#one that pumps blood through her lungs and one that pumps blood through her body

[phantompeaches]

What a nice and normal drawing to post after vanishing for 2 and a half months. I'm sure there was no weird and unhinged process for figuring this pose out that entailed inventing organs that all occurred in the space of around 10 hours or anything.

[whiskeyskin]

Goddesses and Mortals

Premise: After the events of Love and Longing, Gale finds out that his feelings are reciprocated.. and that's not all.. 😳🍑🫵

Accidental sequel to a previous fic cause I can't get this lonely Wizard out of my head without the promise of a potentially happy ending 🥹 in more ways than one 😏🍆

Gale x gn!tav • 18+ • E/M rating • MDNI

Gale POV, reader referred to as 'you', no specific mention of gentials or gender, porn with plot?, Mystra can fuck right off, fantasies becoming reality, longing, love, tenderness, mutual masturbation, anal fingering (M receiving), unabashed consent, mild cum swapping, minor sub/dom energy, marking if you squint

5.3k words

Special thanks to @senualothbrok for nestling this tadpole in my brain for Gale to get the real deal one day.. 💜

And at it again @spellbooking with another beautiful gif of our Rizzard ☺️ Thank you! 💜

•°•°•

Gale was close, very close.

He had to hurry, the party would all be rising from camp soon. Though there was no sunlight in this desolate place, a full rest was almost upon him.

Safely secluded in the abandoned house on the far reaches of camp; sweat damp on his brow, his hand slick with salvia, Gale feverishly pumped his length in quick bursts.

Your illusion image looked up at him through lidded eyes licking your bottom lip hungrily and growling a hedonistic moan.

"Gale.." you whimpered, the voice distorted.

"Yes, love.. I'm going to come for you.. only for you.. come with me." He bit out, on the precipice of orgasm.

Suddenly, a faint lilting of rosewater assailed his nose and stopped him dead.

A cold dread filled his body, incapacitating his lungs.

Mystra.

It couldn't be.

Surely not.

Not here.

Not now.

Why right now for hell's sake?

He'd not felt her presence since she'd tried to wedge herself between you both when you'd shared a moment of magic in camp.

Despite their separation, she still checked in on her disgraced former chosen and lover at the most inopportune moments.

Fumbling, he quickly tucked himself away in his waistband and spun on his heel.

Nothing.. but the scent remained.

Had she finally gotten sick of his abusing himself constantly to the fictitious likeness of you, using her magical essence to do so?

Had she been sensing him masturbating at least twice a day since her intervention charm through Elminster?

Was she making herself known to quell his incessant self-gratification, or to participate in it?

Even a tenday ago, that would have been a comforting thought. One he would have relished in, taken solace and pride in.. but this felt wrong.

His sweet nothings he had whispered in the dead of night to "you" weren't for Mystra's perverse enjoyment, or sick amusement, weren't for her for to cast judgement on.

"I don't know why you're here," he called brazenly, "but I assure you, this is nothing that concerns you any longer. Now, if you'd be so kind, leave me in peace." He requested, firmly.

Silence.

He wasn't convinced.

"And I don't appreciate the timing of you little assertion here. Now that I'm finally on a path of some kind of healing, you make yourself known?" He snapped, pointing a finger at nothing.

"You have no reason to be here. You have already spoken your will and want with my life and until such a time that that moment arrives, I will do what I want, with whomever I want. Be they real, or fantasy is no concern of yours. Now, leave." He frowned and gestured finally.

The warmth in the air he didn't realise had been present disparated. He was left cold.

Just like always with her.

"Gale?" Called your voice, your vision now by the doorway.

He looked up to see you leaning on the doorframe, slightly bleary.

"Sorry, my love. I got distracted. Less said about that, the better. Now," he beckoned a crooked finger towards himself, "let's get back to where we were before everyone wakes up."

You frowned and looked him up and down, "Did you just call me, 'my love'?" You asked.

For the second time that early morning, Gale's blood ran cold.

"And what exactly were we doing before?" You irked a brow, looking amused.

Gale struggled for words as the blood that had been swiftly journeying to the south was urgently redirected north.

"I-uh-I did? Must've been a mistake. What are you doing up so early?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

You squinted, "Who were you talking to?"

"No one." Gale answered, feigning innocence.

"Wow, that was convincing." You teased with mockingly wide eyes. You narrowed your eyes at him and he felt a gentle brush against his mind. You were seeking permission. He allowed it.

"Mystra?" You asked with a tense lilt. Gale nodded.

"Thought so, I heard you calling that you were trying to move on and someone was suddenly trying to get your attention again. Is everything alright?" You asked, your tone worried and sincere.

Gale's heart bloomed.

"Yes, since her missive from Elminster, she's reached out. I don't have time for it."

"That's a massive step for you, Gale. You said something about moving on, is that true?"

"Somewhat." He answered in a half truth.

You smiled, "Is she still here?" There was a pause, Gale could see the cogs turning, "Did you want to make her jealous? Is that why you called me 'my love'?"

Gale blinked twice.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, maybe you snuck up here to be with me. Maybe I'm the one you're moving on with."

Again, Gale blinked twice.

How unintentionally right you were.

He swallowed.

"Would that be something you're interested in helping me with?"

"To fuck with the gods? Anything." You purred the last word down the connection at him and it made the hairs on his neck raise like you'd whispered it directly against his skin.

"Then by all means, take the lead."

You irked a seductive brow and turned down your head to gaze through lidded eyes.

He swallowed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to stare. You're just so gods damned handsome. I'm glad we could sneak away again." You walked towards him confidently, a slight prowl in your gait.

Gale's blood supply had ignored previous instruction and fully marched back south. The sight of you - truly you - saying these things to him had him dizzy from the rush of blood.

"Not to worry, I quite enjoying being gawped at."

"Well, it's certainly no hardship." You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him in for a sensual hug, while he desperately tried to keep his erection from your notice.

"Mm, we have to be quick. We don't have much time until the others wake up." You crooned, wrapping your arms around his neck, "Did the minor illusion keep you warm enough while I was gone?"

And for the third time that morning, Gale's body shot full of ice.

His blood entirely confused, threw it's hands up in defeat for direction.

You knew?

How could you know?

He was careful.. wasn't he?

Your hands never stopped roaming; his arms, his shoulders, his neck.. his hair.. oh gods, up into his hair.

Gale's breath hitched and shuddered.

Oh gods, you felt like heaven. Even if he felt like he was in hell.

"I know you like me to watch you but I've been so neglectful lately with everything that's been going on. Can you forgive me?" You pulled back from him, your face pulled into a beautifully twisted smile, sin pulled at the edges.

"I th-think you can make it up to me." He gasped.

Your eyebrows flexed in amusement up your forehead, "Do you want me to watch you right now? With everyone waiting in camp, drinking tea and preparing breakfast?"

You smoothed your hands from his shoulders to the top of his chest, "Do you like the anticipation of being caught, Gale? The rush of being found?"

Oh gods, you were so close. You smelled so good, like lemongrass and lavender.. and underneath the balms, your musk, your scent. You.

"I would do anything, as long as it was with you, my love." He breathed, unable to contain the emotion in his voice.

Your eyes unfocused for a brief moment, then came back, blinking as though seeing through an unfogged mirror.

A soft gasp caught in the back of your throat; that noise could state him for a thousand nights.

Then you stepped away.

You averted your gaze, and backed away from his arms completely. You shut your eyes tightly.

"Gale, I-"

You opened them, a wealth of feelings swirling but he couldn't decipher any of them.

"I need to get back to camp. We need to get to Moonrise Towers today, with Isobel's blessing we can cross the Shadows. We need to be ready." You nodded curtly and disappeared.

Gale stared after you, the cold air of the Shadowlands around him a cruel but poetic pathetic fallacy.

He groaned and closed his eyes against balled fists, as he pressed them against his eyes. Tears brimmed behind them, hot frustrated tears.

"Gods fucking dammit."

***

Gale had attempted to maintain distance today, which had been difficult considering you'd partied up together with Karlach and Shadowheart.

Karlach had tried to question his glum mood, but he'd simply recused it as nerves of their close proximity to the potential Heart of the Absolute.

"Ah, Gale. If there's anyone who knows how shit it is to have a ticking time bomb in their chest, it's me. Come and speak to me sometime mate, yeah? We can talk about it."

"Karlach, you're truly a soul that steels my own. I may just take you up on that."

A firm nod and a beaming smile from Karlach ended the conversation as they entered this Balthazar's chamber, after which none of them really had the stomach for food that night.

Wyll had stepped up and made a hearty bowl of vegetable and meat stew. It was nothing on his own cooking, of course but it was a valiant attempt.

Needed a little more pepper.

You sat nursing your bowl, generally making conversation around the fire. Halsin had joined you back from Last Light with no new news of the catatonic lost soul, apart from that he kept singing. A lute of significance to him had been added to your list of items to retrieve; an ever growing list.

Gale swallowed a mouthful and risked a glance towards you, your eyes met for a brief moment before you looked away, uncomfortable. His heart sank.

He'd truly ruined any chance of friendship after his desperate behaviour this morning. You'd barely spoken two words together all day, and now you wouldn't look him in the eye.

He excused himself for an early night and retreated to his tent. He lit his candles and pulled out one of the many books he'd picked up along today's excursions around Moonrise, hoping that one of them would point them towards the heart.

***

The noise around the campfire grew weary as he poured over his readings. Various 'goodnights' alerted him to the potentially late hour.

Gale sighed and rubbed his eyes, he conjured a bookmark, closed it and drained his glass of wine.

Now that he'd been pulled from his focus, he realised how tired he was. Physically drained from a gruelling day of emotional turbulence.

Rosewater gently lilted under his nose, he snorted it back out.

"Oh for the love of-! Bugger off!" He spat through a whisper.

