around his waist, clinging to him like you’ll never let go again.

Ace carries you, half-stumbling, back toward the ship. Neither of you cares who sees. The crew’s probably still too drunk to notice anyway.

He doesn’t even make it to your room. He pushes you up against the first wall he finds, kissing you like he’s starving.

Your hands fumble at his open shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. His skin is burning hot under your touch, like he’s made of fire.

Ace groans again, mouth trailing down your neck, teeth scraping lightly at your skin.

“God, I missed you” he breathes against your throat.

You grip his hair, pulling his head up to look at you “Then show me.”

His eyes darken, full of heat and something deeper, something that feels a lot like love.

Ace kisses you again, slower this time, but just as hungry. His hands roam your body, careful and rough all at once.

You lose yourself in him.

In his touch.

In his heat.

In him.

“Fuck” Ace breathes against your mouth. His hands move lower, squeezing your ass, lifting you up without warning.

You gasp and wrap your legs around his waist, locking yourself to him. You can feel him, hard against you, even through your clothes.

Your hands fumble at the few buttons left of his shirt, pushing it fully off his shoulders. His skin is hot, burning under your fingers.

You run your hands over his chest, nails scraping lightly. Ace shivers under your touch, eyes dark and wild.

He grabs the hem of your shirt and tugs “Off. Now.”

You lift your arms and let him yank it over your head. The cool night air kisses your skin, but Ace’s hands are warmer. His palms slide up your sides, thumbs brushing over your breasts through your bra, making you shudder.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful” he whispers, voice rough like gravel.

You kiss him again, messy and hungry. Ace’s mouth trails down your neck, licking and biting, leaving marks he knows you’ll see later.

“Need you,” he groans against your skin “Need you so bad.”

You clutch his hair, dragging his head back up to kiss you again.

“Then take me” you whisper.

That’s all he needs.

Ace pins you harder against the wall, one hand slipping down between your bodies, his fingers brush over your panties, pressing just enough to make your hips jerk forward.

You whimper into his mouth.

Ace chuckles darkly “So needy.”

Now you shove his pants down too, hands greedy. His skin is hot everywhere. When you finally touch him properly, Ace groans so deep it vibrates against your chest.

He kisses you again, desperate, messy, almost too much.

Almost.

Ace pauses, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“Tell me you want this” he says, voice shaking.

You look him straight in the eyes “I want you, Ace. Always.”

With a low growl, he pushes into you, filling you all at once. You both moan at the feeling.

It’s messy, rushed, raw... years of love and pain and need crashing together.

Ace moves fast, hips snapping against yours, hands holding you like you’re his whole world. You bury your face in his neck, biting down to muffle your cries.

When you finally fall apart in his arms, crying out his name, Ace follows right after, holding you so tight it almost hurts.

But you don’t care. You never want him to let go again.

You don’t know how long you stay wrapped around each other against the wall.

Time blurs. Your body is weak, trembling, but you don’t care. You only feel his skin against yours, his arms around you, his breath warm on your neck.

He sets you down gently, like you’re something precious.

You cling to his shoulders a second longer, legs shaky. Ace kisses your forehead, soft and slow, so different from the way he kissed you before.

“Come here” he murmurs.

He scoops you up again, carrying you bridal. You bury your face against his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat pounding fast under your ear.

Ace carries you up to your shared room on the ship.

He kicks the door open with his foot, laughing softly when you squeak in surprise.

“Relax” he says, voice teasing but full of love.

He lays you down on the bed carefully, following you down, covering your body with his.

You shiver, even though you’re not cold.

Ace notices. He grabs a blanket, pulling it over both of you before wrapping his arms tight around you again.

For a while, neither of you says anything. You just breathe together in the dark, feeling each other’s warmth.

Then, quietly, Ace speaks “I’m sorry.”

You tilt your head up, meeting his eyes.

He looks wrecked, like he’s scared you’ll leave again.

You touch his face gently “I’m sorry too.”

Ace leans into your hand, kissing your palm. Then he says it... so soft you almost don’t hear.

“I love you.”

Your heart stutters.

You blink up at him. His cheeks are pink, his eyes shining like he’s terrified and hopeful all at once.

You smile, a real one this time.

“I love you too, Ace.”

He lets out a shaky breath, like he’s been holding it forever. Then he kisses you again, slow and deep, hands sliding up and down your back under the blanket.

“Never leaving you again,” he mumbles against your lips “Even if you try to kick me out.”

You giggle, nuzzling closer “Good. ’Cause I’m not letting you go either.”

Ace grins, that wide, stupid smile you fell in love with.

He tucks your head under his chin and hugs you tighter. You feel his whole body relax against yours, like he’s finally home.

You drift off to sleep in his arms, warm, safe, and loved.

For the first time in what feels like forever, everything is right again.

The sun slips through the curtains, warm and soft.

You groan, trying to roll over but you can’t move.

Ace has you trapped, one heavy arm around your waist, one leg thrown over yours, face buried in your neck. He’s snoring softly, breath tickling your skin.

You squirm a little “Ace… let me go, it’s hot.”

“No,” he mumbles, voice hoarse with sleep “Mine.”

You laugh under your breath, heart full. You poke his cheek “We need to get up. The crew’s gonna notice.”

Ace groans dramatically “Let them.”

He tightens his arms around you like a giant, overgrown koala.

You sigh, smiling. You’re not really trying to escape anyway.

There’s a loud bang against the door.

“Oi, lovebirds!” Thatch shouts from outside “You alive in there, or did you die from all the action last night?”

You slap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing. Ace groans louder and buries his face deeper against you.

“Go away!” he yells toward the door, voice muffled against your neck.

Another bang.

“We’re takin’ bets if you both can even walk after what you did!” Marco’s voice adds, laughing.

Your face burns hot. You shove your head under the blanket, groaning.

Ace chuckles low against you, his hand sneaking under your shirt again, teasing circles into your hip.

“They’re just jealous” he murmurs.

You peek out from the blanket, raising an eyebrow “Jealous of what?”

Ace smirks lazily, looking like the smug bastard he is.

“Because I’ve got the most beautiful girl in the world… and she’s all mine.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to melt, but you can’t stop smiling.

Another loud bang.

“Seriously! Breakfast’s getting cold! Unless you two are planning to eat each other instead—”

“WE’RE COMING!” you yell back, red-faced.

Ace snickers, clearly very pleased with himself.

You grab a pillow and smack him in the face with it. But even then, he just grins wider, grabbing you around the waist again, dragging you down into the bed with him.

“Five more minutes,” he begs, voice soft against your ear “Please.”

You sigh dramatically, but you don’t move.

Maybe five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe forever wouldn’t either.

[melodyofmbaku]

Pour me Another Lie [Part 2] (Smoke Moore x Annie x Stack Moore)

Preview: “Look how good you are… how perfect you are. How pretty you sing for me.” 

Word Count: 4.1k

Warning ⚠️: They're a trio. Smut (18+ Material)

A/N I made this chapter thicc for ya'll. I really appreciate your comments/reblogs, it's what keeps me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think! 😘 Pour Me Another Lie Part 1

_____

The smell of wet grass permeated their senses and the moisture in the air dampened their skin. It was early, the sun hadn’t risen yet. The crickets had begun their song and filled the silence that sat between the pair. 

Stack just finished up rolling their cigarette before popping it into the side of his mouth and lighting it. A long drag. 

“So?” he started, passing the smoke over to his brother. 

“So what?” Smoke responded before taking a hit.

“What we bouta do?”

“We really gonna let that nigga Hank be talking bout’ how he employed Annie? Had her working behind his bar?” Stack continued. 

Smoke didn’t answer for a bit, letting the question hang between them.  

“It don’t matter what she was doing, it matters why she was doin’ it.” Smoke looked up into the distance and took a drag of the cigarette once more. 

“What you mean?”

“Annie doesn’t lie to us. So for her to feel the need to do that? We fuckin’ up somewhere.”

He passed the cigarette over, and Stack took it without a word. The tobacco sizzled as he inhaled, the smoke curling around his jaw as he tilted his head, slowly nodding. “So again… what we bouta do?”

“We get her to tell us what’s going on,” Smoke said simply, flicking ash off the side of the porch. “Whatever it is, we’ll fix it.”

It was decided. 

From inside, they heard her voice—soft, questioning, worried.

“Elias? Elijah?”

Stack’s shoulders stiffened. They hadn’t meant for her to wake up alone.

“C’mon.” Stack stamped the cigarette out before opening the screen door with a creak, and the brothers stepped inside.

The lamp in the corner of the bedroom cast a honey-colored glow, bathing Annie in warm light. She was perched on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of of the boys shirts that swallowed her whole.

“Hey, mama,” Stack said, stepping closer. 

“How you feeling?”

She gave them a weak nod. “Sore,” she admitted, but her eyes flicked toward Smoke with something close to warmth. “But good.”

“We wanted to talk about yesterday.” Stack started. Annie cast her gaze down to the floor. Dreading the fact that they’d have to talk about the situation. 

Smoke rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. It was stressing him bad. “You ain’t in no trouble, Annie. We just tryna understand what’s goin’ on in your head.”

“C’mon baby,” Stack said, squatting down beside her. “You can tell us.”

She began twisting her fingers in her lap. “Y’all are gonna think I’m being stupid…”

“We ever said that to you before?” Stack asked, gently tilting her chin up.

Annie let out a breath, shaky and honest. “I miss you.”

Smoke moved closer. “Whatchu mean? We right here.”

She shook her head slowly. “Y’all are asleep all day. Most of the day at least. I barely see y’all anymore.” Her voice cracked. “Yeah, we’re fucking, but… a lot of the time after that… it’s like we’re ships passing in the night.”

She picked at the hem of the shirt she wore absently, grounding herself.

“I… sometimes I feel alone.”

Stack reached out to hold her hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed it. 

Smoke’s jaw tensed. “You got two whole husbands. That’s more than most.”

She shot him a look. Stack tipped her chin to look back at him. His brothers attitude was not helping the situation at all. 

“This why you was working at Hank’s?” He asked softly. Still rubbing his thumb over her hand. 

She shook her head affirming. 

“I just wanted to be a part of something. Fill my day up. See other people. Not just wait around for y’all to wake again. Especially ‘cause… well, I ain’t like y’all. I’m not a vampire. I’m up when the sun’s up. I sleep when the moon’s high.”

Smoke glanced at Stack, who avoided his gaze.

There was always that sliver of distance between them — blood and time and unspoken choices. She’d refused when they offered her the promise of eternity together. She chose humanity even when it made everything harder. 

Stack finally spoke, softer this time. “We’ll figure somethin’ out. We don’t want you feeling like that. Not in this house.”

“You ain’t never alone. Never.” 

Smoke sighed before he made his way over and placed a kiss on her head, his hands went to her shoulders to comfort her. 

“Thank you for telling us. For trusting us.” he said.

Annie’s shoulders relaxed just a bit. She nodded. “Y’all not mad?” Her voice was small. It wasn’t like her. 

Smoke’s chest tightened up. God they had really fucked up. 

“Never upset with you.” Stack murmured from below. More kisses placed on her hands. 

“We’ll figure something out.” Smoke confirmed. And she nodded, leaning into him and taking his affections. 

They didn’t say much else that night. Just held her — Stack curled around her back, Smoke’s fingers threaded through hers as she drifted off to sleep.

She hadn’t asked for much. Just to feel a little less alone.

And they heard her.

____

The Next Day - 4:45am

“I can’t believe we doing this shit.” Smoke muttered, cradling a small box gently in both hands.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stack replied, nudging the door open with his foot. “Just don’t drop it.”

The front door creaked open softly. The boys stepped into the darkened house, dew still clinging to their boots, air thick with pre-dawn chill.

“We could’ve done anything else.”

“Nigga. Shut up. You rather have her serving drinks all day?”

Smoke pursed his lips and kept his mouth shut. 

“Plus… if it makes her happy that’s all that matters.” Stack concluded. 

That — the two could agree on. 

The boys had left the house at midnight as always but this time they didn’t go to the juke. 

They had other plans. Something that would take them alot further out. 

When Annie said she was lonely, it damn near broke Stack’s heart.

He wouldn’t have known what loneliness felt like if you'd asked him a year ago. He and Smoke had been side by side their whole lives — womb to world. That kind of closeness made it hard to imagine being alone.

But if he had to name the moment he first felt it? It was the day he woke up a vampire and Smoke wasn’t right beside him. He reached out and his brother wasn’t there.

If that’s what Annie meant — that empty, aching kind of quiet — then no. She wasn’t gonna feel that. Not when she had them. 

Stack pushed their bedroom door open and the two entered. Annie was curled up in the bed fast asleep. 

“Annie?” He tried softly. 

Nothing. 

“Baby girl?” Smoke tried this time. 

Annie stirred at the sound, emerging from underneath the blanket. She looked around a little confused. “What’re y’all doin’ back so early?”

She began to rub sleep from her eyes. 

Instead of answering, Smoke gently set the box down.

A tiny Rottweiler puppy stumbled out, big eyes blinking up at her, tail wagging like it had no idea what sleep was. 

The pup yipped and ran over to the side of the bed. Trying and failing to jump up. 

“Oh —“

She looked at them with shock covering her features. 

“Oh my god, is this for me?” Her eyes were wide and tears had already begun to well up. 

“Just for you baby.” Stack confirmed standing proudly.

She watched as the dog struggled to get up the bed. 

Annie knelt over the bed, and scooped the pup into her arms. It licked at her chin and she laughed — truly laughed — for the first time in what felt like weeks.

She placed a kiss on the dogs little head before correcting her and saying “We are not that kind of household. But imma give you a pass today.”

“Yall… I’m — I don’t even know what to say. “ she juggled the pup as she nipped at her dress. 

She was beaming.

“It ain’t us but, she’ll give you something to do during the day. Someone to hang out with till we wake up. So you won’t feel so alone.” Stacks smile stretched wide across his face. 

Smoke piped in.  Back slightly turned and not meeting her gaze. He was a complex man and guilt was eating him up. How did he not see it? Her unhappiness? The misstep would plague him for a while. 

“Yeah, you can take her for walks and shit. And when she gets older she could even protect you. Y’all can add some extra feminine energy to the space.”  Smoke added gesturing to the area around him lazily. 

She suppressed her laugh — this solution definitely wasn’t initiated by Smoke. 

“How’d you get him to agree to this?” she asked, jerking her chin over shoulder at Smoke but talking to Stack.

“You try to do something nice for someone…” Smoke said dryly.

“I know this wasn’t your idea,” she teased while bringing the puppy up to her nose and breathing in her scent. 

Stack smirked. Smoke scoffed — but he didn’t deny it.

Stack grinned wide, one arm slung around her. “But he ain’t stop it neither.” 

Smoke rolled his eyes. “Y’all bein’ real funny tonight.”

She crooked her finger beckoning for the younger twin to get down on her level. 

“Thank you baby.” She spoke softly into his lips before placing a kiss on them. 

“I wanna do something nice for you, say thank you”

“Yeah?” The man breathed out as his hands went out to grip her thighs.

“Mhm. Not with my words though. You like that idea?” She asked while her hand traveled down his chest to run over his covered member. 

His eyes fluttered shut. He liked the idea, a lot. 

Getting hard from a few kisses and some touching was insane. 

The puppy whined and wriggled in her arms.

“Put her in the crate for a bit,” she said, biting her lip and looking up at him from the edge of the bed. 

He didn’t have to be told twice. He handled the dog and crossed the room to put her away. 

She got up to stretch and glanced over to Smoke. He held her gaze and said nothing as he leaned against the window sill. 

She could tell he was still a little stiff. A bit uncomfortable with everything that had gone down in the past few days. 

She mouthed an “I love you.” to him and the grumpy man couldn’t help but crack a smile. 

“You’re trouble.” 

Now Stack sat on the edge of the bed, watching her — still glowing from the surprise, the love in her chest blooming like a rose.

She walked over and dropped to her knees between his thighs, unhurried.

She turned her head and glanced to Smoke. 

“You not coming over?” The man was now staring outside. 

He glanced at them before huffing “Ya’ll don’t need me over there.”

Annie let out a giggle before focusing on the man in front of her.

Petty. Petty. Either way the show would have to go on. 

She looked up at him and reached up to unleash the dragon. She unzipped his pants and pulled him out. 

“Hi baby.” She said, big brown eyes staring up at him. 

“Hi.” He responded, voice light. 

She had pulled his dick out and stroked him a few times before she moved his tip along her lips. Slightly sticking her tongue out to taste. 

Her eyes fluttered closed. She kept the head between her lips before nippling and kissing it. She was getting in the zone. She loved the build up. Once she took him fully into her mouth, Stack hissed. Then she went to work.

Smoke leaned against the window, arms crossed, watching the way she rocked on her knees. 

One thing about Annie? She got off on sucking dick. Nothing could get her going faster. So yes, the blow job was for Stack but it was also for her. He was looking right at the proof. Smoke focused intently on the essence that slowly oozed onto the floor from her pussy as she sucked the life out of his brother. 

He adjusted himself in his pants, eyes on the woman’s swaying form and the evidence she left behind. She was so sensual. Everything she did made him wanna bow. He wanted to worship at the altar of Annie. 

Right now, he really didn’t deserve it — her. They had fucked up bad. But could he resist her, like this? Right now? She was a picture if he ever saw one. 

He told himself he’d just watch. Let her have this moment with Stack. But when he saw the way her back arched — the soft sounds slipping out her lips — his resolve cracked in half.

“Fuck it.” He’d deal with the guilt after. 

Before she knew it he was crossing the room over to them and ended up right behind her. 

He flexed his knees a bit and she heard him undo his belt buckle, unzip and pull himself out of his pants. Those were some of her favourite sounds. 

She was gonna get it tonight and she was so excited. 

He placed a hand on her hips and slightly angled her body upward. 

“Lemme see that arch baby.” And arch she did. 

Smoke didn’t have it in him to play for long. He was hard as a rock and watching Annie drip onto the floor earlier did his resolve no favours. 

He rubbed his dick along her folds, collecting her essence and watching it glisten on his dick. Fucking glorious. 

He timed his entrance with when she had Stack out of her mouth so he could hear her delicious moan. Fuel for them all.  

Slowly but deliberately he thrust into her. There they set their rhythm, moving in sync. Back and forth — Annie at the center of their world. 

They’d danced this dance time and time again. It never got old. They were a unit. They knew each other's bodies and triggers. It was beautiful for each one of them. Being known so deeply. Being loved so intimately. 

Annie’s eyes had become heavy and lidded from the additional sensation and she set her eyes on Stack. Those eyes coupled with his dick being in her mouth was a problem. 

The man managed to get out a tight “Stop lookin’ at me like that.” Before throwing his head back and letting out a drawn out “Fuck.”

Smoke looked up at his tortured brother and smirked. 

He bent down to whisper comically in his wife’s ear. “Keep going baby. Don’t let him tell you what to do.”

The man could feel the effects of her enthusiasm on him. Every time she came back her pussy would swallow his dick. It was beautiful the way she was creaming on him. It was like an ocean in there and he didn’t wanna stop swimming. 

“If you can make Stack cum, I’ll make you cum. Deal?” Smoke asked.

She bobbed her head enthusiastically and he took that as a yes. 

Annie always felt so sexy when she could have them both at the same time. It was all encompassing and she loved it.  

She grinned to herself and continued to top Stack from the bottom. Licking up and down his thick shaft with her hands twisting at the base periodically. 

She felt the sensation of his dick sliding in and this time she let it slip right down her throat and she held it there. 

“Shit.” Stack exclaimed. 

The man gained the strength to look back down at her and still she looked up at him. Love, adoration and something dangerous in her eyes. 

He made the mistake of glancing even further down and there they were. Annie’s tits were bouncing and jiggling on account of her getting railed by his older brother. 

Oh, the life they lived. 

Stack loved every part of Annie but he went feral for her titties. He was always pinching em, holding em, looking at em, he couldn’t get enough.

His resolve was being tested. He didn’t want this to be over. He wanted to savour this — getting head was a gift. He employed every shred of willpower to hold on. 

He raised his eyes to the ceiling trying to get the graphic image out of his head. He counted 11 planks of wood before glancing down once more. A mistake. 

The man wanted to last, he really fucking did but then Annie took her mouth off him and spat right on his dick. There was a trail of spit still attached to her lip and she held his gaze while rubbing her thumb over his tip. 

She was a wicked wicked woman. 

He watched as her lips enveloped him and she increased her pace and sucked him down her throat once again. 

This time though, she didn’t pull back. She held him tight and he could feel her tongue lapping against the shaft, tickling his skin. Her dark brown eyes stared into his soul. 

She was so heartbreakingly pretty. His hand reached out to cup her face but he didn’t get a chance to. 

She hummed and that's what sealed his fate.  The vibrations created an unreal amount of pleasure. He had no chance against Annie’s prowess. 

His self-control snapped like an elastic band. He was gonna finish. Right fuckin’ now.

At this point he pulled himself out of her mouth and grabbed the base of his dick. 

“Where you want it baby?” He asked his wife, gripping himself tightly. 

She took her hands, pushed her titties together and breathlessly begged “Right here.” 

Her tits then. He let his orgasm rise within him. He was good. 

That was before she dropped her mouth open and stuck her tongue out. 

The man short circuited. 

Annie would save the moan that left Stacks mouth in a box in her mind for later use. 

His internal dialog was overwhelmed. In mere milliseconds he had to make a choice. Her mouth? Her tits? He couldn’t decide in time and shot his thick load somewhere in the middle. 

Most of it landed on the tip of her tongue. She sported a smile as his seed dripped from her mouth right onto her titties. 

It was straight up pornographic. 

The man struggled to catch his breath. He watched the scene mesmerized and as he attempted to recover. 

The little minx that she was, the woman pressed her breasts together spreading his seed across her chest.  

He looked down at her in a flustered accusatory manner. She knew what she did. She fluttered her pleasure laden lashes at him before letting out a breathless “Thank you.”

She continued to smile up at him as if she hadn’t just given him the most insane blow job of his life. 

He had married a wicked woman indeed. 

He cursed under his breath while closing his eyes. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy.” 

Stack was almost in a daze, and he became preoccupied with watching her tits bounce but this time with his cum spread across them. He imagined this was what heaven would be like. 

Behind her Smoke observed their interactions. His measured thrusts were about to become a lot sloppier. 

She turned her head over to look at her husband, her eyes low and lidded and simply said “It’s my turn.”

“I got you baby. You did so good, I’m gonna give you —“ his voice trailed off as she began to fuck back with enthusiasm. 

“Shit Annie.” Smoke placed a hand on her lower back, that arch was doing something to him. 

She was throwing her hips back and letting out soft pants that hit Smoke’s ears in all the best ways. 

Everything was sloppy. And wet. And Annie loved it all. Mentally she was transcending. She felt so special and loved — they paid her so much attention.  There was cum on her lips and on her tits. She wanted it inside of her too. Cover all her bases. 

Stack began pulling at her cum covered nipples, she liked that. 

Smoke reached a hand around her waist to find her clit. 

Slowly he began to tease the sensitive nub. Matching his movements with his thrusts. Back and forth he swiped at her pleasure center.  

“Yes. Yes. That feels so good.” She panted out. 

Her husband was hitting her in all the right places at just the right pace. She met his thrusts with enthusiasm and the stimulation she received on her nipples added to the experience. She was home. 

“I want more.” she let out. 

“More. More. More.” She chanted out breathlessly.

She was getting demanding. This raised an alarm for Smoke. 

How much more could he give?

When she got like this. Hungry for it? He couldn’t control himself. 

“Are you gonna give it to me daddy?” She threw her head over her shoulder, dark low eyes and kiss bruised lips looking back at her partner. 

“Annie — chill out.” He warned, hand placed firmly on the small of her back. 

Annie did not chill. In fact she clenched her walls greedily for a fuller feeling. The very opposite of chilling. 

He gasped. 

“You promised.” She whined. 

Annie wanted — so Smoke provided.

He worked quickly to swipe his fingers across her clit. Leaning over he began to murmur in her ear hard thrusts not letting up. 

“Look how good you are… how perfect you are. How pretty you sing for me.” 

She nodded. A sob building up in her chest. She loved it when they talked her through it. 

“We’re sorry baby.” He continued and she needed to hear it too. 

And he just kept giving — every thrust, every touch, every whispered word. Telling her in the only way he knew how:

You ain’t never alone.

Not while we’re alive.

Not even when we’re dead.

That one final statement did it for her. Her voice cracked as she panted out her pleasure — tears streaming down her face. 

“Yes, yes I’m gonna—” Urgency coated her voice as she reached for Stack’s hand like it was the only thing tethering her to earth.

Stack laced his fingers with hers, grounding her with a steady squeeze. She didn’t have to say anything — he felt what she needed.

Annie always needed a little encouragement to let go. She lived in her head too much — always watching herself from the outside, afraid of losing control. And with the boys? Truth be told, her orgasms scared her. How big they were. How undone they made her.

“Go ‘head, baby,” Stack whispered, voice thick with heat. “It’s okay. You just let go — we right here with you.”

And let go she did.

Smoke watched her — how she shoved her hips back, how tight she clenched around him, how wild and beautiful she looked when she finally let it hit.

She came like a storm breaking open — happy, wild, free.

Stack felt her tremble, felt her trust him — and it stirred something deep in him. If that was loneliness, what she’d felt, then this was the cure. He’d give it to her again and again.

Smoke felt it too. The freedom. Free from last night’s weight. Free from the pressure of always holding it together.

That was all he needed.

He grunted, sank into her one last time, and came with a shout that left him breathless.

____

“Annie?”

“Mhm?” she murmured, distracted as she tickled the puppy’s belly and giggled at its squirming paws.

They were tangled up in bed — a mess of warm skin and lazy limbs. Stack was already out cold, chest rising slow and deep, mouth parted like he’d been knocked out.

Annie rested on his outstretched arm, her fingers drifting up Smoke’s chest, playing with the gold chain that hung between his pecs.

“Next time something’s bothering you…”

“Enough,” she said, cutting him off gently but firm.

He nodded.

“It’s done, baby. We’re good. It’s water under the bridge.”

They were fine. That’s all he needed to know. They didn’t need a hundred words — not when the truth was already pulsing between them.

Stack let out a small snore, body slack.

Annie didn’t know it, but that moment had wrung something out of him too. He’d meant every word — about being there, about her not feeling alone. And when she let go, so did he.

Silence stretched, soft and full.

“You sucked the soul outta him,” he joked.

“He deserved it.” she replied.

Smoke smiled, watching her settle deeper against his chest.

Yeah. They all did. ____ Interested in my future works? Let me know if you'd like me to add you to my tag list. a/n Thank you for every single comment and reblog of Part 1. I was cracking up 🤣 I'm really glad you're enjoying this AU, though a little unconventional. Your thoughts and encouragement keep me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think! My other works can be found in My Masterlist. Thanks for reading! ___ Taglist @chaneajoyyy @pyraomen @browngirldominion @sarcastic-sunshines @goddessofthundathighs @rolemodelshit @bbymuthaaa @boonoonoonus @joysofmyworld @twistedsistas-stuff @blackctrl

@heytemporary

[fandomfablesunleashed]

Out in the Open

Law x reader (she/her) ft. Heart Pirates

Part of the Polar Tang Chronicles but can be read as a standalone! (They're all just various one-shots featuring the Reader, Law, and the Heart Pirates)

Summary: Your crew discovered that you and Law are closer than you seemed when the two of you stumbled out disheveled of his quarters one morning due to the ship’s alarm. After the battle, Law left, leaving you to endure the crew’s relentless teasing—which eventually escalated a bit too far.

Tags: suggestive, obvious mentions of sex (but no smut), nudity, hickies mentioned, swearing, teasing, kinda crack, a bit angsty

Words: 6k

Notes: I had a lot of fun writing that one! I considered using it for a longer fanfic, but the one I’m currently working on (which will take a while to complete) doesn’t quite match this vibe. Still, I’m thinking about doing more one-shots with this kind of atmosphere—just some daily life moments with Reader, Law, and the Heart Pirates. I already have outlines for two: one where Penguin and Shachi accidentally walk in on Reader and Law, and another where Reader gets tipsy with Ikakku (I'm more than open to your suggestions)

English is not my first language

Masterlist

You woke up, nestled under the covers and enjoying a morning of quiet bliss. You snuggled closer to the warm body next to you. Law. 

“Morning,” he rasped, kissing your collarbone tenderly.

You hummed happily in response, exposing your neck to him, and he quickly took advantage and started putting his lips all over it. His hands moved to explore your naked skin slowly. You tilted your head to capture his lips in a gentle kiss. You both made out lazily, taking your time to relish one another. Soon the room was filled with the sounds of quiet moans and sighs, passion building with every touch. Lost in the sensations, you were completely oblivious to the world outside your small haven. 

Then, the sudden blaring of the alarm shattered the peaceful atmosphere. You both jolted upright, the reality of the situation crashing down on you like a bucket of cold water. The moment of intimacy was gone, replaced by an urgent need to spring into action.

You and Law hurried out of the captain's lodgings, your attires randomly assembled of whatever clothes had been within reach. You couldn't take the time to look presentable; the ship's alarm was a call to action, and you had to respond quickly. 

As you stepped into the hallway, Law's expression was grim; his mind already focused on the impending danger. You took your gaze from him, and you regretted it immediately as you found yourself face to face with a few of the crew members. Their eyes darted between Law and you, taking in your disheveled state, and a murmur of surprise and recognition rippled through the group. 

Law clenched his jaw, cursing silently as he realized your secret was out. With a stern glare, he stepped forward, taking charge of the situation.

“Alright, listen up! We don't have time to waste ogling. We've got a dangerous situation on our hands, and we need to spring into action now.” 

Law's voice cut through the commotion, commanding and resolute, as he issued orders to prepare for battle. The air was charged with tension as the submarine broke the surface, and without hesitation, you leapt onto the deck alongside your crewmates.

As the ships closed in, the sounds of battle began to swell. The creak of wood, the sharp clang of blades, and the guttural cries of the enemy pirates filled the air. They swarmed over the rails, swords, and other weapons gleaming as they poured onto the deck.

Law stood at the helm, calm and focused, his sharp gaze tracking every movement below. You stood beside him, gripping your weapon tightly, a determined edge in your eyes. For a brief moment, his eyes met yours.

“Be careful.”

“You too.”

With that, you plunged into the chaos.

The Heart Pirates fought with fierce determination, refusing to give an inch to the invaders. Swords clashed, bodies collided, and the deck became a storm of violence. Law, as always, took the lead, enforcing his Devil Fruit power and cutting through the most dangerous foes with a precision that left no room for error.

By the time the battle ended, the enemy was in full retreat, their ship disappearing over the horizon. Slowly, the commotion on the deck eased, and cheers broke out. The crew’s voices rose together, celebrating their victory as they let the weight of the battle fall away.

“You okay?” Law asked, standing next to you.

“Yeah,” you replied, a weary smile curving on your lips. “You?”

“I'm…  fine,” He reached out a hand, gently brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “You fought well,” he murmured quietly, his eyes searching yours. 

A sudden change in the air made him stiffen. He became acutely aware of the crew’s eyes on you both—the knowing smirks, the exchanged glances, the not-so-subtle winks. He shifted uncomfortably, his face flushing. 

Clearing his throat, he straightened, his usual composure snapping back into place. “Alright, everyone. You did well,” Law said, his voice firm and commanding once more. “Let's get this mess cleaned up, and everyone back to their duties.” And just like that, he turned on his heel and walked away.

You were used to the attention and the rumors that swirled about Law and you. Over time, you had learned to ignore them, to let the speculation roll off your back. But after being caught in a compromising position earlier, you felt awkward and exposed. A pang of irritation flared as Law disappeared below deck, leaving you to the inevitable onslaught of teasing remarks from the crew. You understood his need for privacy, but it still stung a little that he had left you there to deal with the crew's prodding alone.

“So… how do you feel about the captain?” Sachi asked with a smirk. 

“That he is being an ass,” you muttered angrily, starting to clean up, hoping it would allow you to leave soon.

The crewmates snickered at your insult.

“Damn,” Penguin remarked with a grin. “It's the first time I've heard someone call the captain an ass and live to tell the tale.”

“I guess being the captain’s lover has its perks. You can get away with more than most.”

You bristled at that comment. Law was a strict captain, and you knew that others respected him. Being able to call him an 'ass' and getting away with it did feel satisfying, but you certainly didn’t appreciate the implication that whatever you had with Law granted you special privileges.

You felt exhausted, and you didn't have the energy to argue with them. Instead, you let out a weary sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly as you snapped back at the crew member who had spoken. “Can you just shut up and do your job?” You felt hot and embarrassed as you unzipped your hoodie a bit, looking around to busy yourself with something. 

The crew members laughed at your response, clearly enjoying the chance to tease even more. 

“Oh, is that something you told the captain this morning, too?” someone immediately jibed.

Your frustration boiled to the surface. “You guys suck.”

But as soon as the words left your mouth, Penguin quipped back, “Not as good as the captain on your neck this morning.”

You froze, your eyes widening in shock, and your hand instinctively reached up to touch your neck, where Law had indeed spent a lot of time just this morning. You hadn't even had a chance to look in the mirror yet, and now you realized that unzipping your hoodie, or actually Law hoodie, which you noted with a mental curse now, was a wrong move.

Ikkaku cast you a sympathetic glance. “Yeah, we can see those hickies,” she noted with a wry smile.

“We would have to be damn blind not to notice them.” Shachi instantly added.

Penguin grinned cheekily and chimed in. “Who knew Captain was such a sucker.” 

The crew members continued their teasing, their jokes, and comments, escalating with every word. You felt as if you were drowning in a sea of ribbing, and you just couldn't take it any longer. You spun around and stalked away, leaving the laughing crew behind.

As you stormed off, you overheard a puzzled Bepo comment, “I don't know why everyone is making a big deal out of this. She's been staying with the captain for months now.”

“What?!”

“You didn't know that?” 

“None of us did!”

You sought sanctuary in your and Ikkaku's room, isolating yourself from the rest of the crew for the remainder of the day. Various crew members came by, attempting to apologize through the door, but you refused to speak to anyone but Ikkaku.

You heard their voices through the door, their tones ranging from apologetic to pleading. 

“Oh, come on, we were just teasing.” 

“We're happy for you, really.” 

“Come out, will you?” 

“We're sorry, okay?”

You were not the only one avoiding everyone. Law was also absent, and nobody managed to catch a glimpse of him. The crew was left wondering how to mend the situation, and after a while, they came to a consensus. Someone needed to speak to Law and try to smooth things over.

And that's how Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin, Law's longest serving crewmates, and closest friends, found themselves standing outside his room. Summoning his courage, Bepo finally raised a trembling paw and struck the door with a soft, tentative knock.

There was a pause before Law's voice echoed through, a grumpy and dismissive, “I'm busy.”

The trio exchanged nervous glances, their resolve faltering for only a moment before Bepo mustered his courage once more. “We need to talk to you, captain. It's important.”

Another moment of silence followed, and then they heard Law's resigned grunt. “Fine. Come in.”

They pushed open the door cautiously, their gazes darting nervously around the room. Law leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow raised in mild irritation. “Everything alright?”

Penguin spoke up hesitantly. “No, not really,” he began. “I mean, the ship is fine, and we're not being attacked, but there's something else…”

“What? Just say it.”

Shachi rolled his eyes. “Come on, Captain, we need to talk about what happened this morning.”

Law immediately rejected the notion. “No, we don't,” he said, his shoulders tensing, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Yes, we do, and you're gonna listen to us.” Undeterred by Law's expression, he continued, “You shouldn't have just left her alone with us after a fight.”

Law remained impassive, his voice cool and matter-of-fact. “I had to take care of something, and I didn't think I was needed there,” he reiterated. “You guys were supposed to clean, and I had other matters to attend to.”

Penguin chimed in, his expression slightly sheepish. “Yeah, you were… You left after we all knew what happened in the morning, so of course we turned to  We teased her, and I guess we took it a bit too far.”

Law clenched his jaw. He didn't need a lecture on how to handle his life, and he definitely didn't appreciate his crew sticking their noses in his business.

But the trio wasn't finished yet. Bepo's worried gaze met Law's, his tone earnest as he added, “She didn't take it well, Captain. She locked herself in her room.”

Law's voice remained steady, feigning indifference as he asked, “So you want me to punish her for skipping out on her chores?”

Gasps of disbelief erupted from the trio.

“What, no!” Shachi barked. “Are you insane?”

“Yeah! What is wrong with you?” Penguin added, his tone incredulous.

Bepo took a deep breath, trying to reason. “You need to talk to her, Captain. And to us—your crew.”

Law's reply was curt and final. “It’s a private matter.”

Penguin wasn’t having it. “No, it’s not. Not anymore. But the crew’s okay with that—we’ve talked about it.”

Shachi nodded, his tone firm. “More than fine with it. We know you’ve been worried about what we’d think. But here’s the thing: we’re happy.”

“Yeah,” Penguin pitched in. “You’ve been dancing around each other for too long.”

“And honestly? It was getting annoying,” Shachi added.

Bepo’s voice softened, but his words carried weight. “We want you to know we support you, Captain.”

Law blinked, their bluntness catching him off guard. Despite their sincerity, he still hesitated. “Is that so?”

The trio nodded in unison, their expressions hopeful.

Shachi stepped forward, crossing his arms as he locked eyes with Law. “Well, it needed to be said,” he stated firmly. “We know how you are, Captain. You could sit here for weeks if we let you. But we can’t let her suffer any longer.”

Law repeated, almost incredulously, “Suffer?”

Shachi shrugged apologetically. “We couldn’t speak to her personally,” he admitted, glancing toward the others. “But Ikkaku told us she’s obviously humiliated—not just by us, but by you, too.”

“You just left her there,” Penguin added, his tone stained with guilt as he stepped closer. “And you haven’t spoken to her since. She thinks you’re ashamed of—”

“Of course I’m ashamed,” Law interrupted sharply, sitting forward as his jaw tightened even more. “That should have never happened. You shouldn’t have seen us like that.” 

Penguin picked up his sentence. “No, she thinks you are ashamed of her,” he clarified, his voice trailing off awkwardly.

Shachi frowned, his usually lighthearted expression turning uncharacteristically serious. “Ikkaku said she thinks she was forcing herself on you. That you only gave in because you were lonely,” he explained, his voice lowering. “And now everyone knows, and she feels embarrassed and pitiful.”

Law’s chair scraped slightly as he pushed back, his voice rising in outrage. “What? That’s absurd!” he exclaimed, shaking his head. His clenched fists rested on the armrests, knuckles whitening as he struggled to contain his mounting exasperation.  The thought of you feeling that way—that you thought he was ashamed of you—sent a sharp pang through his chest.

“Yeah, we figured as much,” Penguin said, cutting through the tension. “But she doesn’t know that, Captain. You need to remind her she’s more than that.”

Shachi leaned forward, his tone pressing yet sincere. “She is more, right, Captain?”

Bepo’s warm, worried voice followed, his eyes searching Law’s face. “You did tell her, didn’t you? That she’s more?”

The room fell deathly quiet, the three of them staring at Law, waiting for a response. He sat frozen, his mind racing with thoughts and emotions he couldn’t quite organize. A subtle tremor ran through his hand as he clenched and unclenched his fist.