"I'm sorry." Came your voice from behind him.

He spun around on his knees to see you hastily trying to leave his tent.

"No!" Called a little too loudly, reaching out across the space, "Not you. I didn't mean you."

You stopped, looking back at him for the first time since the morning. The soft glow of the candles illuminating your wonderful face, his heart squeezed uncomfortably.

"I assume she's back again, then?" You asked through terse lips, glancing around the low lit interior of his tent.

"Where rosewater is, Mystra's sure to follow. What can I do for you?" Gale asked, shaking off the lingering of his former lover.

"I-," you started, wringing your hands, "I wanted to apologise for this morning."

Gale blinked.

You wanted to apologise?

"What for?" He questioned his tone incredulous.

"For it all. I embarrassed you, I embarrassed myself.. I acted poorly. I thought it would be a good way to show that I knew what you'd been doing-with the minor illusions." Gale's eyes widened. He'd been attempting to solve that one today.

"H-How did you find out?"

"I'd cast Detect Thoughts on Jaheria when we met her at the Inn, and it lasts all day. I heard you when I was laying down to rest. All the things you wanted to do." You swallowed thickly, and a jolt of excitement shot it's way through his cock to his brain.

That was two nights ago.

He'd fantasized about gourging on your sex as you mounted his face, fucking yourself with his mouth as you leaned back with one hand to stroke him. He'd made a mess of his walls, as well as himself.

"You've got a pretty interesting imagination, Gale. Especially since we seem to be ethereal galaxy people in your head." You smiled, folding your arms across yourself, "The one from last night was pretty hot too." You bit your bottom lip to contain more, and swallowed.

He remembered that vividly.

He'd fantasised about spooning you, fucking into you and playing with you from behind. The mirror image had gasped and moaned for him, breathed his name over and over again, as he came to the thought of pleasing you enough to milk his cum inside your clenching walls.

"I thought it was just sex, that maybe we could get rid of some nervous energy together but then this morning.. the way you-you looked at me.." you trailed off, Gale's heart hammered against his chest.

You rest your splayed hands across your heart, "I was foolish. You're not the kind to just sleep around. To have casual sex and not think of it again."

"Like Astarion?" He quipped before vetting the venomous comment.

You tightened your lip, "Kind of." You answered, with a tone that felt loaded with more secretive information but he didn't want to pry.

Well, he did.

But not right now.

"I could be." He postured, looking up at you.

You let out a short laugh, "That face this morning is not the face of someone who can just have sex and not want more."

He hardened his face, "It could be.. if you wanted to be.." Gale irked a brow, feigning a casual air.

"Oh, yeah?" You goaded, leaning on one hip and folding your arms again.

"Absolutely. We could have sex right now and I wouldn't bat an eyelid." He lied, pushing his lips down into a grimace, while his cheeks flushed and his heart pounded against his sternum.

"Really?" You questioned, looking dubious.

"Unquestionably." Gale punctuated with a flick of his fingers, relaxing into his position on the floor, widening his knees to sit back on his heels in an attempt at nonchalance.

"So, you fantasising about kissing my neck, my chest, stomach and hips and calling me "my love" means nothing." You stated, using air quotations.

"Certainly not. Mere sweet talk." Gale shook his head, shrugging his shoulders, while sweat gathered on his forehead.

You kicked off your hip and confidently strolled towards the short distance to him. His mouth instantly dried to dangerous levels of dehydration, as he tried to keep composure.

"And imagining your cock in my mouth, telling me how much you adore me, that isn't telling at all?" You sneered a lip through a smirk and shrugged one shoulder.

"Demonstrably." He tried to remain calm but every cell in his body was panicking, "Do you see me reacting?" He willed himself through words not to show a care.

Your tongue broke through your smirk to rub against your top teeth and his felt it between his legs, he jerked unconsciously.

"You're glowing." You drawled, dipping your eyes to his chest, "Do you even realise the orb lights up when you're horny?"

Gale's painfully stony face dropped as he quickly darted his vision to his chest.

You were indeed correct.

Through his camp clothes, a faint purple hue eminated through the fabric. Gale shot his had to cover his blatant display of arousal. He gave a sharp exhale through his nose and closed his eyes in utter embarrassment.

"This tent has been a purple colour show since Crèche Y'llek." You teased, the sound of your voice curved around a grin.

Gale's chest hollowed.

Gods dammit.

Mystra dammit.

"Oh and also this.." Suddenly he felt something graze along the length of his concealed erection - what he thought was a his concealed erection.

He let out a whining gasp, his hand slapping against worn leather, and he opened his eyes.

You'd rubbed the top of your boot under and against him in his kneeled position, gliding his sensitive member with the leather of your shoe. You continued the rhythm, the gentle friction was delicious, he gasped open mouthed.

Oh gods, it was real.

You were real.

It wasn't a cruel trick, or a fantasy.

It was you.

Gale reached up to grasp the crook of your knee, you held your gaze steadfast against his own. He began to pull off your boot, your eyes never faultered from his as it was flung to the back of the tent.

Your foot resting on his thigh, his hand still holding the meat of your strong calf.

You took his prickly chin within your fingers, eyes unsure.

"If this going to happen, it's just sex. Nothing more." You stated, in a low tone.

Gale nodded, trembling from anticipation.

"I mean it. If you're on a path to self-destruction in the name of a Goddess, I'm not wasting my time with feelings." Your voice caught and anger flashed across your features but tears hinted in your eyes.

You slid your foot off his thigh and slowly descended to crouch in front of him, taking his face fully in your hands. Their warmth slid into the deepest recesses of his lonely soul.

"I care about you, Gale. You're worth far more than what she's asked you to do. Far more."

He poured over your face, so close to him. Emotions that he had denied himself bubbling to the surface; the longing, the loneliness.. the fear.

You ran a thumb to dry a tear he hadn't realise had fallen.

"Say something." You whispered, your gaze flitting between his eyes and his lips.

Oh gods.

This was to truly happen?

He'd kiss your beautiful, soft lips?

His breathing was unsteady, the anticipation coiled dangerously around every facet of his musculature.

Gale opened his mouth to speak, to utter sweet poetry regaling your beauty, your passion, your wit and wisdom but the words would not form, they were stunted on his paralysed tongue.

You were so close.

He could feel the heat from your body, he could see the wisps of your hair moving with his unsteady breath.

You came closer and pressed your lips between his brows, electric tingling his skin in your wake. His eyes lolled shut as he finally brought his hands to hold you to him, press you to him, to feel you finally.

He slid his hands below the seam of your shirt, to feel your smooth and scarred skin, fire grazing his fingertips at the contact.

"I-.. I care for you deeply. I cannot deny this." He began breathlesly, your forehead's connected, your bodies melting together. You sank further into the embrace, widening your legs to fully welcome him between your thighs.

The image of that first night he touched himself to thoughts of you, bloomed across his mind and he bit his lip.

"Neither can I." You agreed, the sound of your voice low and raspy, "It scares me, Gale. It scares the shit into me," you leaned back, holding on to the back of his neck, slowly leading you both down to the carpeted rugs below his bedroll, "Show me. Show me I'm not wrong to feel this way. Show me I'm not alone in this."

Gale shook in head, almost trance-like, "You're not alone-not alone.. I'm with you." He followed you down, desperate not to lose a second's touch with you.

"And I'm with you, I'm not letting you go." You spoke the words against his mouth, it made his mind numb.

"No, never. Never leave me." He mumbled, as you both situated yourselves on the floor. Words bubbled and frothed out of his mouth before he could stop them, "I've been so utterly alone for so long, cut off from everyone I knew and cared for.. and I'm terrified, I'm filled with dread each day. I don't want to die-I want to stay.. stay here." He mewled through the overwhelming emotion in his throat. You increased the intensity of your touch against your brows.

"Shh, none of that matters now. It doesn't exist. For now.. it's just us.. you and me.." you whispered against his skin, he felt it shiver down every vertebrae.

"You and me." He repeated, comforted by the softness in your voice.

Suddenly, your hand grasped his naked cock. He yelped in pleasure, but was hushed by the passionate meeting of your mouth. You captured his cries, claiming them as your own.

His fingers bunched your shirt, his knuckles white, as your tongue swept in to merge with his.

Oh gods.

You tasted like wine, and oranges, and sex.

He'd imagined your taste, your scent.. but this.. the full force of you was so much more intense that he could have expected.

You fingered his leaking slit and he jerked at the sensation, causing you both to make involuntary, open-mouthed moans.

You increased in fervour at his reaction, a desperate whine eeking from his body.

It was too much but not enough. He wanted more, more of you, more of this. He wanted the world to fall away and to be consumed by only you.

Like you said; "Just you and me."

Even though it would be grammatically correct to say 'You and I'.

Your hand wrapped around the length of him, pumping the head of his penis in short, lanquid bursts.. and suddenly the correctness on ones grammar seemed worlds away.

Gale shuddered and knelt over your body, settling himself between your gorgeous thighs, pressing down against your sex, enough to make you gasp.

You shared a wicked grin together before he cradled you to him, desperately kissing and mating your tongues. His hips unconsciously twitching against the friction of your hand.

"Gods, Gale. I want you." You keened against his lips, puffs of air escaping aggressively from your lungs, as his hips drove against you.

"Yesyesyesyesyes.." he chorused, messily thrusting against your palm, "Want this. Want you. For a long while.. even before.."

"Did you fantasize about all the positions we could fuck in?"

A sharp feeling settled low in his gut and he squeezed his eyes shut to close out a threatening, pre-emptive climax.

"Yes, wanted you.. badly." He added, barely able to speak.

"I know, I saw. Sweating and willing underneath you?"

"Yess.." he hissed.

"Slipping a finger inside me, then another, preparing me to take you?"

Another deliciously painful pang shuddered inside him.

"Stretching my tight hole for you, till I'm begging you to fuck me hard and unrelenting?" You growled against his lips.

Gale tensed his jaw to mute a groan from his chest, as your words gripped the back of his head.

Oh dear fucking gods.

You were very, very good at this.

"I especially liked where I got to play with you. Those moans at the back of your throat when you'd think of me on top, or taking charge.. I had trouble concentrating yesterday because I couldn't stop replaying those sounds."

He heard you whisper an incantation, that his lust-filled brain slowly realised was Mage hand, the moment before he felt the cold sensation working his undergarments completely free, pushing them down passed his knees.

"There was one particular part you seemed to be interested in exploring together." You purred against his temple, as you twisted your grip around his plump, weeping member.

The Mage hand palmed at the cleft of his ass and lazily dragged it's fingers up his perennium, sliding towards his..

He gasped, throwing his head back and loosening his tight hips to tilt them upwards in wanton display.

"Oh gods." Gale whimpered, biting down on his lip hard, "Mm-Mhm." He panted in abandon.

He'd experimented with himself in this matter in his youth and in his newfound sexual freedom after his year of self imposed celibacy but never with another.

The magical fingers languidly drawled across his sensitive skin. He bucked and jerked against the feeling of you pleasuring him, needing more of both.

You groaned and rutted your hips against him.

"You look so beautiful like this, I can see you in the mirror behind you. You look spectacular, spreading yourself for me." You crooned, praising him and licking your bottom lip. You looked beyond him to what he assumed was his mirror.

Oh gods.

You were going to watch him like this.

Like he'd imagined.

Exposed.

Hedonistic.

Depraved.

The thought waved over his brain and made him dizzy, the desire swelled low in his belly.

"You're so willing and receptive, Gale. Do you want me to slide these fingers inside you? To pleasure you completely until you can't comprehend your own name?" You asked salaciously, assuring consent before blindly continuing. He raised his hips higher for better access as wordless agreement.

The mage hand ran a soaked finger across his puckering hole but ventured no further without express permission.

His whole body trembled, desire coarsing through his veins, soaking into every orifice.

"Yes.. yes.. fuck. I need it. Please.. please.." he wailed through staggered breath.

"Look at me." You instructed softly, halting your motions of abject pleasure.

With great difficulty, Gale did as he was told. He about exploded with joy with the sight of you.

He'd imagined you, summoned your likeness but nothing could ever compare to this.

The aura of his orb bathed you in a magical amethyst glow; the adoration shining in your eyes, the seductive curve of your lip, the sweat flattening your hair to your temples.

"So handsome.. so beautiful. Look at you, look at how you light up for me.." you smiled, guilding him with compliments as you raise a hand to touch the angry purple mark on his chest, now emblazoned with Mystra's star. "This does not define you. You are not the orb. You are not Mystra's chosen. You are Gale and you chose your own path. You are, and will always be, enough.. just as you are.."

Soft tears fell from his eyes from the intensity of his emotional response to your words and the physical stimuli of the hand gently testing his entrance.

You gently kissed the apples of his wet cheeks, then looked up at him with a darkened expression.

"Arch your back for me, sweetheart."

Gale instantly buried his face against your neck, lifting his exposed self for you.

"Good.." you cooed, beginning a slow pace to pump his cock again.

"Ohh, gods." His whined against your skin, his limit already close.

"Relax.." you whispered, kissing his temple, "Relax for me, darling. Take a deep breath, and let it out. Keep breathing."

Gale did as he was told. With each expell of air he loosened the muscles surrounding his asshole. The need growing to dizzying heights.

Pressure pushed against his rim as the finger glided halfway, he gasped and clenched unconsciously.

"Breathe, Gale." You soothed, pressing soft kisses to his face, "You're handling this so well."

Further and further you pushed inside him, delicious sensation flooding his body. His body tense and limp simultaneously, as the pleasure radiated through him from his pulsating walls.

"Fuck." He barely managed.

He kissed your neck and sucked down on the bite marks left by Astarion. He would make his own mark on you. One that everyone would see.

You gasped, your breath catching as you rolled your hips against him, teeth lightly nipping at his ear lobe.

Gale felt the friction of your other hand reaching down between you to stimulate your own release. His urge re-doubled in it's efforts to push him higher, intoxicated by your arousal.

He could feel your desperate movements between you, lightly grazing his testicles with the back of your hand.

You surprised him by gently pinching the head of him and thumbing the slit before initiating an unyielding, rapid rhythm wrapped around his cock. Synchronizing with curling the Mage hand towards his stomach, rubbing over the knot of his prostate.

A ragged, strained noise escaped from his throat as the sensations joined, assailing him from both sides.

He pushed back against the Mage hand, taking it's digit to the hilt.

"Oh yes, that's it. Enjoy it. It's for you.. all for you." You chorused his words to you, the words he used every night to pray to your false altar.

But now he had you, truly had you.. and you were spectacular.. you could not be formed into words.. you transcendend this mortal plane.. you were.. more than Godly.. you were-

A second finger penetrated him without refute and stretched his hole, doubling the pleasure against his sweet spot inside his ass, and he cried out in sheer bliss. Your hand wrapped around his cock, pumping in jubilant rhythm combined with the thrusting of the spell deep inside him.

The precipice of orgasm gripped him like a vice and choked him of all other need, apart from that to cum.

In that moment of blessed eternity, the world was narrowed down to nothing more than you and him. A vaccum in existence bathed in magical light.

Rapture split through every atom of his existence, building and climbing in a torrent of unstable energy.

"Yes, Gale-yes-come. Come with me."

His mouth open, panting like a rabid dog, he lost himself entirely.

He roared and strained and gasped, as he shot thick ropes all over your torso. His asshole squeezed and clenched tightly on the digits deliciously stuffed inside him working his orgasm longer. Your skilled hand milking every last drop from him.

He gulped for breath as you cried out underneath him, jerking against your own hand, breathless and exhilarated.

He watched you come undone underneath him, eyes screwed, mouth gaping, then biting down to quieten your moans.

Dear gods, you looked exquisite.

He reached a hand between you both to feel the after effects of your rhapsody, you twitched and laughed through a smile, as he stroked your sensitive sex in the wake of orgasm, riding you longer like you were to him.

"Stopstopstop-too much." You barely gasped against his sweat laden forehead.

There you lay, for what seemed like an easy age, together.

Aftershocks struck you both as you lay together in your joined euphoria.

The Mage hand had disappeared and left him feeling pleasantly sore from the hectic pace.

Gale pushed himself up onto his forearm, extracating his hand from between you. It was covered in your release, it glistened on his hand.

It was one of the most erotic things he'd ever seen. Something he hadn't fantasied.

He glanced back to you, you also held up your hand drenched in him.

You opened your mouth, clearing indicating to feast on yourself from his fingers. His tender cock twitched with desire.

He reciprocated his mouth and you swept your digits in his mouth. He tasted himself, licking his semen clean, as you suckled your own essence from his fingers, then pulled him in for a deep kiss.

Gale moaned at the melding of you both on mating tongues. It was pure sex and exhilaration. The desire and need. The fullfilment and warmth.

The kiss broke and you smiled at him, letting out a large breath.

"That was.." He started.

"Incredible." You finished.

"That's one of many words." He mused, laughing breathlessly.

Gale pushed himself up higher, "Oh, gods." He snorted, looking down at the scene of debauchery before him and kneeled onto his heels.

You and he were both covered in cum. It was obscene how licentiously delicious you looked painted with each other.

He remembered the first time he'd cum to your image, how hollow and alone he'd felt.

But not this time.

This time he felt complete.

Like a piece of him had hurried it's way back to him after so long apart.

"Well, that's one way to let off some steam." He chuckled darkly.

"I think it's hot." You smirked, biting down on your lower lip.

Gale swallowed with difficulty, "Careful you, that's dangerous."

Gale heaved out a breath and came to grips with what had just transpired between you both. How little his imagination had been able to conceive of you. What paltry figments had been the stars of his fantasies.

He glanced down upon you; hair mussed, sweat drying on your skin, clothes rumpled and he couldn't have loved you more.

"What?" You asked in a quiet voice.

Gale shook his head, "Nothing." He feigned.

He waved his hand with a simple somantic and the evidence was gone.

"Then come down here, I'm getting cold." You stroked your hands up his arms and enveloped him into an embrace that warmed all the lost parts of his soul.

"I meant it, Gale. I won't let you destory yourself for this. We'll find another way." You nestled yourself deeper into the hug.

Gale smiled contentedly from ear to ear, "I know we will.. because now I have something to live for."

•°•°•

Part 1

Psst.. Ive got a Masterlist too 👀

[bahablastplz]

All in | Chapter 3

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

chapter summary: you escape and face the consequences of your actions

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

It’s cold outside, you think, and you wish you had brought a little more thought to your choice in outfit because the shirt you’re wearing does little to protect your skin from the harsh wind. You regret not finding something a little thicker, something with longer sleeves perhaps when you had raided the wardrobe earlier. You were searching for comfort, not practicality, and now that decision was coming to bite you in the ass. 

Your body carries you through the wooded area surrounding the house, brambles scratching at your arms and drawing blood. You thank your body for pumping out adrenaline once again, protecting you from feeling too much pain. You’re not sure if you’ve ever run this hard or this fast in your entire life, the burning in your lungs evident that maybe you should have focused a bit more on staying in shape. Your shoes were definitely not made for running and you add it to the list of things to curse yourself for later. 

The pavement under your feet is different from the mushy grass surrounding the SKZ base and you find yourself trying not to connect your feet as hard to the ground to make up for it, lest the burning in your legs slow you down. Wait… pavement? You slow, coming to a stop to allow yourself a moment to view your surroundings and catch your breath. 