Shachi's voice cut through the silence. “You're awful,” he said bluntly. “You need to tell her.” 

“I can't,” Law said, looking away.

“Why not?”

Law’s lips parted, and for a moment, he hesitated. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but raw, laced with an uncharacteristic vulnerability. “Because… I can’t lose her.”

The words lingered in the air, a heavy confession that seemed to sap the strength from him. His crewmates stood still, the weight of the admission sinking in. They had known Law for years, long enough to understand the fear buried beneath his stoic exterior. This wasn’t just about pride or embarrassment. This was about the scars of loss he carried, the pain he feared reliving.

After a brief pause, Penguin spoke up. “Well, we can't promise you that,” he stated, his words heavy with the acknowledgment of the uncertainty of the future.

Shachi nodded, his expression softening. “But she doesn’t want to leave you, Captain. That much we’re sure of.”

Bepo added, his voice solemn yet earnest, “And besides, she always says that life is a 'f*cking nightmare,' full of pain, and that you never know when you're going to die, so you should cling to every single small moment of happiness.”

Shachi and Penguin turned to Bepo, their mouths falling open in shock. Penguin gawked at him. “Wow, Bepo,” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. “I’ve known you forever, but I’ve never heard you swear.”

Bepo’s face flushed under the sudden attention. “I was quoting!” he stammered, his ears flicking nervously. “The point is, if you won’t listen to us, maybe you should listen to her. You deserve some happiness too, Captain,” he finished, his eyes locking with Law’s.

Law's expression eased as he heard Bepo's words. The crew's support, combined with the reminder that your wisdom echoed their sentiment, struck a chord within him. He couldn't deny the truth in their words, even if fear still held him back.

The silence stretched once more, thick with emotion. Finally, Penguin broke it hesitantly. “Um, Captain?”

Law straightened, his usual composure returning. “There will be an obligatory meeting in two hours,” he said, his voice firm and commanding once more.

Bepo tilted his head. “Everyone?” he asked tentatively, unsure if Law meant to include you.

Law’s reply was curt and resolute. “Yes. Everyone. Now go.”

The crew spread the word about the meeting, making their way to the girls' dormitory. Shachi rapped on the door, and moments later, Ikkaku appeared, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“The Captain called for an obligatory meeting,” Shachi informed her. “Everyone needs to attend.” He craned his neck slightly, calling out into the room, “That means you too.”

From within, your voice drifted toward them, muffled by the pillow. “Yeah, yeah, I figured.”

Ikkaku gave a short nod and closed the door with a click. Turning toward you, she crossed her arms and regarded you thoughtfully. “You should shower first,” she suggested gently.

Sprawled across your bed, you rolled your eyes, a wry smirk tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Ikka,” you quipped with playful sarcasm. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Despite the joke, you couldn’t hide the flicker of vulnerability. It was brief, but enough to betray the pressure, you were feeling about the upcoming meeting—and the emotional mess still simmering just below the surface, threatening to spill over.

Taking Ikkaku’s advice, you trudged to the bathroom and showered, the hot water doing little to wash away your apprehension. When you returned to the room, your skin still damp and your hair wet, you began to change.

You couldn't help but notice Ikkaku’s gaze lingering on you. Sharing a room—and a shower room—meant you were no stranger to Ikkaku’s teasing observations, but this time, her stare felt particularly pointed.

You raised an eyebrow, turning to face her. “Okay, I know you’ve said my boobs are awesome, but the staring’s a bit much, don’t you think?” you remarked, your voice dripping with sass as you shot her a look.

Unfazed, Ikkaku smirked, leaning back against the wall with casual ease. “Sorry,” she said, not sounding even a little apologetic. “I was just curious to see how far those hickeys go.”

You froze, the memories of your night—and morning—with Law surfaced unbidden, leaving you momentarily speechless.

“Don’t you have something better to do than ogling me?”

Ikkaku’s grin widened as she shrugged nonchalantly. “Not really,” she admitted. “Besides, your face right now? Totally worth it.”

Feeling a mixture of resignation and embarrassment, you let out a grunt. There was no escaping it now.  Slowly, with reluctant resolve, you pulled away the towel, letting it fall to the side. The marks Law had left on your skin—bold, unmistakable—were now fully exposed. 

Ikkaku’s grin widened, her eyes shamelessly scanning the array of hickeys decorating your breasts and stomach.  She didn’t bother hiding her amusement

“Wow,” she remarked. “Someone likes to sign their work.”

Despite the wave of mortification, a small smirk crept to your lips. There was something strangely endearing about her playful commentary, even if it only added to your flustered state. Her carefree attitude was a stark contrast to the chaos of emotions you were still sorting through. 

But as your mind wandered, it inevitably turned back to Law. The marks on your skin were his. Each one a bold reminder of the moments you’d shared. He had never been one for public displays or openness, and the way he had left you to handle the aftermath of the crew’s discovery. Well, it stung.

You turned away and began dressing, methodically slipping on your bra before pulling a tank top over your head and following it with your uniform. Your movements were controlled, almost mechanical, as though each action was part of a ritual to compose yourself. Hands trembling slightly, you reached for the zipper of your uniform and drew it up all the way to your neck—a rare act of modesty for you.

With the uniform now in place, you grabbed a bottle of concealer from the desk and leaned toward the small mirror affixed to the wall. Your eyes narrowed in concentration as you dabbed and blended the makeup over the hickeys that still were visible on your neck, working meticulously to erase any evidence of your time with Law. 

Behind you, Ikkaku’s grin remained fixed on you.

“So, is he good?” she asked bluntly.

The question caught you off guard. Your eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, you found yourself staring at her through the mirror, unsure how to respond.

“Oh, come on,”  she added before you could gather your thoughts, rolling her eyes dramatically. “We’ve been pretending I didn’t know for months. At least give me something.”

A groan escaped you as you turned to face her. Yet, under her persistent gaze, you relented. “Fine, he’s… amazing,” you admitted. The words slipped out more easily than you expected, “I know, I know—you’ll say I’m biased, but he really is. Or it really is,” you added, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips as the memory resurfaced. “I never knew sex could be that good.”

Your cheeks flushed anew as the words left your lips, the vivid recollection making it impossible to hide your emotions. Ikkaku raised a brow, her interest clearly piqued by your admission.

“You’ve had sex with other people before, though,” she pointed out.

You nodded, your expression growing more contemplative as you thought back on those past experiences. “Yeah, and it was nothing compared to that.”

The teasing edge in her voice had faded, replaced by genuine curiosity.  “It was good, or good because it was him?” 

Your breath hitched slightly at her question, the double meaning not lost on you. The intensity of your feelings threatened to bubble to the surface, but you kept your composure. She wasn’t just asking about the physical act; she was probing deeper, into the raw feelings you had for him. 

After a brief pause, you answered. “Both,” you confessed, the honesty in your words both exhilarating and terrifying. “It was good, and it was good because it was him.”

“Well, I’m glad for you.”

You sighed, shaking your head slightly, your smile fading. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t matter now.”

“Why not?” she asked, leaning forward slightly.

Your lips pressed into a thin line, the familiar weight of resignation settling over you. “Because, obviously, it won’t be happening anymore,” you replied flatly.

“You can’t know that.”

You scoffed, shooting her a skeptical look. “Oh, I think I know,” you muttered. He left. He must be ashamed, and therefore it definitely won’t be happening again.

“No,” she said again. “You don’t know that. You can’t know that.”

A lump formed in your throat as her words lingered in the air. You tried to brush them off, letting out a heavy sigh. “I… Let’s just get to this meeting,” you murmured, the finality in your tone signaling an end to the conversation. You didn’t want to think about it anymore, didn’t want to admit that, despite your words, you couldn’t stop the hope that maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t truly over.

Law arrived, his commanding presence as steady as ever, and began by addressing the crew in his usual manner. He outlined the agenda for their imminent arrival on the island, detailing their expected conduct and assigning responsibilities with precise efficiency.

You sat among the crew, listening with a stoic expression, but your mind reeled with the weight of recent events. The words spoken seem distant, their meanings muted by the emotional turmoil swirling within you. Law’s voice remained firm and unyielding, yet there was a subtle trace of concern in his eyes each time his gaze landed on you.

After finishing the official agenda, Law cleared his throat, his posture shifting slightly. “There’s another matter we need to discuss,” he stated.

Your body tensed as the weight of his announcement settled over the room. The earlier incident—he’s going to talk about it. Your pulse quickened, the anticipation prickling your skin as you wondered what he'd say and how it would alter the fragile balance you felt.

As the eyes of your crewmates gravitated toward you, the sensation of being exposed made you want to disappear. Their curiosity, though unspoken, was palpable. Yet, amidst it all, there was one pair of eyes you could count on not to meet yours. Law. You couldn't help but wonder if his avoidance was deliberate.

Finally, he spoke, “I was informed by Shachi, Bepo, and Penguin that there are no objections to this… relationship.” His pause was short but meaningful—an awkward silence that made you feel every beat of your heart in your chest. The word relationship hanging in the air. For just a split second, his eyes locked with yours in a way that felt both like a test and a question. “Is that correct?”

The crew’s response was instantaneous and resounding.

“Not at all!”

“We’re all happy for you!”

“It should have happened sooner!”

“We’re more than fine with it!”

You leaned closer to Ikkaku and whispered. “Did he just say relationship, or am I delusional?”

Ikkaku chuckled. “You heard him right,” she confirmed.

The reality of the moment began to sink in, the word relationship replaying in your mind. It felt surreal to hear Law speak of your connection so openly. Your heart fluttered, caught between happiness and nervousness as you processed this unexpected declaration.

Relationship. Did he just make it official—without asking you first? You’d expect irritation, but instead, you felt a surprising sense of ease. There was comfort in knowing where you stood, even if it wasn’t in the way you imagined it.

Then, his gaze met yours once more. His expression remained guarded, but there was vulnerability in his eyes as he waited for your reaction. Without thinking, you offered him a soft, reassuring smile and a nod, a silent gesture of understanding that passed between you. 

His shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, and for a tiny moment, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips—a smile so subtle it might have been missed by anyone else. But to you, it was enough to make your heart skip a beat. Then, as quickly as it came, it vanished.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said firmly, addressing the crew once again. “Don’t go overboard with it. If any concerns arise, come to me directly.”

He paused for a moment before adding. “This is a private matter, and it will remain that way. Don’t get too curious, and no discussions about it outside this ship. Understood?”

There was a collective murmur of agreement from the crew. You found yourself nodding along with them, a wave of relief washing over you at the boundaries he had so clearly set.

Then, just as the mood began to shift back toward normalcy, Law added with a small, wry smile, “I’d also like to forbid all talks on the ship, but I don’t believe in miracles.”

A ripple of light laughter spread through the crew, the tension dissipating as the humor in his words broke the ice. Even you couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, the absurdity of the situation settling in. 

“Now, I’ve heard that instead of focusing on cleaning as I directed, some of you were too busy gossiping and fooling around. As punishment, everyone will be cleaning the storage room.”

A collective groan rose from the crew, though none dared protest. Law had chosen this task with deliberate precision, fully aware that it was necessary, yet highly unpleasant—and that no one would volunteer for it willingly. By dividing the work into smaller groups, he ensured not only efficiency but also a shared misery, a kind of collective suffering that made the burden just a little easier to bear.

Once the commotion died down, Law turned to you. His tone remained firm and impartial. “Besides you. But for missing work earlier, you’ll take an extra shift cleaning the kitchen.”

Cleaning the kitchen was your least favorite task, and everyone on the ship knew it. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to feel resentment. Law was fair; everyone else faced consequences for missed duties, and he was showing you no favoritism. The consistency in his decisions left you feeling unexpectedly grateful.

With the meeting concluded, Law’s voice rang out one final directive. “That’s all. Everyone, return to your tasks.”

Usually, he would walk away immediately, but this time, he lingered. His gaze scanned the room, ensuring no one had the chance to approach you as the crew dispersed.

As you turned to leave, you felt the light pressure of a hand on your shoulder. Startled, you glanced back to find Law standing close. His voice dropped to a quiet murmur, so only you would hear him. “Come to me when you’re done. We need to talk.”

You arrived at Law's door later, your heart beating slightly faster in anticipation of the conversation ahead. Knocking gently, you heard his voice inviting you in. Moving with practiced ease, you crossed the room and settled into your usual seat across from him, as you took a moment to compose yourself.

“I can’t believe you did that,” you said, referring to Law’s earlier declaration at the meeting.

Law smiled tenderly, a rare expression reserved just for you. “I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner,” he murmured, the apology carrying a depth of sincerity that made your heart flutter. He paused, his eyes searching yours as he asked, “Are you okay with it?”

It was more than just a simple question. Taking a deep breath, you gathered your thoughts and responded, “I’m… surprised.” You paused for a moment, mustering the courage to voice your true feelings. “But… yes, I’m okay with it. More than okay.”

Law’s eyes locked onto yours, and you caught the relief and joy in his gaze. Your words—more than okay—settled the doubts that had crept into his mind. He let out a small sigh, the tension leaving his body.

For a moment, the room hung in silence, but then you couldn’t help yourself. A playful pout formed on your lips as you shifted in your seat, adding with feigned annoyance, “I’m still a little mad, you know. For leaving me there like that.”

Law’s response was matter-of-fact, his voice composed. “I know. I didn’t do it intentionally. I just didn’t see the point of sticking around.” There was a hint of nonchalance as he added, “I got injured a bit during the battle—didn’t want anyone making a fuss over me.”

That…. Your eyes widened in disbelief, anger, and concern flooding you. “Law!”

He chuckled lightly, his tone soothing as he hastened to reassure you. “I’m fine, I am. I swear.”

Crossing your arms, you murmured, “You better be.” Then, exasperated, you added, “You should’ve told me.”

“You weren’t visiting me…”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to…”

The room fell silent, the weight of your words sinking in. Law studied your face, the truth behind your statement hitting him. He realized how his actions might have led you to that conclusion, and guilt welled up inside him. His voice was quiet as he replied, “You were wrong.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?”

Law let out a long, deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I should’ve been clearer,” his voice carrying a note of regret. “I shouldn’t have left you hanging like that.” He paused, considering his next words. “I didn’t want anyone fussing over me, especially not you. I didn’t want you to worry—” 

“You can’t just avoid everyone when you’re injured. Especially not me. I… I care about you, you know that.”

“I know, I know,” he conceded, “I just… I didn’t want to be a burden. And it wasn’t anything serious.”

“You’re not a burden. You could never be a burden to me.” Leaning forward, you held his gaze. “Even if it wasn’t serious, you should’ve told me.”

“I probably would’ve told you if you’d visited me. You know, I usually tell you everything. If you’d come to check on me, I would’ve spoken up eventually.”

“You’re impossible sometimes, you know that?” you said, though there was no real anger in your voice. “You shouldn’t have left me there with the crew after they found out about us. I… I thought you were ashamed of me, that I was just some dirty little secret…”

“No. I’m not ashamed of you, not at all.” His voice was steady, but there was something raw beneath the surface he was desperately trying to hide. “You’re more than that. You’re…” He faltered, struggling with the words he wasn’t used to saying.

You could see the effort it took for him to be this open, to lay bare even a fraction of what he felt. Not wanting to see him wrestle with himself, you offered a soft smile, your voice gentle. “You don’t have to say anything. I get it.”

Still, the air between you felt different now. You let out a small, nervous laugh, shifting slightly. “So… I guess that means we’re official now, huh?” A shy smile played on your lips.

“I suppose we are,” he replied, his voice carrying an unmistakable tenderness. Then, after a brief pause, his expression turned slightly hesitant. “I hope you’re still comfortable with that.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Of course I am. I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

“Good,” he said simply, a rare smile appearing on his lips. “Because I have too.” 

But just as quickly as it appeared, his expression shifted to more somber one. “It’s… it’s not going to be easy,” he admitted quietly. “You know that, right?”

You nodded, your expression serious as well. You understood the challenges that came with a relationship, especially in your unconventional circumstances. “I know,”

“I'm not… going to be easy.”

Reaching out, you placed your hand over his where it rested on the desk, your fingers tracing gentle patterns against his skin. “I know that too.” You laced your fingers with his, stroking his thumb lovingly. “Law, I'm not going into this blindly. I… I'm just as scared as you are.”

As Law started to object, you stopped him with a determined look. “No, don't give me that look. You're emotionally challenged, and we live in a shitty world. Of course, you're scared. So am I.”

Law blinked at your bluntness, then let out a breath—half amused, half exasperated. He fell silent for a moment, his eyes locking onto yours as he absorbed your words. He hadn't expected you to acknowledge his fears so bluntly—most people just assumed he didn't have any. Yet here you were. “You're incredible, you know that?” he murmured.

Your lips curled slightly, but you didn’t let the flattery distract you from the doubt still lurking in his gaze.   “I have my moments,” you replied lightly. “But I mean what I said. I know this won't be easy, and I'm scared too. But… I want this. With you.”

“I am a broken man,”  he confessed, his voice stained with regret, with something that almost resembled shame.

Your gaze didn't waver.  “And I won't fix you,” you said quietly. “And I am a broken woman, and you won't fix me either. But… maybe,” your voice mellowed out. “Maybe… the broken pieces… just fit together, you know?”

Law's breath hitched in his throat at your words. He felt the truth of your statement deep within, a part of him yearning to believe it. But his logical mind reminded him of the harsh realities of your lives. Yet, something about your words, your touch, made him want to believe it all the same.

“Broken pieces…” he mused.

“Yes, broken pieces,” you reiterate gently. “Sometimes, the unique things are created from broken pieces that just… fit.”

Law’s gaze dropped to your intertwined hands. He took a slow, deep breath, your words sinking into his heart, chipping away at his usual skepticism.

“Maybe you're right,” he murmured. There was something fragile in his voice, something like hope. “Maybe… maybe the broken pieces do fit together in ways that make something… significant.”

[goingsunnythousandmerry]

Helloo! Can I request some sub!monster trio smut pls? (Also, congrats on 100 followers!! <3)

Sub! Monster Trio x Reader - Zoro, Sanji, Luffy

Hey! Sorry it took me so long to get this written, but here you are. Enjoy! Request, comment, critique below! Let me know your thoughts if you wish. If you request I am unsure how long it will take me, but I am willing to try. I am also willing to expand to writing about JJK and AOT. Thank you for reading! Thank you for following!

I hope everyone has a great 2025!

Summary: Sub Monster trio smut- trying new things with Zoro, a typical tuesday with Sanji and he loves to serve, Luffy is needy and needs taught how to slow down.

Monster trio in this is post-time skip.

Warnings: MDNI, choking, face sitting, tying up, teasing, brat behavior, riding, pet names, fingering, praise, sub and dom behavior (using for pleasure), begging, i don't own these characters

Zoro:

Zoro was always in charge, and you loved it. Your boyfriend was never one to hesitate—blunt about his needs and wants, taking what he desired without question. But deep down, you longed to see him melt, to watch him lose control for once. You tried to make him beg, to push him to the edge and force him to wait. That thought lingered in your mind as the ship docked at a bustling port with an expansive marketplace. So you decide to find some rope…

That evening, the crew gathered for dinner. The table, as always, was a riot of chaos and laughter. You sat next to Zoro, his hand resting firmly on your thigh beneath the table, possessive but subtle enough that no one noticed. Luffy and Usopp were cracking jokes, their antics drawing loud, tearful laughter from Chopper. Brook sipped his tea, chuckling in his usual elegant manner, while Robin watched the chaos with her serene, knowing smile. Sanji flitted about, serving dessert plates to Nami, Robin, and you with his usual flair.

“Thanks, Sanji!” Nami said with a flutter of her lashes, her tone sweet enough to send the cook spinning into heart-eyed bliss.

Luffy lunged across the table to swipe someone’s dessert, only to be dragged back by Sanji and Franky, the latter shaking his head with a bemused grin. Jimbei sat quietly, sake cup in hand, his deep chuckle rumbling like distant thunder as he observed the scene.

Amid the familiar chaos, you leaned closer to Zoro, your lips just brushing the shell of his ear.

Zoro stilled momentarily, his grip on your thigh tightening just slightly. Then he exhaled slowly, lifting his sake cup to his lips to down the remainder in a single swig. He turned slightly, just enough for his dark eyes to meet yours. His expression was unreadable, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips and the sharp glint in his eye spoke volumes.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost casual, but heavy with intrigue.

You pulled back just enough to hold his gaze, a playful smile curving your lips.

“Patience,” you said, voice soft but full of promise.

Zoro stood up and excused himself, taking his dishes to the sink. Before exiting the room, he glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes locking on yours for a brief moment. A small tilt of his head was all it took—a silent invitation meant just for you. The lively chaos of the crew around you served as the perfect distraction, ensuring no one noticed the exchange.

The crew had their suspicions about you and Zoro, but neither of you had ever confirmed anything outright. There were the occasional… sounds—questionable noises that went unexplained, or poorly explained when someone asked. But no one pried, respecting the unspoken boundaries. Even so, you and Zoro preferred to keep things discreet.

You let a few minutes pass, discussing hopes for future adventures with your crewmates and laughing at Luffy’s usual antics. The camaraderie felt light and warm, but your attention was elsewhere, anticipation simmering across your skin. Eventually, you stood and stretched, stifling a yawn.

“I’m exhausted,” you said, offering a sheepish smile. “Think I’ll turn in early.”

As always, Sanji was quick to intervene when you reached for your plate.

“Absolutely not! A lady never clears her own dishes,” he declared, whisking it away before you could protest.

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “Thanks, Sanji. Goodnight, everyone!” You say with a wave.

With that, you left the others to their meal and slipped away, the faint hum of laughter and clinking dishes fading as you headed down the hallway. You didn’t rush, your steps unhurried but deliberate, the promise of what awaited you adding a sway to your stride. By the time you reached your quarters, your heart was beating just a little faster.

Zoro was waiting.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, before opening the door. Zoro stood by your bed, casually caressing the rope you'd bought that day in his hand.

“Well, Princess,” he said, a teasing edge to his voice, “care to explain what this is for?”

You swallowed hard, your cheeks warming. “That’s... what I wanted to talk to you about,” you began, hesitating. You took a shaky breath then spoke, “Zoro, can I tie you up? I want to be in charge for once.”

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked from the rope to you, his sharp eyes glinting with curiosity. He exhaled slowly, considering your words. Zoro wasn’t the kind of man who easily surrendered control. He knew what he wanted, and he took it without hesitation.

But for you? Just this once, he was willing to try.

“Fine,” he said, at last, raising an eyebrow. “Just this once. But…” His smirk widened as he tossed the rope onto the bed beside him. “You’re going to have to make me.”

The challenge in his tone sent a spark of determination through you. Standing tall, you square your shoulders and step toward him. With a firm push, you guided him backward onto the bed.

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and nodded in mock surrender. “Alright, alright,” he murmured, his hands coming to rest on your waist as he pulled you on top of him.

You reached for his wrists, trying to pin them to his sides, but he resisted.

“I never said I’d make it easy,” he teased, his voice laced with amusement.

“Zoro,” you said with a shake of your head, meeting his gaze.

His grin only widened as his hands tightened slightly on your waist, his eyes never leaving yours. Slowly, you leaned in, brushing your lips against his. The kiss started soft and teasing, your fingers threading into his hair. As you shifted your legs, straddling him, his lips pressed harder against yours, his hunger evident.

He was trying to take control again, his hands already sliding up your waist.

Not this time.

Your hand reached out, grabbing the rope from where he’d dropped it. You broke the kiss, pushing him firmly back against the bed.

“No, Zoro,” you said, your voice steady and commanding. “I’m in charge today. I’m tying you up for good measure. Now be a good swordsman and let me.”

His eyes flicked to yours, narrowing slightly in defiance, but there was a flicker of intrigue behind them.

“You’re going to learn patience for once,” you added, holding his gaze. “And if you’re good, you’ll be rewarded.”

You reached for the hem of his shirt, your fingers brushing against his skin as you pulled it up over his head. He chuckled softly, his amusement evident, as if entertained by your bold attempts at authority.

Next, your hands moved to the waistband of his pants, but before you could act, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist firmly. In one swift motion, he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

“Princess, princess, princess…” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “You’re driving me crazy.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you refused to back down. Turning your head to meet his gaze, your lips hovered close to his, and your eyes locked.

“Good,” you whispered.

His lips curved into a smirk. “Let’s just cut to the chase,” he said, his tone dripping with impatience as he pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Let me take care of you.”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to fall into his rhythm. With a firm push, you shoved him back against the bed, your hands pinning his arms at his sides.

“No,” you said, your voice steady and filled with determination.

He raised an eyebrow at you, but a flicker of approval glimmered in his dark eyes.

Before he could resist, you grabbed his wrists and secured them to the bedframe with the rope. He fought back slightly, his muscles tensing as you worked, his jaw tightening when the ropes cinched snugly around his wrists.

His gaze never left you. Those intense, lust-filled eyes burned into yours, his breathing growing shakier with each passing second.

You smiled, a mixture of triumph and anticipation, before shifting to the foot of the bed. His eyes followed your every move as you bent down and undid the zipper of his pants, slowly pulling them and his boxers down his legs. You tossed them to the side of the bed. Gripping his ankle one at a time tied his legs to the bed, securing him completely. His arousal grows from watching you. 

Zoro sat up as much as the restraints allowed, straining for a better view of you.

“Still fighting me, huh?” you teased, crawling up the bed to straddle him as you ran your fingers lightly down his chest.

His lips curled into a smirk, but he said nothing, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

He jerked forward against the restraints, the ropes straining as his muscles flexed. The urge to pull you close burned in his chest, frustration etched in every line of his face. His teeth ground together, and his ragged breaths only added to his irritation, the lack of control gnawing at him.

You tilted your head, studying him with a playful glint in your eye. “What’s wrong, baby? Do you need something?” you teased, your voice dripping with mock sympathy as you bit down on your lip, savoring the sight of him.

“What’s wrong baby..? Do you need something?” You say teasing, biting down on your lip as you take in the sight of him. 

His dark eyes narrowed, the heat in them growing as he leaned back against the headboard, forcing himself to breathe deeply. Slowly, a small grin spread across his lips, defiance and desire mingling in his expression.

“What now, Princess?” he asked, his voice rough but taunting, the nickname laced with challenge.

You smirked in response, crawling up the bed with deliberate slowness, closing the distance between you. Leaning in, you brought your lips to his ear.

The warm sensation of your breath sent shivers rippling through his body, his chest rising sharply as he instinctively leaned into you, only to be reminded by the ropes that he couldn’t move.

“Patience,” you whispered, your tone soft but commanding, the word lingering in the air like a promise.

“Now, I play,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his jaw as they trailed softly down his neck.

A shiver ran through his body, his squirming beneath you igniting a spark that spread like fire to your core. You let out a low, pleased moan as a deep growl rumbled from between his clenched teeth. Your tongue flicked over his neck, stopping at his collarbone, where your teeth sank into his skin just enough to make him gasp. A shaky groan slipped from Zoro’s lips. You then soothed the bite with gentle kisses, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

His body was tense, desire burning in the dark depths of his gaze. Slowly, you tilted your chin up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, lingering just long enough to leave him wanting. When you pulled back, your eyes danced between his lips and his lust-filled eyes.

“Zoro…” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “What do you want? What do you need?”

He swallowed hard, his breath shaky as it escaped his chest. “You… I need you,” he whispered, the words raw and unsteady.

“And how do you want me..? You’ve been patient so far… I may be willing to reward you if you continue.” I say, raising my eyebrows at him. 

Your eyes stay locked on his, even as your lips begin their descent, trailing soft, deliberate kisses down his chest to his abdomen. The closer you move to his length the more his groans fill the air, rough and unrestrained. His hips buck with need. His arms strain against the ropes binding him, muscles flexing in frustration, forcing you to pause.

“Zoro, patience,” you purr.

His body stiffened, and a shudder ran through him as he exhaled shakily. You can feel the tension radiating from him. His length aching to be touched.

Your eyes trace the expanse of his long, toned torso, down to his hardened length, before meeting his gaze again. Slowly, you licked your lips and shifted your body to settle between his legs.

Zoro’s breath catches in his chest, his eyes fixed on you. No matter how many times he’d seen you like this, it never failed to ignite something primal within him. His legs tense, and his bound arms tug at the restraints, his body struggling to remain still, to remain unable to take you the way he wanted to. The raw hunger in his expression sends a thrill through you, and a knowing smile curls at your lips.

You firmly place a hand on his base causing Zoro to growl. He swallowed hard, his body quivering beneath your touch.  You lowered a second hand on his length, your hands barely wrapping around him completely. Licking your lips again, you inched your mouth towards letting your breath hit his tip. His toes curled, sending an electric sensation up his body. He pulled against his restraints more desperate for your touch.

“Y/N, please.” He begged.

You smile, “Beg more Zo.” You requested.

He swallowed hard, his voice soft and needy, “Please, Y/N. Need to feel your… mouth on me.”

With that, you lick his tip, one stroke. His breathing became rapid, weak groans escaping him. You breathe out on him again, lowering your head to his base. You stick out your tongue and trace up and down his length. After several swipes, you stop once more at his tip where you slide him between your soft pink lips. A weak ragged breath escapes him as you take him further in his mouth.

“Y/N.” He moans, his hands fighting his restraints wanting to put a hand on the back of your head to control your depth and speed.

You smirk against him, taking him into the back of your mouth. In response, he lets out a loud uncontrolled growl. Your hands settle on his legs and you start moving your lips up and down against him, shifting between deep and shallow strokes. The noises from your lips cause him to fight his restraints more. His hips buck up into your face.

You let out a soft chuckle and remove your lips from him. He gasps at the cool air hitting him. You wipe your mouth and shift your hands to his hips, pushing him down against the bed. He growls in response.

You lower your mouth back to him, swirling your tongue on his tip. You gently slide him across your tongue taking him into your mouth once again. After adjusting, your head bounces up and down between his legs, holding his length between your lips. His feet kicked at the bed frame, his head digging into the headboard. 

“Y/N. I’m going to…” he starts to speak but a groan cuts him off. 

You smiled against him, taking him as deep in your throat as you could. The tight sensation drove him wild. With a growl, he moaned and finished shooting down your throat. His body trembled under your touch and you slowly pulled him out from your lips.

“Great job, Zo.” You said before licking the mess that dripped down his length. When you were done you showed him your tongue to show you’d taken all of him. His chest heaves, his breath slowing. 

“Y/N. That was…” he started, a smirk growing on his face, but you cut him off. 

“Oh Zoro, we’re not done yet.” You said with a mischievous grin.

Sanji

Sanji was in the kitchen, preparing ingredients for tomorrow's meals. The thing about Sanji was that you could always count on him to take care of your needs. He was like your personal toy or a loyal puppy: obedient, eager, and willing to do whatever you asked, whether it be sit, stay, or lie down.

When you entered the kitchen, the soft sound of the door caught his attention. He was chopping vegetables, a lit cigarette perched between his lips as he worked. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, which he wiped away with a cloth draped over his shoulder. At the sound of your arrival, he glanced up, raising one of his signature curly eyebrows.

“Oh, Y/N,” he greeted, a warm smile gracing his lips. “You hungry? Need anything?” His eyes roamed down your figure briefly before returning to the task at hand.

It wasn’t the first time you’d wandered into the kitchen late at night while he worked. You both knew the routine and he loved it.

“You almost done?” you asked casually, leaning against the wooden counter beside him, your eyes waiting patiently for him to meet yours.

Sanji paused, the rhythmic chop of the knife halting as he turned to you. A smile crept across his face.  “I’ll take it, you need something?” His voice was soft, teasing, as his gaze drifted lower down your body.

“Yeah, I do…” you said, letting your voice lower with a hint of need. “Think you can help me?”

He didn’t hesitate. Sanji set the knife down and dropped the towel onto the counter. “I’d do anything for you, Y/N,” he said, stepping closer, his hand resting lightly on your waist.

“Yeah?” you murmured, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Then prove it.” You said, grabbing the lit cigarette from his lips and patting it out in the ashtray beside you.

Your hand lifted again and grabbed the black tie he wore, pulling him close, so close that your lips were just a breath apart. His eyes widened slightly, filled with intrigue and want, as he held your lust-filled gaze.

You brought your lips less than an inch to his, breathing against his face. Your needy eyes staring into his eyes then glancing down at his aching lips.

But before your lips could touch, you smiled mischievously and let go of his tie, stepping back and slipping from his grasp.

“Follow me,” you said with a smirk, your voice dripping with challenge as you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, stunned but more than willing to follow.

Sanji’s heart raced. He trailed closely behind you, admiring the sway of your hips as you walked. He sped up, matching your pace, and brushed a hand against the small of your back. The ship was silent, the rest of the crew deep in slumber, while the two of you ascended to the crow’s nest. You climbed ahead of him, your skirt swaying with each ladder rung you climbed, the breeze catching it and raising it slightly. Sanji’s eyes couldn’t help but linger, catching a tantalizing glimpse beneath at the lack of panties you were wearing. The sight made his breath hitch and his nose bleed. He knew exactly where this night was headed.

Once inside the crow’s nest, Sanji wasted no time. His hands found your waist as he leaned in, his lips seeking yours. But you stopped him, eyes meeting his. You pressed your palm lightly against his chest.

“Lie down,” you commanded.

Sanji’s lips curled into a soft, mischievous smile. “As you wish, my love,” he murmured, moving to the couch and reclining with ease, his gaze never leaving you.

His chest rose and fell with anticipation as you approached, every step deliberate, your movements laced with intent. When you reached him, you climbed onto the couch,spreading your legs to straddle him. With the release of an exhale you pressed your hands against his chest and pinned him down. 

 “Use me however you need, Y/N.” He said, his voice a bit raspy at the desperation building within him. His eyes traced your shape sitting against him, his breath hitching in his chest.

You lifted a hand to his cheek, caressing it gently. “Oh Sanji dear, I will.” You said with a wink.

A shiver ran down Sanji’s spine. The silence around him was deafening, broken only by the thunderous rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in his ears. You shifted, lifting yourself from where you had been straddling his abdomen, your movements slow and deliberate, leaving him breathless beneath you. You move to hover your hips over his face. His eyes admire your naked folds beneath your skirt, his tongue flicking across his lips, as desire ached throughout him. 

With an inhale, he breathed your scent in deeply. His breathing turned rapid. His arms lifted to your legs, his hands squeezing your hips. The fabric of your skirt scrunched beneath his grasp. Your body trembled under his touch, a wave of need coursing through you. Without hesitation, you lowered yourself onto his face.

The feeling of his warm breath between your fold causes you to moan and spread your legs wider. His lips pepper your folds with kisses, his hips bucking at your moan. The grasp on your hips and legs grew tighter. Electricity danced across your skin when his tongue began to trace shapes on your sensitivity. The loud needy moan escaping your damn lips led Sanji to pull you closer.

  “Good boy, Sanji. You’re treating me so good, Baby.” You said before moaning again. 

  Your hips roll back and forth against his tongue. Shaky breaths escape you. Your hands wander from the arm of the couch to his hair. Your fingers curled deep within his blonde waves while his tongue dipped to dance within you. 

Your skirt shifts, his hand letting go of your hip to slip under its fabric. His fingers slid up your folds until they met your sensitive bud, his thumb circling it with fervor.

“Sanji.” You moaned, your hips thrusting while you rode his face. The tickling of his goatee drove you wild. 

 Every moan that came from your lips sent Sanji deeper into a frenzy. The strong grip of his hand encouraged you to lean back. His tongue worked deeper within your walls, seeking out your sensitivity. Once he found it, he lapped with delight, his thumb and tongue moving faster with varying pressures.

 “Sanji!” You said. “I’m going to..!”

  Sanji gripped your body tighter against his face. His tongue moved up and down within you, hitting your special spot repeatedly while his thumb spiraled harder on your sensitivity. The warmth in your abdomen grew. Your hips bucked and your body trembled.

 “SANJIII.” You moaned, your ecstasy overwhelming you. 

Like a firework, you burst, your juices dripping down onto Sanji’s face.

    He lapped up every drop, planting gentle kisses between your legs when he was done. You softly moaned and quivered against him, still feeling sensitive.

    “Need more baby, please! I could eat you all night. Please may I?” He begged

 You laugh, your body shivered as he kissed between your folds on your now overly sensitive spot. 

“Sanjiii.” You weakly moaned.  A breath escapes your lip and you release your hands from his hair. Scooting back off his face onto his abdomen you look down into his eyes. A soft smile grazes your cheeks.

“You’re so good to me Sanji… Letting me use you like that.”

“Use me anytime. Please. I’d do anything for you. Whatever you need, I’m yours.”

You smirk a warm feeling growing within you, but a dark need began to build in your core.

“If you insist. You’re like a loyal puppy—always coming back for more, always doing as you’re told,” you teased, your fingers lightly tracing the sharp line of his jaw. A mischievous smile played on your lips. “Bark for me, Sanji.”

His eyes gleamed with a mix of humor and desire, and without hesitation, he let out a loud, “Woof.”

You chuckled softly, leaning forward to press your lips against his. Your tongue slipped between his parted lips, tasting the faint bitterness of cigarettes mixed with red wine and the essence of yourself lingering on him. The blend made you smile wider as he pulled you closer, his hands gripping you firmly.

When he finally broke the kiss, his voice was low, almost pleading. “Please, let me taste you more,” he whispers, his gaze burning with need.

You nod, brushing your lips against his in a softer kiss before shifting to settle yourself above his face once more, surrendering to his request.

Luffy

Luffy needed three things, meat, adventure, and you. That day he’d been messing around with Chopper and Usop like normal until you decided to sunbathe on deck. You exited the cabin interior, wearing only a red string biking. His eyes fell on you, his heart beginning to thud in his chest. His whole body grew warm and in an instant, his arm stretched across the deck finding your waist. He flung himself next to you and pulled you close. 

“Y/N.” Luffy said.

           “Yes Luffy..?” You ask with an innocent hum. 

         His fingers gently traced up your waist to your sides, rubbing across your abdomen. Your hair shifted and you felt his breath hit your neck sending a cold shiver down your spine. He moved closer behind you, his pelvis shifting to dig into your back. A pink hue grew on your cheeks as you felt his need.

        “I need you.” He muttered.

       “Luffy I just got changed…” You replied, looking over your shoulder for your eyes to meet his.

        “I need you, Y/N,” he said. He pulled you deeper into his embrace, his hips grinding into your back.

      “Luffy… the crew.” You stutter out.

      Luffy nips at your neck catching your skin between his teeth. His hands trail with more fervor across your body. His breathing grew rapid, his eyes growing darker with desire.

     “Please, Y/N.”He begged.

     You hesitate, scanning the deck amazed your crewmates were not watching the scene their captain was putting on. “Fine. My quarters. Now.” You said.

He gripped your waist tightly, his hold possessive yet careful, and dashed toward your living quarters, keeping you pressed firmly against his side. In one fluid motion, he threw open the door and pulled you inside, the wood slamming shut behind you with a resounding thud.

The small room was simple, its wooden walls bathed in the soft glow of evening light. The only furnishings were a bed draped with a deep purple bedspread and a plain white nightstand beside it. But neither of you spared a glance at the surroundings.

His lips crashed against yours, urgent and fervent, his hands tracing the bare skin of your back with a rough tenderness. The lingering warmth of the sun seemed to cling to his lips, blending with the faint taste of meat from dinner, an unexpected detail that only heightened the rawness of the moment.