You notice you're in the city, albeit a deserted part of it that you don't recognize. Looking left and right, you decide to go in the direction of the faded city lights. At every car that passes you hold your breath and try to sink into the bushes, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible just in case Chan is in one of the vehicles. 

Salvation comes to you in the form of a gas station, seemingly devoid of any life. As you near close, you let out a sigh of relief when you see the blinking ‘open’ sign. One person mans the register, a man in his mid-30s that doesn’t seem to pay you any mind. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey but even so you can’t find it in you to be displeased. 

“Excuse me, sir,” you say, saccharine sweet. “Do you have a phone I could borrow?” The first thing you would like to do is give your sister a phone call, to let her know you’re on the way.

“You have to buy something first,” he replies instantly, not even bothering to look up from his newspaper. 

You freeze. “But… I don't have any money.” It's the truth. God knows where your phone and wallet are; you haven’t had either since you started dating Jungwon and became dependent on him for everything. 

“That's not my problem,” he says. You take a deep breath to ground yourself, inhaling the aroma of hot dogs and nacho cheese. A slushie machine whirls behind you, reds and blues that could be impossibly easy to get lost in. 

“Listen sir, I've had a rough couple of days, and I don't know where I am, and I would really appreciate it if–” 

“No, you listen, brat,” he spits the word out, finally slamming his paper down and shooting you a nasty glare. “I don't give a damn who you are, either buy something or get the Hell out of my store before I call the cops.” 

You feel inclined to listen and book it out of here but you realistically don’t have many other options. You ignore the tears threatening to spill from your lash line. If he won’t let you use the phone, the least you could do is try to figure out where you are. 

“Um… okay, how far is Second Street from here?” 

“Least three miles.” 

“Three miles? Okay. What about downtown?” 

“Still at least an hour walk.” 

“Shit, okay. Have a nice night, sir,” you say, but you don’t mean it and he doesn't deserve it. You walk out of the store nonetheless, walking on the abandoned sidewalk in the direction of the city. Your body aches and you’re not sure how far you’ve walked when you hear voices in front of you. 

There’s three men. One of them sways back and forth as he walks, obviously inebriated. Fuck. You keep your eyes glued to the sidewalk and your pace quickens, hoping that a lack of engagement will increase your luck. Maybe, just maybe for once in your life you’ll get a free pass here. Of course that doesn’t happen. 

“Hey, pretty thang. What's a girl like you doing all by yourself this late at night?” The man nudges his friend, the noticeably drunker one. 

“I don't want any trouble,” you mumble, pushing forward. 

A large unwelcoming hand reaches out to grab your wrist and you shout out in pain. Broken. Despite the ice and bandage wrapped around your appendage, your wrist is still broken. 

“What wash that? I think she said she wantshta show ush a good time!” He slurs, and anxiety settles in the pit of your stomach. You’re starting to get really tired of the feeling. 

“Let me go, please!” Your other hand gripped the offender’s, placing it over his tight grasp. 

You're shoved to the ground, knees scraping against the sidewalk. Your breath is caught in your throat, and the scene is all too familiar. 

“Come on bunny, don't you want to play?” A hand grips around your throat, and you feel like prey. How they managed to find the parts of you that were weak and vulnerable, you had no clue. Men like this just had a knack for being awful like that. A hand snakes in your hair and grabs tight, and you’re reminded of just days ago being in this exact situation. 

“Look, she’s crying!” one of them coos. You let out a loud sob and think, God, I’m going to die here. How you always have a knack for making wrong decisions, you’ll never know. 

“Let her go.” Your eyes shoot open when you hear a familiar deep voice. Instead of being filled with fear at finally being caught, you can’t help but to feel relieved. 

“Felix!” you cry out. You try to crane your head to look at him but the man’s grip on your hair is too tight. 

“Let her go? Why? We were having a good time!” One of them laughs and you feel his grip on you tighten. You whimper in pain. “Do you wanna join in?” 

Felix doesn’t say anything, but you hear a soft, mechanical clicking sound. It’s too silent and you’re afraid that you know the reason why. Your eyes stay closed but you’re free, suddenly. As you begin to fall you brace to hit the concrete but you’re surprised when you don’t. A warm and steady arm wraps around your middle and you relax into Felix as the men scamper away. 

“He's fucking crazy, man. The bitch isn't worth it.” And like that, they are gone. You allow yourself to glance down at Felix and the gun he is holding, but you aren't intimidated anymore. He has gotten rid of the real threat. 

“Are you hurt?” He asks, not looking at you. You swallow, hating to be the target of his disappointment. The gun is put away and forgotten about and you slump out his grasp and onto the concrete. You shake your head at him, trying to indicate that you are okay, you’re not seriously hurt, but you can tell he doesn’t believe you. Instead he ushers you into a car that you hadn’t even noticed had appeared, obviously too caught up in the situation at hand. He opens the door for you and you climb in, noticing that he sits in the passenger seat, not the driver’s. You furrow your brow until you recognize Hyunjin in the driver’s seat, tapping furiously on the wheel. On your left you recognize the broad frame as Changbin, who seems to be more distressed than anyone else in the car. You hope for silence, but once again, you can never be so lucky. 

“How do you always manage to get yourself into such trouble?” Hyunjin laughs. He irritates you to no end, always so sure of himself and full of it. “First Jungwon, us, and now these thugs? Do you have a knack for finding trouble or does trouble find you?” You notice Felix tense, and you decide staying in silence is probably better to not irritate the men further. You look out the window instead as the car speeds off. 

Hyunjin continues, “Normally Chan would want us to blindfold you if we were taking you back to our place, but he told us not to bother this time. He seems incessant that there’s no reason to.” Does he ever shut up? “Expect for him to be pissed. He knew you were going to leave, though.” 

Now that was enough to break your silence. 

“He knew?” you ask, incredulous. 

“Of course. It was a test, after all. To see where your loyalties lie, if he threatens you and tells you not to escape, you’re much more likely to leave right after because you think you can get away with it.” Shit. Now you feel dumb. But instead of letting on, you scoff and turn your head back to the window, finding the view much more interesting. You’re shivering still from the cold despite the heat pumping through the air vents. Felix wordlessly takes off his coat and hands it to you, and while you want to be proud and reject the offer you can’t help but want for this chill in your bones to go away. His jacket is warm and you can smell the trace of his cologne, floral, like jasmine yet earthy.  

You couldn’t have been in the car for more than ten minutes, and you curse yourself, realizing that you really didn’t get as far as you thought. 

Then, you approach a long driveway, adorned with a large iron gate that would intimidate anyone that made it to this part of the city, encased in grime and rust that’s indicative of its age. The car drives down the winding roads with familiarity which puts you at ease and keeps you from feeling nauseous, which you feel grateful for. When you arrive at the front of the house, you are finally given the opportunity to take a look at where you have been staying, as previous circumstances hadn’t allowed you to do so. 

The exterior of the house is a little dreary, the age of the cracked brick and marble noticeable. Even in the dark you could tell everything else is well-taken care of, well-trimmed shrubbery and flower beds surprising you. You don’t get as much time to look around as you would like, though you do notice the sheer size of the house as you follow the men up the gravel pathway. Large front doors open up and you’re guided inside. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You and Felix walk in silence to your room. You’re almost ashamed to meet his eye. 

“How did you know where to find me?” you finally ask. 

“I came to bring you this,” he says, gesturing to what he had been holding. A hard brace for your wrist. “When I came to your room and you weren’t there, I panicked. You couldn’t have gotten far, but we jumped in the car right away.” 

“But… What about what Hyunjin said?” You ask. Meanwhile he starts to unwrap the bandage on your wrist, revealing the very swollen and purple affected area. You wince slightly. 

“About it being a test? I wouldn’t be surprised, you’re probably in deep shit with Chris.” He says. You notice that he uses a nickname when referring to the man but you don’t say anything. He pulls out a first aid kit and starts to sanitize the surface of your skin and it stings more than you’d like to admit. Still, he does so delicately, making sure his fingers don’t press onto your injury too harshly. “I didn’t think you would leave,” he admits. “It was really stupid, you do realize that, right? I was just… really hoping you would be smarter than that.” 

You scoff. “Stupid, got it. I’m sorry that I didn’t want to stay trapped with the mafia, but I saw my opportunity. I have a life out there I want to get back to! I can’t stay here for the rest of my life.” 

“That may be true, but you won’t have a life to get back to if you’re killed the moment you leave,” he points out. “I’m not trying to be malicious, but you have a huge target on your back. Even if it’s not Jungwon who comes for you, you’re affiliated with ENHA. People who are not as kind as we are will see you as a way to get to him and they’ll kill you in cold blood.” He delicately places the new brace onto your wrist, strapping it shut tight. You try not to think about how his touch lingers on your skin, that you can still feel where he touched you and how it makes your face heat up. Instead you try to flex your wrist to test the brace, finding that it provides enough support for you not to move it too intensely. Felix hums in approval. 

“Come with me,” he says. He takes you to the bathroom and gestures for you to sit on the toilet lid. You do, looking up at him inquisitively. You see that he has brought the first aid kit with him and he’s keen on tending to your other injuries. 

“I just don’t understand,” you say, breaking the silence. He takes an antiseptic wipe and starts to wipe away scratches on your head. “Just… Why do you care if I live or die?” 

“That’s a tough one,” he says. You can’t tell if he’s joking. “I guess you can say I don’t like Yang Jungwon. Our feud with them has lasted for several years and he’s just a nuisance. He kills people in cold blood and is remorseless. I’m sure you’ve seen it first hand just how manipulative he can be, and we really just want to make sure that he doesn’t do anything to undermine us. That being said, you’re a benefit to SKZ. I know you might not see it yet, but you might be the ticket we need to finally one-up them. If you’re dead then we’re back to an even playing field.” 

“What about the infiltration? Don’t you have plans with Lee Know?” you ask. 