His hold on you collapsed harder as he pulled you closer, his body pressing into yours with an intensity that sent heat coursing through you. His hips moved instinctively, a needy rhythm that made your breath catch.

  Your heart raced, a fire igniting within you, both thrilling and commanding. You loved Luffy, but his impulsiveness always came first, often overshadowing your own needs. He needed to remember who was in control.

You pulled back from his strong embrace, placing your hands firmly on his chest to push him away. But his arms only tightened around you, a desperate strength in his hold.

“Luffy!” you said sharply, your tone laced with authority as you huffed in frustration.

He stopped, his rapid breathing mingling with yours as his wide, earnest eyes locked onto yours, searching for permission that wasn’t coming.

“Y/N… please,” he murmured, his voice raw and pleading. He leaned in, his lips aiming for the sensitive curve of your neck, but you pressed your hands against him again, stopping him short.

“Luffy, sit down,” you ordered, your voice firm and unwavering. “We’ve been through this. You’re rushing again.”

His lips parted in a groan, frustration flashing across his face. His hands lingered on your sides, gripping tightly for a moment before finally letting go. With a heavy sigh, he stomped to the bed and dropped onto its edge, sulking but compliant.

“Good,” you said firmly, your voice low and commanding. “Now, breathe.”

He drew in a deep, shaky breath, his chest rising as his gaze fixed on you. His eyes, dark and filled with unrelenting desire, refused to soften even as he exhaled. The hunger in his stare was magnetic, pulling you in, his need almost tangible in the charged air between you.

“Please…” he whispered, the word breaking from his lips like a prayer.

You stepped closer, letting the moment stretch before slowly lowering yourself onto his lap. The instant your hips pressed against him, his body reacted instinctively, his hips jerking upward, desperate for more.

A frustrated hiss escaped through your clenched teeth, and your hand shot up to his throat, your fingers pressing firmly into his skin. His breath hitched, his body stilling under your touch.

“Slow down,” you commanded, your tone sharp, allowing for no argument.

Luffy’s eyes widened, his hand instinctively reaching up to yours on his throat. The tension between you simmered, his shallow breaths mingling with yours. The sensation of your grip, firm and unyielding, left him trembling. The lack of air, coupled with your dominance, had a calming yet electrifying effect on him. A gasp slipped from his lips as you tightened your hold, and when you finally released him, he panted hard.

A smirk crept across his face.

You smiled back, watching him catch his breath. His hand returned to your waist, squeezing gently. The softness of his touch sent a wave of warmth through you, and you leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his lips.

His shoulders relaxed beneath your touch, his body unwinding as your arms wrapped around his neck. You paused, inhaling deeply, savoring the moment before pulling him closer for a deeper kiss. His body quivered slightly beneath you, a telltale sign of the effect you had on him.

Your grip on him tightened as his tongue brushed against yours, the kiss deepening with each passing second. But just as he began to lose himself, you broke the kiss, letting your lips trail softly down to his neck.

“Please, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice tinged with need.

While your lips lingered at the base of his neck, your hand moved to your side, deftly untying the strings of your bikini bottoms. With one last lingering kiss on his clavicle, you pulled back, locking eyes with him.

His jaw clenched as he took in your gaze—loving yet commanding—and the rise and fall of his chest grew uneven. Your fingertips trailed down his arm, delicate yet deliberate, until they reached his wrist. As you curled your fingers around it, his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

You gave him a small, knowing nod and guided his hand between your legs, the anticipation hanging thick in the air.

“You have to warm me up first.. remember?”

Luffy nodded.”Right.”

  His fingers traced between your slick wet folds. A hard swallow bobbed down his throat. He let out another weak breath. His eyes remained locked on yours, his hips bucking every once in a while, his need still trying to overwhelm him. Every time his hips bucked you tightly squeezed his shoulders, your hand drifting closer to his neck, reminding him to slow down. 

His fingers circled on your sensitivity. He gripped your hips pulling you closer to him. You moaned as he rubbed you, your head dropping to rest on his shoulder. Your breathing then began to match his. A smile spread on your face, your hips squirming at the sensation between your legs. 

After a few more minutes of playing with you, Luffy’s eyes darkened. He lifted his other hand to untie your bikini top. His lips met your bare skin peppering your neck and chest with kisses. You moaned at the sensation of his lips on your skin, your teething digging deep into your body lip while his left hand continued to work between your legs. 

His head tilted, finding your sensitive nipples. He lapped them up between his lips and bit down. 

“Luffy….” You moaned.

“Please Y/N.” He begged, His grip tightening on your hip.

He swallowed, his body tensing, but he couldn’t help his hips bucking upward again.

“Okay, Luffy.” You replied, your hands dropping from his neck and shoulders to his chest.

His eyes lit up a wide green spreading across his face. He eagerly lifted you from his hips and pulled down his shorts and boxers. His length was long and hard. With one hand he pulled you towards him, using his other to stroke your wet folds with his length. His breath caught in his chest when you reached for him. He let go, allowing you to take over.  His hands settled back on your waist and pulled you close.

You slowly guided him to your entrance and eased him into you. Your moan bounced across the walls of the room as he stretched you, pushing himself deeper. You clawed at his back. Your walls clenched around him.

Luffy began to pull back, but you dug your nails into his back and chest.

“Let me adjust.” You replied breathily.

He nodded. His eyes locked on your form in front of him. His hands gripped your hips for dear life waiting for you to tell him he could move.

You let out a slow deep breath.

“Okay, but start slow, okay?” You said.

Luffy eagerly nodded, pulling out of you. He pressed his lips to yours and thrusts back in, his pace slow. With each push he moved deeper, using his devil fruit to help him stretch himself to feel more of you.

“Luffy.” You moaned.

“You feel so good.” He groaned. “Need…”

His hips rutted faster and your hand jerked to his throat squeezing him tight. He gasped and stopped thrusting. 

While your hand remained on his throat, you rode him. You set the pace, rolling your hips to feel more of him. You let out another moan before releasing your tight grasp on his throat. 

The rise and fall of his chest was shallow as he caught his breath. The action relaxed him but also drove him more wild with need. He pulled you closer, moving his hips into deep but controlled thrusts. His wide needy eyes begged for you to allow him to move faster.

“Good, Luffy. Now faster.”

With that, he stood up from the bed. He brought both arms around your waist and backed you into one of the walls. Once against it, he pushed on your abdomen encouraging you to lie back into the wall at an angle. When he was happy with your position, he wrapped your legs tighter around his thighs and waist. His hands traced up your legs to your hips, where his fingers dug into your exposed skin. 

He nodded at you and you nodded back. With the release of a deep breath, he began thrusting faster into you, his form becoming sloppy, but the new position allowed him to hit deeper inside you. 

Your hands rested on his shoulders, your hips bucking against him. The position allowed him to hit your sensitive spot within your folds.

“Perfect, Luffy right there… Yes.” you cooed. 

His eyes lit up with desire, and he pounded harder loving the sweat sounds escaping your lips.

“Luffy, I’m…”

His thumb moved from your waist to your sensitivity where he rubbed circles on it. You bit your lip at the sensation, feeling the warmth within your abdomen burst.

“Lufffyy.” You moaned, your juices releasing on him. He continued to thrust into you through your release, the clenches of your walls driving him into his own. Your body trembled on him, and he leaned forward. You felt the pulsing of him within you and he released a moaning finishing deep within your walls.

“Y/N.” he huffed softly, and you could feel a smile grow on his lips against your shoulder.

“Luffy, that was so good.” Your voice was still shaky from your pleasure but delighted from the experience. 

He gently lowered your legs to the floor and pulled out of you. His breathing ragged, he stepped closer to you and kissed your cheek.

“I hope Sanji’s made lunch, I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” I replied.

“Good thing you always have a snack for me.” He said with a grin as he licked his lips.

[fanaticsnail]

Five Days

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 5,900+

Synopsis: Temperatures flaring between a marine and their prisoner brought the two of you to this moment. In charge of the former-admiral's prison transfer, the sweltering heat propels you to do something against protocol. You give in to your temptation, and allow him to give you what he threatened he would.

Themes: Aokiji Kuzan x f!reader, gendered terms used, mdni, 18+, smut, nsfw, inappropriate use of devil fruit, inappropriate use of seastone, coercion, swearing, unprotected sex, oral sex, marine x pirate, enemies to enemies that fuck, kisses, subtle Dom!kuzan x Sub!reader, pet names used, summer temperatures, tipsy writing, temperature play, pirate!kuzan x marine!reader.

Notes: This fic is dedicated to a dear friend, @skullfacedlady who needed a reward for all her hard work in studying. I hope you enjoy your man like this, love. Come get him. This is a part of my October event, but I wanted to give Skullfacedlady a gift because I'm so proud of her.

The sweltering heat swelling the brig of the vessel stung and cracked your skin. The perspiration dripping beneath your marine hat did little to cool your face and body, especially due to the weight of your heavy uniform jacket. The remainder of the crew had made port, leaving you and another officer behind on the topdeck to keep guard of the ship in case there was an incident involving you and the detainee in their cell behind you.

As a lieutenant, prison duty was not your usual forte, yet it was your given task for the past five days. Drawing the short straw in the meeting with the other members of the crew had you seething: likely what had the temperature searing your veins with the slight simmer of rage. Standing with your back to the brig, you attempted to ignore the presence who continued to attempt to goad you into a verbal spat for the umpteenth time.

“Go on, little one,” the smooth voice calls from behind you, causing your lip to upturn in a twitched curl, “Take off your jacket. It’s hot out, and you don’t deserve to be more uncomfortable than you already are.”

Aokiji Kuzan, the admiral who served his severance to the marines in favor of joining Blackbeard’s crew, was a thorn in your bootheel the moment he stepped aboard. A fly buzzing in your ear would make for better company than the sweet-talking man in the cell. You were a marine, and he was a defector turned to piracy. These past five days, he had been pressing you with comments and flattery with a smoothness to his tone that you hadn’t experienced prior. Always balancing on the knife’s edge of being overly seductive, while a complete gentleman the next. It repulsed you, enticed you, agitated you, and aroused you. You hated it as much as you loved it, and that, in itself, drove you wild.

“The prisoner will refrain from speaking in the presence of a marine,” you offered monotonously to him in a practiced response, ignoring the trickle of sweat pasting your hair against the nape of your neck. The heat was bordering on unbearable now, the thick air stinging at your nostrils with the burn of the embers.

“Come on, honey,” he whispered softly, his tone almost harboring empathy, “It’s just you and me. I'm not gonna tell anybody, I promise-.”

“-You promise?” You cut him off, tilting your head towards him. Thankful for the shroud of your marine uniform cap, you were able to glare at him from beneath the shroud as you scorned him, “A promise from a pirate whispered through iron bars means very little to me. Especially from a deserter.”

“Ah, so that's it, then,” Kuzan nodded. His dark, tight curls now loosely framing his face with a wave-like bob to his motions. “You’re offended I renounced my orders and took to living for myself.” He chuckled, leaning back against the wooden hull of his cell with a cocky air to his tone.

Kuzan had long-since shrouded his heavy jacket, likely before the seastone shackles were placed on his wrists, halting his abilities. You were made vaguely aware of his powers, one of which was the ability to grow a prosthetic for his missing left leg from an element. He was exceptionally tall, far taller than you at full height. From his place sitting hunched against the cell wall, he could easily meet your breasts at his eye height.

Although his skin glistened with sweat from the heat, his demeanor was always cool and collected. The former admiral seemed to radiate a calm, and this agitated you to no end. The purse of his lips, the curl of that edge of his smile, the ease his eyes seemed to put you - all of those weighed heavily on you as the burning air entered your lungs and expanded your chest.

“Tell me what about it you're so offended by,” he quipped with that curious edge in his tone, “Let's put it to rest so you and I can really talk, officer.” Aokiji Kuzan took a moment to gaze at you. His eyes lazily drank you in with an almost entertained twinkle in his eye.

Turning your head back to face the wall in front of you, you took a deep breath to calm your nerves. His tone haunted you. That cool edge in the blistering heat did more damage to your already alight temper.

“I have nothing to say to you, oathbreaker,” you snarl viciously, your head upturning to add further emphasis to your attitude. “You will remember your place, and hold your tongue.” Expecting silence to be met with your order, you recoiled completely as he goaded you further.

“Why don't you come in here and hold it for me, marine.”

The way he spoke with such an air of confidence prompted you to completely meet your eyes against his. If you could strike him dead with your haki without causing a strike to your record, you would have done so in a heartbeat.

Before you had an opportunity to utter a word in rebuttal, he revealed his palms in surrender and fell his eyes to your feet in submission.

“Accept my apologies,” he uttered quickly, pausing only to take a heavy gulp of air through his lips. “It's hot, tempers flare, and I'm pissed off about the seastone. My devil fruit power would be useful right about now, and we'd both reap the benefits. Please,” he turned his eyes up, meeting them against yours with that honesty behind them that held you transfixed, “I didn't mean to offend you. I just-... I've been in here for a while, and it just seems to be getting hotter and hotter.”

You took a moment to search his eyes, your own forming an analysis regarding his demeanor. Kuzan meant every word, and you truly believed he meant no harm. In honesty, he had been a model prisoner through his entire ordeal. Well mannered, polite, and cooperative: Kuzan did not engage with any of the other guards in this manner.

In a sigh of good faith and understanding, you sigh through your nose before removing your heavy uniform jacket and cap, placing them on a mop handle reclining against the wall. Each button popped slowly, his eyes wandering over each one with interest.

“Apology accepted,” you crack a small smile, raking over your hair to remove it from your eyes and shake the sweat from it. “And it's not ‘officer’, it's ‘lieutenant’ to you. For those of us who still respect titles, you will uphold mine.”

Kuzan clicked his tongue in understanding before smiling at you. He drank you in as he would a cool glass of water, glistening with condensation from the ice melting within.

“Lieutenant,” he smirked at you, waving his hand against his forehead in a mock salute. You decided to match his energy, raising your own and uttering, “Severencer.”

Turning back around to face the wall, your jacket and hat removal now making you feel a little more at ease in the humidity in the brig. You continued staring vacantly in that silence, ignoring the pair of eyes that never leave your body for a moment.

Externally, Kuzan was doing just as you were: fighting off the heat as best as he could within the depths of the ship. But, likely unlike you, fighting off the heat of another kind.

He had never seen a woman as physically beautiful as you were before, and he is a connoisseur of women. Kuzan prides himself on loving women, appreciating them from afar, and hoping they would be as interested in him as he was in them. With you: the enemy on a vessel binding him for capture, wearing the very uniform he discarded to chase his own destiny; he was unbelievably angry.

You were so physically close, but unattainable by him. If he remained as a marine, and had you met under different circumstances, he may have had a chance of a different life with you. Kuzan calculated the statistical likelihood of having you in his arms after work, wailing for him in the thralls of ecstasy while he pleasured you, and the thought had heat pooling in his belly that rivaled the atmosphere surrounding the two of you.

Rivals bound to be enemies with one another: his end being met at the end of a rope with his legs helplessly dangling beneath him, likely a trial to hold him accountable first and made an example of. Would you be present? Would you even care? Those thoughts momentarily shrouded his mind before his eyes focussed on the curvature of your ass now more revealed without your uniform jacket.

If he was a man bound for death, he craved to have you near him, just once, in any capacity. Now he’d managed to convince you to remove one layer, how much more could he get away with before you stopped.

“Lieutenant?” he gently called to you, his voice holding an edge to it that felt like a purr, “May I trouble you for some water?”

Inhaling deeply, you clicked your neck in a rotation before turning around to face him once again. Your scowl had resettled on your face as you looked to the canister in the corner of the room.

“What’s wrong with the one over there?” you asked, curiosity momentarily piquing in your tone. His smile upturned dangerously, his full-lips goading you with the sinister smirk threatening to spill over.

“Evaporation,” he explained, gesturing to the vessel with his bound hands, “Tends to occur when it’s hot like this. Have you any to spare for a lowly defector?” Growling in response under your tone, you made to the other side of the cell and filled the jug left behind for those working security for the day.

Dunking the vessel into the barrel, you felt how physically warm the liquid was and scowled at it.

Noticing the expression on your face, Kuzan groaned below his breath. He could change it to make it cooler. He could change the entire room to make it cooler. He could think of a variety of things he could do with you to make the stay more bearable, but he held his tongue. Watching as you traveled over to his cell, he took a note of where the keys to his cuffs were on the ring you unhooked beside his cell door.

“Stay where you are, hands where I can see them at all times,” you stated in a low warning, “Make a move, and I will drink the entire container while you have no choice but to watch, you hear?”

“Yes ma’am,” he pursed his lips, revealing his palms beside his head with his knuckles scraping against the wood behind him, “I’ll be a good boy for you.”

Electing to ignore the connotations laced behind that comment, you took to the side of the cell and peered into the empty container to ensure it wasn't a trap before replenishing his supply with the fresh one from your jug. You both trailed one another with your eyes, the tension returning between you while the menial task was completed. Taking a moment to study him, you noticed how truly attractive he was. From his tall stature, to his dark curls, down his lengthy body, down to his remaining foot extended on the floor: Kuzan was incredibly handsome, and you hated how hot his gaze made you feel as it lingered on your body.

“Stop gawking at me like that,” you snarl at him, watching in the corner of your eye how high the jug raises the volume of the water. He continues to rake his eyes over your body: truly enjoying the display of flesh you’ve elected to reveal to him.

“Like what, lieutenant?” He slowly bats his eyelashes at you, tilting his head to the other side and pursing his lips innocently. Your glare hardens, your face falling stern and serious as you bore your eyes into him.

“Like I’m some meal to you.”

He chuckles at your choice of words, feasting on your body with each passing moment while shamelessly undressing you further with his eyes. Kuzan truly no longer cared whether you filled his water canister or not, opting to drink you in in lieu of water any day.

“Oh, lieutenant, you are a meal to me,” he uttered seductively in response, “And I haven't eaten this well in quite some time.”

Five days.

Five days of the heat swelling the room. Five days of being in close proximity of Aokiji Kuzan. Five days of tension between you rising. Five days of ensuring he remained alive and healthy for transport. Five days of thinking about him every night while you remained in your joined barracks with your fellow marines. Five days of being unable to release the tension pooling between your thighs to not be caught by your comrades.

Five days of tolerating his comments, his words, and the way he made you feel both validated and violated with his flirtatious comments aimed towards you.

“If I had my powers right now, I could cool you off,” he whispered huskily, his bottom jaw dropping as he gawked further, “Anything you wanted, baby. I would give you the world if you’d let me-.”

“-Stop it, prisoner,” you warned him, your temper teetering on the edge of your resolve, “Final warning.”

Chains rattling broke you from your simmering rage, his bound wrists rattling as he drew them down over his thighs. His lip curled high, both snarling and smiling at you with desire being the swelling embers behind his darkened eyes.

“Warning for what? I am offering you a reprieve from the heat,” he tilted his chin up, looking down through his eyelashes at you, “Remove my seastone, sweetness. Let me show you how good I can cool you off.”

Snapping, you discard the jug and allow it to roll to the floor, water tipping onto the wooden panels surrounding you. With all the strength you could muster, you gave in to your rage and approached him. Using your foot, you press it against his chest and shove him firmly back with your boot heel. Holding him firmly pinned against the wall behind him, you lean more pressure onto your leg and stoop lower.

Having the upper hand on a former admiral lasted for less than a heartbeat before he took his shackled wrists and nudged your foot easily away from his chest to fall beside his thigh. Given the position prior with your entire weight placed onto your foot, you fell unceremoniously onto his lap. Each leg easily took their place framing his thighs beneath yours, eyes now level.

There was no opportunity to scream, snarl, or growl a reprimand at him before his lips collided messily with your own. Groans and whimpers fell easily from his lips as he attempted to hold you flush against him with his bound hands. His kiss was lustful, passionate, and aggressive: his former cool-headedness all but fleeing him the longer his lips lingered on your flesh.

“Desserter-,” you snarl angrily into his lips, attempting to pull away from his hard kiss to no avail.

“-Kuzan,” he moaned into your mouth, tilting his chin and circling your face, “My name is Kuzan. Use it.” The short hair on his chin and upper lip grazed the skin of your face with his passionate exchange.

In lack of your better judgment, you had no choice but to whine into his lips as he ordered you. His admiralty tone still found purchase in your head and reverberated in your obedient marine soul. Temperatures finally flaring enough, you roughly grip his dark curls and yank them back. He released a gasped groan in response, his lips still attached firmly to yours as he didn’t fight the feeling of your hands laced in his hair.

“Take off my cuffs,” he barked at you, his chains rattling as he attempted to grip your thighs in heavy fistfuls, “Now.”

The way his words held your judgment in an anchor made you feel as if he was using some kind of haki to dominate you. You knew that wasn’t the case. The slick pool of arousal dampening your panties spoke in prologues to your neediness of him. Your fingers moved against their will, your mind screaming at you to think with anything other than your pussy as you drew your shaken hands to unclick his shackles: all the while his kiss pressed into your lips with vigor.

As soon as his seastone fell easily to the floor, you both pulled apart and took a moment to gauge the way the other was feeling.

You just unshackled a bound prisoner, simply because he had baited you with a few suggestive words. That suggestion led you to disobey a direct order and follow the way your emotions ran rather than to heed to your call as a marine and chastise him for poor behavior.

Kuzan knew he could run. He should use this time to escape now. Convincing a needy and repressed marine to unshackle him took a long time, but his charisma lucked out with you. He could push you aside, trap you within the cell, escape to claim his freedom with the nomadic lifestyle that came with piracy. But he couldn’t.

Not with the way your clothed pussy felt against his lap, and certainly not with the intensity the heat made the both of you feel.

That realization only met you both for the bat of a butterfly’s wing before he was on you again. Hungry lips swelling yours with the intensity of his bruising kiss, Kuzan pushed you onto your back on the warm floor. Your undershirt stuck to your skin with the sheen of sweat glistening in your skin, desire fueling your passions in the midst of the moment.

When his lips pried away from yours, kissing a hot trail down your neck, your skin began to tingle beneath his cool breath. The seastone now released from your prisoner’s wrists returned his devil fruit ability to him with full fruition. The tenth titanic captain of the Blackbeard pirates was cooling your skin beneath the intensity of his heated kisses. Each time he mouthed at a pinpoint of your body, the coolness shrouded your skin and shot relief to your soul.

“Kuzan,” you gasped his name as he mouthed at your pulse with the heavy neediness, “N-No marks, please-.”

“-I know, baby,” he whispered against you, moving down to mouth at your pale undershirt, “Nowhere visible above your uniform. I'm aware.” His possessive growl was ripped from his throat when his trail was halted by the material, “Remove this and give me something I can mark up. I want you.”

The air began to thin with his ability cooling the atmosphere around you both, but the thickness of passion between you continued to build in intensity. As you reached down and gently placed your shirt to the side, he hastily drew his hands to your belt and expertly unbuckled the fastenings with a few quick swipes. You gasped out a squeak in protest, but it was quickly stifled by his lips colliding with yours once more.

He used his body weight to stamp you to the floor as you shared breaths. As the heat of your needy exhales expelled from your lips, the cool vapors of his own replaced the ones you lost.

“Thankful we lost the cuffs?” he smiled against your lips before tearing them away and searing his eyes into your body. You curled your lip and bucked your hips up, trapping the back of his knee beneath your heel and switching positions. Pinning the prisoner beneath you, you glared down at him while circling your hands around his wrists.

“I'm regretting not chaining you down to this floor and riding your face until I'm satisfied,” you quip back at him. Left in your bra and panties, you felt his hands draw up and sneak his fingers beneath the hem and play with the flesh of your ass.

“I don't need chains for you to do that, baby,” he purred up at you darkly, “Take a seat, and I'll have you screaming for me.” He annuncified the statement by slapping your ass before molding the flesh beneath his hands.

You were unsure whether you should be offended at his words, or aroused further by them. He was your prisoner, you his guard, him an ex-marine admiral, you a lieutenant rising in the ranks. Weighing up the options, you quipped your head to the side and allowed passion to once again guide you.

Crawling up his long chest, you tugged your panties to the side and revealed your glistening pussy to him as to test how serious he was. Accepting your challenge, he gripped your thighs and immediately pressed you down onto his face and licked a fat stripe from your slit to your clit in one lengthy motion. You sucked in a silent scream when he continued to slowly and passionately collect your essence into his tongue without protest, romancing your core with each intentional glide of his skilled muscle.

“Kuzan,” you whined in a breathy gasp, causing him to chuckle up into you. His eyes never left your face as he used his hard grip on your much smaller body to rock your core against his face.

“That's it, pretty girl," he praised you, his hands disappearing beneath the material of your panties to press your body further against his lips. Muffling his words up at you, he continued, “Get off on your prisoner's face. Let me feel you.”

Given how pent up you had been watching over Kuzan for the past five days, the coil in your abdomen bound tight quickly. Stomach knit in heavy knots, your pussy fluttered against his lips and tongue and he mouthed at you. Alternating between latching onto your clit and swirling his tongue against it, before drawing his face down to fuck your needy cunt with his tongue while nosing at your clit, Kuzan’s eyes never left you.

You were gorgeous. Everything about you was gorgeous. From the curvature of your breasts, to the shape of your ass, to the partition of your lips, to the hue of your hair: he loved it all. And he hated that he did.

“More,” he growled up into you, “Give me more, lieutenant. Cum for me. Cum on my tongue.”

Focussing on your clit, he mouthed at the small bud while concentrating a small coolness onto you. The combination of the coolness of his devil fruit with the warmth of his tongue tipped you over that edge.

Dancing on the edge of ecstasy, one more rotation of his tongue around your clit and you were cumming hard on his face. Muscles of your stomach tensed and flexed as you rode through your high. His steady hands splayed on your ass cheeks as he guided you expertly through your release.

Just as you came down from your high, you were met with a crude shock to your large joy.

Ice bound your wrists and flung you to the wall behind you. Knees drawn up to your chest, black flush with the wall, he bound your body to the wood with his devil fruit. Your eyes rounded in shock, body still sensitive from riding through your bliss to process what was happening.

The prisoner bested you. He was going to escape, you were going to be punished for your insubordination, and your career was to be ruined. As he rose to his full stature, you had no choice but to watch as he dusted off his pants and produced a shard of ice to extend from his absent knee down to the floor.

You had released your prisoner, and after cumming so hard on his lips, he was going to leave you in your bra and panties against the wall for your superior to find.

Tearing your eyes away from his face and clenching them tightly shut, you felt shame wash over you like a cool bucket of water. Your body was still twitching in soft aftershocks as you heard the rustling of materials. Assuming he was donning his shirts and personal effects, you were shocked to feel his lips on your neck and bare chest flush with your own.

Your eyes reopened, quickly finding purchase on his thick curls as he hummed against your skin.

“Thought I'd leave you like this, didn't you?” he sighed against your skin, “No way, sweetness. Not when I haven't felt the way your pretty pussy wants so badly to take my cock. Nuh uh.”

“You-...?” Your breath was stolen from you as he dragged his cockhead against your sensitive entrance. His height at full stature was over nine feet tall, and the circumference of his cock was enough to have you whine as he rocked it against your panties.

“I know.” He nodded his head against your clit, “I'm big. But you can take me, can't you?” Tugging down your bra, he groaned in bliss as your breasts were freed from the shroud of the material.

The ice spread your legs, moving beneath the will of its master to hold them apart for him. He rocked his hips, against your clothes cunt, groaning as he did so. Ice cracked and swelled, dragging across your stomach and binding you to the wall. His lips traced down to your nipples: swirling, tugging, and releasing them with a taut pop.

“You want this, don't you?” Kuzan purred against your skin, “Tell me you want this. Big pirate making a little marine feel so helpless. Say it. Say ‘I want this, Kuzan’.” He drew his lips up to your neck once more, trailing a flurry of kisses towards your jaw while his ice toyed with the border of your nipples.

“Say it.”

“I want this, Kuzan.”

The words spilled from your lips before you could tell them not to. You were bewitched by him, possessed by a lust that you had never known. His smile was felt against your jaw as he drew his eyes up to meet yours. Tugging aside your panties once more, he lined up his cock with your entrance: soft beads of pearlescent precum beading in need at the slit.

“That's my girl.”

Those three words were all the warning he gave you before his lips bit and ravished yours. At the moment his rough kisses met with your lips, gasping and growling against your mouth: his cock softly rocked into your core. You whined desperately into his mouth as he pushed more of his cock inside to the ridge of his rim.

No matter how rough his kisses became, he was so careful with his cock pressing inside you. Kuzan knew how small you were in comparison to his stature, and he would never dream of injuring you in the thralls of passion. Although he was a pirate and you were a marine, he treated your body with the respect you deserved.

Five days of being close to you. Five days more for longing. Five days longer still for yearning. And five days longest for how many nights he fucked his fist to the thought of claiming you as his in the quiet of the night.

Finally passing that first ridge, your body took him like it was made for it. It was Kuzan’s turn to whimper into your neck, shuddering as he buried his face into your neck and cock into your pussy. Sinking down to half his length with little resistance, he became lost in the way your pussy sucked him in. Rocking against you, he gasped into your ear.

Eyes wide, you had never felt so full in your life. While he was your enemy, you had never felt a touch as gentle as his. He was so careful with his cock that you could take him, while he toyed with you with his devil fruit.

“Look down,” he whispered, “Look how deep you're taking me. How well you're taking a pirate's cock.” Doing as he ordered, you looked down and watched as his hips rocked in slow, languid thrusts. Cock disappearing within your cunt, you gasped out as you took him within you.

“Like being fucked by a filthy pirate?” He quipped, his cock sinking deeper, “Pretty marine getting her pussy destroyed by her prisoner. Come on, tell me you w-want m-more.”

His stutter gave out his hardened experior, his bliss truly being lost to him with each marriage of degradation and praise. He tried not to show how much he was enjoying this moment stolen with you.

As soon as he got you off once, he had no doubt he was going to flee from his cell and claim his freedom. But he was in love with the way you cried out for him. He was obsessed, consumed with longing for your release joining with his.

Sensing this dynamic shift while being bound to the wall, you decided to goad him into more.

“Does the filthy pirate want to show the marine who's boss?” you whispered against his ear, biting at the lobe and attempting to rock against him to the best of your restrained ability. “Does the filthy pirate want to fill his marine with his cum? Pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” he parrotted back, his hips snapping with more purpose, “Does this feel pathetic to you?” His pace increased, his desperation more tangible with each in-thrust.

Ice eclipsed both your nipples, only giving way when he dipped his lips down to roll your pebbled bud within his hot mouth to contradict the cold with the warmth. You mewled beneath his lips, your pussy fluttering beneath his harsh momentum.

Coil building further in your abdomen, you felt another orgasm approach you with a low build. Kuzan was nearing his peak, his cock already beginning to expel sticky waves of precum within your stomach. Kuzan was becoming sloppy with his movements, his balls sucking up into his stomach the closer he became to his release.

“Gonna cum, Kuzan?” Your question fled from your lips like a needy whine informing him you were reaching your end, “Gonna fill me up with your cum? Go on, pirate. Tarnish me. Ruin me.”

“Nnnnghh- fuck,” Kuzan growled into your neck, biting just below to collar to anchor himself to you, “Gonna cum. Gonna- fuck, I'm cumming. Ah-, shit.”

Ropes of viscous cum met with your cervix with his verbal confession, his hips rutting against your core and giving in to the feeling of your cunt fluttering around his shaft. As he met his peak, you met yours. Walls contracting around his shaft, you cried out for him while he filled you.

“Hhah- cumming,” you warned him, your pussy sucking him in with every wave of your secondary ecstasy. Milking him of his cum, your cunt squeezed his thick cock as you both met the waves of your highs in the arms of one another.

The dancing lights split your vision white, just as it did his own. You had never felt the way you did in the arms of this former admiral, nor did he buried deep within the pussy of a marine lieutenant. As you both finished, he slunk his head forward and collected you into his arms. Ice cracked like glass, the shards dropping to the ground and simmering like embers against the floorboards.

He ushered you onto the ground, sitting back on his calves and holding his cock deep within your pussy. Both panting and catching your breath, you sat within the shared breath with the man who ushered you into twin highs in close succession. Dwelling in the silence, your hearts beat as one as the heat dampened down between you both.

“You have a fifteen minute head start, former admiral,” you sighed, stroking his cheek with your palm. He blinked slowly at you, taking in your words while coming down from his high.

“What do you mean-?” He began, halting beneath your interruption.

“-It takes the average marine seven minutes to shake off haki,” you nodded, pressing your forehead against his and brushing your noses together, “You conquered me. I was helpless. Do you understand, pirate?”

Kuzan was taken aback, shaking his head and searching your eyes. You nodded against him, your smile slowly splitting up your cheeks.

“I conquered you?” he asked softly.

“Knocked me out completely,” you laughed in response. Gently pressing your lips to his forehead, you unsheathed his cock from your pussy and began to collect your things. “You have fifteen minutes to redress. Get to it before I catch you.”

“Catch me?”

You smiled as you gathered your uniform into your arms. Kuzan, the former admiral he was, was truly clueless when he was spent of his release. Balls and head both empty, he reached for you in craving of your touch.

“Kuzan,” you warned him, “You escaped your shackles after you found the strength to conquer me. You collected the keys, unbound yourself, and fled. You left me alive as witness to your escape.” Kuzan understood, nodding along as he came to terms with what you were expressing to him.

You were enemies. An ex-marine turned to piracy, and a marine in charge of his capture. Both of you knew how wrong this was, but your bodies couldn't help but to sing how right it could be. He could never give up his freedom for you, and you would never turn to piracy for him. No matter how your bodies felt together, and how easy the intimacy came to you both: you could never be together like this.

“Fifteen minutes?” He asked you, halting to cup your ass in his firm hands, “Is that all I'm worth to you?”

Rolling your eyes in response, you playfully slapped his arm while you scampered to find your uniform.

“You're lucky I gave you more than nine, pirate,” you snarl at him, “I gave you that extra six for making me cum twice.” Kuzan laughed, finding his effects and beginning to don them while you fixed your uniform up.

“I will see you again, lieutenant,” Kuzan whispered while fixing his belt at the waist, “And when I do, I am going to make you cum so hard you'll renounce your vows and join me in piracy.”

“And when I find you again,” you warn in return, “You're going to cry for me while I show you that quips and taunts are not all I can do with my tongue.”

Kuzan gulped, truly wanting to experience that thought while he shrugged on his heavy overcoat. You began affixing your coat once more to your persons, making sure each button was marine-issue ready. He watched on with a shudder to his jaw and a feral urgency in his eye that craved that meeting between now and then to become smaller.

“Until the next time, then,” Kuzan offered with an extended hand. Placing your hand within, he drew your knuckles up to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against it.

“Until I see you again,” you responded in kind, nodding to him as he released your hands with his kiss. The temperature began to fluctuate between you. The weather mixing with Kuzan’s abilities made for a more pleasant atmosphere between you currently, but the heat between you would continue to grow with every passing moment.

Both of you couldn't wait until the next time you saw one another again: both hoping you could truly best the other.

Only time would tell.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory

[sanguineousreverie]

severance.

ghost. part iii ┃ sevika x reader WC: 3.2K

ⓘ: its me again....international bestselling author QUAN MILLZ. can you tell i got progressively drunker while attempting to write this monstrosity of a final part? ⚠︎: kissing, alcohol consumption, blood, psychological horror elements, body horror if you squint, SMUT, softdom!sevika, top!sevika, fingering (r!receiving), oral sex (r!receiving), orgasm denial, mild angst, no happy ending

A sharp, painful grunt escapes your cracked lips as your eyes bolt open, bloodshot and glassy. The piercing shriek of your alarm does little to soothe the migraine booming behind your eyes. You sniffle as anguish sprouts through your body, and the scorning scent of vermilion infiltrates your senses.

You whimper in pain, reaching over to shut off the clock. As you rub your temple, the memories of the night prior rush to your mind, eliciting an audible gasp from your parched throat.

Your head snaps in the direction of the mirror, eyes widening at the horrific sight staring back at you. Purple, yellow, and black bruises splotched the sensitive skin of your neck. Serrated marks indented on the nape, agonising to the touch. The sensation of macerated flesh induces nothing but disgust and guilt.

Tears welled in your eyes—blurring your vision—as you attempted to digest the situation, reflecting on Sevikas bite as well as her abrupt departure. She had lost control, pinned you, gazed down at your trembling form like you were a target…a victim. The tinge of savagery that lingered behind her grey orbs was now harrowing to picture.

Your chest rises and falls as you take deep breaths, body shuddering at the customary action. Almost as if you were operating mechanically. You feel panic begin to arise, the thought of what this could mean—what this could've done—terrorizes your mind. 

After a few moments of deep breaths—allowing your fluttering pulse to slow down—you climb out of bed, shuffling to the living room. You pick up the phone attached to the wall, dialing the number for the main office.

The receiver buzzes in your ear before someone picks up, It's Matt. “What?” His voice is gruff, and you can almost smell the fetor of tobacco filtering through the speaker. Hollers clamour in the background, indicating the budding commotion of the trade floor. 

“Hey Matt, Uhm…can you let the boss know I won't be in today..? I have a cold…” You mutter, gaze darting around like his unseen scrutiny is dissecting every syllable, exposing the truth behind your facade.

He merely scoffs, though you can sense the frustration. “Yeah sure..want me t’send ya a fuckin’ postcard too, little miss?” His rhetoric comes out as a vexed jeer, almost exasperated by the request.

Before you can pipe up to defend yourself, the line goes dead. However, not before Sevika's authoritative voice echoes hollow in the background, her tone bordering on incensed. This sparks your heart rate once again, thundering against your ribs as anxiety coils tight in your chest.

You clench the soft fleece of your shirt, each breath a conscious effort—heavy, uneven—as you fight to wrestle your nerves back under control. Lamentably, such efforts are proven futile as your mind flashes back to Sevika’s stony gaze…Or perhaps picturing the falter in her expression when she realizes you're not gonna show up to work. 

Your legs buckle as you sink to the floor, like an anchor stopping it's ship…something, anything to ground you to the present moment. Tears flow freely; soft sobs racking your body, uncontrollable and degrading.

Hours seem to pass, time shifting into a foggy blur as your mind runs rampant. Then, the front door swings open, handle thumping against the wall, almost hard enough to leave an indent.

It’s none other than Sevika, chest rising and falling with strained breaths.

Her eyes widened at the sight of you so distraught, tears streaming down your rosy cheeks. “Oh, doll..” She murmurs, swiftly approaching your sitting form. “I—fuck…” She curses softly, tilting your chin up with her hand. 

The sounds of your sniffles fill the room, and Sevikas' expression falls. “Im so sorry doll, I—fuck—I shouldnt have left ya here alone…” She purses her lips, thumb caressing the blooming purple.

Your eyes are vitreous, bottom lip trembling as her thumb gently tugs on it. “...s’alright..” Is all you're able to muster, voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyebrows furrow and she immediately shakes her head, almost appalled that you would be so quick to dismiss. “No, doll, It's not alright…” She tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, her eyes meeting yours for the first time since she burst through your door. The brief contact sending a jolt up your spine.