“Oh, Minho? He’s a very skilled person, he excels at this kind of thing. We’ve been wanting to do something like this for a while and we finally have an opportunity to do so. I hear that they’re planning to start up an underground drug-ring, something that would put us both in the public eye more than we want. Minho is going to try to find out what he can about it and then we can proceed.” 

Felix bends down, kneeling before you. Your breath hitches before you can think about it; it’s not fitting for someone who looks so majestic to be below you, you think. 

He starts to clean the scrapes on your knees. They’re bloody and raw from your fall and you’re only now starting to feel the aftereffects from it. You’re grateful that he’s taking the time to tend to your injuries, scanning your entire body from head to toe until he’s content. “You’re too good for all of this,” he finally says. “Someone like you should have never gotten involved in our lifestyle. You have so much potential, I can just see it. How did you even get stuck in this life?” The question is so intimate that it takes you a moment to process that he asked it. 

“I didn’t know who he was when I started dating him,” you admit. “Like you said, he’s manipulative. He’s mastered the art of deception. When I met him, he was charming and sweet, you know? It feels dumb to say, but by the time he admitted to me he was part of the mafia, I was head over heels in love with him. By the time I realized that the Jungwon I knew was just a facade it was too late, he caused me to completely rely on him for everything. I lost everything, Felix.” He nods in understanding, looking up at you before he stiffens. 

“Your neck… Did he do that, too?” he asks. There’s no judgment in his voice. You realize that the makeup you applied so diligently before must have completely rubbed off by now. You sigh. 

“Yeah. The night Chan found me, Jungwon and I got into a fight. It was my fault, but he threatened me, and it got physical, and…” 

“I don’t know what happened, but I severely doubt it could have been your fault,” he says. You decide not to divulge the details of your argumentThis is the first time you have admitted the situation out loud, and you feel very vulnerable. For some reason, you really want to tell Felix, despite the tears threatening to spill from your lashes. 

“He knocked me unconscious outside of the club, and when I woke up, I was here.” He finishes bandaging up your injuries and he stands, stretching his back and popping his joints. There’s blood on his white dress shirt. Your blood, though you don’t remember how it got there. 

“When you left tonight, where were you planning to go? You weren’t going–” 

“Not back to him, God no. Um… I have a sister, I was just trying to get in touch.” He seems content with your answer. You wonder if he’s just going to relay all of that information back to Chan. You feel like a weight has been lifted off of your chest, though, so you can’t really bring yourself to care. 

“I don’t know how long you’re going to be here. But for now, this is the safest place for you. So, try not to do anything else that’s stupid.” He turns to the door to leave, but you find yourself calling out. 

“Felix?” He halts and his eyes meet yours as you call his name. “Thank you.” There’s a lot of meaning to convey with just two words, but you hope you get your point across; thank you, for saving my life, for talking with me, for treating my wounds. He seems to understand. He graces you with a small smile before leaving 

You take a minute to breathe and look at yourself in the mirror. You are definitely not the same person you were two days ago. You smile at the reflection of yourself that has been beaten and bruised, and you hardly recognize her. You open the door to retreat to your bedroom for the night, but are shocked by what you see. 

For the second time in one night, Bang Christopher Chan sits on your bed, waiting expectantly. 

“We need to talk,” he says. 

He looks pissed. His glare sends shivers straight up your spine, and it takes everything for you to not break down and cry on the spot. It makes you feel guilty for everything that happened tonight, but you have to shake that thought. You were justified, you need to stand strong. You sit on the bed next to him without him gesturing for you to do so, as it feels like what he wants. You aren’t stupid enough to disobey him again. 

You look him in the eye. 

“I’d like to think I’m a kind person,” he says. “I don’t ask much of you–”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt. 

“Speak when spoken to. I won’t tell you again.” He clears his throat. “I don’t ask much of you. In fact, I gave you just two, simple, commands that you couldn’t be bothered to follow. Do not contact Yang Jungwon, and do not leave. What did you do?” He looks at you but you stay silent. “Answer.” 

“I left.” 

“That’s right. You must be pretty stupid, Y/N. Stupid enough to somehow end up here, and even more stupid to disobey me. I knew you were going to try to push your luck,” he says. “Explain yourself.” 

“I…” you gulp. You decide honesty is the best way to go about this. “I got scared. I know you told me not to leave and I didn’t listen, and I truly apologize but I remembered how trapped I felt when I was with Jungwon, and, well… the prospect of staying here for the rest of my life really really scared me.  I wanted to see my sister and tell her I’m alright. My phone is gone, and she probably thinks I’m dead. I envisioned a world where I  never got to see her again and make things right, and I thought this would be my only chance.” 

He sits in silence for a moment, contemplating. “This will be the last time I extend such kindness to you,” he says slowly. “From here on, I want your complete loyalty to me and the rest of SKZ.I will ensure your safety from ENHA and any potential threat. For now, that’s all you need. If you try to undermine me one more time, I will make sure you never see your sister again. Take that any way you want.” He stands. 

“Hyunjin said that this was a test,” you say cautiously. “Are you going to punish me?” 

“I thought I made myself very clear that there would be consequences to your actions,” he says. “I will go lightly on you, just this time. I’m being very nice, just so you are aware: I am not usually known by others as a kind person.” He sighs. “Pick a number between one and ten.” 

“Um… five?” you say, trying to play it safe and pick a number that’s not too high and not too low. His hands slide down to his waistband, unbuckling his belt and taking it out of the loops. 

“Lift your shirt up and turn around.” 

You do, with shaky hands, turn around and lift your shirt up so just your back is revealed to Chan. You don’t protest, worrying that that could somehow make things worse. 

You steady your breath and brace for impact. 

Thwack. 

One time, Chan’s leather belt comes down and hits the skin of your back hard. It’s obvious he has no intention of holding back and it stings; you bite down on your bottom lip to suppress your cries. 

Thwack. 

The second time, just as hard. 

Five times Chan hits you hard with your belt and you can’t hold back your tears any longer, though you do stay strong in the decision to not let him see them. After the fifth hit, you stand and pull down your shirt. 

“Rest up,” he tells you. “Tomorrow you’ll meet everyone else.” 

It’s stupid of you to think about, but you practically disregarded the fact that there are other members you have not met yet. You’re not entirely looking forward to it, though you don’t say so.  

“Does everyone know?” you ask him just as he’s about to leave. “Does everyone know that I’m associated with Jungwon?” 

“Everyone knows,” he confirms. “I trust my group implicitly. I felt no need to hide it from them, though at this point I don’t think it’s something to be ashamed of.” You nod your head at the information, lost in thought. 

Then Chan leaves and you’re finally alone. When you lie down in bed you finally take note of how your body feels after all this time. Every muscle aches and you can’t lay down on your back and once again you ignore the incessant throbbing in your skull. When you lay down in the bed to sleep, it’s on the comfiest, most luxurious mattress that you’ve ever laid on. You stare at the wall until you drift off with a dreamless yet peaceful sleep.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

taglist: @shuporanporang ; @purp13st4r ; @eurydiceofterabithia ; @heartsbyandra ; @thicccurls ;

@rylea08 ; @the-sweetest-rose ; @oddracha ; @kapelover ; @goldenmellow ;

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@hash2013 ; @skzswife ; @b0bbl3s ; @thecutiepieme ; @bear8585 ;

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@starsofasteria ; @klopez01 ; @luvlinos ; @hyunjinnnnnnnnnnnnnn ;

[thebutchersbitch]

I got a copper request for you if makes sense. Sorry English is not my first language. After close call of almost getting caught and found out as the Butcher he goes home to his girl to cool off. The thrill of such a close call surprisingly excited him and he fucks her to relief his built up adrenaline

thank you

18+

Cooper Adams x Reader | rough sex, choking, anal, blood kink, cum play (this one’s filthy, proceed with caution)

Cooper’s eyes darted up to the rearview mirror, then back to the road ahead. Safe. He was safe. It was difficult to feel safe, considering how closely he’d come to being seen this time…really seen. A passerby had gotten a little too near the scene where Cooper’s latest victim lay in pieces on the ground. It wouldn’t have been a problem necessarily if Cooper’s face had been covered…but he’d been uncharacteristically sloppy this time, too confident for his own good. Choosing to leave his face exposed was a dangerous gamble, but he found the rush was worth it. At least it had felt worth it, until Cooper realized he was being approached by someone in the near distance. Gathering his things, Cooper quickly exited for his vehicle, throwing his bag in the car and peeling out of the vacant lot before his identity and the entire second life he’d created as The Butcher, could be compromised…

Killing and dismembering often excited Cooper in unexpected ways; but tonight was different.

Cooper’s hand brushed across his lap, his wrist rubbing against the erection tenting his jeans. That was unexpected. He’d never been sexually aroused after killing…and as he turned off the interstate on his way to the safe house, he wondered if that was the cause this time? Or had his close brush with ‘capture,’ caused him to feel this way?

By the time Cooper pulled up to the back of the safe house, he was painfully hard, his balls aching for relief. None of the lights were on, but he knew you’d be there, waiting for him. And thank fuck for that, Cooper thought. Usually, you’d help him unwind after one of his murders, fixing him something to eat and giving him a massage after he showered all the blood and sweat off of himself. Fucking was part of the package, naturally. And tonight, Cooper knew he’d be taking full advantage of everything your body offered him. Fuck a shower first. He needed you NOW...

No words-just Cooper’s hand closing around your throat, pulling you into him-choking you on his tongue and the taste of someone else’s blood on his lips-fueled by pure adrenaline pumping through his veins. He immediately rutted himself against you, his stiff cock prodding your stomach as he forced you against him in a tight hold.

You weren’t especially squeamish, accustomed to seeing Cooper covered in blood-but he never initiated sex with you until he’d cleaned up first. The fact that his tongue was literally forcing a stranger’s blood between your lips had your head spinning; it was sick and fucked-up, but you found yourself…enjoying it.

The grip Cooper had on your throat tightened. It was erotic and frightening, as you worried that in this out-of-control state he was in, Cooper might not be able to stop himself from going too far. Your throat went dry, lungs screaming for air, your body jerking and writhing in his arms. At last, Cooper released you, shoving you to the floor. He spread his legs around you, boxing you in between his blood-caked boots, his hair fallen to the sides of his face as he watched you squirm like wounded prey beneath him. His hands made short order of his belt, ripping it from the loops in his jeans and throwing it aside. You scrambled to get up, not to get away from Cooper, but to gain your footing, at least some small bit of control in this new, scary game Cooper had initiated you into.

His boot slammed down on the sleeve of your sweater, barely missing your wrist, pinning you to the floor. You gasped in shock at how close Cooper had come to crushing your wrist, but your thoughts were interrupted when his husky voice asked, “Where d’you think you’re going, honey?”

He knelt down and returned his hand to your throat, holding you flat against the floor. With his other hand, Cooper ripped the neckline of your sweater downward, the material shredding in his fist. You whimpered under him, a confused cocktail of arousal and apprehension causing your clit to throb under Cooper’s knee, pressed roughly between your legs, further pinning you in place. He sensed the pleasure thrumming against his knee, your thighs trembling around him.

Cooper thrust two of his fingers between your lips, the sour tang of blood spreading on your tongue. “Suck,” he ordered, pumping his fingers in and out of your throat. Just as you were about to vomit, Cooper yanked his fingers back and used both his hands to flip you onto your stomach. You were simultaneously grateful he’d released your throat and also frustrated that he had. Your pussy was absolutely weeping, your arousal obvious to Cooper as he rubbed you between your thighs. “Good girl,” he murmured over your back, a satisfaction in his voice that made your heart swell with sick pride. “So slippery I can barely get hold of your little cunt, fuck…”

He yanked your leggings down, no further than your thighs, because he wasn’t wasting any time. What Cooper needed wasn’t any lower than your thighs, anyway. He spread your ass apart and spit on your little hole, watching it pucker. He knew you were nervous, and he was getting off on it. Cooper had never mixed intimidation and fear with sex before, confining those emotions/experiences to his murders alone; but now that he had a taste for it, Cooper was addicted.

He closed his hand over the back of your neck, holding your upper body flat against the floor. Cooper rubbed his cock between your legs, slicking his tip with your cum. Keeping your ass spread apart with his hands, Cooper penetrated you forcefully. You winced, your eyes sealing shut as the burn of his cock stretching you seared through your asshole like fire. It didn’t last long however, your body’s defenses rushing to aid you with an adrenaline surge of your own.

Cooper’s arms locked around your shoulders, holding you to his chest as he pumped your asshole full to the brim with hot ropes of cum. Growling into your shoulder, Cooper collapsed against you, his skin and hair damp with sweat, his chest heaving as he savored the rush of endorphins flooding his system. He felt human again, that animalistic craving which had overtaken him finally under his control once more.

He sucked a hard kiss into the back of your neck, looking between your bodies and carefully easing himself out of your ass. Cooper watched your hole as it gaped then contracted back in size, his cum belching and sputtering out of you as he played with your ass, massaging your cheeks and admiring his work.

Rising to his knees, Cooper spanked a bloody handprint onto your ass. “Make me something to eat,” he instructed, smoothing back his disheveled hair. “Then join me in the shower. You’ll need to clean up too; there’s a mess.”

[samkerrworshipper]

losing | leah williamson x reader

lol i based this off of a sermon that i listened to this morning lol so enjoy! also loosely based off a multitude of requests i’ve been sent x

You’d never felt more heart broken in your life than you did in this moment. Looking out at a crowd of people you didn’t know, a crowd of people that were feeling a fraction of the disappointment you were. You’d collapsed to the grass as soon as the whistle had blown, your heart shattering into a million pieces on the pitch. You’d worked your ass off, your whole team had worked their asses off, and yet you’d still fallen short, it still wasn’t enough.

You couldn’t even really make out the crowd, the overwhelming disappointment that was covering your lungs and clouding your brain stopping you from being able to feel anything besides your own body, the feeling of your stomach dropping, the feeling of your lungs breathing in cold air that burned in your throat and the pure dread that you could feel in your heart with every pump that it did, the disappointment in yourself spreading throughout your whole body through your veins and blood. You’d never failed like this, hell, your debut for the Lionesses had been the home Euro’s, where you hadn’t lost a single game. You were the youngest Ballon D’or winner, you were a golden boot winner, you were so much better than this, your team expected you to be better than this, Sarina expected you to be better than this.

The tears streaming down your face hurt, they hurt to push out and they hurt dripping down your face. The burning sensation of the cold wind mixing with the liquid dripping down your face steadily. Second was always the first to lose. That was something your parents had always told you growing up, no matter what sport you were playing, second place is always the first to lose, and there is nothing worse than losing. You’d never really been a loser per say, your debut senior team had been Barcelona, who were soaring in the Champion’s league, every week was a victory. You’d hardly lost with the Lionesses, and the one game that you’d never been able to comprehend losing you had, you’d lost.

A few minutes went by, of you lying by yourself on the pitch, you could hear the Spanish team celebrating, the women bathing in their victory. That was about all you could hear, the feelings of disappointment being enough noise for your ears. It was like that for a little while, your brain busying your body with enough thoughts, but then, when the adrenaline started to wear off and the real effects of the game started to set in you felt it all come crashing down. Suddenly you could feel everything, from your teammates crying a few metres away from you, the Spanish women celebrating, to the crowd that surrounded you. Everything was too much for you, the tears on your face, the oxygen in your lungs it was all too much, you couldn’t be here, you were a failure, a disappointment, a burden to the whole team. Your tried to stand up from the pitch, but you were humbled by the fact that you had just played a whole 90 minutes of football and on top of that you’d been on the receiving end of a slide tackle that had managed to hurt your ankle, enough that you probably shou;dn’t have stayed on, but it was the World Cup, you would play with a broken leg if you had to. The adrenaline and endorphins had been enough of a pain killer, but now your body was cold and no longer riding on it’s high, everything hurt, from the hair on your head to the stabbing pain that was shooting up your leg from your ankle.

Your feet squelched in the grass as you limped across the pitch, making your way over to the team huddle that was congregating. Your boots long forgotten, laying somewhere on the pitch, they didn’t matter, nothing mattered any more. You let Georgia and Alessia wrap their arms around you in the huddle, you tried your hardest to listen to what Sarina was saying, but it was clear her words were falling on deaf ears, all of you girls as equally gutted as each other, you could hardly stand on your ankle, you could hardly think, let alone really take in the words of the Dutchwoman. You were supposed to win, supposed to be here to make your parents proud, to make everyone proud, and instead all you could feel was the overwhelming fear that you’d let them all down, that instead of making them all proud like you were supposed to, you’d failed them.

You were taken from the group to do the presentations, the silver medal around your neck just another reminder than you had lost, another reminder that you’d fallen short. Lucy and Keira tried to give you a hug, the same with a lot of your Barca teammates, but you weren’t in the headspace, you had to remind yourself to breathe every few seconds, you didn’t have the capacity to do much more than that.

Georgia lead you back to the changerooms, tears leaking from both of your eyes as the two of you made your way down the tunnel, the both of you just eager to be away from the cameras, away from everything. The change rooms were silent, the only sound to be heard was the very faint noise of the music coming from the Spanish rooms, the only sound that could be heard in the locker rooms was the sound of crying, coming from a series of people, sobs filling the air. You managed to limp your way to your cubby, pushing yourself into the space and folding into yourself, your whole body giving out, this wasn’t how it was supposed to be, this wasn’t how this whole month was supposed to end. You’d given everything for this world cup, and yet it wasn’t enough, it was never going to be enough.

A few of the vets came over to comfort you, Millie, Rach, Lucy, Keira. All of their words though, meant nothing to you, you were a failure, as far as you were concerned you’d failed them and it was killing you.

You stayed in your cubby, unmoving, unmotivated to do much more than pray that a random black hole would appear and suck you up right now. It didn’t. Instead you stayed shivering, crying in a mixture of sadness and pain. You stayed that way, until a certain injured England captain sat down in front of you, her eyes soft and a few dried tear tracks on her face.

“Hey sweetheart.”

Her voice was so quiet, so soft, so gentle. You pursed your lips, you didn’t deserve that, didn’t deserve her kindness.

“Leave me alone.”

Your voice was weak, and any of the aggression you were trying to direct towards the woman was lost in the insecurity you were feeling.

Leah leant down to your toes, her warm hands clutching onto your freezing toes and warming them up slightly.

“C’mon, the bus is about to leave, let’s get you back to the hotel.”

You shook your head blindly at Leah and she frowned, she knew it wasn’t going to be an easy job trying to get you out of here, Millie and Rach had warned her that you were gutted and that even their words hadn’t been able to get through to you.

Leah leant down, collecting the majority of your things from your locker and throwing them into your kit bag. Once she was done she looked back at you, acknowledging the fact that you had not moved a centimetre from where you had been before her ministrations.

She sat down as close as she could get to you, her hand falling to your bare knee cap and squeezing it.

“I know you don’t want to leave, but we have to, I’ll come on the bus with you if you want, and I’ll stay with you tonight, Georgia can room with Less and Tooney for tonight.”

You nodded at her quickly, you needed Leah tonight, you didn’t necessarily think you deserved her but you would take her offer up.

“C’mon then, let’s get you on the bus.”