“I—” You attempt to argue back, though your efforts at forming any coherent sentence are futile when the glossy tears begin to blur your vision once more. 

Her expression falls, gently cupping both sides of your jaw in her large palms, handling you as if you were made of glass. “...I'm gonna make this right, dolly…I swear…gonna take care of you…” She nods, though you're unsure if the action is an attempt to console you or herself.

You nod slowly, catching yourself leaning into her touch absentmindedly. The physical contact serves as an anchor against your whirring mind.

She reaches down to gently lift you, ensuring extra care. Her large palm splayed across your hip as she supported your body weight. Wordlessly leading you down the hall and into the open door of the restroom.

She helped you into a seating position on the edge of the bathtub, eyes meeting yours once more before she broke the contact. As she rummaged through the cabinet, your mind grew inattentive to the present moment, vision fogging up, senses dulling.

Though you're brought back to earth by the cool sensation of Sevikas thumb caressing your jaw, her muscles taut as she kneels in front of you. “...Did you wanna talk about it?” Her voice pierces through the tense silence, the simple words carrying a weight you'd rather shove down.

“I don't know…what to say.” You admit, head still spinning from the loss of blood. Your skin prickles at the feeling of her hand on your face, unsure if you want to lean into or shrink away from her touch.

Her lips downturn into a frown at your hesitancy, eyes flicking across your expression in an attempt to gauge your emotions.

You swallow thickly, mind racing at the plethora of negative outcomes your brain was throwing at you. "…Am I gonna die?" You ask, eyes clouded with mist, bottom lip trembling.

Her expression fell immediately, lips pursing like she was holding back a sea of emotions. "N-no, doll…you're not gonna die, I swear to ya, I swear." She assures, palm engulfing your cheek, wiping away stray tears that escaped your eyes.

"T-then…what…" You swallow thickly, your throat feeling constricted, as if you were swallowing pins and needles. Unable to finish your sentence, you look away, spacing out.

"Hey, hey…Look at me, baby." Her voice came out as a soft plea, unlike anything you'd ever heard fall from her lips before. The unfamiliar nickname felt…comforting, the simple word causing you to lean into her touch absentmindedly as you met her gaze once again.

She looked like the epitome of worry, eyes glazed over. Her lips parted slightly as her other hand, scrupulously, reached down to rub small circles into your shoulder.

"Nothin' bad s'gonna happen 'cause of last night, absolutely nothin', I promise…" She maundered, maintaining a level of reticence that seemed impossible to break through.

"Feels different, Sev…" You mumble, thoughts overlapping and forming clusters, causing your head to spin.

She hung onto every word, nodding even when her face contorted in confusion. "Different how?" She questioned, shifting a bit closer to your seated form.

"…Feels more personal, being around you…I-I don't know how to explain it, not really." Is all you're able to muster, cheeks heating at the lack of articulation in your words.

She nods once more, a flicker of emotion dancing across her expression, though it seemed almost impossible to decipher what she was thinking.

"…Please say something.." You exasperate, hand reaching out to grasp the fabric of her shirt, desperate for something to hold on to.

But she doesn't. She doesn't say anything. She simply leans back, her varnished eyes evoking incoherence. Your expression falls at her detachment, clutching the material tighter in your palm.

"Sev…" You mumble, leaning forward in an attempt to meet her gaze. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, so fast you swear you could hear it through the heavy stillness of the moment.

After a short while, a sigh falls from her lips, and she meets your gaze once more. Her eyes continued to glint with a sentiment you weren't sure you wanted to decipher. She gently caressed your cheek, the cool sensation prickling at your skin.

Then, her hand trailed down, the callouses marginally abrasive against the column of your throat. Your body shuddered instinctively, wincing slightly as her fingers circled the bite marks.

She shook her head, sighing yet again as her shoulders slumped. She pursed her lips, hand leaving your skin and reaching down to unzip the first aid kit she had dug out of the cabinet.

As she tended to your wounds, the silence grew oppressive. Each brush of her skin against yours sends a jolt up your spine. The tension between you two simmered, and you were unsure when it would boil over. If she would even allow it to.

The fibrous cotton of the gauze grazed your raw flesh, causing your body to lurch forward instinctively. Sevika's eyes lingered on the harm that she's caused, a glint of pusillanimity coursing beneath her skin.

She's withdrawing, and you know it. The way she recedes into an invisible shell, her arm dropping to her side. You panic.

Mindlessly, your hand reaches out. Fingers wrapping around the back of her neck, pulling her closer as you crash your lips onto hers. The despondency of your rashness radiating in waves, fingers digging into her skin, leaving behind crescent shapes.

Your lips sloppily envelop hers, only halting your actions when your brain catches up to your body; a mortifying realization that she isn't kissing back. You pull away, opening your mouth to speak up, but nothing comes out.

Sevika’s lips parted, her eyes wide with astonishment. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.

Heat flushed through your body, tears pricking at your eyes as you silently berated yourself. Your lips moved on autopilot, voice trembling as you stammered out an apology.

“I-I’m so sor—” Before you could finish, she silenced you, her lips brushing softly against yours. Her hands slid to your hips, grounding you.

She pulled you onto her lap, deepening the kiss with a practiced confidence that made your previous attempts feel clumsy and uncertain.

A low hum vibrated in her chest as her hands traveled lower, gripping your ass and pulling you flush against her.

You responded instinctively, deepening the kiss, your tongue tracing the seam of her lips, hungry for more.

She chuckled, her tongue tangling with yours, playful and teasing. In one fluid motion, she stood, your legs wrapping around her waist as she carried you from the restroom.

Without breaking the kiss, she nudged open your bedroom door and laid you gently on the bed, positioning herself between your legs. Her hand slid up your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin.

You looped your arms around her neck, pulling her impossibly closer. She broke the kiss, hesitating for a moment, gazing down at you with reverence.

You glanced up at her with half-lidded eyes, lips parted and cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. “Please, Sev…” the soft plea escaped your lips absentmindedly, a tinge of desperation lacing your tone.

With a hefty sigh, she leaned in, peppering kisses on your fluttering pulse point. “Use your words, baby…Tell me what you want.” She gruffed, her voice a gentle command.

“Want you to touch me,” You whisper, balling up the fabric of her blazer in your fist. She simply hummed in response, nipping at the skin right underneath your jawline before soothing the sting with her tongue.

“Ask me nicely.” She directed. Her voice was unwavering and controlled, despite the way her body shuddered while hovering above yours. 

“Please,” You swallowed thickly, adrenaline pumping through your blood. “Please touch me, Sevi…Need it so bad.” You entreated, reaching down to tug on the buckle of her belt.

A groan fled her throat at the desperation radiating off your actions. The way you felt under her was causing her head to spin. She slid a calloused palm up your shirt, the cool sensation provoking you to shiver.

Sevika pulled back momentarily to appraise the way the fabric rid up your stomach. She let out a satisfied grumble, tugging the article off before discarding it somewhere on her floor.

“Beautiful,” Her voice–a whisper–carried a hint of astonishment. Her eyes roaming the newly exposed skin in reverence before they met yours. Lust, adornment and…something deeper swam in her orbs.

Her fingers made quick work of removing your jeans and panties, the articles joining your shirt on the floor. The atmosphere grew charged as Sevika looked down. Eyes darkening at the sight of your slick dripping down onto the cotton sheets. 

Without another word, she leaned down, propping one of your legs on her shoulders as she placed open-mouthed kisses up your thigh. Her gaze remained unyielding as she did so, almost like she was daring you to break eye contact.

You let out a quiet sigh, melting against the pillows as you lost yourself in the moment. Then, a choked gasp rushes past your parted lips as she latches her mouth onto your clit, circling and suckling on the sensitive nub.

A string of mewls leaves your mouth, a hand reaching down to tangle in her hair. She hums against you, the vibrations eliciting louder noises from you.

Her tongue explores your folds, skillfully gliding across every spot that caused you to cry out in pleasure. She knew exactly how to make you feel good, like she had done this a million times before. Though you weren't sure if such a glaring observation was horrifying or enticing. 

However, your train of thought is effectively derailed as she curls her tongue in your pussy, the gummy walls contracting against the sudden intrusion.

“O-oh my god, i’m gonna cum…” You cry out, tugging on her dark locks as you feel yourself begin to tumble over the edge. Then, she stops.

Your eyes bolt open, confusion written across your face as she meets your gaze once more. “Not yet…” She mumbled before leaning in to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself on the tip of her tongue.

With your protests dying out as she seemingly swallows you whole, you allow yourself to melt into the kiss, wrapping your arms around her neck.

She chuckles at your eagerness, palming the swell of your breast before trailing her hand back down your abdomen. Your hand once again dashes back down to tug at her belt, the metal clicking softly against her zipper.

Her prosthetic comes up to gently remove your hand. “No touchin’, baby, let me take care of you.”

Before you can protest, her other hand sneaks down to gently thumb your clit, the newly familiar feeling regressing you further into the sensations coursing through your veins.

“That's right, sweet girl, just feel.” She coos gently, coaxing two fingers into your leaky hole. 

You bite down on your lip to muffle any loud noises, whimpering as your walls flutter around the digits. “S’full…” 

She nods against your neck, caressing your waist with her prosthetic as a means for comfort. “I know baby, I know…Just gotta stretch you out.” She exasperates, fingers scissoring inside of you.

Any pain that was provoked from her touch quickly faded away into pulsing pleasure as she curled her fingers upwards.

A moan escaped your lips and your eyes rolled to the back of your head, arching your body off the bed. “F-feels so good…” You whimper, hips grinding down against her knuckles. The pads of her fingertips brushing against your sweet spot like a soothing balm on the glaring arousal in your gut. 

“Takin’ m’fingers like such a good girl…” She grunted, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, her fingers working you with expert precision.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt yourself get close again. Lewd squelching sounds accompanied the creaking of the bed frame as she plunged her fingers into your leaky pussy.

“Close?” She asked, though it had to have been rhetorical. The high-pitched moans escaping your lips after every thrust had to have been an answer in itself.

“Y-yeah, i’m…” You cut yourself off with a rather loud whimper, seeing stars as she repeatedly hit your sweet spot.

“Yeah?” She drawled. Her voice came out lower…huskier than usual. Despite your fuzzy state, the change in her tone didnt go unnoticed

You nod wordlessly, clinging onto her rumpled blazer for dear life. She chuckles softly, fangs poking out to gently caress the pulse point.

You swallow thickly, heart hammering against your chest like a bird in a gilded cage. She tensed up as you did so, leaning down to shower your neck with affection as she worked you closer and closer.

The second your orgasm crashed down on you, Sevika buried her fangs into the side of your neck, feeding with a twisted sense of reverence.

Loud moans filled the room as her fingers continued to plow into you, prolonging the intensity of your orgasm. 

The sensations were nearly overwhelming, the impalation of her fangs, the curl of her fingers. Each second passing slipped you further into a catatonic state. 

She forced herself to pull away, feeling you grow limp under her steady grasp. She looked down, eyes still gleaming with hunger, but laced with concern.

“Oh, baby…” She muttered softly, retracting her fingers from your hole. She leaned down to take you in another kiss, this one almost cautious, like she was handling glass.

She adjusted to hover above you, her prosthetic propped on her elbow, the other hand gently caressing your cheek. As you come back to earth, your vision sharpens, the world settling into focus.

"There you are..." She cooed, brushing away a stray tear that had slid down your face. "My sweet girl...Y'alright?" She asked, a tinge of concern lacing her soft tone.

You nod slowly, taking deep breaths in order to anchor your thoughts. She hummed, her hand trailing down to gently rub your chest in gentle, relaxed circles.

The room was filled with the soft cadence of your breathing and the distant hum of late-night traffic drifting in from the city below. The calloused pads of her knuckles trace your skin, a touch that weaves unease and comfort together in your gut.

Your eyes dart up to meet hers. Manhattan’s city lights flicker across her face, illuminating a spark of affection in her gaze. But beneath it, you catch the shadow of reluctance—a tinge of lament that lingers, unspoken.

And in that moment, you are painfully aware that, despite the closeness of your bodies, you are still emotionally worlds apart. Yet as her skin brushes yours, you wonder if, someday, the distance might close…Or if this ache is all you’ll ever share.

Taglist: @half-of-a-gay @sapphiccup @iamaboringrattat @spinback-kiva @theoreticalfreak @moodient @diouna @helaenabugmom @womenlover360 @sumisamente @thatsmadiculous @madzorwhatever @vkumi @boom58 @h2pinky @glittzygorilla @koralinebox @kay-khronicals @belldonic @rosebg @thehoneybeestings @sunflowerwinds @dyketoast @dvrkhcld @blasphemous-riot @blacksiren777 @mommyissuesismypersonality @leeidk87 @furrytaesss @summerwriting @kissesfornat @holdmegentlylikehamburger @violetsforroses98

note: tysm for reading! i had a lot of fun experimenting with the horror genre :D any criticism/feedback appreciated!

[hihimissamericanbi]

FAVE HP SMUT CREATORS

Ever since I got that lovely anon asking for the best smut I've ever read, it got me thinking about some of my favorite smut creators in general.

So here is a very non-exhaustive list of fan-fucking-tastic smut writers and artists I've come across in the HP fandom that weren't mentioned (shamefully) in my last batch. Feel free to add to the list! We must keep the people fed.

xoxo go take a sip of cold water girl

WRITERS

@spookymoonie

Lord Espooky came into this fandom guns a-blazing with their kink headcanon a day for Wolfstar and it has spiraled from there. They GET IT. He has a super well-organized masterlist pinned to his tumblr ft tons of different kinks, fic lengths, scenes, etc. Go. Now.

@fiveht

The definition of IYKYK. Daddy kink isn't super my thing, but Five makes me enjoy it. If you vibe with age gap daddy Remus and pretty boy Sirius, their Adore series is a must-read. They also have a stellar A/B/O Wolfstar fic plus podfic and write some Marvel too!

@greenvlvetcouch

An absolute legend in this fandom. Wolfstar, Jeggy, Rosekiller. Gritty, chewy, embodied sex.

@emeryhall

Emery writes sex the way some people breathe. Like it's just part of the narrative. It's SO punchy. And also she is the queen of Crack Smut.

@kaaaaaaarf

Patron saint of Wolfstar hatefucks. mic drop.

@cancerravenclaw

We snagged MK over to Wolfstar from the clutches of Dramione. Her series "mk's kink exposé" could also be called "celine's kink exposé." I'll just leave that there.

@wolfpants

Everything they create is magic, but they are especially known for rare pairs and Dronarry.

WRITERS AND ARTISTS

@aspiring-artist-em

The queen of Lesbian Wolfstar. Both art and fic. Also queen of humiliation and pain kink and Walburga psychological trauma. ye be warned.

@upthehillnsfw / @upthehillart

I am afraid no one is ready for this art. Truly. Tons of different ships, positions, acts. I gasp every time. And their Pansmione fic is epic (which I have talked about before).

ARTISTS

@industrations

I highly recommend getting on Indi's Patreon so you can enjoy their NSFW drawings, mostly Wolfstar and Jegulus, occasional Rosekiller. Too many iconic moments to count.

@waxingrunes

The officially-sponsored artist of Five's Adore series. Look, their work is nothing short of indulgent. Shhhh don't worry about the physics just let it happen. And by It I mean Remus' big dick hands.

@basiatlu

By beloved. The one. The only. Bosh's drawings are so ALIVE. They leap off the screen. Her Drarry is nothing less than iconic. She also dabbles in other characters/ships like Wolfstar and Blackcest. Siriusly, you can't go wrong.

DRARRY SMUT

OKAY, Drarry people. There are so so many excellent Drarry smut writers it is impossible to name them all. Here are but a tiny handful I have pulled from my bookmarks. I'm happy to rec specific fics if asked :)

@cavendishbutterfly, @bixgirl1, @l0vegl0wsinthedark, @shiftylinguini, @kbrick, @fluxweeed, @academicdisasterfic

MORE

I'm tagging those other creators from older asks because I can't put this list out there without them on it <3

@crushofdoves @we-are-swearwolves @tenthousandyearsx @theresthesnitch @lqtraintracks Quietlemonhush @cuddlebugsirius

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: [MH Wilds Olivia x Fem Hunter/Reader]

She glances over her shoulder at you; an invitation, a challenge, as if she's asking you to dance with her.

Genre: Romance, adventure, action, smut.

CW: Sexual content, canon-typical violence.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

Title from: 'Howl' by Florence and the Machine.

(I worship this woman, and here is my ode to her. Please tell me I'm not the only one writing Olivia fanfic.)

She'd been standing at the prow of the flying vessel, the first time you'd seen her.

In the desert, the sun held court in all its white-hot glory, burnishing everything it touched to soft-edged brilliance. It was the reason you'd imagined, initially, that the pale flame of her hair was partly illusory.

Sand thrown up from the passage of the ship clouded the air as you made your way across the deck, inviting enthusiastic greetings from your guildmates.

She'd turned to face you, verdant gaze cool and appraising, cutting through the pall of dust like a wyvern's talon. Her features comprised a series of hard edges and smooth planes, the rough-hewn beauty of a glacier.

In that moment, something passed between you two; a recognition of a kind, one hunter to another. The kind that served you well in nameless territory.

And something else, undefinable.

Maybe it was the heat of the day, scorching through your clothing, or the stinging spray of the sand on your skin, but you felt a certain tension in your abdomen as she came forward, stride steady and confident over the pitching deck. The sensation rose within you, like the clawing ascent of anticipation before a hunt.

She took your hand, her grip as powerful as you'd expected.

You'd wondered if she could feel it too, the coil of that serpent beneath shifting sands, as you'd grasped her hand in turn.

She'd asked you to call her Olivia.

To know Olivia was to know the hunt.

She wasn't at all unfriendly, offering up herself and her unit with a selfless sense of duty, again and again. She ate with you, drank with you, shared stories of their adventures in this new land.

It was that very sense of duty that seemed to clothe her as well as her armour, encouraging comradery and trust, but nothing that dipped below that steel-clad surface. Olivia was a professional, through and through.

And you, well, you were a hunter.

You couldn't let sleeping monsters lie, not when their serpentine coils curved around the walls of your abdomen with increasing fervour every time her gaze met yours, every time she stood by your side in battle, every time she urged her seikret to run alongside yours, your knees brushing in thrilling peril in enclosed spaces.

Then came your sighting of the Uth Duna, the leviathan wrapped in a shield of water, and you began to see more of her, the passion she allowed to slip through the cracks.

Nata immediately recognised the White Wraith that had attacked his village. It was all the identification Olivia needed. Before you had a chance to react, Olivia was spurring her mount forward, unerring, even in the face of the unknown.

Now that was something you hadn't witnessed in a while.

The sheer brazen nature of her charge was something you'd probably label as reckless for anyone else. But you'd seen the change in her expression, the immediate switch from soldier to predator. You knew, all too well, the instinct that drove her.

Afterwards, you'd approached her where she'd stood near the entrance of the camp, eyes trained on the horizon beyond.

"Olivia?"

She turned to you, some small shift in her expression.

"Come to talk about the hunt?"

You paused, then came to stand at her side, feeling her gaze travel over the side of your face, intent and observant.

"The way you charged in earlier ... "

"You think that was ... irresponsible?"

You turned back to her swiftly, but she was smiling, the corner of her mouth curving slightly.

You shook your head and laughed.

"Not exactly. I can't say I haven't done the same myself. More than once. But you didn't even hesitate. The White Wraith ... it's like nothing I've ever seen before."

She tilted her head and seemed to consider.

"My unit have seen a lot of new monsters since arriving here. You could say it was why we were brought over in the first place. We're frontliners, in more than one sense. To hesitate when we see something new ... that simply isn't who we are."

You gestured airily to yourself.

"Think I would fit in with your unit?"

Something in her gaze changed, hooded, warm, and she took a step toward you.

"Oh, I already knew you would. But ... I've heard things about you too. Your reputation for working alone. Has that changed?"

Her scrutiny made you a little self conscious. You ran a finger along your arm, where your bracer had left a groove in the skin. Her eyes followed the motion, to where it stopped at the crook of your elbow.

"Changed? I don't know. I've always preferred my own company, I suppose. But ... things are different here. It's not just my life at stake when I hunt."

She nodded slowly, and you watched as the breeze sifted through the lighter strands of her hair, revealing the soft darkness beneath. You wondered, briefly, what it would feel like to brush that tawny mane back with your own fingers, where only the wind had passed before.

Sometimes, as you know all too well, the hunter becomes the hunted. It starts with the sensation of being watched, of lambent eyes bent on the curve of your spine, the sound of your breath, the shift of your legs over the saddle.

It ends with a large shape, unfurling through the darkness, as your target comes toward you.

Olivia approaches you, one evening, as you sit near the campfire on the journey to Azuz City.

She has removed her armour, opting for a simple long-sleeved tunic against the rapidly cooling air of the desert night.

The temperatures had been variable along the way, sometimes weighing down the air with oppressive heat as your party had passed volcanic areas and hot springs.

You'd taken the opportunity to bathe in the clear waters of a nearby rock pool, your hair drying loose over your shoulders. You feel her eyes pass over you, and there's always something different about her regard. She seems poised on the verge of action, as if there's a fine, invisible line between where her gaze falls and her hands follow.

You'd seen it, in the way she'd accept interesting new baubles and artifacts that Erik handed to her, strong fingers sliding over surfaces, the sinew at the back of her hands playing under the skin, telling of the strength of her grip.

She seated herself on the overturned log beside you, close, but not quite touching.

"Zenny for your thoughts?"

You smiled at the fire crackling merrily before you both.

"I want to pause, sometimes. To really take it all in. There's never much time to enjoy the scenery, is there?"

"Eyes on the job. That's the way of the hunter. I've learned to appreciate the downtime, when we get it."

"Right. We've got no shortage of changing pastures, that's for sure."

"Hunting has its own appeal, I suppose. And sometimes the view at camp can be just as good."

"It can?"

You turned to her playfully, to catch the humour in her expression, and instead find the heated softness of her glance under shadowed brows, lingering for a moment on the firelit cast of your skin.

Ghostly fingers flutter up your spine, your cheeks tingling with a warmth you hoped she hadn't noticed as she looked away.

A few moments later, when she bids you goodnight and makes her way to her tent, you rather wished she had.

The blazing heat of the Everforge exploded with shattering force, sending the villagers of Azuz reeling backward, crying out in alarm. Their shadows flickered, huge and monstrous across the walls, as they darted to and fro, scrambling to divert the damage.

There was no time to apportion blame for what had occurred; such luxuries were rare in the world of a hunter. There was only the necessity for acting now, decisively.

Olivia was at your side in an instant as the rest of the guild members scattered the villagers, sending them to safety. You made your way through darkened streets and across precipitous bridges, right up until your quarry found you.

Ajarakan. Two of them.

Their fists thundered into the cobbled courtyard as they made their descent, massive walls of muscle and fury, spittle flying from molten jaws as they roared and tore up the ground beneath them.

Olivia was slightly ahead, and there was a brief moment when she glanced over her shoulder at you; an invitation, a challenge, as if she was asking you to dance with her.

Your answering smile was a fierce acceptance.

She leads with strength and grace, as always, feet pivoting as she times a perfect swing. You catch glimpses of her in between the rush of your own battle, between huge fists that swing a hair's breath too close, between enraged bestial howls and the brief snatches of energised relief as your palico heals you.

Fire snatches at your hair, singes your skin, dries your breath in your throat, but you watch your opponent with an eagle's eye, dodging, countering, wearing away at the giant ape, inch by hard won inch.

At some point, you hear Olivia shout to you, a warning that she was leaving the area to pursue her own prey. You offer a terse nod, wiping sweat away from your brow.

Instinct takes over, deep and primal, and the swing of your weapon, the surge of power that thrums through the earth beneath your feet, the age old battle between your will and your opponent's, takes over your senses.

The heat from the malfunctioning Everforge is unusually extreme, sapping your own strength. Perspiration stings your eyes, and your lungs burn in protest with each blow landed.

With one sudden misplaced step, you stumble and the Ajarakan's downward swipe sends you careening across the ground. You struggle upright, panting, seeing it ready the next strike.

You're not going to dodge in time.

Gritting your teeth, you brace yourself for the crushing impact, but it never arrives.

She certainly does.

You spy a flash of pale gold and silver, the powerful arc of Olivia's hammer and the Ajarakan's paws scrabble helplessly over the cobblestones as it tips over on its side. She veers over to you, but doesn't take your hand, instead, tossing you a healing potion.

You snatch it out of the air, pulling the cork with your teeth, the soothing flow of it down your throat heralding a new surge of energy. You sprint towards the downed Ajarakan, drawing your weapon at the last moment, timing your blow with hers.

The beast roars in the finality of its defeat as you stand over it, breathing heavily.

In the aftermath, as adrenaline deserts your veins, you feel the weight of your armour, the pain that flares up your thigh where your initial injury still requires healing. You stagger slightly, but an arm loops around your waist, firm and unyielding.

Your hand braces on her shoulder as she tugs you against her, armour scraping over the surface of yours. You know that if you turn your head to face her now, it will be a point of no return.

You do it, anyway.

The clean cut planes of her cheeks are smudged with soot, her hair in disarray. A bruise blooms across the side of her neck, visible above the armour. You cannot look away from the pale, searching fire of her regard, the way her lips part slightly as her gaze drops to your own.

Without thought, you reach up and brush the hair away from her forehead, watching it fall back after a second, your fingers grazing the simple silver hoop of her earring. You can feel the warmth of her breath rolling like fog over the curve of your mouth and neck.

Distant shouts reach your ears. The villagers are calling out for the both of you, approaching the arena of your recent battle.

You attempt to stand upright, but she does not relinquish her hold on you.

"Easy. Let's get you back to the tent. I'm all out of heals."

You nod, wordlessly, feeling rather cowardly for the way you allowed the moment to slip away as she guides you back to the others.

It's right before you enter your tent, though, that your eyes are drawn to her again. It's only a fleeting moment, but the knowledge that she is already looking back at you causes that vicious coil low in your stomach.

You can no longer deny its nature, just as you can no longer deny her.

Pushing aside the canvas flaps, you take a bracing breath as you remove your armour, preparing some water on the small stove top in the corner.

As it comes to a boil, you pour it into a larger wooden basin, dropping in a small healing pod. This will certainly take care of your remaining aches and pains. You pick up a cleaning cloth and a bar of soap, ready to begin your ablutions, when a rustle sounds behind you and interrupts your preparations.

Turning hurriedly, you see Olivia enter your tent and your pulse seems to still before beginning an erratic rhythm.

She shows no hesitation whatsoever. As with all things she does, there is an all-encompassing confidence, as if she truly acts on what she believes.

She stands before you, expectantly, and you rise to greet her. In the dim light of your small lantern, you see that she has also removed her armour.

The skin of her broad, freckled shoulders, turned tawny-gold by exposure to sun, ripples like the sinuous body of some water leviathan under the surface, the shift and slide of sculpted muscle very evident. Your eyes trace the veins that cord along her arms, pale hair standing like a faint dandelion cloud just above the surface, running all the way down to her wrists.

Among hunters, a show of bare skin has long since ceased to attract attention. You all dressed and undressed within the confines of limited space, without shyness or remark.

But this ... this was entirely different, considering what had happened right after your battle.

You tore your eyes away from her fingers, as they clenched and unclenched within your view, and looked up at her. 

"Olivia?"

Her reply was soft. Without the tone of professional command, it was infinitely more intimate.

"I came to check on you. In case you needed any help."

"I'm - "

You gestured to the warm water and cleaning cloth. She eyed it only for a second before coming forward, taking the material in hand and passing it over the bar of soap.

Was she -

Yes. She was.

You certainly wouldn't be caught lacking.

Turning away from her, you slowly unlaced the edge of your tunic, allowing it to drop from your upper body. Somewhere, behind you, the noise of water being wrung out of the cloth paused.

There is a moment of drawn out silence before you feel her shift. Warmth, damp and slow-spreading, begins across your neck, moving down between the shoulder blades. She spares no inch of skin, trickles of water running in aching rivulets down the parts she hasn't covered yet.

The cloth disappears, and then she is even closer, the weighted brush of her thigh against the back of yours. She speaks against the shell of your ear, and your body gives an involuntary shudder that she must notice.

"May I?"

You can feel her fingers at the edge of your bunched tunic, caressing over the remaining ties that hold it in place.

You nod. You don't trust yourself to speak.

Deftly, the knots are undone. You tilt your neck to the side, arms rising slightly to give her more room. The fabric slides all the way to the floor and you finally find the courage to turn your head slightly, lashes lifting until your gaze meets hers.

It is quite something, to see the way she looks at you.

The clarity of her gaze is misted over with raw desire, undisguised, but no less intense.

You clasp your hands gently around hers and bring them up to your bare chest, guiding her fingers over your breasts. She cups them, grasp firm, and now she is watching your head falls back against her shoulder, lip caught between your teeth as the cloth drags across your hardened nipples.

You're not sure if it's your own breath quickening, or hers, but she never stops her ministrations, massaging, kneading, wiping down, down, all the way until ...

Your raise your hands until they are just above hers again, and she pauses. You can feel the focus of her undivided attention as you drag your fingertips down, across the flesh of your breasts, down your ribcage, along your stomach, until they hover just above the fabric of your underwear.

She exhales heavily, breath hot and moist against your neck, and that's all the encouragement you need.

You can't help the soft moan that escapes you as your touch slides further, tugging the material down with it, until she stops you.

Finally, finally, her lips find the side of your throat, feather soft at first, then latching onto you hungrily, as if she can still taste the remnants of your shared battle.

Suddenly, you're incredibly impatient. You both are.

You arch your body back into her, desperate for more as her hands slide eagerly down your sides, dragging your underwear away completely. It drops between your ankles and her hands are now moving over the outside of your hips, squeezing briefly, appreciatively.

They dip down to your inner thighs, and now you're struggling to keep your breathing even as she moves them up again, her grasp hard, possessive. She slows once more, and you realise that the soft sounds that have been escaping your lips are now words.

"Olivia, there, please, I - "

"Hush. Come here."

Her voice is low, shot though with husky intent. You barely have time to register what she means before that powerful arm curves around your waist, an echo of the way she supported you earlier.

She backs you both towards your hammock, tugging you down onto her lap. Her knees, still clad in leather, slip beneath yours and push them apart, holding you open and vulnerable to her touch.

You throw your head back as her fingers finally slide down across your folds, and shit, you really hope that all the others have moved to the central area for the meal, because the noise you make cannot be mistaken for anything other than mind-numbing pleasure.

"Oh God, Olivia ... "

"Yes. Tell me ... what you want."

"You. Want you - "

"Here?"

"There! Yes!"

Olivia strokes you the way she handles her weapon, steady and sure, holding you firmly by the hip and you gasp and jerk against her. You mindlessly throw up your hand, threading fingers through the short hairs at the base of her neck, desperate for something, anything to hold onto as she breaches you.

Your slick coats her exploring digits, slides down to her palm as you rock against the delicious penetration. Her other hand wanders lower, underneath your thigh, and she utters a soft grunt of effort as she lifts, spreading your legs further apart.

Her pace increases, seeking out those secret places that send surges of white hot bliss up through your abdomen, striking with repeated, devastating precision as you come apart on top of her bracing thighs.

You're no longer in control of the wanton sounds that spill from you, the sweat that beads your brow and gently bouncing breasts. She guides you, a completion of your earlier dance, pushing you with unerring skill towards a burning horizon that shimmers just beyond your fluttering lids.

Your mouth opens wide, soundless, chest heaving, back arching, as you reach your peak. Pleasure like nothing you've ever experienced crashes over you like the restless sea, dragging you helplessly into a roaring rip-tide.

You're vaguely aware of Olivia's teeth sinking lightly into your shoulder, her fingers stilling inside you, thumb keeping firm pressure on your clitoris as you let out a strangled cry, clamping down on her like a vice.

It takes a few blissful seconds before you're able to breathe again, before the shuddering of her own chest beneath your back reminds you that she is still very much wanting.

Limbs still trembling pleasantly, you edge yourself sideways off her lap, stifling a gasp as her hand falls away, sliding out of you.

You realise, as your eyes meet hers, taking in the sweat on her brow, the heavy flush on her skin, the moistened lips, that you haven't actually kissed her yet.

That would have to be remedied.

You tug her towards you, mouth colliding with hers. She tastes of dust, scorched earth, the honey sweetness of her beneath. The kiss grows passionate, clumsy, as you both seek out more, more of each other, always more.

There is a brief swooping sensation in your stomach as the hammock jounces under your back. She has pushed you back with gentle firmness while she stands and rids herself of her remaining clothes.

Your eyes are drawn helplessly towards the large damp patch over her thighs, where your own arousal had soaked into the material. Then she is naked, gloriously so, the ridges of her abdomen as hard as a wyvern plate under your exploring fingers.

Such an alluring combination; the softness of her skin, roped here and there with old scar tissue, the sheer power of her body beneath. She crawls over you, predator's grace in every line of her form, eyes burnished to turquoise brilliance as her focus falls on you, and you only.

Her arms brace on either side of your head, and your arms are now full of her, of the prickle of the shorter hair at her nape, of the broad, ever-shifting wall of her back, the supple curve of her buttocks, the heft of her thighs.

When Olivia's lips find yours again, there is an inevitability there, the surrender of a flower to the plundering hummingbird, the sinking of the sun beyond the enveloping horizon.

She engulfs you until you're aware of nothing but her, of the glide of her firm flesh against yours, the whispers of everything she has longed to do to you, the rock of the cushioning hammock beneath your entwined bodies as she takes you further into pleasure than you could have ever thought possible.

The night comes swiftly, when you're in her embrace. It gorges itself on tender hours with a gluttony well-earned, until soft light steals over your camp. You, with your nose pressed to the base of her throat, come to a realisation.

Olivia had always known, with that keen sense of hers, that this was what you both wanted. She'd never once rushed you, or pressed her own desires. She'd sensed, hunter's instinct on high alert, when the moment would come, and she'd taken it, as had you.

A hunt is an endless dance of desire; you now had no doubts about that, and with her in all her strength and splendour, in battle or in love, you could never quite distinguish predator from prey.

[rafesbabygirlx]

A Lot of Time has Passed | Part 7B

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Season 4 Rafe x Maybank reader

Summary: Beginning at the time jump, the Pogues seemingly succeeded at something, Rafe is struggling with making amends and being a better person. Jus sister left the island after returning from South America. Returning after 18 months with a secret.

A/N: took a page from @whytheylosttheirminds with separating the part into 2. Because it’s a bit of writing. About 3k words each. I wanted to finish this off before S4 P2 begins so it’s finishing this is the last part until it airs.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: fluff, bit of angst, smut (oral m receiving, chest riding, p in v riding) death, Luke Maybank

“Can we please talk?”

You give it a second but you can see the desperation in his eyes, “okay, talk.”

He runs a hand through his buzz cut, eyes heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry. I do want to be better. I’m the man of the Cameron family now, and what am I supposed to do when all the women in my life hate me? Fear me? It eats at me. I should’ve stood up for Kie, set an example that Ruthie and Topper’s bullshit isn’t acceptable anymore, never was, I don’t care about that reputation anymore, not like I used to. When I look at V, all I want is to be better. I have no excuse.

He watches you, searching for a sign that you’re listening. You offer him nothing, forcing him to keep talking. “I took you for granted for so long. Used you, kept you a secret because I was scared of what people would think, all because of stupid titles. I knew Topper and Kelce wouldn’t say anything but that’s always what they’d use to try to piss me off when we’d be messing with each other. You always meant something to me and I constantly pushed you away. I hurt you more times than I can count, some of the times worse than others.”

Painful memories flash between you—He’s talking about the time he handcuffed you to his bed during his downward spiral after killing Peterkin, dragging you with him to Barry’s when he needed to hide out, putting you in the middle of gunfire with the police when he got caught. Drugging you alongside Sarah and bringing you on that ship then standing idle why he watched his dad strangle you until you were blue when you got smart with him about murdering Big John. All because he didn’t want to be alone.

“You came to me for protection from your father, and I failed you. You tried to help me, and I pushed you away. But all I want now is to see you happy. You shouldn’t have even forgiven me.”

Tears slip down your face as you reach out, cupping his cheek. “I told you what I thought your problem was, and I was right. You’ve grown without your father’s shadow. Even before I came back, you’d changed. You are the man of the Cameron family now, and you can be the kind of man your father never was. I need you to be all in, Rafe. No more half-measures. V needs you. I need to know we can count on you. Only then can we move forward.”

You grab the sea turtle V left on the bed this morning, unintentionally but great for the point you’re trying to make. “Because what if she was there, what if she could understand all that happened.” You toss it to him. “Think about her Rafe.”

“I promise,” he says, voice cracking. “Forever and always.”

A bittersweet smile spreads across your face. The words that once comforted you in your darkest moments return, anchoring you both.

I’ll protect you, I promise, forever and always.

I’ll be here for you when you need me, I promise, forever and always.

I’ll kick his ass for you, I promise, forever and always.

“I love you, Rafe, and that’s never changing.” You kneel closer, wrapping him in a hug.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice resolute. “Forever and always.”

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

You look at him, and he smirks. You kiss him on the lips, then his jaw, then his neck. He coos at the feeling. You sit up and pull off your tank top, laying back down. You stare into his eyes intently as you play with the waistline of your shorts. He goes to reach out for you, but you smack his hand away.

“Uh uh, take your clothes off.” “Yes, mam.” He stands up and rids himself of his own pajamas, now standing completely bare in front of you. “Lay.”

He does exactly as you say. You straddle his legs, running a finger down his length to tease him. Kneeling your upper body down, arch your ass into the air, and he smiles down at you. You grab him in your hand, running your thumb over his tip, smearing his precum. You drop a glob of spit down onto him. You lower your head onto him, beginning to bob up and down. He thrusts up into you at the sensation, and you remove your mouth from him.

“Uh uh, I’m in charge tonight, baby.”

He nods his head and throws his hands up in a mock surrender. You begin bobbing again, taking as much of him as you can, gagging on his huge length but taking him nonetheless. You run your hand that's not pumping him up and down his torso, scratching your nails on the way down. You hear his series of grunts and moans and feel the way he'd tense up trying to refrain from thrusting up.

He was getting close, and you could tell by the way he'd twitch in your throat. When his breathing started to hitch, you let him go and watched for his reaction. As he realizes his orgasm was lost, he opens his eyes to see you kneeling in front of him with a big smirk.

“Not fun being treated like shit, right?” You laugh, and he rolls his eyes but eventually laughs quietly. He goes to sit up, and you push him back into the pillow. You want to tease him as much as you can. You made up, but it's nice to give him a little taste of his own medicine.

You start making your way up him, taking a seat right below his chin. You push down into him and moan. You begin to ride his chest. Rafe always loved to eat you out, and you know having him this close to your pussy drives him crazy.

“Let me taste you.” Gripping his head, moving it up closer to your clit. “Tongue out.” He lays his tongue out flat, and you move a little closer to also ride his tongue. Using him like this feels so good since you'd usually let him take control.

Your movements quicken, digging your nails into the back of his head, and you crane his neck. You're getting close, and you don't plan on slowing down. You hold yourself up on the headboard, and your body twitches. Rafe moans into your clit, and your head throws back. You shake as you come, arousal sticking to his chest. You lift up a bit to his mouth, and he cleans up what's left.

You move back down to his waist. Licking the palm of your hand and reaching back to stroke him. His body jolts at the feelings. You line yourself up with him and sink down onto him. Your nails dig into his chest at the stretching. No matter how many times you do this, the feeling always has you shocked.

You settle on him for a second before you lift up and throw yourself back down onto him. Your pace is immediately quick. You bounce like there's no tomorrow. Taking control of him like this is so rewarding. The feeling is amazing, but you need more stimulation. You begin to grind, feeling his pelvic bone rub against you has seeing stars.

“Can I touch?” You nod, and Rafe's hands roam your body. You're driving him crazy tonight, but his touch is soft. Taking every inch of you in. You're an angel sent from heaven to him. You're both close, and you're getting tired. Rafe grabs your hips and keeps you moving. You lean down and begin to kiss him.

“Love you, baby doll. Forever and always.” You lean your forehead on his as you continue your movements. “Fuck, Rafe. I love you more. Forever and always.” You cry out with a high-pitched moan as you release your orgasm. Rafe follows right behind you, gripping your waist hard and letting out a bunch of grunts.

You lift off of Rafe but stay on top of him. You shift down a little, enough to be able to lay your head on his chest. Following the rise and fall of his heavy breaths and listen to his heart race, while he holds you tightly, leaving kisses on the top of your head. You could lay like that forever.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

The next morning you and Rafe wake up still tangled up with one another. He’s dressed and doesn’t smell like sweat and sex anymore, which means he left at some point. It angers you a bit but you chose to let it go for now. You take a shower and come out of the bathroom to see Rafe flying V around the room like Superman. You’re downstairs having breakfast, really just talking to V trying to make her laugh. That fell into a bit of a silence.

“I took the deal.”

“What?”

“Last night, I took the deal. That’s why I was dressed. I know you noticed but didn’t say anything.”

Taken aback just a bit. You were still very nervous of what Hollis’s intentions were. But you said you’d be supportive no matter what. “Ok, so now what?”

“She sent the info to the investors. The deposit should come out at some point today. And now I’m in contract with them.”

“Did you read the fine print about murder if this thing goes wrong?”

He laughs at the outrageous statements and goes to reach for your hand. “Yes, I read the whole thing, no there isn’t anything about murder. Not sure it’s something they’d want in paper.”

You smile and grip his hand a little harder. You go to say something but he cuts you off, “after yesterday, after our talk, after last night (he winks and you giggle), I thought this was the best step for US.” I want to be taken seriously, I want to be a strong father for V. Then I saw a photo of me and Sarah and I thought about the things I did to her. How she hates my guts, how she looked at me yesterday. I can’t be that person anymore. I’m gonna do the right thing and this is a stepping stone in that. This is for our family. I know you always hated that I’d tried to treat you with gifts and money, but you’re stuck with me and what’s mine is yours. So get used to it.” He takes a deep breath and smiles at you.

You release his hand and walk to the other side of the table to sit on his lap. “Ok Rafe Cameron. I told you I’d be there with you the whole way. Anything you need I’ll help you. I’m not going anywhere this time.” You give him a big kiss on the cheek when your phone starts to vibrate.

You reach over and pick it up and JJ is yelling in the other side. “JJ calm down!”

“Sis I need you here right now. I’m alone and got this letter and I’m freaking out.”

“Okay, OKAY, I’ll come.” You hang up and turn back to Rafe. “Do you think you’d be ok for a few when I go handle something for my brother?

“I mean sure but I thought we’d celebrate.”

“Ok first rule of the “be a better man” journey is to know that when a sibling calls in distress saying they need you. They probably need you. That would’ve saved you a lot of trouble.”

Rafe looks at you with a blank stare. “Ok- go then. I’ve got V.” You’re shocked at the reaction. Not being able to tell if he was mad at it or not was difficult. You didn’t mean to throw in a little jab about the past. It’s just a good lesson for him to learn.

You lean down to give him a kiss. “I love you.” Looking deeply into his eyes. “Forever and always.” He returns back.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

Meeting JJ at your old house feels strange. He’s standing in the living room, staring at a piece of paper and rubbing his head. He hadn’t explained anything on the phone, which left you uneasy, but seeing his disheveled state makes your anxiety spike.

“J? What’s going on? Where is everyone?” you ask, voice tight with worry.

“They’re out on the boat, taking care of Terrance’s body,” he mutters, barely looking up.

“Terrance? As in Cleo’s Terrance? What happened?”

JJ sighs, exhaustion lining his face. “Cleo got kidnapped. Terrance was involved but didn’t know who the target was. He tried to save her, and it got him killed. I’ll fill you in later, but I need you to read this.”

He hands you the letter. The first line catches your eye: “Master JJ Maybank. Don’t let that go to your head.” You laugh nervously, but JJ doesn’t even crack a smile.

“Genrette’s groundskeeper brought this to me,” he explains. “Said Genrette left it for me.”

The words on the letter blur as you try to piece together its meaning. “I think we need to find dad,” JJ say, your eyes dart back to him.

“Absolutely not. I’m not seeing him,” you snap.

“Good thing it’s not about you,” he counters. “He’s the only one who might have answers to whatever this is.”

JJ’s expression softens, and he nods reluctantly. “You’re right. Sorry. Any idea where he might be?”

“I have a hunch.”

Minutes later, you’re on JJ’s boat, slicing through the water toward Barracuda Mike’s house. When you arrive, Mike is in his yard fidgeting with a go kart, watching the approaching storm clouds.

“Hey, Big B, you know there’s a storm coming, right?” JJ calls out.

“Yeah, I see it,” Mike responds.

You hang back as JJ pleads with Mike for information on your dad’s whereabouts. Moments later, Mike sighs and mutters, “I’ll call you if Luke gets in touch.” Sending you both off to the dock.

JJ sets the phone on speaker as it rings. Luke’s familiar voice comes through, cautious and calculating, until he hears Mike’s dog bark in the background. Realization hits him too late.

“We gotta move,” JJ says, eyes wide. You both sprint back to the house and bang on the door. Mike steps out, irritation creasing his brow.

“Mike, I’ve got a daughter to get home to. Don’t waste my time with this bullshit,” you says, voice cracking under the strain.

“I’m a grandpa, huh?” Luke’s voice drips with smugness as he steps out, a twisted smile on his face. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“Actually, you’re not,” you retort coldly. “She’ll never know you exist.”

Luke’s smirk falters, replaced by a fleeting shadow of disappointment. “That’s no way to talk to your old man,” he says, trying and failing to sound fatherly.

JJ shifts protectively in front of you, confronting Luke about his sudden reappearance and silence. You take a step back to the dock, needing space to process. Pulling out your phone, you FaceTime Rafe and V for a distraction. Rafe’s face lights up with a grin.

“Hey, when are you coming back? I’ve got something to tell you,” he says.

Before you can respond, the sound of sirens fills the air, and you see JJ and Luke sprinting toward the boat.

“Shit,” you mutter, forgetting you’re still on the call. “I gotta go. Bye, V. Rafe, I’ll call you later.”

JJ jumps in the boat with Luke behind him. “Take me home on the way,” you tell JJ firmly as you climb aboard.

Luke glances at you. “So, you’re a mom?” he asks.

“Yes,” you reply flatly, not sparing him a look. “And don’t ask anything about her. You don’t deserve to know her.”

“It’s with that Cameron kid, isn’t it?” Luke chuckles, as if confirming a suspicion. “I always thought that’d happen—the way he used to sneak in and out of your window. And I knew that’s where you’d be when you disappeared. Good for you, little miss new Kook.”

You clench your jaw, holding back a response. As the boat nears your house, you quickly text Rafe: Home. Meet me at the dock.

When you hop off the boat, you wave to JJ as he drives him and Luke off. Rafe and V are already walking down to meet you. You pull them into a tight hug.

“So, what’s up?” you ask, sensing the weight in Rafe’s eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about everything,” Rafe begins. “I’m really sorry for all the shit at the beach. Pogue this, Pogue that. I shouldn’t have put you through that.”

“We’ve talked about this,” you say, tilting your head at him.

“I know,” he continues, “but I need to know we’re good. My dad was a Pogue; that shit doesn’t matter. What matters is I wanna be like him, hardworking and keeping this family together. I want to build things, be better, in my own way. I’m going to patch things up with my sister, and I want you there with me. When the deal with Hollis goes through, I’m keeping a piece for us. For the three of us.”

The thought of the deal makes you pause, the uncertainty gnawing at you. Rafe notices and takes your hand. “Hey, it’ll be okay. We’ll make it work—you and me. I promise.”

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. With that reassurance, the three of you head inside, ready to face whatever comes next.

TBC

Taglist:

@maybankslover @eringaitskill @luissa266 @lolll505

@dayyzlol @calaryssia @eg-dr3amer3 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @rafestar @bigbonenative

@writtenbyhollywood @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @leilanizcals

[moonbeammist]

The Peasant's Secret (Part 2)

From the god's, perhaps?

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them. taglist from Part 1: @aoi-targaryen

I don't give permission for any of my fanfiction to be posted, this is also cross posted on my account w/ Archive of our own :)

PAIRINGS: Feyd Rautha x Fem!Fighter!Reader

AUTHORS NOTE: Hey! l'm excited that I continued this. Honestly, couldn't get it out of my head until I did. I really hope you enjoy it, feedback is most welcome. New readers, read Part 1 for context and character, if not, this can be read as a solo fic too 💖

WARNINGS: (Adults only 18+) DARK! profanity, extreme violence, torture, gore, sadism, masochism, dubious consent, erotic undertones, heavy petting, reader is a fighter who get's extremly hurt, bigotry against the poor, very immersive, intimacy, touching, feyd-rautha is his sick self, praise, public humiliation, light smut

Feyd is at his most sadistic - please mind the warnings. I really wanted to explore that in writing because I feel it's such a big part of his character. Honestly Dune Part Two inspired the hell out of me, and looks like I'm not the only one judging by some of the brilliant writers on this site. Thank you for inspiring me too.. I poured everything into this.

SUMMARY: As a rice-harvester hailing from Planet Caladan, you knew these things to be true. You and your people were "peasant scum". And as far as you can tell, peasant scum deserved a shot at the vast unknown as much as any noble folk did. Even if the only thing protecting you is a flawed battle-tactic and the falsehoods that you tell yourself. Even if it has you riding a wave into the wicked evils that lie.

WORD COUNT: 10.3k words (yes it's long, but enjoy the ride, take breaks, ect.) ❤️

PART 1 PART 2

It’s scalding, the black ebb of the sun in Giedi Prime. But you are well hydrated and fed.

Previously, when you were aboard the ship with Count Fenring in the depths of space, he made sure you and the small group of rice labourers that stayed behind were treated. Various platters of eclectic fruits, aged cheeses, proteins, and beverages were presented before you on a wooden table, the Count encouraging the hesitant Caladan rice cultivators with a wave of his hand. Almost in unison, they dived for the food at his proclamation, knives and forks clashing. You couldn’t tell what animal you were gnawing on as you slobbered it down, only fixated on filling the hole of anxiety that grew, every so slowly, deep in your belly. You volunteered to be here on the basis of... being Harkonnen entertainment, mixed with a blind, selfish jump into the illogical.

And for what?

So you don’t deserve to feel this uncertainty. You did it to your damn self. Wanting to prove... something, anything. What that was exactly you couldn’t pinpoint, except a growing need to see yourself capable of a different path than the comfortable life you grew to know. Your mother’s words came to you again, flying through the vastness of the galaxy.

“You should go.” A pause. “Live for us.”

Her words spread through you like a viper, a sliver of hope returning to you.

You’re covered by the dark canopy of the nestled burrow underneath the stands of the large dome-like arena, filled to the brim with Harkonnen porcelain heads. You can see a partial view from here—a small peek, but enough for multiple stark heads to pop through. The hard, black metal doors were closed all the way, save for that small crack. Their starving, needy chants are ear splitting to you; you can hear them all around you in these walls beside your fellow fighters. Here you are, like a feast for them—ripe, hot-blooded, and ready for the taking. 

You keep your hair cropped short just under your cheekbones for battle, falling messily over your face in a choppy cut. The length made sense under these circumstances.

Last night, after filling yourself with food and beverage and thanking the Count on the ship, you pushed your way past the other passengers to the ship’s restrooms with slight impatience, a mulled over idea that has been eating at you finally coming to the forefront. Seeing your hollow, adrenalized eyes in the mirror, your hand reached to your thigh, brandishing the emerald handle of the small blade you were given as a courtesy. Unlatching it from its leather harness with a click, your arm juts out to swipe your tresses away, the ends falling like a blanket on the floor. You did not need to make yourself a target on the hairless planet, that is for certain. Not like this, not so obviously. 

They can already see what you are, you know.

Your conscious crows at you, and your teeth come out to play with your bottom lip, chewing it. That’s not why. When you were shoving food down at the table with your fellow people during mealtime, you received a more in-depth, private discussion about Giedi Prime and House Harkonnen’s culture and traditions, along with a long spiel on the opponent you and your fellow peasant fighters would be privy to facing. 

The Count’s voice was almost a warning to all, and you could’ve sworn his eyes rested on you too many times for it to be a coincidence. Obviously, being the opposite sex in the Harkonnen arena is going to come with a target on your back. In Giedi Prime, usually, they had a target on your back no matter what, but they usually fell into four prime categories: pleasure slave, handmaiden, visiting Bene Gesserit, or noblewoman. And obviously, they’re going to make out by your form, that you’re not a big, burly slave-gladiator. But some type of amateur, dodging, slave-gladiator nonetheless.

The issue is that you don’t want the nephew, that psychopathic nephew of the Baron—Feyd-fucking-Rautha grabbing a long mop of hair and whipping it around the arena like a toy, a rag doll. And you don’t want something as silly as hair being used as fodder against you, like a joke. You had gathered the length of hair in the disposable bin, cleaning up the mess on the marbled floor in finality.

You glance up to catch yourself in the mirror, and your pulse quickens. You run your fingers through your short locks, the pieces framing your face. You feel renewed, refreshed.

You feel more like yourself than ever before.

The guttural melody seemed to increase in speed across the walls underneath the arena, bouncing off the ground. You could feel the voices, deep in the earth, the soles of your feet vibrating against your boot. You peered into the backs of the heads of your crew. You knew that your time was getting closer. Uneasiness, but also a slight giddiness that shouldn’t belong, bubbled up within you. 

Why?

The small group of men that you came with from Caladan were also branding themselves as inexperienced rice labourers. As men, it was common for them to get in spats or tussles about gods-knows-what. They had experience in that sense. For the fairer sex, all you had was your mother’s encouragement to take an interest in the art of dodging, the defensive battle strategy known as "The Peasant’s Secret." There weren't many ladies, as far as you could tell, who were following suit. They had more important things to register, like feeding their children, you mused. The peasant men were taught it too, as they weren’t permitted weapons, armour, and the like. But it didn’t seem like they held it in high regard as often as you did. They practiced being on the offensive with their knuckles for light fun, with a masculated zeal. You questioned why they were here, as it would seem they dared not want anything else than an honest day’s work, being able to daze upon the fields with a wife warming their bed. But you wondered if the few that came grew bored of their mundane life and little free time, and were willing to put themselves on the line of fire today like you. 

Stupid, silly peasants you all were. Couldn’t just be happy with what was given to you. Couldn’t just lay your head down on rice grain forever. 

Just wanted a small hit of dopamine to the psyche, it would seem.

Without notice, a speaker made himself known above you—and it must have been from the very top, the very perch of the arena. The Baron of House Harkonnen’s rough voice pummelling into the pits below. “Citizens of Giedi Prime, and most welcome visitors,” he began. “We have quite the show for you today, most definitely... Count Hasimir Fenring has brought with him mere-" he pauses to chuckle as it reverberates through your mind, and you make a note of his happiness. It already confirmed what you knew to be true.

He continues. “Rice harvesters from Caladan who would like to join in on today’s festivities. Mind you, they volunteered their time here as well, so we shall see what they have to offer.”

A more ominous-sounding laugh is heard.

“How exciting, dear nephew, for you to enjoy this treat. Some low-born entertainment as a warm-up. We shall commence shortly.”

The audience chanted their sick appreciation at this news, their cheers echoing across the skies.

You gulped your saliva down. A warm-up, yes, of course. That makes sense.

It’s here. You’re here. Pacing, jumping up and down, in your murky, brown cloth. Amping yourself up.

Tight, tattered dark brown shorts adorned your knees, with strings tying the garment in place at your hips. To counter that, a long, light brown quarter-sleeve tunic swamps your form, belted at the waist with a large buckle securing it. Under the belt, the bottom of it is cut into two sections, split right down the middle, revealing your shorts in a fashion with athleticism and movement in mind. It’s lightweight and loose, allowing your bindings and skin to breathe in the hot weather.

In just a moment, the doors to the arena pits would open, and you would face the deviant that awaits. But you would not be alone. At least in the beginning. 

You turn to glance beside you at the men accompanying you. The men stood beside, in front, and behind you, their large frames slightly swarming you. You briefly imagined them emerging into the arena like some low-born three-course meal for the Na-Baron. You wordlessly prayed that you would not be considered a part of the appetizer.

“Come,” a man you knew by the name of Rexen, threw his arms around your shoulders and jostled you out of your ponderings. His hair was a deep black, matching his unkempt brows and scraggly beard. His face was warm and friendly, and his stare was earnest. “Join us for a moment.”

You walk with him a mere two steps before he gently pushes your body forward, and your eyes take in the slight change of everyone’s chest now visible to you. Your home planet’s men’s faces rapt with attention on each other. They are now huddled in the formation of a small circle. Rexen leans forward, and you follow suit, huddling even closer into the group, shoulders touching.

A glow of comfort envelops you, a piece of home.

“We are not a skilled people,” Rexen graciously offers, his head dipping low as he mutters this. His eyebrows raise as he anchors his head against yours and the men surrounding. “Most of our people did not want to be here. But for those that remain, we need not concern ourselves with why we are here. Just that we’re here to put on a show, for the holier than thou fucks.” He grins at his quip, his teeth slightly yellow in colour, stained from poor hygiene. Laughter emits from his chest, and the men barrel with much-too-energetic laughter for the situation.

You feel bizarre. You definitely came with the... what would you call those with no regard for their own self-preservation? 

Lunatics? 

But chillingly, you find yourself chuckling along with them, joining them in their message. Joining their showmanship. You’re here after all. That makes you one of them. You grin ear-to-ear as you laugh along with the men.

Something breaks you out of your glorified stupor. You hear a muffled chant just outside the doors. A pause. They were speaking in syllables. 

“Feyd-Rauth-Ah!” Again. “Feyd-Rauth-Ah!” And again. “Feyd-Rauth-Ah!”

Before any of you have a chance to compose yourself, the doors behind you slowly split open, and you eye the entrance to the arena with a spike of endorphins settling like butterflies in your stomach.

It unfolds, unlatches, and stretches out.

Until you’re cast in a perfect halo of light, the bleak colour seemingly burns your eyes for a moment.

There. It’s adjusting.

Your eyes adjust to the toxic atmosphere once again. You now have a more personalized viewpoint of what is to come; your perspective now shows a closer point of view of the arena as you break away from your fellow fighters and shakily take one step forward to the substantial crowd. The energy in the crowd shifted considerably to a higher plane, and you can literally feel the noise cover you in a blanket of sound, and you’re vibrating. You don’t turn to pay attention to your peers as they slowly spill out of the doorway.

The guttural native tongue of the Harkonnen boomed through the air, the announcer’s voice telling a story with his words. It all became white noise next to your thrumming heart.

At the opposite end of the arena, it’s... him.

His bleached, ghostly white silhouette sauntered several yards away with a slow swagger. The distance dwarfs his form slightly. Black on black. Everything he’s wearing is black, jutting out from his body to clearly signify a plate of armour atop his chest, ribs, shoulders, and legs. A combat suit absolutely made for battle.

The good news was that his skull and neck, seemingly attached by his bulging shoulder plates, was exposed. The sight of his hands clutching two considerably large Crysknives on either side of him made you pause. His wrists jumbled up and down, playing with blades.

Moving in an angular motion, you make a beeline for a darker area along the arena wall. You now notice your companions are already scattered all over the arena, the restlessness in their scurried steps now known to the sole Harkonnen. You’re sure he can smell them from where he is, and you want to perhaps blend in with the wall for a bit while you plan your next move.

He hasn’t noticed you yet as he charges forward, the speed in his steps like lightning.

You quicken your pace to the side of him, against the wall, out of sight as he spots a single peasant man squaring up to challenge him.

Your gaze is transfixed on them as you continue to walk backwards to the wall.

Feyd-Rautha is closer now, towards the centre of the Arena. The way he moves is like a freight train, all at once, and not a single part of him is apologetic for it. Your friend, your... companion, who had his head pressed to you moments earlier, had you clenching your teeth in anticipation at his first swivel around Feyd-Rautha’s Crysknife. The man ducked, barely grazing Feyd-Rautha’s blade as it sliced through the air. You hear a deep, grovelling chuckle, the sound making you freeze. It’s alien.. It’s so, so deep.

He doesn’t even sound real.

You glance at him while side-stepping, grateful his attentions are on the burly man’s arms flying at him like a circular typhoon. The man was already so tired; he was slowing down.

Feyd-Rautha exhales, curving the Crysknife in an upward motion, pushing it to the hilt, the squish of the male being impaled hauntingly audible. “That’s the spot.”

Like a caricature of doom, the voice of the man had a guttural, raspy quality to it. So low but with an unusual lilt at the end of his words.

Feyd-Rautha grabs the man by his shoulders and flings his heaving body to the ground, removing his painted red Crysknife from the man’s gut.

He barrels onward, heading further away from you, his eyes lit aflame.

You cannot deny that you’re in shock at the raw energy, but you take several breaths to calm yourself down, reminding yourself you just haven't ever been in an arena before. This is how it goes. Randomly, your back collides with something warm as you're breathing in and out. 

Jostled, your breath hitches as you whip around at the feeling. 

A clicking sound speeds up at your collision, erupting from a black, horned... genetically modified something.

God knows what that is, but you knew by its circling movements it was there to service the arena as its handler, keeping a watchful eye. There seemed to be another one roaming where Feyd-Rautha was, to your far left.

You raise your hands up, hearing the clicking intensify in warning. “Apologies.” You nervously laugh, wondering if it even cared for your apologies at a time like this.

You hear yet another man falling to the ground behind you, your gaze darting to the sight of him rolling, trying to swerve the absolute onslaught of the animal standing above him.

All your planning and all your battle-tactic calculations were lost in the wind, it seemed. It didn’t matter anymore because you were so fucking nervous.

No, it’s okay.

A small voice inside you encouraged.

You need to utilize “The Peasant’s Secret” in front of this crowd of evil eggheads, even if it’s not perfect.

You feel cracked mentally to even be joking to yourself at a time like this, but the fleeting sentiment is all you need to feel better. It was time to give yourself some grace.

You glanced at the horned handler once more as it retreated, before facing the savagery you knew you needed to keep your eyes locked on... Rexen, the man who pulled you aside earlier, was moaning in agony, his eyes bloodshot. You felt a fluttering sensation in your stomach. Alone and gushing, flowing, a stream of blood spilled out from his sopping open wound into the arena pit.

You remember his joyous remark that he was going to put on a show as you watched the life drain from his face.

You feel a prickling sensation at the back of your neck, like something in the air has shifted.

A BANG snaps you out of your reverie.

Isolating the noise, you lock in on it. There, now dangerously close, a looming presence carefully studying you. Feyd-Rautha’s hard, deep stare. He was standing a few feet away from you on the right side of the arena wall, his leg kicking at the wall animatedly. 

BANG

He hit it again, and as he finished, his armour-clad legs seemed to click together. His pale face was plastered with a delighted expression that met the depths of depravity. As your gaze flickered over him, you noticed an open mouth, a row of black teeth, the shade of the darkest midnight, smiling in glee, seeming to be proud of his announcement.

“Just a few more of the rodents,” he sneered, his eyes gleaming with giddiness.

You hold your breath in fear, stopping all at once. You know making a move right now would be foolish at his proximity.

“Did you perceive yourself to be out of harm's way?” His rasp quipped. 

You consider him, swallowing a jump in your belly. Unnerved by his misplaced enthusiasm. 

You brace yourself, standing at attention, before lowering yourself into a bent stance. The choppy pieces of your short hair fall into your line of vision as your head dips to the ground, trying not to let his overbearing nature shake you.

He doesn’t seem to move from his place as his gaze flickers over your movements.

Those black teeth. You were strangely fascinated by the ghoulish sight of them.

You’ve heard rumours of it being akin to a status symbol, perhaps even a fashion statement in Harkonnen culture. A custom of extreme wealth, beauty, and high influence.

Aristocratic customs are among this absolute cruel and humiliating gore fest. The irony of that was enough to make you thankful for being low-born and poor, minding your business. For all that you represent, at least you weren’t delusional in your value.

“Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha,” You greet, nodding solemnly, bowing your head from your battle-ready stance. “A pleasure to meet you, my lord.” Perhaps paying your respects to him before the battle would lessen his aggressiveness, if only a little. If you didn’t mindlessly yell and charge at him without thought, like the others.

He cocks his ghostly bald head, black mouth agape, seemingly taking you in. You briefly wondered if he was flashing that blackened mouth at you like some sort of superiority complex.

“How curious,” he murmurs. “The peasant wishes to exchange kind words before I run them through my blade?” His eyes glitter with something primal.

His sick jab makes you scoff inwardly, but you ignore it.

“On the contrary,” you begin. “I’m merely doing the honourable thing. Are we not battlemates, despite where I come from?” You pause, letting the words settle. “Like those of higher status you have fought before?”

You taste the words on your tongue, knowing full well the act may be futile.

Feyd-Rautha’s black teeth open wide with jest. “Mmm, that is what it would seem...” He nods at you. “The honour suits you.” 

You pause, realizing that he was paying a compliment.

His eyes darken like decay at once. “But you are a plaything, peasant. A pathetic thing for me to slice open and drain.” He tuts and slowly strolls towards you. 

You can’t help the shock that appears in your face at his grotesque words.

“But don’t worry, maybe I'll go a little longer with you.” He emphasizes the last word, a dark promise. His voice was laced with subtle mockery.

He’s put some sort of magnetic spell on you as you stand there, dumbfounded. His face no longer looks friendly as he advances on you, a demonic expression gracing his features. 

Fuck.

You jump back, reeling. You’re already failing, and you’ve got to get away, away, away fast. 

You shake your head at yourself for letting more than a few moments of speaking pass between you two. That was indeed useless. If anything, it seemed to make him crazier.

He charges at you with ferocity and a face devoid of emotion. 

This time I will move.

You let your secret instinct envelop you naturally, closing your eyes.

Dodge. Bob. Weave.

Just in time, and he’s snarling. “Rah!”

His black teeth lurch towards you.

You suddenly swirl your body slightly to evade the attack, his Crysknife missing you by mere inches. You jump backwards, not by a lot.

“Run first.. If they are fast enough, begin your dance.”

Your mother's words about the steps of your teachings sneak into your senses. That’s going to come off cowardly to someone like him. Weak. You don’t care. He didn’t know the hidden ways of the ‘lesser’ people of Planet Caladan.

You bolt, legs pumping with renewed investment in your life. The sand seems to give your shoes just the right amount of grip to propel you. You don’t bear to look behind you, afraid of what you may see, but know he’s at least giving chase.

You zip by yet another man, his neck whipping to watch you run. He feels like another stranger among the men who died, like he’s already sealed his fate.

But you presumed. You did not give the man grace. Like you now give yourself.

The man is living now, unchained. In his most honest form.

You crank your head back momentarily as your feet are hitting the sand. You instantly regret it, your breath catching in your throat. Feyd-Rautha is hot on your heels; his snow-white face is terrifying. His nostrils are flared, and his deep blue irises are lit with enthusiastic vigour. Your eyes widened as his blackened mouth was clenched in malice.

There is still a sizeable gap between the two of you. In a sudden move, you see the flash of the man before, in a blur—he’s purposely throwing his body towards Feyd-Rautha—and Feyd is so intently fixated on you he can’t stop the audible grunt that escapes him when your fellow peasant barrels into him with the strength of a bull.

The movement is so out of place that you falter slightly, side-stepping mid-run, your eyes glued to the man who decided to make use of his body as an obstacle. They hit the ground with a hard slam, the sound cracking through the thick atmosphere of the planet.

What is seen before you resembles a dogpile—the man’s large body attempting to restrain Feyd-Rautha’s snarling form, the man’s back gyrating like a hunter holding down a rabid howling elk.

You softly gasp at the mere seconds that went by before Feyd’s blade ground upward deep into the man’s guts—you could hear the sound of insides sloshing, emitting a horrifying, piercing scream from the man. The lack of care was evident as the man was thrown to the side like common trash.

Feyd-Rautha sits up, crimson staining his face like a splatter of paint, his face contorting, mood soured.

You silently thank the man for his sacrifice. It dawned on you that he didn’t do that for himself, but for you. A way to slow down your enemy’s predatory chase. 

Thank you. Your deed today will not go unnoticed, my good man. I shall make a shrine in your honour when I’m through with this animal.

Your eyebrows draw together, and trepidation rings through you as you put a bandage on your reality, cushioning your frantic thoughts with comfort.

You make quick work to paddle your legs from side to side, transfixed on the Na-Baron’s body, using the horrific situation as leverage. You started to do slow, measured side-skips around the man, smart to not use all of your well-preserved energy right away. You couldn’t risk disabling yourself to be slow, but you could be at a good, neutral pace right now.

While he was down. Which wouldn’t be for long.

Feyd-Rautha exhaled hastily as his neck craned towards you. Something akin to a cool, unfazed demeanour washed over his previous frantic behaviour as he allowed himself to engage in a moment's respite. 

“Let’s see you now, you pompous little rodent. Your street-gutter ally was desperate to save you... Caladanians, hm?”

The message was clear now.

You bit your tongue, not lowering yourself enough to respond brashly to his mean-spirited words. Oh, the man was loathsome. But you will engage him. It will allow you to learn more about him.

You already know enough. He’s a deviant, a sadist. What else do you need?

You need to concentrate. You won’t respond brashly, but you will plant seeds of doubt in his mind, if you can.

“Caladan has brought me many things, Harkonnen.” You begin, slightly slowing your skips around the arena as you speak. “It is a vessel of life that your planet seems to be drained of, quite frankly.”

His pupils expand at that.

“Harkonnen?” He stands then, rolling his neck, and you hear a pop as he adjusts his broad torso, his blackened mouth suddenly upturned in amusement as he studies you. “What happened to Na-Baron? Is it not to your taste anymore? Is it because I hurt your heart?” 

He motions towards the crowd of bodies littering the ground. “Did I hurt your gutter tribe?” His rough voice taunts like a menace, as his eyes sparkle with a sort of dark mischief as he laughs at that.

You swallow, biting back enragement.

“You did, Harkonnen.” You agree solemnly. “But what does it matter? Don’t you treat every untrained, unprecedented fighter the same here?” You pause, seeing his deep blue eyes flicker with interest. “Unskilled fodder to fuel your own ego?”

The air was tense, and his calculating eyes seemed to consume you during the silence. He cuts it then, with a breathy, deep cackle.

“Oh, so she has a mouth,” he sneers. He shocks you by darting towards you, his black armoured frame like a thick smog, coming to ingest you. 

He inches closer and closer, and you make the decision to roll out of the way, your body tumbling to the side of him.

“Smart, for street filth. It will be quite a shame when you’re crying under me as I bloody you that you’ll be fodder for my ego.” He mocks chillingly, his cruel words eliciting a spike of nerves within you, but you’re too focused on evading him to let it show. You see him use his Crysknives in short, brutal swifts as you roll quickly.

His Crysknife whips down, but it stabs the ground, Feyd-Rautha not accounting for your multiple movements of barrel-rolling.

He barks a laugh at that, and you hate the sound of it. He pulls out the Crysknife with a rough grunt, and you stumble to your feet.

You’re fast, and you can see that his eyes are trained on you, and he’s smiling. Oh god, that mouth of blackened tar is smiling.

Running away from him again felt more freeing this time, like you were in control. You knew that you could actually keep up with his antics. You were prepared this time around; you two were alone now. Your fellow peasants' bodies are disrespectfully littered at your feet, and it makes you angry.

“Why is she running?” He called, his guttural voice reaching you as you reached the end of the arena. He was talking to you in a strange way, like you were somewhere else, not present in front of him, like a mere object.

You ignored him, and you briefly remember your small blade, strapped under your brown shorts, the strappy harness hidden. You needed to tire him out. That’s your first mission. Tire him out to the point of exhaustion.

Although hesitantly, you knew he was fit and athletic. A powerful, driven force. How exactly you were going to do this remains a sight to be seen.

He growls and chases you like a huntsman, around and around and around. Every time he managed to get in proximity with those two sharp, deadly blades—

Your body moved, just out of reach—like a python. 

You feel pride flow through you when, half-way through another lap around the arena, Feyd-Rautha stops, catching his breath. You’ve managed to get the Harkonnen to audibly pant, and what’s more, he’s crouched over, hands on his knees.

So you decide to waste even more of his energy.

As you begin to run backwards, facing him, you cup your hands around your mouth, sucking in air as you prepare to yell. You call to him, drawing his attention to you.

“Tired, Feyd?” You drop the second half of his name, and it feels more personal.

He huffed, springing up in an instant at the sound of his name spoken so comfortably from your lips.

You couldn't bear to look at his mocking, ghoulish face transfixed on you from several feet away. It sent a deep wave of uncertainty and thrill through your very being.

His ebony mouth gaped at you. “Such gall, from someone who’s been fleeing this entire time. Is that what you came here to do?” 

You swallow hard. Mind reeling.

“I came here to—” you began.

Feyd-Rautha cut you off, an outpouring of snideness laced in his voice. “It matters not. How long do you think this is going to last you, peasant?” 

Your confidence is slightly faltered, but you speak without thought. “It lasted me this long...” and your voice trailed off.

He chuckled darkly. From this proximity, you can see his eyes swirling with a foreign emotion you couldn’t place.

Yes. Your body moved like a python until it didn’t.

He lunged at you, jumping with a prowess that was so quick you barely managed to get out of the way. But you did, feeling his blade slice through your tunic, your abdomen. You let out a hiss, and you’re jumping backwards, regaining your momentum, away from him, and you’re flying mid-air.

But he somehow matches your stride, leaping forward. He snatches the fabric of your shorts, using that to grip you as you are smashed into the battlegrounds by your leg.

The wind is knocked out of you as you land on your stomach, and a sound emits from you that you’ve never heard. Adrenaline flowing through you, you attempt to get up but the heel of his boot digs into your back, pushing you back down, your form collapsing and you sputter, breathing hard - You hear his body drop into the pits behind you, the dust flying into the air in front of you.

Feyd-Rautha pins his entire chest on the small of your back. The weight of the man has your mouth tasting the bitter, dry pallet of the sand. Your face prickles as the sharp grains sting your eyes, crushing your nose and mouth; the pain is excruciating. 

Fuck, if he doesn't get off me, he's going to break my nose.

You let out a feral cry as you tried to move underneath him. His arms hold you deeply into his chest, the plates of his armour digging into the ebbs of your spine.

In defence, you attempt to curl your body into a turtle stance, protecting your front, which is where you are most covered in bruises from your fall. You can feel him all around you, his chest heaving up and down. His breaths are deep and disgruntled; sometimes they don't sound human.

His heavy arms start to slowly pry your arms open from cocooning yourself. He could do anything he wants at this moment if you don’t get him off.

It's no doubt he's much bigger than you, and although you were countering him in speed a while ago, his masculine strength keeps a steady hold on you. 

You start to shake as you flex every bit of muscle you have, your body vibrating in tremors as he continues to pry your arms away from your body. You continue to try holding onto the fabrics of your tunic, still convusling as you fight his hands, trying to pry away your self-made cocoon.

In patience and in your countering movements. You find your strength in your resilience. You remind yourself that you feel powerful in that, at least.

I still have my grit.

"Tough," He jeers, and you’re aware of his chin now digging into the little nook of your left shoulder; you don't even have to look back to know he's grinning from ear to ear. His thick armoured legs tighten around your smaller frame.

In one quick movement, he wrenches your struggling arms, your nails digging into the wartorn fabric that covers your body. You are still holding on, but barely.

Your voice comes out in a passionate screech, ripping from your throat when he shoves your arms behind you so that your elbows are touching, his pale fingers clasped around them.

His muscled, battle-born thighs tighten around your hips.

You thrash against him. "No! NO!" Your scream falls out of you in a high hilt. The pain is searing, like your arms are going to pop out of their sockets. You didn’t want to protest this loudly to him of all people, but he’s forced you to. You’re at his mercy if he manages to dislocate them.

"Yes," he grunts, and you don’t know if he’s responding to you or himself. "Who knew these little arms could hold such force?" The questioning lilt in his rasp went up several levels.

Since your elbows are in his grasp, he has your torso tilted towards the sky of the arena, the black sun baking into your tanned Caladanian skin. 

You hear the deep chanting of the crowd, pulsing through you like a hymn. A smear of colourless shapes moving up and down. All you see is white spreading into your eyelids—your vision is pure, crystal white. Your head lulls back as it rolls back onto his wide shoulder.

And what he utters next is truly alien.

"Let me see those eyes, Caladanian." Feyd-Rautha croaked. It was a gruff, choked sentence, like it slipped out of him by accident.

What?

A weird feeling settles in the pit of your stomach, flip-flopping at his words.

For fuck sakes, the sick fuck is getting turned on by this. Harkonnens..

A silent weight hangs in the air. And for a moment you both don't move.

A flood of emotions wells in you, like an electric charge.

Albeit in pain, you take advantage of the changed atmosphere.

Your knees are trapped, stuck together like a sweaty mass between his thighs. Your head that was stagnantly leaning on Feyd-Rautha's shoulder now aggressively dips down and slams up into his face, head-butting him and taking him slightly off guard.

Feyd makes an animalistic noise, and something changes in his face.

He smashes your skull into the sand, and you desperately claw at the air, gyrating your body like a sandworm. The impact stuns you, and your vision runs fuzzy. Your brain feels like it's splitting. You see green, blue and pink hues. Strong hands are felt touching you, shaking you out of your reverie.

With feverish disgust, you realize that the Na-Baron is kneeling at your back, hovering over your form.

You feel his palm pat. Once. Twice. Thrice. On your mid-back. He rubs your heaving back in a mock-soothing gesture as you gasp inwardly, sucking in the polluted Geidi Prime air like it was your last time breathing, feeling the air barely satisfy you, feeling like you didn't have enough.

"That has to hurt," he purrs. His hand is warm on your back, rubbing. Your eyes widen with horror.

You cough, hacking now. Taking long, deep breaths. If you could just...

He continues rubbing, and you're glued to the ground.

Your chest betrays you and continues to huff and puff audibly, he must hear everything. It’s screechy, your lungs are burning. His hand movements somehow relax you, which may be considerably fucked up. He hums, satisfied, deep in his chest, the sound making you stare at the ground in confusion.

He stills his caring hand on your heaving back and glides it to the base of your neck, plunging your head into the sand, again and again, not giving you any leniency now.

Well, that didn’t last long.