Leah lifted her hand off of your knee, offering them to you as an assist to get you standing. You took them, allowing Leah to lift you from the bench and putting you on your feet. Your groaned almost immediately, the shooting pain across your ankle chilling you to your bones. Leah lifted you up by your armpits, slinging one of your arms around her shoulder to lift the pressure from your sore ankle. She stopped your sliders down on the floor, allowing you to step into them before beginning the walk out of the tunnel and towards the bus.

The bus was close to silent, all of your teammates piled in. There was a lot of crying, a lot of sleeping and a lot of wide eyed and quiet girls. You slid into a window seat, Leah following you and sitting beside you on the aisle. Her hand fell to your thigh, you didn’t say anything, didn’t look at her, just kept your eyes on the city as you drove through it on your way back to the hotel.

The mood was quite similar as the team made its way off the bus, all of you slumped over and slugging your way through the lobby up to your rooms. As soon as Leah closed the door behind you everything broke for you, everything you’d been feeling for the past few hours came crashing down on your like a freight train. Your ankle hurt. You were a failure and you didn’t deserve anything that Leah was trying to give you.

You’d let her help you out of your uniform, and even though she’d seen you naked thousands of times and studied you more intimately then anybody else, standing in front of her nude whilst she fished through your suitcase for clothes was so raw. It made you feel like she could feel and read all of your thoughts, it was a kind of vulnerable that you’d never been exposed to before. You shivered in front of Leah and if she took notice she didn’t vocalise, she was almost clinical in her job of redressing you, no stray eyes or hands, she gave herself a job and she achieved it fairly quickly.

Once she had finished you collapsed onto your bed, tugging for the shitty hotel duvet and pillow as your comfort. Leah slid onto the bed beside you, lying down on her side next to you, her hand coming up to rest on your face.

“I love you no matter what, I know this sucks, I know it’s rough but you played so well sweet and you couldn’t have done much more, it just wasn’t meant to be.”

Leah’s words stung, you weren’t used to losing and she knew it, especially not at this magnitude. You had never experienced losing a important game on a national level, you’d never experienced losing a grand final and you were still only 21.

“I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve for you to love me. I lost, we fucking lost, I could have tried harder, could have centred those shots, could have done better. I don’t deserve any of this, Sarina should fucking fire me, I was hopeless on the pitch.”

Leah’s face deflated, the accolades that you already had accomplished were insane, you were one of the best players in the world, and you were only 21. You were running with the big girls, and a lot of the time she forgot that, forgot that you were still only a kid.

“Y/n, you did the best you could, and you were exceptional on the field, you couldn’t have done anything else. Win or loss you are deserving of love, no matter what happens you are deserving of love. You are only 21 sweetheart, 21 and you have already won two champions league finals, a home Euro’s and a Ballon D’or, not to mention the golden boots and other awards you’ve accumulated. You are beyond what anything would have ever expected, you are exceptional and Sarina knows it, everyone on the team knows it. Without your goals and efforts this tournament the team wouldn’t have gotten as far as they did, you deserve to be loved for that and also for being you.”

You couldn’t help the tears that begun to steadily resume their flood down your face, Leah reached her hand up, wiping the tears and opening her arms to you.

You threw yourself into her arms, rejoicing in the warmth and support it provided. Leah was your captain, she was your bestfriend but she was also your girlfriend, something that you’d missed so much over this tournament. She was right, you were still only 21 and spending a month away from the woman, only seeing her after games or on days you had off. Sarina had told the team that she wanted no distractions, and you were never going to disobey her, but it had taken a part of your heart being away for Leah so long, normally you were glued to her side.

“Why do you love me when I failed, why do you still love me when I fucked up?”

Your words were spat out between sobs, sobs that were falling into Leahs shoulder, the space of her body you’d chose to find solace in.

“I love you no matter what sweet, I know that’s hard to believe, but no matter how much you fuck up on the pitch I will always love you, I will always be here for you, rain or shine you are my everything and that’s all that matters.”

Leah’s words were solid, she knew how much you needed her affirmations, that you brain was betraying every piece of self worth she’d tried to instill in you during your time together, when you’d gotten together you’d been a shell of a player, a kid with a whole lot of talent but absolutely zero confidence in herself. She’d tried her very hardest every single day to prove to you how worthy you were, and she’d had a lot of advancement with you,but there were bad days, bad moments, setbacks. This was one of those setbacks, one of the moments where the olderwomens heart broke for you, broke for the fact that your parents had been so hard on you from such a young age, that they’d made you feel like you only deserved to be loved when you were succeeding. It aggravated her, watching as you fought with yourself every single day to convince yourself that you were deserved, that you were worthy of being loved and cared for.

“We lost.”

You words were hardly words, mere broken syllables that Leah managed to piece together, it was significantly difficult considering all your words were muffled by her hoodie, but she managed.

“I know, I know and it sucks. We’ve got the nations league coming up though, there’s that. Or the Olympics next year, and the next World Cup and Euros. You have such a bright future my love, this is only the beginning.”

She heard the way you deflatedly exhaled into her hoodie, your body was well and truly spent, tired and overworked to the bone. Leah knew that, knew you’d been stringing yourself thin and she was so glad that she now had you in her arms, that she could look out for you now instead of observing how much longer you had left before you burnt yourself out, now that she had you though she wouldn’t let it happen, she would make sure that you were looking after yourself.

“Go to sleep honey, you’re tired, you need your rest with the early flight in the morning.”

She was right, in all of this you still had a 8am flight home. A flight that you’d hoped you’d still be on your high for, instead of being an all time low on.

“I love you Leah.”

Your words were murmured against her chest, your body finally relaxing against her own, making Leah happy that you were finally allowing yourself to be vulnerable with her.

“I love you too my sweet, my little superstar, so perfect just for me.”

She pressed her hand to your cheek, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your forehead and then a quick peck to your lips before angling your head back into her neck, your head finding comfort among the bony expanse.

“I’m sorry.”

Your words were murmured hotly against her neck, your breaths slowly evening out and becoming slower against her skin.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, you are perfection my girl and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you if I have to.”

[catgirlredux]

Her footsteps echo through the abandoned streets of the city, loud and heavy. I hear them through her. Together we scan the horizon, looking for targets - the fight isn’t finished. It never is.

We spot them at the same time; it’s been a long while since our senses merged. Our motions are as one, our vision is as one. We fire a volley of rockets. Our supply will last us a good long while.

Three targets hit.

Even before, I hated the term “pilot”. It didn’t feel right - not for the way we worked. If anything, she piloted me. She showed me how the world worked, and I worked us into it. She was my captain; and I her loyal knight.

They warned us about reaching terminus. When a pilot and their Hoplite unit became too closely linked, changes happened - changes outside of their control. They described it as the most painful thing ever, they said that once terminus is reached, pilots are no longer themselves but chaotic borg monsters, that they need to be destroyed. That’s why they insisted pilots be removed from active duty for months at a time.

I couldn’t stand to be away from her that long though. I changed up lists, traded places with my fellow pilots, broke into the masterfile of pilots and deleted my name from their system - all so I could spend a little more time with her. When I was with her, I felt free. I felt strong. I felt connected.

They must have lied about terminus, because it was the most beautiful thing we ever experienced. I took her signals and she took my blood, and as I felt her nanomass pierce my skin and merge with my bones I heard her mind closer than ever before. She took over the job of pumping oxygen to my brain so that her fluid could fill my lungs. Did you know that Hoplites have a heartbeat? I could feel it in my chest: a constant pulse of information from her core to her cockpit, strands of numbers which I could never have understood before, but now they pumped through my heart and spewed from my mouth.

Now they want to take that away. They want to sever our bond, return to the old ways. I am the pilot, she is the unit, that’s how things “should be”. So we run, we protect our beauty, we run and fight with the world on our heels.

I don’t remember what it was like to have a body of my own. I don’t want to.

[the-heartlines]

ghoulcy ficlet {explicit} the ghoul drinks the vials, thinks of his little killer, and uses the new 'gift' he took from her, in exchange from the one she took from him—to get himself off.

(i've only seen through episode 4 so im taking liberties ;)

read on ao3

He feels euphoric from the vials, the yellow liquid flooding his veins. 

He thinks of her, with her big round innocent eyes, looking up at him with fear, her mouth upturning with disgust.

His belly lurches when he thinks of her plump mouth, her dry, chapped split lips, her tongue tracing each and every crack, with how she thirsted for water. 

The Ghoul was a cruel creature wandering aimlessly through the Wasteland for over 200 years, not desiring anyone, not thirsting for anything but water…not since he met her.

His cock is stiff and throbbing (something he’s still shocked works after all this time) through his rough worn dirty leathers. He reaches for the buttons and zipper when he eyes her finger, the one he’d sewn onto his own hand. The one he took in exchange for her biting him like a feral dog—her flesh that’s soft and young. 

“Little killer,” he grasps his erection and repeats her nickname he’d given her, remembering her mouth filling with his blood, the scarlet liquid spilling from the corners of her mouth, as he was astride her, with her bound body underneath his. 

The Ghoul scrapes the head of his cock with the tip of her fingernail, then grasps his shaft roughly, dragging his hand across it.. “Sweetheart,” he growls, closing his eyes,  imagining her small hands in his place, gripping him harshly, her hand fisting him brutally, choking him like his leash had choked her, dragging her along with him, remembering her grunts of pain;  until he erupts with spine tingling pleasure.

“Lucy.” The Ghoul utters her name for the first time, climaxing hard and desperate, the sweet syllables rolling off his lips, as his salty semen covers his Lucy’s finger, wishing her young body was under his. 

Wishing  he could feel her cunt, wet and warm with blood flowing through her pretty veins, wrapped tight as a noose around him. For she has imprinted herself on his brittle bones, inside what’s left of his decrepit soul or withered heart. 

It makes that part of his tattered heart, melancholic, yearning for the daughter he lost. 

He wants to sew himself back together with all of her, for his heart beats a little harder, his blood pumps a little faster, and all he thinks about now is her. 