Your head is concussed, sending short, stabbing pains like a tidal wave to your brain.

You flail wildly, kicking back and upwards, your shoes colliding with his body.

He scoops your short locks in one fluid motion, your scalp searing at the sensation. He removes the grip on your hair to fully cradle your face, whipping you around to face him. Your body is limp, nearly falling to the ground, save for your face firmly held in place by Feyd-Rautha.

"Up we go, no sleeping now." he remarks darkly as his gaze settles on you.

Your throat is bone dry, your lips so swollen and puffy from the gushing blood flowing out of your nose. It's definitely broken this time. But you're numbing out now, slowly, and every so often you see those beautiful, vibrant colours again, shimmering despite the bleached atmosphere. It's such a miraculous sight that it makes you smile dumbly... you're finally happy.

A stinging SMACK knocks your face to the side, and you falter in his grip, eyes widening.

Your shock quickly transforms to frustration as hot, angry tears spill from your eyes.

"Fuck you!" And you violently shove your thumbs into his eye sockets, filled with rage. You dig in with all your might.

Your intrusion makes him stumble, and you both messily fall over. Your body falls into his broad chest, the armour knocking against your worn clothes. By now, the rags have slits all along it, from your near misses with Feyd's blade.

You knock him over onto his back so that you're straddling him, your hands sinking into his eye sockets.

His eyes are fucking gleaming now with delight.

"Yes. Take my vision. End me now." He heartily begs, and his mocking face is seemingly drinking you in, in admiration, despite your thumbs digging into eyes. It’s like he can see past them, and you shiver involuntarily.

His hands and Crysknives lay at his sides, in a strange display of submission. You can see the black teeth behind his lips, widened with glee.

His enthusiasm under these circumstances made you pay far too much attention to his face and miss his ulterior motives.

As you’re about to increase the pressure even more, a Crysknife appears in your vision, like a figment of your imagination—before it’s buried to the hilt in your upper thigh.

You cry out, shrieking, throwing your head back in agony.

The sudden onslaught makes you fall backwards in pain. His blade is still buried to the hilt, tendons throbbing. Only the handle is sticking out, like a thorn in your tendons.

Pulling the blade out right now would be a risk to cause further damage to your blood vessels and nerves. This would lead to rapid blood loss. You couldn’t do that right now.

Immediately, you move. You start to drag yourself—by instinct, fight-or-flight, you don’t know. 

You grit your teeth as you manage to find the strength to reach inside your thigh for your hidden blade, letting your hand grasp on the emerald green handle, pretending to cradle your injured thigh.

You keep it there as you continue to drag yourself.

"You've impressed me a great deal," Feyd-Rautha rasps. The unusual deep raspy tone reverberates through your eardrums somewhere above you.

Something inside you quivers at the revelation.

You know it’s best not to believe any of the drivel that spews from his mouth.

Curiously, he’s standing there, the white of his eyes veiny and visibly red from the press of your thumbs a moment ago.

Playing with his now singular Crysknife, tapping his fingers along the stretch of the blade—making no move to attack you. 

Then a thought occurs to you. Feyd-Rautha wanted you to survive. Butchered and bloody, still barely hanging on. He wanted to see you at your emotional breaking point. Writhing and begging for his mercy, begging for your life. The sick fuck derives pleasure from it.

So you say the complete opposite of what he's expecting.

"I want to die," the level of your drawl is barely heard over the crowds chants and shouts booming through the stadium. And you wonder if he can hear you at all.

You drag your aching body towards him, the hidden knife in your hand still clenched thoroughly, stapled to your inner thigh. Your eyes feel raw, chaffed with sand, burning. They flutter as they try to remain open. But you use your eye muscles to slowly turn your face upwards from the ground, eyes searching for his.

"I want you to hurt like I hurt," you carefully fabricate your trembling voice, peering up at him behind your full lashes. Testing him, you spit vehemently on his black boots, emphasizing your point.

The sheen of it glistened in the black and white atmosphere, slightly outlined in a pinkish hue. You're determined to feast your eyes on him, to look as enticing as ever. You use your tongue to push the blood out from inside your mouth, in efforts to trigger his bloodlust. Blood dribbles down your chin onto the murky pits, stained from you.

The world shifts as you take your chance.

His black mouth opens wide in a gleaming smile. His interest is piqued.

His pale hand suddenly darts out to grasp your dribbling face. "What a magnificent sight."

His thumbs trace along your bloodied chin. The fresh blood stains his fingertips, and you couldn't place the emotion that was there. Wide, perplexed eyes settle on you. His mouth was not upturned, but in a hard line. His orbs were staring right through you. 

The seriousness of his mouth with the stimulated look in his eyes unsettled you. "Look at the blood of this fighter." He croons.

You pretend to struggle with rapid head movements to dislodge your head from his grasp. He only holds it there tighter. Now you show off your crimson stained lips, pouting in dismay.

Guard down.

He leans down, looming over you as he studies you. As you initially remembered, his ebony armour suit covered his body in an efficient way, everywhere except his ever-exposed face and neck.

His thumb moves from your chin to your full, battered lips.

You make your eyes as pathetic as possible, pleading. He tilts his head in fascination, and you beg.

“Please..”

You feel his thumb stutter on your bloodied lips at the sound, and his eyes blacken at once.

Bingo.

His enraptured pale face is the closest thing to you, and you don’t waste a minute before plunging the blade into the skin of his cheek, tearing through the flesh.

He roars, and you think the blade nicked his teeth as you hear a click.

There it is again: the change. His smirking, bemused face is wiped clean and replaced with a demonic, empty expression. 

You’re suddenly gathered in his arms, and he slams you against the nearest arena wall. You struggle against him, shouting your protests. His forehead presses to yours—your heartbeat pounds. His magnetic probing eyes are otherworldly as they obliterate the world around you, and it’s claustrophobic. 

You writhe and shake in fear, doing everything in your power to throw him off you. You punch him in the nose with a crunch. You punch him again in the face, sending it reeling. Your other hand chops aggressively at his cheek, downward, your palm bruised by the handle of the blade, wanting it to rupture. But all he does is laugh cruelly at you, his eyes glinting.

He withdraws the blade out of his cheek, tensing as he does it. You hear it hit the ground with a clang. He then grasps the handle jutting out of your thigh, wrenching it out.

Your muscles scream. But your voice doesn’t, in shock. He whips the blade away, throwing it to the side.

His tar-like mouth is drooling saliva and blood, panting into your shell-shocked face. Drool hits your chin as devious gaze envelops you, forehead digging into yours.

Your eyes glaze over and your belly flutters at that, mind completely wiped.

Blood begins to trickle—no, outpour from your wound.

You struggle to hold your balance, barely propping up your form.

He falls to his knees then, using his hands to steady you, snaking his arms down your calf. He stops on your ankle, wrapping his pale fingers around it, his other hand clutching the heel of your shoe.

Your blood runs ice cold. You whimper.

“Hush," he coos. "This is what happens when you volunteer to get slaughtered, rodent." 

He grasps your ankle, and turns it sharply, the movement emitting a sickening snap, the pain is ice hot, the guttural scream ripping through your chest emits such a frequency...

That the crowd goes silent.

His bulbous eyes are wide as saucers, his evil coming off in waves as he mockingly consoles you, tutting. “Such a delectable sound, so beautiful.”

The colour is drained from your face.

“Not much longer, I swear...”  he moans, about to grab your ankle again.

And now it's your hands that are on his face, clasping his jaw in desperation as you tilt his chin upwards.

"You don't get to fucking do this." You hold his head in your hands as you stumble with your words.

You don't miss the amused expression on his blackened teeth, and, ever so slowly, his hands come to rest on your hands that are cradling his face. His eyes are on fire. Your hands are on fire at his touch.

He tilts his head curiously. "My, my..."

He keeps your grip there. And the eye contact is too much.

He slowly takes your hands down, trying to pin them to your sides, but you aren't going without a fight again. Your worn muscle strains to keep them planted on his jaw, and you’re the one who’s grinning like a maniac now, thumbs digging into the corner of his mouth, stretching that god awful black mouth open.

He chuckles knowingly, his stretched smile guttural, sounding as if Satan himself had spawned. 

"You are special, aren't you?" He pauses to consider your gushing, bloody mess of a face. The deep baritone husk of his voice is sickly sweet. "Even with everything beaten out of you,"

You can't believe how vile and how utterly deranged and twisted this man was to be toying with your anguish and consuming it like a life force. Like it makes him stronger, all the better off to treat your broken soul as a means to an end. 

You tell him this. You tell him exactly now you feel, past the point of caring. You are out-of-body; you are not even attached anymore, shattered beyond repair. 

“Fucking piece of shit," Your voice is hoarse from your screaming, dryer than the desert wastes. You want to see his face as it contorts, need to see him receive your insult as harsh as it was intended. 

His face doesn't seem to register what you said. His pale head merely drops out of your hands to be level with your ankle again as it twitches in his scratchy and cut-up, war-torn palms, your soft skin supple in comparison.

Your ankle is yanked in one swift, fluid motion, and you know he heard you. The pain is making you see starry, glittery speckles as your eyelids flutter close. 

Death is near.

The crowd says it. That's them. That must be them. All of their voices sound like a chorus—a church choir—as you float in and out of consciousness. 

You don't know how long you've been yanked forward; you swear you've been to the end of the arena, doing laps around Feyd-Rautha. 

Running in a diagonal line, weaving through him. Mother would be proud.

But no, something is heavy, rooting you to the ground and sitting on your chest, weighing you down like a cinder block.

The flaps on his black armoured legs are covering your face in the struggle; his knees are pressed into your cheeks as he gathers your arms, both of them against his chest, holding them to him like floppy string beans.

You push against him, “Fucking Harkonnen scum!" Your anger rips out of your throat; your hatred is not reserved anymore; it’s open, bearing witness for the crowd to see.

“You forget yourself,” Feyd-Rautha sneers down at you as he collects your flailing limbs in his palms. “Your beauty is the only thing saving you at this point.” 

His words strike right at your heart, your chest tightening in dread.

Beauty?

But there’s something else there, amongst the terror. Something you don’t want to acknowledge, and in the desecration of your soul, you feel yourself, your whole body, flush. 

You panic at your sickened thoughts, and you dip your head up to see your jello-like arms captured by Feyd-Rautha. Your broken ankle lies horribly twisted. Your anguished, throbbing limbs and fresh wounds are seeping with agony. And your bones—your bones ought to be mush by now. 

Exhaustion has caught up to you. You've ignored it for so long... so long.

Trying to prove yourself.

Your eyes flutter close.

“Closing your eyes isn’t going to make this go away,” the rough, taunting voice of Feyd-Rautha sends a jolt through your body.

You tighten your eyes harder. 

Let me rest. Let me take a rest from you.

“I said-” His voice was malevolent, husky. “I need to see those eyes again.”

Your eyes fly open, just in time to see his blackened mouth now hovering over yours, his proximity making your body go rigid. His chest is weighing you down, his body caging you.

His dark, gleeful expression seems to ruin you as your nose grazes his. Your heart sings. 

No. This is wrong.

“What are you doing?” You don’t believe your own protest as it spills out of you. Your heart is hammering out of your chest.

The palm of his hand slid over your tattered shorts, over the skin of your hip bone. Goosebumps rise at his touch, and he smiles at that, his wet tongue swiping over his black teeth in perverse fascination.

“How utterly brave,” he whispers, his eyes lit aflame as they locked on yours. He drags a finger down your temple, cheek, and finally lets it rest on your jaw, his touch burning like a brand. “A hero amongst them. One that isn’t afraid to be broken. One that welcomes it.”

“Harkonnen-” your protest dies in your throat when you suddenly feel his tongue dart out to lick the blood gathering at the corner of your mouth. 

You freeze. Your eyes widen as he licks it clean. The black pit of his mouth draws closer, and you’re sinking. Your stomach flips upside down. His tongue slithers into your mouth, an overflow of warmth flowing in your belly. You can’t think... You can’t feel. His lips are surprisingly soft as they obliterate you.

He tastes metallic, with a hint of black liquorice. 

Your body shakes like a leaf in his arms—the nerves overflowing. He deeply chuckles, the sound reverberating in your mouth, as his tongue punches yours, darting around and around. Your thoughts are so muddied you sigh and you’re kissing him back with feverish passion. He groans at that.

His hand is splayed over your abdomen, and you feel the cool sensation of his rings. Something snaps inside you. You break the kiss.

No, what am I doing, what am I doing, what the fuck am I-

"Wait-”

His hand trails lower and lower, settling on your pubic bone.

“I-” 

You're stuttering, scarlet red and flushed with humiliation.

“Shhhh..” His shushes are guttural, and a shiver runs up your spine.

Someone has to stop this, right? Th-They'll stop the battle right, once they realize this isn't a battle anymore.

You watch as his arms slide up and underneath your tunic, deep shame swirling in your belly as excitement and thrill courses through your veins from his attention.

They'll stop it, They can stop, I won't be made a fool of- no I won't-

His fingers' rings caress your ribcage, your skin pin-pricking with want. He traces carefully over every rib bone before pressing. Hard.

You yelp as you snap out of your reverie and dig your nails into his wrist, bucking wildly against him in an effort to get him off of you.

Why would they stop it? You're in the arena with a treasured and respected sociopath—their precious Na-Baron.

His hand slides down your shoulder, down the apex of your arm, goosebumps continuing to rise despite your flailing frame.

Your eyes encapsulated your undoing under Feyd-Rautha’s hard stare. He didn’t believe you for a second as he watched you flail about. His sickly eyes were large and expanding at your blatant but silent need.

"N-Na-Baron, you don't need to trouble yourself. I'm a peasant, worthless all around. Surely you wouldn't dishonour yourself...disrespect yourself..." Your ramble came in short gasps.

It sounded pitiful and sad to even your own ears.

Something flashes over his eyes in amusement as he considers you.

“Oh,” his rough voice muses. “But I do respect you, pet.” 

And at that, his ringed fingers cupped you, sliding over your nub.

Your face came alive, then. Like he had never seen. Your eyes swirl, cheeks flushed, pink mouth open—tormented by your enjoyment.

“So lovely,” he encouraged. You shuddered inwardly, your insides like a million shards of glass as his ink-stained teeth smiled down at you.

You’re unable to keep up with his ministrations. A sob wracks through you, the pleasure travelling the whole length of your skeleton down to your toes.

His hot mouth is moving over your collarbone as you struggle to punch him.

He hovers over you, brushing your resisting face with his fingers. He covers your angry fist and snatches it to his chest, holding it steadfast.

"Give in now, you poor thing."

Instantly, your eyes are sucked into his deep blue ones, as he quickens his pace. Flicking back and forth.

You cry out, arching into his chest.

His mouth opens in a mocking, seductive gleam, clearly loving your reactions.

“Can’t-” you think you go to another dimension, a cosmic shift as you try to make sense of what is happening to you.

“Can’t what?” He grovels, low and heavy. His hunger is apparent. His tongue makes a home in your ear, as your eyes roll back into your head.

Faster and faster, he demolishes your entire being, breaking you from the inside out.

You think you go to Caladan for a moment, maybe to Arrakis—your body flying as the pressure builds.

Somehow, in the midst of adrenaline, your battle instinct takes over, and you're able to roll on top of him, bringing his forearm that has disappeared in your trousers with you. 

You sit up straight—on top of him, shakily wrapping your hands around his throat.

A sinister laugh erupts from under you. Feyd-Rautha angles his flicking wrist so that it never leaves you, his free hand seizing the cleft of your hip completely still. Your body sputters in shock.

Your glassy orbs flicker over his angular, pale face like a hawk, stuttering with vulnerability, and he senses it.

He hoarsely speaks below you, his desire thick. “I need it, give it to me, I want it, I need you,”

His words hit you like dynamite as the pleasure amounted within you, tears in your eyes at the intensity of the moment. His bulbous eyes never left you, his black mouth opening at the sight of you in utter devotion. Your hands release from his throat.

Your defeated eyes are engulfed by his as you collapse onto his chest. You felt the throes of submission envelop you - needing, wanting to be under his scrutiny, his gaze. His armoured arms fastened you in his grip, anchoring your shaking form in his arms, holding you close.

His pale head went rest on your shoulder blade for a moment, then pulled you back to leer at you. 

This intimacy with.. him.

It could not be replicated through space and time.

Feyd-Rautha hauls your crumpled form to him, his white hand digging into your hip as he tosses one of your arms around his shoulders. He's doing most of the heavy lifting as you lean against him, depleted and brutalized. He’s walking you towards the stands.

Your face was caked with dirt and blood, swollen. You were numb - to his violence earlier, to his.. attention.   

A bellow is heard above. 

"Exquisite, nephew." The Baron nodded at the both of you, his enormous form like a boulder in the stands. “You lest come across a treat among the gutter like that in your lifetime.”

You turn away, your brow furrowing in disdain.

You feel a harsh slap to your cheek, the bite of it temporarily distracting you from your seething anger, but fuelling it nonetheless. “Look at my uncle when he’s addressing you.”

“Just kill me,” you gritted your teeth as you whisper at him, feeling debased, undignified.

His eye contact was immobilizing.

"Oh now you beg, treasure?" Feyd-Rautha says deeply, in awe. "When you've stopped fighting?"

You barely process the term of endearment as it shuts you up.

Feyd-Rautha holds your upper torso, forcing you to stand against him, squeezing your cheeks together as he inclines your face to his uncle.

Plump lips encase the shell of your ear, his hot saliva sending waves of.. something down your spine.

“You should be proud." Feyd grunted out. "I don't service those in the arena often, but when I do...”

He plays with your ribs, his fingers cold underneath your tatted and holey shirt.

“I make sure they are worthy of it, to add to the display,”

You know exactly what he means by serviced, and you feel mortified of the memory, knowing - The Baron, noble ladies and the noble men all have seen it. They must know that nothing is off limits for a sadist - you could imagine he tortured and serviced men and women alike - you doubt it mattered to him.

It was the Harkonnen Arena, everything for the ease of entertainment. 

Your protest was instant. “Go fuck yours-”

"Shut your mouth, pet, before I send you away to be a slave, the only worth you'll ever live." He threatened. "If you're to behave, you'll be here, training with me, for battle regularly.”

“I don’t blame you, nephew,” The Baron jeered from the stands. “How did you learn to move like that, girl?”

Feyd-Rautha’s mouth was open again—a tunnel of black tar. “Answer him.”

“A peasant never reveals their secret, my lord.” you bluntly say, not caring for the repercussions.

You hear Feyd growl in a warning before the Baron interrupts him, erupting in jolly, sick laughter. “Oh, what fun you’ll have with this one, nephew.”

“Indeed, uncle.” Feyd’s deep blue irises drink you in as he snatches you roughly.

Feyd-Rautha steps around the arena, presenting you to the people like a spectacle. He allows you your respect, holding you with your arms stretched like a splayed out starfish. The flat of his palm is pushing the centre of your spine.

You do feel like you’ve gone through hell as you hear the crowd roar in applause. You do feel like you’ve earned something. But you didn’t. You failed. Tears roll down your face.

Did I mother? Did I do it?

A flash of your mother’s caring eyes envelopes you. She nods, her angelic presence swarming around you.

“You did well, daughter.” A whisper. “I couldn’t have asked for better.”

She cradles your head in her hands, tilting your head to meet her warmth.

You grin, happiness enveloping you, grasping at her shoulders. You want to hold her, but you can’t. “Really, mother?”

“Yes, Caladanian." Her warm smile is pitch black. Her praise is false, a lie.

With a sick feeling, it’s his voice now whispering in your ears again, breaking you from your dreamy experience. 

Feyd-Rautha's chest is pressing into your bruised back as he holds you to him.. Can he.. let you keep speaking with your mother, just for a moment? Would he, if you followed orders, if you made no trouble?

“The honour you deserve, pet..” His thumbs wipe at your tears as they dribble down your sunken cheeks, but his face is devious. “I shall wash and clean you myself, and then you’re going to rest in my arms tonight,” His whispers aren’t of comfort, like hers—his voice is too brazen, too guttural.

His eyes are a bottomless pit as his hand travels to the base of your neck.

“I think you might be my favourite..” He squeezes, briefly cutting off your air supply and you sputter and cough.

You feel faint. A stream of water is forced down your lips, and you drink it, still coughing.

Your vision is hazy, and you decide it’s time to sleep. It’s like he’s rocking you back and forth, the length of your body dragging along the sand, back and forth and back and forth and-

Shushing you, soothing you, like a baby. 

Still hearing the crowd congratulate you, the deafening cries of the Harkonnen people clear in your eardrum, still feeling him grip you -

In your weakened state, a surge of lightning flows through your veins. From the gods, perhaps?

They’ve seen what you did; they’ve seen what you’ve endured.

There’s colour now in this bleak, desolate oasis. You’re the colour.

The black sun seemingly speaks as it encases your entirety. 

You have won, dear one. You have survived.

PART 1 PART 2

[rentenier3148]

Held Together By Memory

Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You both were torn from 1940s Brooklyn and remade into killers. But when memories begin to bleed through, a second chance is ignited.

Word Count: ~3.6k

Warnings: Fluff. Some smut. Angst. Slow burn (?). Some canon divergence for the plot. No use of y/n. Language (sorry Steve)

A.N: I've written fanfics before but that was a long time ago and not on here (wattpad was definitely something in the early 2010s...). I've been feeling inspired lately so I wanted to give it a go again, so this'll be my first time writing in over 10 years!

Chapter 2

✪──────•••──────✪

Brooklyn, New York - 1943

The morning sun slants over the rooftops, catching pavement and lending a glow to even the greyest parts of the city. The neighborhood is already alive with noise—kids playing stickball, radios blaring Benny Goodman, and somewhere down the block, Mrs. Caputo is yelling at her cat.

You're walking fast, your skirt fluttering with every step as you chase after the two silhouettes ahead of you.

"Bucky!" you call out, a little out of breath.

He turns, grinning—his hair slicked back just enough to look cocky, his uniform jacket slung over one shoulder. Steve, thin as a twig beside him, gives you a tired smile.

" Are you followin' us, sweetheart?" Bucky teases, slowing down so you can catch up. Bucky raises his eyebrow, his smirk widening as he tosses his jacket over his other shoulder.

"I'm not following, I'm supervisin'," you say with a sweet, mock-serious tone, reaching out to take his hand.

His fingers Curl around yours like it's the most natural thing in the world. That warmth—rough palms, familiar weight—it sends butterflies through your chest.

Steve chuckles behind you. "She's not wrong. If anyone can keep Buck from flirting with the recruiting nurse, it's you."

Bucky shoots him a look "Hey! I was just bein' polite last time okay?" Then he leans down toward you, voice a little softer. "But... you supervisin' me now? That official?"

The street starts to open up ahead. Just down the block, you can already see the line forming outside the enlistment center. The building looms like a symbol of everything that's about to change.

Bucky's hand tightens around yours—just for a second. He huffs a laugh, shaking his head like you've just knocked the wind out of him—in the best way.

"It is now, Sergeant Barnes," you say with a cheeky little grin, bumping your shoulder into his arm.

He gives you that look—the one he only ever gives you. the one that softens the edge of his cocky smirk and lingers a little too long, like he's memorizing your face even as he laughs.

"You know," he murmurs, lowering his voice so Steve doesn't hear, "if I'm goin' off to war with that in my head... might be the only reason I survive it."

Ahead, the line's moving slowly. Posters flap against the brick walls: "I Want YOU for U.S. Army", "Loose Lips Sink Ships". Every few seconds, the door cracks open and another hopeful soldier walks in—some proud, some scared stiff.

Steve exhales deeply. He looks pale but determines. Bucky squeezes your hand, then lets go as they step up next in line.

Just as Bucky takes that first step forward toward the door, you reach out—fingers brushing over the fabric of his sleeve. He stops instantly, turning back to you like your touch alone carries more weight than the sergeant waiting inside.

His eyes scan your face, and for a second, Brooklyn noise fades. You don't know what to say. there's so much in your chest it's hard to untangle a single sentence.

but before you can get the words out—

"Careful, Buck," Steve pipes up behind him, his voice dry, laced with that quiet Brooklyn humor. "She might be tryin' to get you outta this with those puppy eyes again."

Bucky glances over his shoulder, grinning. "Wouldn't blame her. Look at me—how could she not?"

Steve groans. "If I throw up, I'm blaming both of you."

You laugh through the tightness in your chest. Then you life your gaze to Bucky's, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Promise me you'll come back. I don't care how tired, how bruised, how broken—just come back."

Bucky's smile fades into something real. Something raw. He leans in just slightly, his forehead brushing yours.

"I will. I swear, doll. For you? Always."

The door creaks again. It's their turn.

Bucky lets go. Steve offers you a small, kind nod before stepping through the doorway.

And then—They're gone inside.

✪──────•••──────✪

You lean against the brick wall, sliding down slowly until you're perched on the edge of the curb. You open up your top handle bag and see your cigarette box. You quit a couple days ago and with the anxiety building up inside you, you're tempted.

You close the bag the same time the door behind you shuts again. Another boy walks in. Another maybe never coming out the same.

A presence leans over you, "psst!"

You glance behind you.

It's Virginia "Ginny" Russo—short curls tucked under a scarf, wearing a too-thin coat and scuffed boots. Her eyeliner's smudged like maybe she cried earlier, but her chin's lifted like she's daring the world to say something about it.

She flops down beside you without waiting for an invitation.

"Mind if I join you?" she asks, already lighting it. "Tommy just went in."

You nod, offering a soft smile. "Bucky and Steve too."

Ginny leans her head against the brick. "They all act like it's no big deal. Like they're walking into a bar and not the army."

You give a big sigh, wishing you didn't quit smoking so that you can calm down. "Bucky swore he'd come back."

Ginny didn't quit however, she flicks her cigarette box open and lights up one. She exhales smoke, "Mine did too. Ain't it funny how promises sound easier when you're not on the battlefield yet?"

You glance sideways at Ginny, flicking ash into the gutter.

"Didn't expect Tommy to enlist," you say, genuinely surprised. "He always seemed more like the jukebox-and-pool-hall type. Not exactly the... you know. Rifle and foxhole kind."

Ginny laughs—short and breathy, like it caught her off guard. "You and every damn person on the block." She shakes her head, eyes fixed ahead. "he said it hit him when that telegram came for his cousin. Said he couldn't sit around playin' poker while other people were dying."

You nod slowly, letting the words settle in the space between you.

She glances at you then, eyes narrowing just slightly. "And what about you, sweetheart?" Her voice softens. "How're you holdin' up with Bucky goin' in?"

You hesitate for a moment.

"I'm scared." The words came out before you can overthink them. "Not just for him getting hurt. I'm scared he won't come back the same. That he'll see things that'll change the way he looks at me. Or... that maybe one day he'll stop writing, and I'll be stuck memorizing the last letter like it's gospel."

Ginny's quiet for a beat, then she nudges your arm with her. "Bucky Barnes? Forget it. That boy'd take on the whole war just to keep your name on his tongue."

You try to laugh, but your throat feels tight.

"He held my hand," you murmur, your voice a little distant now. "Right before he went in. And he said he'd come back for me. Swore it."

Ginny looks at you long, like she's weighing your words with her heart.

"Then he will. That's the kinda man he is."

Behind you, the door to the enlistment building creaks again. You both freeze, heads turning. It's not Bucky, Steve or Tommy. Just another boy with shaking hands and a fresh set of papers.

The wait stretches on.

✪──────•••──────✪

After a long while, the door to the enlistment building creaks again.

This time—two figures step out, blinking into the sunlight.

It's them.

You and Ginny lock eyes the moment you spot them—and just like that, you're giggling like schoolgirls caught passing notes in church.

"Quick, act like we weren't just planning weddings and naming future babies," Ginny says, stubbing out her cigarette on the pavement.

"Too late," you grin. "Pretty sure Bucky can smell my heart beating from across the street while Stevie is puking somewhere."

You both straighten your skirts, smooth your hair like it matter, then fall into step together with practiced ease—the kind of walk that says we're calm, composed, not at all the mess we were two minutes ago.

Steve spots you first and gives you a sheepish wave, already loosening the collar of his shirt. He looks pale but proud.

Bucky... his eyes find yours before anything else.

And there it is again—that look. The one where the whole world falls away and it's just the two of you in the middle of a Brooklyn street like something out of a movie reel. The corner of his mouth lifts just slightly.

He's trying to act casual. But his eyes are loud with relief.

"So?" Ginny pipes up, folding her arms as you reach them. "Are we gettin' our army husbands or what?"

Steve chuckles, "they said we passed. We ship out soon."

Your breath catches—just for a second. But you don't let it show.

Bucky slips his hand into yours like he never wants to let go.

"Didn't think they'd take ol' Stevie here," he jokes, but his thumb is tracing little circles against your palm. "But we're in. Both of us."

Ginny whistles low. "Well, look at you two, all drafted and dangerous."

Steve grins. Bucky looks at you.

"You alright, doll?" he asks softly.

You swallow the ache in your throat and press a soft smile to your lips—one just for him.

"I'm proud of you," you say, steady despite the tremble trying to creep into your voice. "Both of you."

Bucky looks like he's trying to memorize that exact expression. "You sure?" he murmurs.

You nod. "Doesn't mean I'm not gonna miss you like hell, but... yeah. I'm sure."

He brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles like you're something precious. And for a second, Brooklyn fades again.

Then—the door creaks behind you.

Tommy Delaney steps steps out, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders squared with a new kind of weight. He stops Ginny and gives a two-fingered wave, that goofy grin plastered across his face like he didn't just sign his whole life over to Uncle Sam.

Ginny stares for a beat—then sighs, a half-laugh, half-exhale of disbelief.

"Well," she mutters to you, brushing her curls back and fixing her scarf, "there goes my last nerve."

She turns to you and wraps you in a tight hug, her voice soft in your ear. "I'll see you soon. Real soon. We'll keep each other sane, yeah?"

You nod, hugging her tighter. "Yeah. We'll need it."

She pulls back with a wink. "Tell Bucky to write, or I'll come knockin'. And if he doesn't marry you the second he gets back, I swear-"

You laugh through the lump in your throat. "Go get your soldier, Gin."

She turns and walks toward Tommy, Her hand slipping easily into his.

And just like that—you're alone again with Bucky and Steve, the wind tugging gently at your skirt, the sun already starting to dip.

you glance up at Buck, your fingers still laced with his, and your voice drops to something small and almost fragile.

"When do you leave?"

His smile falters just a little. Like he was hoping you wouldn't ask—at least not yet.

Steve looks away, giving you both a bit of space as he pretends to study a bus schedule that hasn't changed in months.

Bucky sighs through his nose, thumb brushing the inside of your wrist.

"They gave us a week," he says softly. "Seven days, then we ship out."

Seven days.

It sounds both like a blessing and a curse. Enough time to hold him tight and make memories—but also just long enough to feel it when he's gone.

"I was hoping for more," he admits. "But... I'll take every second i can get if it means I'm with you."

The wind picks up again, carrying the scent of hot pretzels and cold iron. Somewhere, a kid shouts in the distance. Life keeps moving—oblivious.

You take a small step closer, your hand is still warm in his.

"Then let's make them count," you whisper, eyes searching his like you're trying to carve this moment into memory. "All seven of them."

Bucky stares at you a beat, like he's fighting the urge to fall into you right then and there. Then he smiles—soft and real—and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch featherlight.

"Yeah," he says. "Let's make 'em count."

Steve clears his throat gently behind you, rocking a little on his heels.

"Hey," he says, with that boyish smile that never quite hides the gentleness behind it. "I should be headin' home. Can't wait to tell Ma the news. I'll catch you two tomorrow?"

You both nod. Bucky gives him a friendly clap on the shoulder.

"We'll find you, punk," he says with a grin.

Steve rolls his eyes but smiles wider, gives you a small wave, and disappears into the crowd with that familiar, careful gait.

And just like that—

It's just you and Bucky again.

Bucky glances at you with that crooked grin that always makes your stomach flutter, like mischief and affection were stitched into the same smile.

"Wanna go to the diner?" he asks, voice light, but there's something soft behind it. "Your usual booth, your favorite milkshake—on me."

Your eyes light up. "Like you even need to ask."

✪──────•••──────✪

The bell over the door jingles as you step inside. The smell of grilled cheese and malted shakes wraps you like a memory. the lighting's soft, warm. Your booth's still open—like it waited for you.

You slide in, and Bucky follows, sitting close enough that your knees brush under the table. He orders before you can—"One strawberry milkshake, extra whipped cream, and a black coffee."

The waitress smirks like she's seen it all before. Probably has.

There's a lull between the clinking of plates and the low hum of a radio playing softly in the background. You glance at Bucky, noticing the way his brow together slightly, like he's chewing on something.

He finally speaks.

"I got to tell you something," he says, voice quieter now. "About Steve."

You sit up straighter.

He shifts, his fingers toying with a sugar packet. "They didn't accept him. Again. Said it was the asthma, and he's too small. He tried to brush it off, and I know him. He's breakin' on the inside."

Your heart aches. Steve—so brave, so full of fire, and still always being told he's not enough.

Bucky leans closer, lowering his voice.

"But today, I saw him talkin' to some guy. German I think. I overheard him sayin' somethin' about a 'super soldier serum program.' Said Steve was perfect for it."

You blink. "Perfect?"

Bucky nods, clearly still shaken. "Apparently, they're lookin' for someone with guts. Not muscle. Heart. And you know Steve... He's got more of that than any of us."

You're still trying to process it when he leans back with a sigh, shaking his head.

"Still don't trust it. Feels shaky. Government pokin' around with science like that? And with Nazis in the mix? Fuckin' Nazis, always lookin' for some unnatural way to win a war."

He glances at you again, this time a little more protective.

"If anything happens to Steve... I swear to God..." He trails off, clenching his jaw.

Your milkshake arrives—bright pink, extra whipped cream—and the weight of the conversation hangs between you both. You pick it up, taking a long, thoughtful sip—extra whipped cream brushing your lip—and then glance sideways at Bucky with a smirk curling at the corner of your mouth.

"Well..." you start, voice lilting with just enough mischief to catch his attention, "if Steve turns into a super soldier, he better not get taller than you. I'm already the short one here, Buck. I refuse to be the shrimp in the middle."

Bucky snorts mid-sip of his coffee, nearly choking. He sets the mug down with a grin, eyes crinkling. "You? Shrimp? Please. You've got more spine than either of us."

You shrug with mock modesty. "Spine, maybe. Height? I'm workin' with dollhouse dimensions here."

He laughs fully now, that soft, real kind of laugh that makes his eye light up and his whole face soften. He reaches over, thumb swiping a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth.

"God, I love you," he murmurs, like it slipped out without warning—natural and inevitable.

He freezes the moment he says it.

You feel your breath catch. The silence around the booth is so sudden, so complete, that even the radio's gentle hum seems miles away.

Bucky blinks, realizing what he said, and clears his throat.

"I mean... I didn't mean to blurt it out like that. I just..." He looks up at you again, eyes steady. "I do. I really love you."

You laugh—softly, gently—as if the weight of his words settled right into your chest like they'd always belonged there. You smile is full of warmth and wonder, eyes shining as you set your milkshake down with care.

"You know," you murmur, tilting your head slightly, "I always knew."

Bucky raises an eyebrow, caught somewhere between surprise and bashful defensiveness. "Knew what?"

You reach across the table, lacing your fingers with his. "how madly in love with me you are, Sergeant Barnes."

He exhales a half-laugh, eyes flicking down your joined hands, cheeks flushed just enough to make your heart flutter all over again.

"I'm not exactly subtle am I?"

"Not even a little," you tease, but then your voice softens as you add, "and I love you too, Bucky. with everything I got."

He looks at you then—really look at you—and it's like the world narrows down to his booth, your fingers tangled in his, and the strawberry milkshake slowly melting between you.

"You're gonna wreck me, doll," he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, reverent and unhurried. "I ain't even gone yet, and I already miss you."

You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling and breaking all at once.

Outside, the sky's gone deep blue. Streetlights flicker on. You glance outside—the diner window blurred slightly with condensation, the street glowing gold under the streetlamps—and then back at Bucky.

"Walk me home?' you ask softly, already knowing the answer.

Bucky doesn't say anything right away—he nods, rising from the booth and reaching for your handlike it's instinct. You take it, of course, fingers fitting perfectly in his like they were made to. Like they always have.

he holds the door open for you as the bell chimes overhead, and you both step out into the cool night air. The streets are quieter now. Most of the kids have gone inside. Shops closing. But Brooklyn still hums, low and familiar.

your heels click gently against the pavement. Bucky slows his pace to match yours—not that he ever really had to.

For a long stretch, neither of you speak. His thumb rubs slow circles into the back of your hand. You pass old stoops and shuttering stores, streetlights causing your shadows long across the sidewalk.

finally he speaks, his voice low and close.

"You know, if the world was different... I'd marry you right now."

"the words stop you in your tracks. You look at him, eyes wide, heart thudding so hard you swear he can hear it.

bucky smiles, soft and sincere.

"No ring, no priest, just you and me and the moonlight. And I'd mean every damn word."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear again like he always does when he wants to say I adore you without actually saying it.

You look up at him, the streetlight painting golden halos around his dark hair, and for a moment, all the noise in the world goes still. Your voice is a whisper, but it carries everything you've been holding in your chest.

"Then promise me—" your fingers tighten gently around his, "when you come back, you'll ask me for real."

Bucky steps in closer, both hands now cradling your face like you're made of something unbreakable and holy all at once. His forehead leans into yours, and for a second, you feel his breath as he speaks.

"I promise," he whispers, firm, unshaking. "When I come back—first thing I do is ask you to be mine forever."

He presses a kiss to your forehead—slow, reverent—like it's the only thing anchoring him to the world.

✪──────•••──────✪

You and Bucky slow as you reach the stoop, his hand still wrapped in yours like he's reluctant to let go. The porch light casts a soft glow over the doorway, the quiet hum of the city buzzing low in the background.

You turn to face him, still holding his hand, your heart full to the brim with everything you couldn't say in words tonight.

And then—without hesitation and fanfare—you rise up on your toes, cup his jaw gently, and kiss him.

It's not rushed. It's not shy. It's the kind of kiss that says I love you, come back to me, and you're already mine all at once.

Bucky stills for a heartbeat before leaning into it fully, one hand at your waist, the other resting over yours like he's afraid to break the spell. His lips are soft, warm, tasting faintly of coffee and promise.

When you finally pull back, he's looking at you like you hung the stars above Brooklyn.

"Goodnight, Buck," you whisper, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone.

His voice is rough, full of everything he's feeling. " 'Night, doll. Sweet dreams alright?"

You nod once, stepping back toward the door slowly.

He waits until you're inside before he turns to leave. And even as the door clicks shut behind you...

You can feel him still.

✪──────•••──────✪

I had to edit and cut out so many parts from my original document because I'm so worried about it being too long and redundant but I think it's fine 😩

[baldurs-writers-3]

Crack fic! What is crack fic? An out there concept is basically all you need to get started, they can be silly or super serious, but the basic premisis is a bit oooh, 'out there'.

Enjoy!

You up? by dramatic_chipmunk (4638, Explicit) Content Notes: Premarital Handholding *le gasp* Pairings: Astarion/Tav

Smut but absolutely funny! Usage of every weird term for genitalia under the sun.

Join Astarion and Octavia in a passionate encounter filled with all of the ridiculous sexual euphemisms that the author could find.

Reccer 1 says: I cannot get through this fic without laughing. It's an absolute delight! Reccer 2 says: I've never laughed so much while reading a fic, this is crack done right I did not know what to expect when reading ridiculous sexual euphemism but I was not disappointed. It's steamy, hot, incredibly funny in all of the wrong and right places while still giving the characters their own voices and personalities Reccer 3 says: genuinely one of the funniest things I have *ever* read

corpses are blue, swamps are green by cryptic_dragon (10396, Explicit) Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-con Pairings: Auntie Ethel/Orin the Red

Two heartless predators meet and engage in a bit of posturing against one another, but while Orin’s idea of ‘posturing’ is posing her slain corpses to be as visually horrid as possible when discovered, Ethel’s looks more like something out of the kama sutra.

What if Auntie Ethel met Orin? Do you need more than that, really? :>

Reccer 1 says: cursed, unhinged, extremely well-written. still thinking about this one months later Reccer 2 says: Weird freaky monster sex AND LORE and WORLD BUILDING? Double win!! The author made it all seem so possible! Sure, they hate each other, but really, how far away from love is hate?

Only Fools Die Young by Tavylia Sin (3510, Explicit) Content Notes: None Pairings: Withers/Karlach

t4t Karlach/Withers! A completely serious crackship that utilises all the worst possible terms for sex and body parts possible.

An unexpected pairing which explores both characters as transgender, with a side of some awful innuendo and euphemisms for sex and bodies. Somehow, there's also a fair portion of emotion in the ship too!

Reccer1 says: The sheer amount of psychic damage it did to the author. Reccer2 says: somehow manages to be incredibly heartfelt, extremely horny, and terribly cursed all at the same time

#Sketchgate by Dramatic Chipmunk (11431, Explicit) Content Notes: None Pairings: Astarion/Tav; Astarion vs. Universe

Astarion deals with social media.

It all starts with a bald fan sketch. Then a law. Then a dick pic. Then a scandal that spirals so hard it enters orbit. With the internet against him, his PR agent on the verge of quitting, and his not-quite-lover Tav watching the chaos unfold, Astarion must face the ultimate enemy: consequences. Or: "A vampire’s guide to ruining your legacy in ten posts or less"

Reccer 1 says: It's amazing in every way. Reccer 2 says: Exactly how I would imagine Astarion getting cancelled on the internet in a modern twist of Baldur's Gate. Every time you think it can't get worst, it does, it''s like watching a car crash happen in real time and you root for it to keep going, I had to take pauses multiple times throughout because of how much I laughed. And the author went above and beyond with the writing and formatting making it a truly immersive experience

The Cursed Ships of Baldur's Gate by Amarilis_ancunin (155,275 words in 19 fics, Explicit) Content Notes: your sanity Pairings: So many you would not think of: Mystra/Nere, Barcus/Rolan, Withers/Minthara, The Emperor/Raphael, Balthazar/Dribbles

This is the crackfic collection that set a hundred burning ships a-sailing. An incredible collection of fun and wit and heart.

Reccer says: Incredible collection of off-the-wall pairings, worth the gaze just to wonder how the author came up with them all

Lovable Losers by patheticfangirl (66190, Explicit) Content Notes: A truly immense amount of obscene, ill advised sex acts, comedy Pairings: Astarion / Gale

In a love story for the ages, convicted felon Astarion and sad divorcé Gale get high on various drugs and have preposterous sex in preposterous locations. They will live happily ever after. Very loosely inspired by the song "I Want to Live" from BG3.

Reccer says: Any of patheticfangirl's crack work is gold, but this is one of the best "crack taken seriously" fics in the fandom. it starts off just bizarre and depraved but by the end it's so tender (while still being bizarre and depraved). The relationship dynamics are lovely.

The Interruption by Ankheg (1481, Explicit) Content Notes: Contains safe word use (respected) and explicit BDSM Pairings: Abdirak/Tav

Abdirak and Elorin are enjoying a common night of BDSM and pleasure, until something gets in the way... Written with wonderfully awful terms for sex and bodies, it's a fun slice of the dynamics between the characters.

Reccer says: I always love how Ankheg writes Abdirak, and the twist to this tale is simply delightful. It's hot, sweet, and more than a little silly - a perfectly balanced treat!

The Circus Came to Town by writesoftheratt (1781, Explicit) Content Notes: Pairings: Dribbles/Wyll

Dribbles/Wyll smut that is exactly what you would expect and then more so.

Reccer says: The dedication the author has to the theme!

the world's worst sleepover by bluestrawberry7 (2150, Teen) Content Notes: None Pairings: Halsin & Astarion & Minthara Baenre

Full elves only need to trance for four hours to complete a long rest, which leaves Astarion, Halsin, and Minthara to spend the other four together before everyone else is awake.

Reccer says: It's a great character study for three companions who rarely interact / can't stand each other. Really nails voice and tension.

Strange Highways by Nocryptographer (28939, Explicit) Content Notes: None Pairings: Cazador/OFC

The Ascension ritual goes wrong and Cazador gets isekai'd into our world, where he joins a heavy metal band.

Reccer says: Technically it's not a crackfic, but it started out as one. The original characters are the kind you can fall in love with and both the premise and the execution are very funny.

The Lord, the Thief, their Mistress & Fart's Lover by FartasticDurge, StrixAmans, VakarianSyndrome (5298, Explicit) Content Notes: None Pairings: Astarion/Astarion, Astarion/Tav

Obsession. Resentment. Uncertainty. Desire. These are just a few of the feelings that arise when Astarion looks at Astarion. The authors invite you to join them for a raunchy and chaotic romp with both Astarions and the shameless women who love them—and Statuestarion, of course. You will laugh. You will get wet. You might cry. And, with luck, you might even come.

Reccer says: I honestly didn't know what I was reading most of the time but only knew I wanted to continue. It's absurd on every level, super chaotic and incredibly funny

Off The Clock by NoCryptoGrapher (3915, Mature) Content Notes: None Pairings: Astarion/Cazador

Cazador Szarr, the CEO of a struggling IT company, needs to successfully complete just one last project before he can secure his early retirement days under the sun. Unfortunately for him, the key client is running a shady business, the team is a disaster, and one employee causes havoc with his questionable work ethics (and also his smile).

Reccer says: Hilarious, cute and very different from other Cazador/Astarion fics

Mind Blown by Daedrabait (1288, Explicit) Content Notes: Monsterfucking, unconventional penetration, tentacles Pairings: The Dark Urge/The Elder Brain

Durge and the Elder Brain have sex. That's it. That's the fic.

Reccer says: This is one of the most unhinged sex scenes I have ever read. It's filthy. It's wonderful.

Another Devil's Familiar by Wiloseal (2366, Explicit) Content Notes: NSFW, PWP Pairings: Korilla / Mizora

"Korrilla gets caught sneaking about camp by a certain devil. “Can't resist the faintest hint of a temptation, can you? I suppose that makes the two of us.” "

Reccer says: It was a pairing I'd never thought of before but it actually makes a lot of sense.

Courtship Rituals of the Oakwood Goldeneye by LulaMillay (3135, Mature) Content Notes: None Pairings: Halsin/Tav

A lonely ornithologist spends her nights applying for grants instead of engaging with her peers at the Emerald Grove Wetlands Animal Preserve. But when the famed and elusive waterfowl expert Dr. Halsin Silverbough seeks her out, she learns the unconventional theories that stalled her career may not make her a quack after all.

Reccer says: A truly original AU with silly puns and a lot of heart. Also a twist on "the bear scene" that is unlike anything I've read before.

Salami & Romance by FartasticDurge (4574, Explicit) Content Notes: None Pairings: Gale/Tav, Halsin/Tav

Deli didn’t mean to make a pact with an eldritch meat god—it just kind of happened. One minute she was joking about vengeance and waving around a salami, and the next, she was bound to a sentient, twitching meat weapon that may or may not whisper her darkest thoughts. Months later, she’s knee-deep in cursed temples, longing, and floating charcuterie boards, with Gale at her side and way too many feelings in her stupid heart.

Reccer says: It's hilarious in the most unexpected way, s with such ridiculous concepts

[patrixjia]

Velvet Chains (Part III)

Plot Overview:

Y/N is caught between her father’s crumbling empire and Chan’s rebellion. As she help Chan track down missing operatives, their bond grows, leading to a deadly confrontation that forces Y/N to question her loyalty. Chan offers a chance to dismantle her father’s empire, and though torn, Y/N chooses to join him, starting a dangerous journey to reshape their future.

Warnings: BangChan!Mafia, Mafia!AU, mature themes, emotional distress, angst, violence, dangerous situations, strong language, mental health struggles, (the smut will be in the next chapter🤭)

PART I, PART II, PART IV, PART V, PART VI, FINAL PART

Author note:

Well, well, well, look at us—third chapter in, and I’m still alive to tell the tale! 😂 This chapter? Yeah, it’s a beast. I’ve never written anything this long or complex, and honestly, I’m half-wondering if I’ve accidentally started writing an entire novel instead of just a chapter. But here we are, diving into some serious emotional roller coasters, plot twists, and the kind of chaos that makes me question my sanity.

I really hope you all enjoy this wild ride as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it (even if it has given me a few grey hairs along the way). Your support means the world to me! So buckle up, we’re just getting started. And, as always, drop me a comment if you’re loving or hating something—I’m here for all of it. Let’s keep this adventure going! ✨ Also, just a little heads up… the next chapter is going to get a little smuttier 😉.

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The first rays of sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, the muted warmth doing little to soften the chill that lingered in the room. You stretched, pushing off the weight of sleep with a growing restlessness. The space was luxurious but sterile, the kind of calculated opulence that screamed control rather than comfort.

When the door creaked open, breakfast was placed on a table near the window, and the figure delivering it slipped out as quickly as they’d come. You ignored it, slipping through the door before it could click shut. You weren’t going to spend the morning caged.

The hallways were quiet, the air filled with a faint hum of electricity. The mansion was sprawling but not ostentatious, its corridors lined with muted artwork and design choices that reeked of deliberation. It wasn’t your father’s world of obvious power and intimidation. It was colder. Subtler.

You found yourself wandering into a study. Unlike the other rooms, this one felt alive. A faint coffee scent lingered, mixing with the tang of paper and leather. A massive map dominated one wall, scattered with colored pins and strings. You moved closer, scanning the markings.

It didn’t take long to piece together what you were looking at. It was a blueprint of Victor’s empire—supply chains, strongholds, key distribution hubs. The red pins marked locations already compromised, while others, still green, pulsed with potential. A web of alliances and pressure points sprawled before you like an open wound.

You leaned forward, your eyes narrowing as they landed on a cluster of yellow-marked routes near the northern sector. The shipping lines there were irregular, crisscrossing in ways that screamed inefficiency. You could see where Chan’s strategy was stuck—his carefully laid plans bottlenecked by gaps he hadn’t yet closed.

Your fingers brushed across the documents scattered on the desk—financials, coded logs, surveillance notes. Victor’s empire wasn’t just cracking; it was being dismantled piece by piece.

“You’re full of surprises.”

The sound of Chan’s voice cut through the stillness, low and smooth. You straightened but didn’t turn. “And you’re full of shadows. How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to wonder if I should be worried.” His tone carried its usual casual confidence, but his eyes flicked toward the papers you’d been studying. “Finding everything to your liking?”

You turned, leaning back against the desk with deliberate nonchalance. “Interesting work. Though I can’t tell if the overcomplication is intentional or just your style.”

Chan stepped closer, his hands in his pockets, his gaze sharp as it swept over you and the map. “Overcomplication?”

You tilted your head toward the yellow routes. “You’re clogging your own lanes. The northern supply chain is built for redundancy, but instead of reinforcing efficiency, you’re creating a choke point. It’s obvious Victor did it to keep people guessing, but now you’re tripping over it.”

Chan’s eyes flicked to the map, and for the first time, he hesitated. “Interesting observation.”

“Observation? No. Solution,” you corrected, stepping toward the map. “You’re trying to seize control of both eastern and northern routes simultaneously. That’s why it’s falling apart. Drop the secondary lines from the north—they’re dead weight. Consolidate the flow into two hubs instead of four, and you’ll cut transit time by half.”

He stared at the map, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” you echoed, arching an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”

His gaze returned to you, sharper now, as if trying to read the thoughts you hadn’t spoken aloud. “Why are you helping me?”

You held his stare, refusing to flinch under the weight of his scrutiny. “Maybe I like a challenge.”

His smirk grew, slow and deliberate. “That’s not an answer.”

“No,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “It’s not.”

The room seemed to shrink under the tension, the air thick with unspoken questions. Finally, Chan broke the silence. “You know, if you keep showing off, I might start thinking you want a seat at the table.”

You crossed your arms, meeting his smirk with a wry one of your own. “Maybe I just like proving you wrong. You’re not as untouchable as you think, Chan. Your plans aren’t perfect.”

“And yet,” he countered, “here you are, improving them.”

You exhaled sharply, turning back to the map. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you could keep up.”

He chuckled, the sound low and amused. “And?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your smirk sharp as a blade. “Jury’s still out.”

Chan stepped closer, close enough that you could feel his presence but not enough to invade your space. “You’re still dodging my question, Y/N. Why help me? Are you so confident Victor can withstand it?”

Your jaw tightened at the mention of your father. “Maybe I’m not as confident in Victor as you think.”

That seemed to catch him off guard, though he quickly masked it. “Careful. That almost sounded like an admission.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you shot back, your tone lighter but no less firm. “I haven’t picked a side. Yet.”

The faintest flicker of something crossed his face—respect, intrigue, or perhaps a mix of both. “Fair enough,” he said finally. “But when you do, make sure it’s the right one.”

You laughed, the sound short and humorless. “And which side is that? Yours?”

“I’m not the one clinging to a crumbling empire,” he said smoothly. “I’m building something new. Something better.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any sign of deception, but all you found was unshakable confidence. It annoyed you as much as it intrigued you.

“Better is subjective,” you said finally.

“Then help me define it.” His voice dropped, soft but unyielding. “You’re smart enough to know the cracks in Victor’s empire can’t be patched. The question is, what do you want to see rise from the ashes?”

For the first time, you didn’t have an immediate answer.

Chan’s smirk returned, lighter now but no less self-assured. “Think about it,” he said, turning toward the door. “I’ll see if your suggestion works. But if it doesn’t…”

“It will,” you interrupted.

He paused in the doorway, glancing back with a grin that was equal parts challenging and amused. “We’ll see.”

The door closed behind him, leaving you alone with the map, the documents, and the weight of his words.

What do you want to see rise from the ashes?

The question lingered, unsettling and persistent.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure of the answer.

The days since the confrontation with Chan had been strange, to say the least. The mansion’s rhythm ebbed and flowed with calculated precision, as though every movement, every conversation, had been planned days in advance.

You spent your time exploring its sprawling halls, learning its rhythms, and testing your boundaries. The guards rarely spoke to you beyond clipped warnings when you wandered too close to restricted areas. You couldn’t tell if they were following Chan’s orders or acting out of their own wariness.

Chan, however, was different. He appeared only when he wanted to, catching you off guard with sly remarks and a confidence that made it clear he was always one step ahead. His teasing came with a sharp edge, but there was no denying the undercurrent of mutual curiosity between you.

You didn’t trust him, and he didn’t trust you. Yet, in those fleeting conversations, there was a spark—an understanding that neither of you were playing at full strength yet.

Then, one morning, the mansion’s calm shattered.

You’d been in the study, feigning interest in a book, when the sound of hurried footsteps caught your ear. The low hum of conversation from the hall was sharper today, clipped and urgent.

Moments later, Chan strode into the room, his usual composure marred by a tightness in his jaw. He moved with purpose, his focus so sharp that he didn’t acknowledge your presence.

“You’re upset,” you noted, setting the book aside.

He ignored you, striding to his desk and pulling up a screen.

Before you could push further, another figure entered the room: Changbin. His pace matched Chan’s intensity, his voice low and urgent as he spoke.

“Victor’s people hit the northern base,” Changbin reported. “They’ve taken out the comms tower. Felix and Hyunjin went dark an hour ago.”

Chan froze for a split second before his mask of control slid back into place. “Casualties?”

“None confirmed yet,” Changbin said. “But it’s not looking good. We have partial intel—they’ve shut down our local network, and the safe houses are at risk. If they’ve got Felix or Hyunjin…”

Chan exhaled through his nose, his focus razor-sharp. “Start evacuation protocols for the northern sector. Clear out the Graham location and put everyone in safe houses on standby. If they’ve been compromised, I want them out of there before Victor’s people can move.”

Your ears perked at the name, a chill running through you. “Wait—Graham and Sons?” you interrupted, stepping forward.

Both men turned to you, Chan’s eyes narrowing. “What about it?”

You frowned, your mind racing. “That’s not just a random location. It’s one of Victor’s decoy transport hubs. If you’ve got people stationed there, they’re already compromised.”

Changbin looked to Chan, his expression unreadable but tinged with suspicion. “You trust her?”

Chan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied you, his gaze intense. “How do you know that?”

“Because I grew up in this,” you shot back, folding your arms. “You think I don’t know the names he hides behind? Graham and Sons isn’t just a front. It’s bait. Victor uses it to lure out threats to his network—and he won’t hesitate to cut down anyone who gets too close.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Changbin crossed his arms. “And we’re just supposed to take her word for it?”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “Fine, don’t listen to me. But if you wait too long, Felix and Hyunjin won’t be unaccounted for—they’ll be dead.”

Chan’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then he turned to Changbin. “Pull everyone from Graham and cross-check her intel with what we’ve got. Double it with our sources on the ground. If it matches, we move.”

Changbin hesitated, clearly wanting to argue, but nodded. “On it.”

He left the room, and Chan turned back to you. His gaze was sharp, calculating. “Why help me?”

You didn’t flinch under his scrutiny. “Maybe I don’t want to see Felix and Hyunjin killed. Or maybe I’d rather not see my father win.”

Chan smirked faintly, though his eyes were still hard. “Still haven’t picked a side, have you?”

“Would you prefer I did?”

His silence spoke volumes.

“I’ll take that as a no,” you said, your voice dry.

He leaned back against the desk, his posture deceptively casual. “If your information is right, you’ll have saved lives today. If it’s not…”

"You think I’m lying?”

“I think you’ve got more cards to play,” he replied smoothly. “And I don’t trust people who keep their hands hidden.”

You stepped closer, your voice calm but firm. “Then maybe you should play smarter.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze locked on yours. Then his lips quirked into a faint smirk. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I aim to keep things interesting,” you replied, your tone light but with an undercurrent of steel.

Chan pushed off the desk, brushing past you toward the door. “Keep proving yourself useful, and maybe I’ll start believing you’re not working an angle.”

You watched him go, the tension in the room thick and charged. Somewhere out there, Felix and Hyunjin were waiting—caught in the web of a game far larger than either of them could control.

And for reasons you weren’t ready to name, you hoped you’d been right.

Later that evening the tension in the mansion was palpable, an undercurrent of urgency threading through every hallway. Chan had been holed up in his office since the crisis broke, and though you were technically “off-limits” to the ongoing operation, you’d found a way to keep yourself within earshot of every critical update.

The news wasn’t promising. Felix and Hyunjin were still unaccounted for, and the evacuation of Graham and Sons had only confirmed what you’d already suspected: your father’s people had the upper hand.

When Chan’s voice called your name from the hall, you half-expected him to demand that you stay out of his way. Instead, his tone was calm, measured. Too calm.

You pushed the door open to find him standing at his desk, surrounded by screens displaying live feeds, maps, and rows of encrypted data. Changbin hovered nearby, arms crossed, tension radiating off him in waves.

Chan gestured to you without preamble. “You’ve been watching long enough. Sit.”

You raised a brow, keeping your voice steady. “I didn’t realize you were taking suggestions.”

“I’m not,” he replied, his gaze fixed on you. “I’m testing you. You know your father’s network better than anyone in this room. Prove it.”

You stepped into the room, feeling the weight of both men’s eyes on you. Taking the chair across from Chan, you crossed your legs and leaned back, affecting a confidence you weren’t entirely sure you felt.

“Where’s the hole?” you asked, nodding toward the map on the central monitor.

Chan exchanged a brief glance with Changbin before turning the screen toward you. “Here,” he said, pointing to a blinking red marker. “Safe house near Monroe. Felix and Hyunjin were scheduled to meet there, but they never checked in. No comms, no movement.”

You studied the map, your mind working quickly. Your father’s security protocols weren’t just strict—they were obsessive. If his people had cut communication lines, it wasn’t just to block intel. They were setting a trap.

“They’ll have a fallback,” you said. “Felix and Hyunjin. If they know the area’s compromised, they’ll move to the secondary site.”

“We don’t have a secondary site near Monroe,” Changbin said flatly.

“Not yours. Victor’s,” you clarified.

Chan’s brow furrowed, interest flickering in his eyes. “Explain.”

You leaned forward, pointing at the map. “Victor doesn’t trust his own men, let alone outsiders. Every base, every safe house—he sets up redundancies, but not for the reasons you think. It’s not to protect his people. It’s to catch them if they run.”

“And you think Felix and Hyunjin would know about this?” Chan asked, his tone skeptical but curious.

“They wouldn’t have to,” you said. “Victor’s patterns are predictable once you know them. He keeps fallback locations close but hidden, somewhere his own men wouldn’t think to look unless they were desperate.”

Changbin’s frown deepened. “That’s a lot of guesswork.”

You shot him a look. “Do you have a better idea?”

Chan held up a hand, silencing the argument before it could escalate. His gaze stayed on you, sharp and probing. “What kind of fallback location are we talking about?”

You tapped your fingers on the edge of the desk, recalling the layouts you’d studied for years. “Something off-grid. An abandoned structure, maybe a warehouse. He’d want it close enough to monitor, but isolated enough that no one would stumble on it by accident.”

Chan nodded slowly, his mind already working through possibilities. “Changbin, pull up the satellite maps for the area. Focus on industrial zones or decommissioned sites within a five-mile radius of the Monroe house.”

As Changbin worked, Chan turned back to you, his expression unreadable. “Why help them?”

The question hung in the air, heavier than you’d expected. You could have given him a dozen answers—some practical, some calculated—but the truth was simpler.

“Because I can,” you said quietly. “And because I don’t know yet what side I’m on.”

He studied you for a long moment, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Suspicion? Respect? Maybe both.

Changbin’s voice broke the silence. “Got something. Old manufacturing plant, shut down five years ago. It’s less than three miles from the safe house, just outside the patrol radius.”

Chan nodded sharply, already moving toward the door. “Prep the team. We’ll leave in five.”

To your surprise, he turned back to you, his gaze steady. “You’re coming.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You know Victor’s traps better than anyone. If this is one of them, I want you there.”

“And if I’m wrong?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

Chan smirked, his confidence infuriatingly unshaken. “Then I guess we’ll both find out.”

You hesitated, your mind racing. Going with him meant stepping further into his world, further away from your father’s. It meant testing your loyalties in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for.

But it also meant a chance to prove you weren’t just a pawn in someone else’s game.

“Fine,” you said, rising to your feet. “But if this goes south, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Chan’s smirk widened, and for the first time, you saw something close to genuine amusement in his eyes. “Noted.”

As the team prepared to move, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment—this decision—was another crack in the foundation you’d spent your entire life standing on.

And you weren’t sure whether you were ready to see it fall.

The night had been long and tense. The team, guided by the plan you had proposed, moved quickly through the industrial zone. The dilapidated manufacturing plant you’d pinpointed turned out to be the fallback location Felix and Hyunjin had made for themselves. The security measures were minimal—just enough to keep outsiders at bay, but not enough to fool someone familiar with Victor’s tactics.

It was exactly as you’d predicted. Felix and Hyunjin had been trapped, but they hadn’t been caught. They’d already set up an escape route of their own, using an old underground access tunnel leading out of the compound.

As the operatives infiltrated the plant, you couldn’t help but feel a small rush of satisfaction. Felix and Hyunjin were safe—finally. The team worked in smooth coordination, securing them without any further casualties. You had been right all along.

“You were right,” Chan muttered as he surveyed the area with his usual stoic expression. It wasn’t much, but you caught the subtle shift in his eyes as he acknowledged your insight.

Felix gave you a tired but grateful smile. “Guess we owe you one.”

“Just don’t get caught next time,” you replied with a smirk, though the satisfaction of the mission’s success warmed something inside you.

But the victory was short-lived.

The atmosphere at the mansion had barely settled before the next wave of danger hit. As the operatives and the team returned, expecting a brief respite, a wave of alarms shattered the uneasy silence.

Chan’s hand flew to his earpiece, his voice hard as he barked orders to the team. “They’ve found us. Victor’s men are here.”

Your heart dropped as you turned to Chan, his eyes narrowing. “Get to the safe room. Now.”

Before you could even respond, the mansion was plunged into chaos. You moved quickly, following Chan and the team as they scrambled to reinforce key exits and prepare for a full-on assault. But even with the heightened security, the feeling of being hunted—of being trapped—was suffocating.

You had no time to think before the first round of gunfire hit, sharp and deafening, echoing through the halls. The mansion wasn’t just under siege; they were inside.

“Stay behind me!” Chan growled as he pulled you into a nearby hallway. You barely had time to register the sheer danger of the moment before you were crouched low, moving quickly as his operatives returned fire.

But then, in the chaos, everything seemed to happen at once. You ducked behind a pillar, narrowly avoiding a burst of gunfire. In the process, you twisted your ankle, collapsing to the ground with a painful grunt. Before you could recover, another round exploded too close to your position, a stray bullet grazing your arm.

You hissed in pain, clutching at your bleeding arm. You couldn’t focus on it; the only thing you could focus on was the sheer force of the attack. You barely heard Chan’s voice over the clamor of the assault.

“Stay down,” he barked, moving toward you with a fierce protectiveness that was uncharacteristic of his usual cold exterior.

But you didn’t have time to argue as he swept you into his arms, pulling you behind the nearest barricade. The calculated focus in his eyes never faltered. He was in command, but there was something else—an urgency to keep you safe that you hadn’t anticipated.

“Hold on,” he murmured, his voice tense as he checked your injury. You could feel his hands on you, pulling your arm gently to assess the wound. Despite the high-stakes situation, there was a tenderness in the way he moved, as though he wasn’t just trying to save you from harm—but from something deeper.

His fingers brushed your skin, an almost imperceptible gentleness in the midst of chaos. For a moment, it was just the two of you—the madness of the world outside and the calculated storm of gunfire drowned out by the shared connection.

“This won’t be the last time,” he said, his voice low as he wrapped your arm carefully, making sure the pressure was right. You could feel his fingers, light but deliberate, as he treated the wound. There was no rush, no panic.

For a brief second, you noticed something about him—something that wasn’t calculated or cold. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as though he cared more than he was willing to show.

“You’re fine,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his gaze steady, but his expression softened for just a moment. “You’re not dying on me.”

You blinked, the rawness of the moment catching you off guard. “You’re sure?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. For a moment, it was as if the world paused—if only briefly. The sounds of gunfire were a muffled background to the intensity of his focus. Then, without breaking eye contact, he tightened the bandage and stood, pulling you to your feet.

His voice was hard again as he guided you toward the nearest exit. “We don’t have time to talk. Let’s go.”

But even as you moved through the corridors, escaping the immediate danger, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the quiet moment shared between the two of you wasn’t one of simple survival. Something had shifted. Something unspoken.

And in the aftermath of the chaos, with the scent of blood and danger in the air, you realized you’d seen a side of Chan no one else had—one that made you question where your loyalties truly lay.

The hours following the attack passed in a blur. The mansion, once a fortress of impenetrable walls, now felt like a fragile shell that could crack at any moment. Chan and his team had neutralized the threat swiftly, using the knowledge you’d helped provide about Victor’s network and the strategic positions of his men. With a few tactical moves, the assailants were driven back, and though some minor damage had been done, the mansion stood strong. Felix and Hyunjin were safe. The team was intact. The immediate danger was over.

But the weight of the night hung in the air, heavy with the unsaid. The adrenaline that had coursed through your veins in the heat of battle had given way to something quieter, more complex. The echoes of gunfire were gone, but the tension between you and Chan lingered, thick and undeniable.

You were in the kitchen now, nursing a cup of water, trying to clear your mind. The events of the day had left you exhausted—physically, yes, but more so mentally. You had done your part, had proven your worth, but there was no escaping the pull that Chan seemed to have on you, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. The attraction was there, undeniable. But it was dangerous.

You felt his presence before you saw him, the subtle shift in the air when Chan entered the room. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was there—his energy filled the space. His sharp eyes on you, the silent weight of his presence, made your pulse quicken despite yourself.

“You should be resting,” he said casually, as though the tension that had laced his commands earlier had never existed. His voice, however, carried a hint of something else—an edge, a challenge.

You didn’t look up as you replied, keeping your voice steady. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” he teased, stepping closer, just enough to be in your line of sight. His gaze flickered to your arm, now bandaged and well on the way to healing. “You’re tough. I’ll give you that.”

You scoffed lightly, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your neck at his words. The way he was looking at you now—almost amused—felt like a game, but one you weren’t sure you knew the rules to. You took a small sip of water, needing to put some space between you and the emotions threatening to spill over.

Chan didn’t let up, though. “I’m surprised. Thought you’d be more upset about the whole ‘almost being shot’ thing.”

The teasing edge to his tone didn’t make it any easier to ignore the way your heart picked up its pace. You were keenly aware of how close he stood, of the heat radiating from his body despite the cool air. You could feel his presence pressing against you, and your mind refused to focus on anything but him.

“Well, I wasn’t shot,” you retorted, meeting his gaze at last. The challenge in your voice was as much for yourself as it was for him. “So I guess that’s something.”

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes darkening with a glint of mischief. “You know, I’m starting to think you enjoy the danger.”

Your throat went dry, and despite yourself, you laughed—short and sharp. “I don’t enjoy it. But I’m not exactly afraid of it either.”

“You should be,” he said softly, his tone turning serious for a brief moment. He leaned in, almost imperceptibly, and for a heartbeat, there was no room between you—just the quiet hum of tension that surged between you both. You could smell the faint trace of gunpowder on his skin, mixed with the ever-present scent of cologne. The proximity felt dangerous, yet the magnetic pull of him was impossible to ignore.

He was so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and it made your body react in ways you couldn’t control. Every inch of you screamed to pull away, to maintain the distance that was keeping everything in check. But something about Chan—about the way he looked at you, about the small glint of vulnerability you saw beneath the hard exterior—made you question everything.

“What’s the point of being afraid?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Fear doesn’t keep anyone safe. It just holds you back.”

Chan’s gaze flickered to your lips, and the air between you thickened, charged with an unspoken understanding. His mouth was dry, and you could see the flicker of something deeper in his eyes—a hunger, a tension that was as magnetic as it was dangerous.

Then, as if aware of how close you’d both come to crossing a line, he leaned back, the space between you widening, though the tension didn’t dissipate.

“Fair enough,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than it had been before. He cleared his throat. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not risky.”

You swallowed hard, looking away, trying to regain some semblance of control. But his presence, his words, had shaken you. And deep down, you knew something had shifted. You couldn’t tell if it was the aftermath of the crisis, the adrenaline, or the way he seemed to see right through you—but the boundary had shifted. The walls you’d carefully built were beginning to crumble.

Chan took a step back, his eyes lingering on you just a little too long. “You’re not who you seem to be,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’re more than just a pawn in all this.”

You felt a pang of something you didn’t quite recognize, but it wasn’t anger. It was… something else. A quiet understanding. It made your chest tighten, and for the first time, you realized how little control you had over what was happening between the two of you.

And as he turned and walked away, leaving you with the storm of your own thoughts, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this—whatever it was—wasn’t over. It hadn’t even begun.

The news kept coming—each report more damning than the last. Your father’s empire was crumbling in real-time. Chan’s plans were progressing faster than anyone had expected. Supply lines were breaking, alliances were splintering, and the internal resistance within Victor’s ranks was growing stronger. It was all coming apart, just like Chan had predicted.

Victor, however, was far from giving up. His fight wasn’t over. He was tightening his grip, bringing in every last resource to hold onto the empire he’d built, despite the cracks beginning to show. You could almost hear his rage echo through the chaotic reports flooding in. He would not go down without a fight.

Chan leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed on the screen showing a live map of Victor’s remaining strongholds. “We’ve hit a critical point. The network’s destabilized, but he’s not finished yet. He’ll try to regroup. It’s only a matter of time before he pushes back.”

You stood by the window, looking out at the darkening sky. You could feel the weight of your father’s empire bearing down on you, like a dying beast desperate to survive. It was hard to shake the feeling that you were witnessing the end of everything you knew—everything you had once thought was untouchable.

“I thought… I thought this would be easier,” you muttered, your fingers brushing the edge of the window frame.

Chan’s voice was calm but firm as he spoke, his presence cutting through the tension. “It never is. But we’ve only just started, Y/N. The hardest part is coming.”

You turned toward him, meeting his gaze. There was no doubt in his eyes, no hesitation. He was certain—he always had been. But you felt the weight of your own doubts pressing in on you, as if you were standing at the edge of something vast and unknown.

“The hardest part,” you repeated, almost to yourself, “and you still want me to help you finish it?”

Chan stepped closer, his expression softening just a touch. “I’m not asking you to destroy everything you’ve known. I’m asking you to help me end what’s already falling apart. Help me tear down the structures that are keeping Victor in power.”

You took a deep breath. “And then what?”

His eyes darkened slightly, and for the briefest moment, something almost vulnerable flickered across his face. “Then we rebuild. But that’s for later. For now, we focus on making sure he doesn’t have the chance to come back. Once he’s gone, the pieces will be there for the taking.”

You felt a pang in your chest. “And I’m supposed to just… step into that? To take everything my father built and use it for your vision?”

“You’ve seen the cracks in Victor’s empire long before I came along,” Chan said, his voice quiet but unwavering. “You know it can’t survive in its current form. His obsession with control—his refusal to trust anyone—has already weakened it from the inside out. All I’m doing is speeding up the inevitable.”

You hesitated, the reality of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. “And when it’s all over? What happens then?”

Chan’s gaze was steady, a mix of determination and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Then you take control. You become the one to rebuild. But only after we’ve brought him down. After we’ve made sure he can never hurt anyone again.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The idea—your idea—of taking control felt like a distant possibility, something you weren’t quite ready to admit. But even now, the pieces were falling into place. You weren’t just helping him destroy your father’s empire. You were preparing for something bigger, something that made your stomach twist in both fear and anticipation.

“You’re asking me to step into my father’s shoes,” you said, the weight of the truth sinking in. “You want me to take everything he built—and do what with it?”

“I’m not asking you to become him,” Chan said, his voice gentle now. “I’m asking you to become someone better. Someone who can rebuild it all into something that actually works.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of your choice. You wanted to resist him, wanted to reject the path he was offering. But deep down, you knew he was right. You’d already seen the cracks in your father’s empire—the cracks that were now yawning wide.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can watch it all burn and not feel like I’m betraying everything I’ve ever known.”

Chan’s expression softened just enough to show the faintest trace of understanding. “It won’t be easy. But it’s the only way forward. And you don’t have to do it alone.”

You let out a slow breath, the truth of it settling deep in your chest. The path ahead was unclear, but for the first time, you weren’t just fighting for survival. You were fighting for something more—something bigger. Maybe even something better.

“You’re asking me to betray my father,” you said, the words heavier than they had ever felt.

Chan nodded. “I’m asking you to save what’s left of him—and make sure no one else falls into the same traps he set.”

A deep silence filled the room, the weight of the decision hanging between you. You had made your choice. It wasn’t about loyalty anymore. It was about the future. And for the first time, you could see that future—not just as a shadow of destruction, but as something you could shape.

“I’ll help you,” you said, your voice firm, though a part of you still felt the tremor of doubt. “I’ll help you bring him down.”

Chan’s eyes flashed with something you hadn’t expected: approval. “We’re getting closer, Y/N. This is only the beginning.”

You looked up at him, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and apprehension. The future you had once fought so hard to hold on to was slipping away, and with it, everything you had known. But now, you saw something else in its place—a chance to shape something new.

You couldn’t help but wonder if, in the end, you’d be able to rebuild it all with him. But for now, there was no turning back. You were already too far in.

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 4 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Four: I Will Be Your Executioner

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attack,

Word Count: 9k

A/N: OMFGGGGGG I’m actually writing non-stop. Wtf. Guys this part is heavily inspired by many quotes from the Glory. It’s so goooooddd! Go watch it. ALSO LMAO sorry for the chonky chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: No Choir by Florence + The Machine

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THE WEDDING RECEPTION  

KING'S LANDING GARDEN, RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

The once-vibrant garden has turned into a scene from a nightmare. Joffrey’s lifeless body lies in his mother’s lap, the blood trickling from his nose and mingling with the vomit caking his lips. Cersei’s scream cuts through the chaos like a blade, her finger trembling as it points directly at Tyrion. 

"You did this! You did this!" she shrieks, her voice cracking with grief and rage.

Tyrion barely has time to react before three guards seize him from behind, their grip firm, dragging him back. The entire court is thrown into disarray, nobles scrambling, unsure where to look or what to say. The shock hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Your eyes flick to Sansa as she watches, wide-eyed and frozen in place. Ser Dontos Hollard, the fool, sidles up to her, his face pale with urgency.

“We have to leave,” he whispers frantically, his hand tugging at her sleeve.

Sansa looks to you, her expression a mix of confusion and terror, searching for an answer. You meet her gaze and give the smallest, subtlest nod, speaking in the quietest voice that only she can hear.

"Run."

You keep your posture relaxed, every movement calculated, as though the chaos around you is nothing but a passing storm. Let it swirl, let them scream, none of it touches you.

Cersei’s piercing voice shatters the air again. “Take him! Take him!”

The guards drag Tyrion away through the crowd, his face a mask of resignation. You shift, sliding further to the edge of the gathering, your eyes tracking Sansa as she and Ser Dontos disappear, swallowed by the throng of horrified nobles. As Cersei’s head whips around, searching for a new target for her grief, her shrill voice rises again.

"Where is his wife? Where's Sansa?!"

Tywin's voice booms over the garden, commanding attention with the force of authority, “Find her. Bar the gates of the city. Seize every ship in the harbor.”

The tension mounts as Cersei, distraught and frenzied, clings to Tywin. “Where is she?!”

“No one leaves the capital!" Tywin's voice echoes like a decree from the gods themselves. "No one!”

The wheels are turning, but you remain steady, unmoved, watching everything unfold like a distant observer.

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — DUSK

The bells toll ominously across the city, signaling not just the king's death but the beginning of a lockdown. What had begun as a celebration of young love and power had spiraled into a suffocating horror—a wedding turned funeral. The streets were locked down, the gates barred, and whispers spread like wildfire among the servants. Every corner of the Red Keep hummed with dread.

You sat in the dim light of your chambers, fingers tracing over the pages of your journal. On the list of names you had scrawled, Joffrey’s stood out, now crossed out in thick ink. The weight of his demise did not lift your heart, but there was a cold satisfaction in seeing that line through his name. 

A knock on your door broke the silence. You didn’t even look up, your voice calm, measured. “Enter.”

Serena stepped in, her movements quiet and careful as she shut the door behind her, turning the lock with a soft click before coming to sit beside you. Her eyes fell to your journal, to the page you’d been reading, and her gaze lingered on the crossed-out name.

Her voice was soft when she asked, “Did you…”

You didn’t hesitate. “It wasn’t me who slipped the poison.” Your tone was blunt, matter-of-fact. Serena was smart—she could piece together the rest on her own. She nodded slowly, absorbing the truth behind your words.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly. “I’d still like to thank you. For doing this.”

Her gratitude was real, but it didn’t touch you. Nothing did anymore. You turned to her, your expression as unreadable as stone.

"I didn’t do it for thanks," you said, your voice as cold as the air before a storm. “I did it because people like him—people like them—will only understand one thing from now on.” You paused, holding Serena’s gaze, unblinking. “They will suffer, just as we have.”

Serena nodded, her lips tightening into a thin line. She knew. She understood.

And so, your revenge continued. Joffrey’s name may have been crossed out, but there were others. And as you sat there, cold and detached, you knew this was only the beginning of a longer reckoning. The suffering had only just begun.

THE NEXT DAY 

STREETS OF SILK, CHATAYA’S BROTHEL — DAY

The city pulsed with a nervous energy, the fallout of Joffrey’s death rippling through every alleyway, every corner of King’s Landing. It was rare for you to have a day free from the palace, but amidst the chaos, no one had cared when a few servants slipped away. The Red Keep had become a den of paranoia, each person trying to avoid the eye of suspicion. A perfect time to disappear—even if just for a while.

As you walked through the streets, your steps silent, deliberate, you overheard a conversation between two guards. Their voices were low, yet their words unmistakable. Tywin plans to confront Oberyn. The Hand of the King knew of Oberyn's frequent visits to Chataya’s brothel—it was no secret that the Dornish prince indulged himself openly. Tywin’s suspicions were spreading like wildfire, and you needed to be there to hear what he might uncover.

Pulling your cloak tight around you, you kept to the shadows, slipping between the narrow alleys that twisted like veins through the streets of silk. The map of the city was etched into your mind as clearly as the secrets you kept—memorized over years of service, of watching and waiting. 

You reached the brothel just as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Slipping through the back door, you moved with the practiced silence of someone who knew how to remain unseen. A shadow among shadows. The moans and laughter of the brothel’s patrons created a cover of noise, perfect for hiding in plain sight.

The scent of incense and sweat filled the air, thick and cloying, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were fixed ahead, scanning for any sign of Tywin or his men. You crept further into the brothel, slipping behind a large stone pillar that stood near one of the darker corners of the room. Hidden in the gloom, you were just another part of the architecture, unseen, unnoticed.

The dagger strapped to your thigh pressed reassuringly against your skin, a small comfort in the uncertainty of the moment. You had long since learned that in King’s Landing, secrets and steel were your best companions. One cut as deep as the other, and both had their uses. If anyone saw you, anyone grew suspicious—you would be ready.

You crouched lower behind the pillar, listening as Oberyn’s voice carried faintly from one of the rooms. His tone was as smooth and dangerous as ever, a man who never feared consequences, not even from Tywin Lannister. You stayed still, your heart steady but your mind sharp, waiting for the moment when Tywin would confront him. 

You could feel it—the unraveling was only just beginning. The tension in the city would soon give way to something far darker, and you were determined to be ahead of it, to see everything before it was hidden away in shadows again.

As footsteps echoed down the hall, heavier, more deliberate, you pressed further into the shadows. Tywin. You could not afford to be seen, but you could not afford to miss this either. Information was your weapon. And today, you would sharpen it.

Just in time, you watched as three naked whores and Ellaria Sand stepped out of one of the rooms. Her dark, wavy hair cascaded down her bare shoulders as she laughed softly, her gaze briefly scanning the room before she and the others disappeared down the hall. The guards trailed after them, though one remained standing by the entrance. Close, but not too close.

The door to Oberyn’s room was slightly ajar.

You slipped inside with practiced precision, the heavy scent of incense clinging to the air. The room was bathed in the warm, golden light of the midday sun, filtering through the heavy curtains. Oberyn Martell was seated on the bed, shirtless and glistening with sweat, his bronzed skin catching the light as he stretched with the grace of a panther. The gods must have shown you some favor—he was still clothed from the waist down. 

His gaze shifted lazily toward you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as if your presence amused him. He knew you were there long before you entered.

“Would you like to sit?” he asked, his voice low, teasing. He gestured casually toward a chair in the corner, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Tywin Lannister stood at the other end of the room, his expression as hard as stone, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of irritation. “No, thank you,” Tywin replied curtly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Oberyn’s movements were slow, deliberate, as he rose from the bed, his lean body practically dripping with confidence. He stepped toward a small cart by the window, where a tray of wine and goblets waited. “Some wine?” he offered again, pouring himself a generous amount, the dark liquid swirling in the cup.

Tywin, still standing near the door, remained unmoved. “No, thank you,” he repeated.

Oberyn, with a patterned towel draped over his shoulder, took a slow sip of the wine, his eyes never leaving Tywin’s. “I'm sorry about your grandson,” he said smoothly, though the sincerity in his tone was questionable.

Tywin’s lips twitched, barely containing his disdain. “Are you?” he asked, the question laced with accusation.

Oberyn shrugged, moving across the room like a predator sizing up his prey. “I don't believe a child is responsible for the sins of his father. Or his grandfather. An awful way to die.” His voice was casual, but his eyes—those dark, piercing eyes—were watching Tywin’s every move.

The tension in the room was recognizable, thick enough to choke on. You remained hidden in the shadows, every word falling like stones in a still pond, sending ripples of suspicion through the air.

“Which way is that?” Tywin asked, his voice sharp.

Oberyn tilted his head, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you interrogating me, Lord Tywin?” he purred, settling onto a plush bed of pillows, lounging with the practiced grace of a man who feared nothing.

“Some believe the king choked,” Tywin mused, watching Oberyn closely.

“Some believe the sky is blue because we live inside the eye of a blue-eyed giant,” Oberyn replied, his tone mocking. He took another sip of wine before adding, “The king was poisoned.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed, the faintest hint of suspicion creeping into his expression. “I hear you studied poisons at the Citadel.”

Oberyn’s smile widened, like a cat who had caught the scent of a mouse. “I did. This is why I know.”

Tywin’s voice dropped, edged with danger. “Your hatred for my family is rather well known. You arrive at the capital, an expert in poisoning, and days later my grandson dies of poisoning.”

Oberyn didn’t miss a beat. “Rather suspicious,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Why haven’t you thrown me in a dungeon?”

Tywin's gaze hardened. “You spoke with Tyrion in this very brothel on the day that you arrived. What did you discuss?”

“You think we conspired together?” Oberyn raised an eyebrow, amused.

“What did you discuss?”

Oberyn’s playful demeanor faltered, as he moved to stand, approaching Tywin, his voice dropping into something darker, colder. “The death of my sister.”

Tywin did not flinch, though his eyes gave away nothing. “For which you blame me.”

Oberyn leaned forward slightly, his voice like steel wrapped in silk. “She was raped and murdered by the Mountain. The Mountain follows your orders. Of course I blame you.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken threats. You remained perfectly still, your heart a steady drumbeat in your chest as you watched the two men circle each other, both poised for an attack that would never come.

Tywin, calm as ever, gave the faintest shrug. “Here I stand unarmed, unguarded. Should I be concerned?”

Oberyn smiled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You are unarmed and unguarded because you know me better than that. I am a man of reason. If I cut your throat today, I will be drawn and quartered tomorrow.”

“Men at war commit all kinds of crimes without their superiors' knowledge,” Tywin said, almost conversationally.

“So you deny involvement in Elia's murder?”

Tywin’s voice remained steady. “Categorically.”

Oberyn’s gaze sharpened, his smile fading into something colder. “I would like to speak with the Mountain.”

“I’m sure he would enjoy speaking with you,” Tywin said evenly.

Oberyn’s lips curled into a grim smile. “He might not enjoy it as much as he thinks he would.”

Tywin’s eyes flickered with a dangerous glint. “I could arrange for this meeting.”

Oberyn’s brow arched, intrigued. “But you want something in return.”

Tywin’s voice was calm, measured. “There will be a trial for my son. As custom dictates, three judges will render a verdict. I will preside. Mace Tyrell will serve as the second judge. I would like you to be the third.”

Oberyn’s amusement returned, but his tone remained cautious. “Why?”

“Not long ago, the Tyrells sided with Renly Baratheon. Declared themselves enemies of the throne. Now they are our strongest allies.”

Oberyn shrugged, taking another sip of his wine. “Well, you made the Tyrell girl a queen. Asking me to judge at your son's trial isn't quite as tempting.”

Tywin stepped forward, his voice dropping low. “I will also invite you to sit on the small council to serve as one of the new king's principal advisors.”

Oberyn studied Tywin, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I never realized you had such respect for Dorne, Lord Tywin.”

“We are not the Seven Kingdoms until Dorne returns to the fold,” Tywin replied, his voice cold, calculated. “The king is dead. The Greyjoys are in open rebellion. A wildling army marches on the Wall. And in the East, a Targaryen girl has three dragons. Before long, she will turn her eyes to Westeros. Only the Dornish managed to resist Aegon Targaryen and his dragons.”

Oberyn’s smile returned, slow and sharp. “You're saying you need us? That must be hard for you to admit.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change. “We need each other. You help me serve justice to the king's assassins, and I will help you serve justice to Elia's.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as Oberyn fell silent, his gaze turning inward, distant, as if he were calculating a hundred possibilities all at once. The tension lingered, thick and unspoken, between him and the absent Tywin. The delicate balance of power that had just played out was clear—two predators circling one another, masking threats with diplomacy.

You pressed yourself deeper into the shadows, watching Oberyn with a sharp, practiced gaze. His expression remained contemplative, still lost in the aftermath of his exchange with Tywin. Outside the room, the echo of Tywin’s footsteps faded into the distance, and the door clicked shut with finality, leaving behind an uneasy stillness that hung thick in the air.

But you had lingered too long. In a silent breath, you pulled back into the shadows, slipping toward the door like a shadow yourself. You moved swiftly, soundless, as you had been trained—disappearing without a trace. The world outside was teeming with noise and life, but none of it noticed your departure. You melted into the alleyways, your cloak drawn close, your steps swift and measured as you darted through the maze of streets that threaded King’s Landing. 

The market was alive with its usual chaos, the scent of spices mingling with the salt of the sea, merchants shouting over one another, selling everything from silks to stale bread. You wove through the crowds, your face hidden beneath the hood of your cloak, eyes scanning your surroundings. You had always known how to vanish in plain sight.

But then, the sound hit you.

A sharp sizzle, the searing of meat against hot metal. Your steps faltered as the scent of charred pork filled the air, thick and overwhelming, clinging to your skin like smoke. For a moment, the world around you seemed to blur—the market, the people, the shouts—it all dimmed. Your breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as the memories surged, unbidden, unstoppable.

Flames licking at your skin, the scent of burning flesh, the sound of your own screams echoing in the back of your mind. The fire that had marked you, that had seared itself into your memory, now clawed its way to the surface.

Your hands trembled as you stumbled into a corner of the street, your back pressed hard against the cool stone of a wall. The sounds of the market seemed distant now, drowned out by the roar of the fire in your mind. The panic clawed at your chest, squeezing tighter and tighter until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

You gasped, desperate for air, the weight of your cloak suddenly too heavy, the noise of the market too loud. The edges of your vision blurred, and the ground beneath you felt like it was spinning. The world seemed to close in on you, suffocating, the past and present melding into one.

Burning.

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms in an attempt to ground yourself, to remind yourself that you were no longer there. But the searing sound, the scent—it was too much. The memories flooded you, pulling you under. You pressed your back harder into the wall, trying to fight your way out of the suffocating panic, trying to escape the fire that only existed in your mind.

But it felt so real.

Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps, and your vision swam. You had to get out. Away from the market, away from the noise, away from the memory that gripped you like a vice. You pushed yourself off the wall, your legs shaky but determined, and forced yourself back into the crowd, pulling your cloak tighter around you.

With every step, you fought to steady your breathing, to clear the haze from your mind. The streets blurred around you as you moved, each footfall feeling heavier than the last, but you pressed on. Away from the market. Away from the sound.

Away from the fire.

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

By the time you returned to the castle, fatigue weighed heavily on your limbs. The maze of tunnels under the Red Keep stretched out before you like a winding serpent, familiar yet suffocating. Each step felt heavier than the last, your breath shallow, as the cool stone walls seemed to press closer. 

As you rounded a corner, your thoughts interrupted by hurried footsteps, you almost collided with someone—Podrick Payne. His wide-eyed expression immediately softened when he realized it was you.

“Oh, my apologies,” Podrick stammered, stepping back in his usual bashful manner. 

You shook your head, waving off the apology. "No, it was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going."

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Oh well…"

There was something about his awkwardness, a sincerity in the way he held himself. Podrick was kind, genuine—a rarity in King's Landing. You had a peculiar way of prying information from him without much effort. It wasn’t something you set out to do, but it was almost as though the right questions spilled from your lips, and he couldn’t help but answer.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing as you noticed the tension in his shoulders. "Are you heading somewhere urgent?"

Podrick blinked in surprise, glancing at the wineskin he carried. “Yes, I’m on my way to see Lord Tyrion in the cells.”

Your gaze dropped to the wineskin, lips curving into a faint smirk. "You’re bringing him wine?"

He nodded, looking somewhat guilty, as though he’d been caught red-handed. 

"The guards will take it from you, you know that, right?"

Podrick’s expression flickered with brief defeat, but he nodded again. The innocence in his eyes spoke volumes, but you weren’t fooled. Deep down, you knew he was smuggling more than just wine. You sighed, rubbing your temples as the exhaustion from the day wore at your patience.

"They've chosen the judges for his trial," you added, your voice soft but deliberate.

Podrick glanced around as if someone might overhear, then leaned in slightly. “I heard. Lord Tywin, Mace Tyrell, and Prince Oberyn of Dorne."

"Word travels fast," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. Your eyes drifted over his face, reading the tension etched into his features. His frown deepened, and you couldn’t help but ask, “What’s wrong? You’re frowning.”

Podrick’s sigh was almost inaudible, but in the quiet of the dimly lit tunnel, it seemed to echo. He lowered his voice as if confessing a secret. "There’s something else. A man—someone I didn’t know—came to me. He asked if I’d testify against Lord Tyrion. Said I’d be named Ser Podrick Payne if I told the judges Tyrion bought a poison called the Strangler.”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of the poison, but your expression remained impassive. You frowned, though, as the weight of his words sank in. Podrick, in his innocence, stood at the crossroads of something much darker than he fully understood.

"You…" You took a slow, deep breath, steadying your tone. "Lord Tyrion has been kind to you."

He met your gaze, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "He has."

There was a heavy silence between you, the kind that lingered just long enough to feel uncomfortable. The weight of your secrets hung in the air, unspoken, but Podrick wasn’t foolish. He knew you were holding back, but he never pressed. 

"Do you know what happened?" he asked softly, as though afraid of the answer. His voice was tentative, laced with the hope that you might offer him clarity. "Who did it?"

You blinked, your gaze distant, the apathy you had so carefully cultivated slipping back into place. His question lingered, but you gave him no answer—just a soft pat on his shoulder, a rare gesture of kindness in a world that had none to spare.

"You better be careful, Podrick," you said, your voice low, carrying a quiet weight. "You’re one of the rare ones out there who are truly good. Take care of yourself."

His lips parted as if to say something more, but you had already turned away, disappearing into the shadows of the castle, leaving him standing there beneath the flickering torchlight.

KING’S LANDING, QUAY OF THE PORT BY THE SEA OF THE RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

The salty breeze whipped across the sea, crashing waves against jagged rocks below as you crouched beneath the cliffsides. Hidden from sight, you watched with keen eyes as Jaime Lannister and Bronn sparred near the water's edge, the sound of clashing steel ringing in the air.

Jaime’s face was flushed, his breath labored, but his movements were sharper than before. He spun his sword with renewed vigor, pressing the attack against Bronn. But the sellsword was as sharp as ever, his parries quick, his footwork steady. They deadlocked, Jaime’s golden hand clashing with Bronn’s grip. With a wicked grin, Bronn swatted Jaime across the face, sending him sprawling onto the ground with an unceremonious thud.

Jaime let out a grunt, pushing himself up from the dirt. “What the hell was that?” he spat, wiping the dust from his tunic.

Bronn tossed Jaime’s golden hand back to him with a smirk. “That was me knocking your ass to the dirt with your own hand."

Jaime caught it, shaking his head. “You’re a rare talent. When you’re fighting cripples, anyway.”

“You learned to fight like a good little boy," Bronn quipped, his grin widening. "I’ll bet that thrust through the Mad King’s back was pretty as a picture. You want to fight pretty, or you want to win?”

Jaime’s jaw clenched. “You talk to my brother this way?”

“All the time. He got used to it.”

They sat together on a low stone wall, the tension easing between them. Jaime took a swig from a wineskin before handing it to Bronn.

“Do you think he did it?” Jaime asked, his voice low, hesitant.

Bronn shook his head. “No. Oh, he hated the little twat, sure. But who didn’t? Poison’s not his style. Or murder, for that matter. You want to know for sure, why don’t you ask him?”

Jaime remained silent, his gaze distant.

“You haven’t been to see him yet, have you?” Bronn probed, his tone carrying an edge of judgment.

Jaime stood abruptly, tossing the wineskin back to Bronn. “We’re done for today.”

As Jaime walked away, Bronn called out, “Your brother ever tell you how I came into his service?”

Jaime paused, his back still turned. “You stood for him in his trial by combat at the Eyrie.”

“Aye,” Bronn replied, his voice steady. “But only when Lady Arryn demanded the trial take place that day. You were his first choice. He named you for his champion because he knew you’d ride day and night to fight for him. You gonna fight for him now?”

Jaime’s silence lingered, the weight of Bronn’s words hanging in the air as he disappeared into the distance. 

Once Jaime was gone, Bronn stood alone, shaking his head. That’s when you emerged from your hiding spot, the faint sound of your boots scraping against the stone catching his attention. He turned, spotting you walking towards him, your loose long-sleeve tunic billowing slightly in the wind, trousers and boots practical for the sparring you had in mind. The sword sheathed at your side glinted in the afternoon light, a far cry from the ladylike appearance most would expect.

You let out a low whistle, drawing a chuckle from Bronn as you approached. “You really handed it to him, huh?” you remarked, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Who knew today would be the day you make a joke?” Bronn quipped, his smirk never far from his lips.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Might as well get a laugh in once in a while.”

Bronn gave you a quick once-over, his eyes sharp as always. “You here to practice?”

In response, you tossed a small pouch of gold coins at him, which he caught with a practiced ease. “It’s been a while. Was wondering if you were simply busy or if you’d run off.”

You shrugged, the weight of the past few days pressing on your shoulders. “Well, it hasn’t been quiet at the Red Keep.”

“Aye,” Bronn said with a knowing look, his expression softening for just a moment. Then, with his usual swagger, he added, “Well, let’s see if that sword of yours still works.”

The two of you squared off, the tension of the moment melting into the familiar rhythm of training. Bronn was a formidable opponent—quick, sharp, and never one to play by the rules. He tested you immediately, launching a fast strike aimed at your side. You parried it easily, the weight of your sword light in your hands.

"You've gotten faster," Bronn noted, his tone almost begrudging as he stepped back to assess you, his sharp eyes taking in every movement, every subtle shift of your stance. 

You shrugged, gripping your sword a little tighter, the weight of his words sinking in deeper than he realized. Faster—it wasn’t just speed you needed. Strength. Precision. Ruthlessness. All of it would be necessary if you were going to do what needed to be done. Your thoughts flickered briefly to him, to the Mountain, and the moment you had been turning over in your mind, rehearsing endlessly in the quiet of your own head.

One well-placed strike—that’s all it would take. You’d studied his movements, watched how he fought. Brutal. Unforgiving. He crushed his opponents like insects beneath his feet, but there was always a weakness. There had to be. You just had to find it, and when you did, the Mountain would fall.

But you didn’t say that out loud.

Instead, you offered Bronn a casual shrug, masking the storm of thoughts beneath your calm expression. “Learned a few tricks while I was busy,” you replied with a half-smile, keeping your voice light.

Bronn smirked, though his eyes still lingered on you as if trying to peel back the layers of your thoughts. "Busy, huh? Hope those tricks keep you alive long enough to show me more."

He didn’t press, and you were grateful for it. There was no need to tell him, not yet. The time would come soon enough, and when it did, you'd be ready.

A FEW DAYS LATER

KING'S LANDING, THE THRONE ROOM — DAY

You stand off to the side, shrouded in the shadows of the grand pillars, your eyes flickering over the scene before you like a predator studying its prey. The High Septon stands at the heart of it all, his voice booming as he leads the coronation of Tommen Baratheon. The crowd has gathered, a sea of nobles dressed in their finest silks, feigning respect and devotion. Your gaze drifts, settling momentarily on Ser Jaime Lannister, who patrols near the back, his golden hand gleaming in the soft light.

"May the Warrior grant him courage and protect him in these perilous times," the High Septon intoned, his voice heavy with ceremony. "May the Smith grant him strength that he might bear this heavy burden. And may the Crone, she that knows the fate of all men, show him the path he must walk and guide him through the dark places that lie ahead."

Tommen’s face, still soft with boyish innocence, betrays the weight of the moment. You can see it in his eyes—the bewilderment, the fear hidden behind a facade of calm. He’s a puppet, and the strings are woven through the hands of those more powerful. But he’s not the one you’re watching.

The High Septon finishes, his hands raised toward the heavens. "In the light of the Seven, I now proclaim Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name. King of the Andals and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Long may he reign!"

"Long may he reign!" the crowd echoes in unison, their voices a rehearsed chorus.

Your eyes narrow as Tommen bows, exchanging a fleeting glance with Margaery Tyrell. The hint of a smile plays on her lips, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for. It’s the look of a woman who knows exactly what she wants—and how to get it. Cersei sees it too, her expression tightening, though she maintains her grace.

You smirk to yourself. The plot never stops, not for a moment.

The grand hall is quieter now, though the air still buzzes with soft chatter. Tommen sits awkwardly on the Iron Throne, his small frame swallowed by its looming presence. Tywin Lannister stands beside him, commanding the room with nothing but his cold, stern silence. The line of courtiers shuffles forward, each taking their turn to bow and offer hollow pleasantries.

"Your Grace," Grand Maester Pycelle rasps, his aged voice grating against your ears.  

"Your Grace," Varys follows, his tone smooth, unreadable.

Tommen exchanges nods and small smiles, barely keeping up the appearance of a ruler. Margaery lingers nearby, her gaze soft but calculating. It’s Cersei’s eyes that catch yours, though, burning with possessiveness and suspicion as they land on Margaery.

Your fingers twitch at your side, the weight of your dagger pressing against your thigh through the fabric of your cloak. There’s no need for it now, but the comfort of steel is a constant reminder of why you’re here—watching, waiting, collecting secrets like coins.

The crowd parts as Cersei approaches Margaery, offering smiles to the onlookers as she moves through the room with the grace of a lioness on the hunt. You observe it all, taking in the flickers of power, the undercurrents that ripple beneath the surface of every interaction.

You sigh, stepping away from the scene and slipping back into the shadows. There’s nothing more to see here. The coronation is just another piece in the larger puzzle, and the trial—the real battle—is yet to come. Your secrets can wait, for now.

KING'S LANDING, THE GARDEN — DAY

The day was warm, the sun casting a golden glow over the lush greenery of the royal gardens. The scent of blooming flowers mingled with the salty air from the sea, but none of that registered as you went about your tasks. Servant duties, tedious and endless, consumed most of your time. Today, it was carrying supplies from the kitchen to the gardens—bundles of herbs, fresh fruits, a few linens. You balanced them carefully in your arms, eyes scanning for a spot to drop them off before you moved to the next errand.

As you passed through the garden's winding paths, the soft murmur of voices caught your attention. You stilled, instinctively pressing yourself into the shade of a tall shrub, out of sight. The voices were familiar—Cersei Lannister and Oberyn Martell. The temptation to eavesdrop, to gather just a bit more information for yourself, was too great to resist.

You shifted slightly, your heart thudding in your chest, trying not to rustle the bushes as you angled your body closer. From where you stood, you had a clear view of Oberyn sitting on a stone bench, writing on a scroll. He paused as Cersei approached, her guards flanking her.

"Your Grace," Oberyn greeted her, his voice low and polite as he stood.

Cersei’s cold smile barely reached her eyes. "Prince Oberyn. Writing letters?"

"A poem, actually," Oberyn replied, his tone light, yet unreadable.

Cersei’s eyebrow raised slightly, more curious than amused. "May I show you the gardens?"

Oberyn glanced down at the scroll he had been working on before standing fully to his feet. "I couldn’t very well refuse a royal escort."

"No, you couldn’t," Cersei said, a slight edge in her voice. You could almost see the power shift between them as they started walking side by side through the winding paths of the garden, their steps measured, calculated.

You trailed discreetly behind them, clutching your bundle tightly, ears straining to catch every word.

"I didn’t realize you were a poet," Cersei remarked, her voice laced with feigned curiosity.

Oberyn chuckled. "Not a very good one."

"For your paramour?"

"For one of my daughters," Oberyn corrected, his voice softening at the mention of his children.

Cersei’s eyes flicked toward him. "You have several, don’t you?"

"Eight," he said, a touch of pride in his voice.

"Eight? Eight daughters?" Cersei repeated, incredulous.

Oberyn nodded. "The fifth is difficult. I named her after my sister, Elia."

At the mention of Elia’s name, your heart clenched. You had always known the depth of his loss, but hearing it aloud, even in passing, reminded you of the storm that brewed constantly beneath Oberyn’s surface.

"Beautiful name," Cersei mused.

"Yes," Oberyn agreed, though his tone darkened. "But I can’t say it without turning sad. And after I turn sad, I grow angry."

"Perhaps that’s why she’s difficult," Cersei remarked, her tone dripping with cynical wisdom. "The gods love their stupid jokes, don’t they?"

Oberyn's gaze narrowed slightly, intrigued. "Which joke is that?"

Cersei’s smile was sharp, almost mocking. "You’re a prince of Dorne. A legendary fighter. A brilliant man feared throughout Westeros. But you could not save your sister. I’m a Lannister. Queen for nineteen years. Daughter of the most powerful man alive. But I could not save my son. What good is power if you cannot protect the ones you love?"

Her words struck like venom, her bitterness palpable. You watched Oberyn’s face shift, his jaw tightening as the memories of his sister undoubtedly flashed behind his eyes.

"We can avenge them," he said after a pause, his voice resolute, cutting through the air like a blade.

Cersei met his gaze, her lips curling slightly. "Yes, we can avenge them."

Oberyn tilted his head, watching her intently. "You really believe Tyrion murdered your son?"

Without hesitation, Cersei replied, "I know he did."

Oberyn’s expression remained calm, though you could sense his skepticism. "We will have a trial, and we will learn the truth."

"We’ll have a trial, anyway," Cersei muttered, her voice tight with impatience. "I haven’t seen my daughter in over a year."

Oberyn’s face softened slightly. "The last time I saw her, she was swimming with two of my girls in the Water Gardens. Laughing in the sun."

Cersei’s eyes briefly glistened with unshed tears. "I want to believe that. I want to believe she’s happy."

Oberyn’s tone was gentle now, sincere. "You have my word. We don’t hurt little girls in Dorne."

Cersei’s voice was a mere whisper, filled with more sadness than she would ever admit aloud. "Everywhere in the world, they hurt little girls. Would you bring her a gift for me? I wasn’t there for her name day. I don’t know when I’ll see her again."

Oberyn’s gaze softened as he nodded. "Anything at all."

Cersei pointed toward the bay, her eyes lingering on a ship. "The best shipwrights in King’s Landing have been working on it for months. Myrcella loves the open water."

Oberyn’s lips curled into a small, understanding smile. "I will have it sailed down to Sunspear for her."

Cersei turned to face him fully, her expression momentarily vulnerable. "Please tell her... her mother misses her very much."

She left then, her guards following behind as her regal figure disappeared from the garden. Oberyn stood still, watching her go with an unreadable expression.

In the silence that followed, Oberyn’s voice cut through the air, calm and composed. "You can show yourself now."

Your breath hitched, but you stepped out from behind the pillar, clutching the supplies you had been carrying, your heartbeat still racing from all you had overheard.

Oberyn's dark eyes, gleaming with that unspoken intensity, never left yours. The weight of his gaze made the space between you feel smaller, heavier, as though every unspoken word lingered in the air. He took a slow step toward you, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and curiosity.

"I still don’t know your name," he said, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, though his tone remained casual, as if this was just another conversation, nothing more than passing the time.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you swallowed, straightening slightly. "It’s..." You hesitated for a second, then finally offered, your name.

Oberyn hummed in acknowledgment, his smirk widening just a little, as though your name now held a secret weight between the two of you. He moved closer, studying your face carefully. He repeated your name, tasting the name on his tongue like it was something to be savored.

A silence hung between you for a moment, but Oberyn had a way of piercing through it with his words. His eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilting just enough to catch your gaze again. "Tell me," he began, his voice soft but laced with a quiet danger, "did you poison the king?"

Your chest tightened at the question, though you knew it was coming. You didn't flinch, your heart steady despite the accusation hanging in the air. Meeting his gaze, you shook your head firmly, your voice calm but resolute. "No. I didn’t."

Oberyn’s intense gaze lingered on you, as if he was peeling away the layers of who you were, searching for the truth hidden beneath your calm exterior. His dark eyes burned with quiet judgment, tempered by curiosity. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, barely perceptible, when he let out a soft hum, the tension in his posture easing. "Good," he murmured, the single word carrying weight, as though it was meant to confirm something greater. Yet, behind his eyes, the storm never ceased, always swirling, always waiting.

You inhaled deeply, the air between you thick with unspoken things. For a long moment, you said nothing, your mind racing through the years, the faces, and the memories long buried under the weight of time and pain. The ocean waves crashed in the distance, steady and unyielding, much like the man before you. The ships bobbed on the horizon, their sails catching the wind as if they were fleeing toward freedom, away from all that was this city—this place of blood and betrayal.

You turned your gaze toward the sea, your voice low as you spoke, almost as if the memory itself had pulled the words from your lips. "You were right, your grace. I knew her… your sister, Princess Elia." 

Oberyn’s expression flickered, a subtle shift from curiosity to something more personal, more vulnerable, as he stepped closer to you. His presence was quiet but commanding, the warmth of him beside you drawing your attention. You didn’t look at him; instead, you watched the ships, the waves crashing against the cliffs in the distance. 

"It was a long time ago," you continued, your voice soft, filled with a kind of sorrow that time couldn’t quite erase. "I wasn’t a good person then… I don’t know if I am now." Your words hung in the air, fragile but true.

The wind whipped through your hair as the memory surged forth, pulling you back to that day—the day you first met her. You had been standing on the cliffs near Sunspear, staring down at the waters below. The waves had seemed so inviting, so final. You’d been ready to let go, ready to fall and end the pain that had gripped you for far too long. 

But then, you heard a cry. 

Princess Elia had been in the water, struggling against the currents, her graceful arms failing to keep her afloat. It was instinct, something primal within you that made you dive into the water, though you had been moments away from letting it take you. You swam with a strength you didn’t know you possessed, reaching her, pulling her to the shore. You’d saved her, though you had been prepared to die.

When you reached the sand, both of you gasping for breath, Elia had looked at you, her deep brown eyes searching yours, knowing, seeing far too much. "You were going to jump, weren’t you?" she had asked, her voice soft but piercing. 

You had only nodded, the pressure of your decision still clinging to you like the seaweed wrapped around your legs. 

Elia had smiled then, a gentle, sorrowful thing. "Thank you for saving me… even when you couldn’t save yourself." Her words had haunted you ever since.

The memory faded, and you were back in the present, the ocean still stretching before you, endless and indifferent. Oberyn stood beside you, silent for a long moment, absorbing your words. His expression remained unreadable, but his eyes flickered with understanding, with a shared pain.

"You were the one," he said quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. "The servant girl… the one who survived." His voice was careful, probing, seeking confirmation of a story long buried under the rubble of war and tragedy.

Your face remained void of emotion as you turned to meet his gaze, your eyes hollowed by the weight of the years and the scars you carried. "I haven't forgotten even a day," you replied, your voice eerily calm, devoid of the turmoil you felt. "Some hatred resembles longing. It's impossible to get rid of." 

Oberyn's gaze lingered on you, his expression softening, though the tempest within him still raged. His eyes, dark and intense, mirrored the turmoil that churned beneath your own surface. “I’ve also hit rock bottom before,” he said, his voice carrying a rare gentleness. “So, I understand the weight of your anger.”

His words hung in the salt-tinged air, a bridge between the two of you—both bound by memories of a woman long gone, and a shared desire for something that felt like justice but tasted more like vengeance. The sea continued its relentless assault on the cliffs, indifferent to your pain, your histories, and the scars neither of you could erase. The world moved on, as uncaring as ever, while you stood still in the face of it.

Oberyn turned slightly toward you, his expression more searching now. "Is that why you came to King's Landing?" His question was quiet, but the weight of it settled between you like a stone dropped into a deep well.

Without turning to face him, you let out a bitter laugh, the sound lost in the crash of waves. "Isn’t that why you’re here too?"

The words hit him with a force that made him pause, a flash of something unreadable passing across his face. Oberyn was silent for a moment, studying you as if trying to gauge the depth of your resolve. He shifted, his usual confidence tempered by something more cautious now. "You know what revenge does to people," he said softly, his tone laced with concern. "I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. It devours you, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but the anger. It’s… not something someone like you should carry."

You scoffed, the words cutting through you, sharper than any blade. "Someone like me?" you echoed, turning to face him fully for the first time since the conversation began. Your eyes locked onto his, challenging, as if daring him to explain what he meant.

Oberyn’s brow furrowed, a rare crease in the otherwise unshakeable mask he wore. "You carry enough," he said, voice low but firm. "You shouldn’t be the one to deal with this. It will change you."

His worry was unexpected, disarming even, and for a moment, you saw the weight of his own guilt reflected in his gaze—the burdens he carried, the losses he had never fully avenged. But there was also a flicker of something protective, something he wasn’t ready to admit to.

You turned back toward the sea, your heart heavy with a mix of rage and sorrow. The waves below crashed louder now, their rhythm matching the pounding in your chest. "I’ve already been changed," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the roar of the ocean. "There’s nothing left to take." 

Oberyn stepped closer, his presence warm beside you, though the space between you felt vast. “There’s always something left,” he murmured, his voice softer now, the edge of worry still lacing his words. “You just don’t see it yet.”

The silence between you stretched long, as the sea kept its pace, unbothered by the weight of two broken souls standing on the cliffs above it. Neither of you spoke again for some time, each lost in your own thoughts, but bound by an understanding neither of you had expected.

Both here for vengeance. Both already paying its price.

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — EVENING

The evening air clung heavily to the Red Keep, filled with the scent of the sea and the distant hum of King’s Landing. After leaving Oberyn by the cliffs, the weight of exhaustion settled into your bones, dragging you through the motions of the day. Each task completed, each conversation had, felt like a necessary distraction—an anchor to keep you from drowning in your thoughts. Yet, none of it could quiet the storm within.

Once your duties were done, you retreated to your small chambers, the flickering light of a lone candle casting shadows against the stone walls. You sat at the edge of your bed, a leather journal resting on your lap. The worn pages were a map of your thoughts, your plans, your vengeance. You traced a finger over the spine, staring down at the leather-bound book that held all the pieces of your story. It was here, in the quiet of the night, that you could feel the weight of everything you’d worked for, everything you had planned.

Your revenge.

You glanced at the drawer where your dagger rested, a constant companion in this journey, but tonight you would leave it behind. Tonight was not for the blade, but for something else entirely. Whispered words from the servants confirmed that Ellaria was out in the brothels, and that knowledge settled something within you. 

You changed swiftly into a nightgown, the soft fabric brushing against your skin, and draped a dark cloak over your shoulders. It shrouded your form as you slipped through the halls of the Red Keep, every step measured, your path taking you toward the guest quarters. Toward Oberyn.

MAIDENVAULT, GUEST CHAMBERS

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP - EVENING

The corridors were dimly lit, and you moved like a shadow, slipping unnoticed through the Keep. The cold stone beneath your feet did little to deter you as you made your way to the door of Oberyn’s chambers. 

You hesitated for only a moment, then pushed the door open, slipping inside before the guards could take notice. The room was dim, lit only by the pale silver of the moonlight filtering in through the window. Oberyn stood near the bed, surprised by your sudden presence, his dark eyes meeting yours as you stepped into the moonlight, the cloak falling away from your shoulders. 

He closed the door behind him, his gaze flickering over you, curiosity and something else stirring in his eyes. "I didn’t expect company tonight," he said, his voice low, a touch playful as he stepped closer. "Is this what I think it is?"

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, your fingers moved to the ties of your nightgown, pulling them loose until the fabric slipped down from your shoulders, falling in a whispering heap at your feet. Oberyn’s smirk faltered as the moonlight revealed the truth—scarred, burned, and marred flesh stretching across your body like a grotesque map of past pain.

"It felt like a white night, and sometimes it felt like a polar night, too."

His amusement vanished, replaced by horror, by understanding. "Gods…" he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper as he took in the damage that covered every inch of you.

“Ugly, right?” Your voice was toneless, cold. “My scars.”

Oberyn’s eyes darkened, but not with revulsion—only fury, a quiet, simmering rage that burned behind his otherwise calm exterior. He didn’t need to ask who had done this to you. The answer was written in the jagged lines that crisscrossed your skin. He knew. He had always known the darkness that resided in this city, but seeing it on you, it seemed to strike deeper.

“They’re not ugly,” he said softly, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “They’re injuries.” His voice was a mixture of defiance and sympathy, the edges rough with something dangerous.

You shook your head, meeting his gaze with a stark intensity. "I’m not looking for a prince," you said, your voice steady and without emotion. “What I need is not a prince, but a headsman who will join me in the sword dance.”

Oberyn’s jaw tightened, the weight of your words sinking into the space between you. For a moment, you could see the conflict in his eyes—the warrior who knew the toll of vengeance, and the lover who wished to shield you from it. But as he looked at the scars on your body, the decision seemed to solidify within him.

"Once your revenge is over, your world will also be in ruins," he said, his voice still holding the trace of concern, but it was quickly fading.

"I’m already in complete ruins with no dignity left," you replied, your voice like iron. "So, go back. I’d like to stay faithful to my rage and vice"

Oberyn exhaled slowly, the storm within him finally breaking. His fingers flexed at his side, as if already reaching for the hilt of his sword. “I’ll do it,” he said, stepping even closer until his presence was all-encompassing. “I’ll be your headsman. I’ll join the sword dance.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as his words sunk in, the finality of them sending a thrill through you. “I’ll do whatever you say,” he continued, his voice like a vow. “As if it’s a royal command. Anything at all.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the violence in his words. “I’ll show you a wild sword dance,” he promised, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a deadly sort of resolve. 

In that moment, you both knew there was no turning back. The sword dance would begin, and neither of you would emerge the same.

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