He thirsts for his little killer’s naive sweetness, more than water, or any other vial, wanting to drown his veins and lungs in it. 

For he must have all of her and she will ultimately sustain him in the end…even if she’s unwilling, he can make her his pet, lasso a noose around her delicate neck, mold her unto him.

“You are mine, Lucy Maclean,” The Ghoul grins devilishly,  evil alight in his eyes, picturing himself ripping her blue suit from her body, big eyes full of fear and trepidation—baring all of her to him. His cock hardens again and he grips it once more now imagining hard pink nipples, a smooth unscarred stomach, and her pretty pussy, licking his lips. “You always have been, sweetheart.”

[chaosheadspace]

For the kiss prompts: 20 or 22 for Dreamling please?

Thank you! Those are on a scar / in arush of adrenaline.

Under a cut bc spoilers for TKO. I'm afraid if you haven't read the comics, this won't make a lot of sense, I apologise.

It's raining heavily, the wind howling and trying to knock him off balance. There's lightning and fire in the sky of the landscape Hob somehow knows, although he could swear he's never been here before.

“You can't have him!” He shouts through the icy prickle of rain, against the storm, against the shadows. “If you want him, you have to go through me first! And I won't let you! He's my friend!”

Disembodied laughter before him, behind him, around him, three-toned, malicious, gleeful.

“Please, Hob,” Dream says from behind him, calm, defeated. It nauseates Hob to his bones. “You need not be caught in this. This is not your fight. Please.”

“Like hell it isn't!” Hob screams, his fingers clutching the roughly hewn spear cold, numb. He will not back down, not from this. He won't let them.

A figure before him, sudden, without warning. She is dark, beautiful. She fills Hob's heart with dread, because he knows her without ever having seen her, like the land, like his heart.

She walks past him unharmed, unopposed, because Hob knows he cannot touch her, just like she cannot touch him. His insides burn, agonising grief scorching his soul.

“Please,” he begs. “Please, no. No.”

“This ends here and now,” she says, authority dripping from every word like tar. “I won't let this go on. Shame on you,” she shakes her head at Dream. “And shame on you,” she points at the sky. “This is over now.”

“No,” Hob whispers, powerless, sinking to his knees. His vision swims, his heart beating faster than any heart ever ought to be inside any living thing.

“I am tired, my sister,” he can hear Dream say. Hob cannot see him. Not anymore. Blackness shrouds him, muffles his senses. Hob cannot feel his body. He desperately wants to scream, to thrash, to do something, anything, but everything is so heavy—

Hob wakes with a gasp, mid-struggle with his blanket, a confused yell ripping out of his lungs. Before he can even catch his breath, he can hear a crash from his living room.

Hob vaults out of bed, needing no light after seven years in the same flat, adrenaline pumping through his veins, hammering through his heart. This is a nightmare, an endless series of nightmares—

A figure on his couch. A person. A familiar person.

It all crashes down on Hob at once, a sudden halt to his system, the fight, the hopelessness, the fear. The comedown is brutal, the residual rush in his blood making him shake, tremble, pausing for long seconds.

“Dream?” he whispers, disbelieving. It is Dream, unmistakably, in the faint, slated streetlamp light coming through the window.

In two strides he's over by the sofa, at Dream's side who's crumpled half on it, half off it.

Dream just groans in answer, pale, boneless, as Hob clumsily hauls him up into the cushions, into his lap. He is warm. He is breathing, heavily so, his chest heaving against Hob’s body. He is barely conscious when Hob takes a closer look.

There's a red scar marring Dream's cheek, and Hob takes his face into his hands, planting a relieved kiss on it before drawing Dream tightly against his chest, tears streaming down his face. “Dream,” he sobs, rocking him. “Oh, Dream.”

He gets no answer, but slowly, surely, he can feel Dream's arms sneak around his waist.

Send me a kissy prompt or grad the other ones here

[chaotic-starlight24]

Adding to my Friendly Suitor AU :D (Will most definitely be posting art of it :)

Little Wolf is a nickname that Antinous gives Telemachus in a kind way. He mainly called him that when he was little but he still calls him that occasionally. The Little Wolf song is less aggressive and Antinous uses it to pump Telemachus up before training.

Antinous is one of the few who actually respects Penelope’s wishes and him and Amphinous fend off suitors who are usually way too young and rude. Penelope has actually become good friends with Antinous and though she is confident Odysseus will come home, she has made the decision that if he truly doesn’t Antinous is her first choice.

When Telemachus was younger, he would have nightmares occasionally and he knows Penelope is busy weaving so he would run to the courtyard where all the suitors would be staying. Then he would wake up Amphinous or Antinous and tell them he can’t sleep. Then some more of the group would wake up and they would all let him talk through it and comfort him. They would usually tell funny stories to calm him down or just look up at the stars.

Before Odysseus left, Antinous was the same age as him and slightly envied his position. He could be somewhat passive-aggressive to him and such. But he has matured since then and greatly respects Odysseus for having the courage to leave his kingdom to fight.

Penelope is a lot more relaxed about things since she doesn’t have to worry so much about pushy suitors since the group that respects her will fight those who don’t. Though some of the respectful are growing a bit impatient Antinous keeps them in check. He is the only one who found out Penelope’s trick of undoing her weaving, but he didn’t tell her that he knew.

When Telemachus goes on his trip, Antinous has a plan to surprise him once he gets home and celebrate him becoming an adult. (It’s like that parody of Hold Them Down) He’s very excited about it and Amphinous and Penelope have to stop him from making undoable plans. “And then we can have a feast! With uh, with the whole kingdom! All to celebrate him!!!” “We don’t have a big enough table for that! Or enough food.” “I‘ll make a bigger table! And more food!” “ANTINOUS NO.”

When Odysseus comes back and begins killing suitors, Antinous and Amphinous immediately pull out their weapons and get ready to defend Telemachus. They honestly didn’t realize who it was. They are the last ones found instead of Antinous dying first. Telemachus hides behind a pillar, breathing hard, as they begin to face off against him. Antinous gets shot and stabbed and lays dying on the floor and Amphinous lunges for Odysseus and gets stabbed in the process. Odysseus stands there with the bodies of suitors behind him and now Antinous on the brink of death. Odysseus goes to stab him again but Telemachus runs out and shouts for Antinous. Ody recognizes his son and watches in horror as Telemachus does all he can to stop the bleeding from Antinous while telling him it will be ok, he starts singing “Little Wolf” to him and Antinous manages to open his eyes. “It will be alright. Your real father is here. I’m really proud of you, Little Wo-“ he then goes limp in Telemachus’ arms. Telemachus sits in shock, shaking badly and looking at his blood-covered hands. He eventually turns and faces Odysseus. Tears start falling from his eyes and he begins screaming at him “WHY WOULD YOU?! WHO EVEN ARE YOU!” He keeps screaming and crying as he tries his best to shake Antinous awake as Ody stands with his bow and blood-covered sword, his own eyes becoming shiny as he realizes what he’s done.

Well hope y’all are enjoying this AU! I think it’s very fun to work with :D

[slashbitch2]

blood, betrayal and granola bars PT1

Summary: after a routine takeover of a HYDRA base goes terribly wrong, Natasha Romanoff finds herself stuck with her worst nightmare...you. Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader W.C: 5.7k Words part two

An explosion to your left sent shrapnel and debris flying through the air. You quickly tucked your face into the crook of your arm, too distracted by the task at hand to take note of whether anything had pierced your skin. The sound of not-too distant gunshots motivated you onwards as adrenaline pumped throughout your body and numbed the injuries you were sure to have acquired. 

Another blast, this time to the right and a lot closer. Shockwaves had you stumbling backwards, falling to the ground and catching your breath. The explosion was intense enough to have penetrated the outer wall of the building, now exposing you to the frigid environment that lurked outside. You felt a gust of wind encircle you, carrying a chill with it. You shivered, watching as the flakes of snow drifted inside now.

An obstructed voice crackled in your earpiece. “ALL REMAINING PERS-NEL TO LAND- BAY ONE.” You rose to your feet, cringing at the pain that shot through your right side. “I REPEAT--- LAST AIRCRAFT CLEARED FOR TAKE OFF—LANDING BAY ONE.”

The aircraft hanger wasn’t too far away, but common sense told you there was no way you would make it in time. Even then, the likelihood of it successfully taking off in these conditions and without being shot down was slim. You leant against the wall, ready to sink back to the ground in defeat.

A distant boom sounded, followed by the very walls around you shaking and groaning as if barely able to hold up the remaining structure. Then a clunk, and suddenly the fluorescent white lighting switched off. You were thrown into an obscurity which matched the darkness outside. It seemed as though the night air was seeping in through the gap in the wall, shadows suffusing across the maze of corridors.

And then, ironically late, a siren rang out. It started quietly elsewhere, then grew louder and louder until the sound was echoing around your end of the base. A second later and the accompanying red emergency lights turned on, drenching the grey walls, ceiling and floor a bloody red.

Your eyes scanned the area, thankfully deserted, head whipping from side to side as you tried to work out where exactly you were in amongst the chaos. Your gaze fell upon a sign engraved into the wall reading NW12, the corridor you were currently in. Despite having spent the last couple months stationed in the base, your mind was blank and muddled. You desperately scoured your mind for if there was anywhere nearby which could possibly help your situation.

The storage room. 

It was just at the end of the corridor and to the left, tucked away in a corner hopefully no one would have found yet. With a new motivation pushing you onwards, you set off at a jog, boots clanging against the metal ground at an uneven pace. Muffled gunshots, screams and footsteps continued playing in the background in a horrifying loop. As you turned the corner, you prayed nobody was round the other side, but didn’t dare to spare a glance.

The emergency protocols meant all locks had been disabled, but pure exhaustion and desperation had you all but slamming yourself against the storage room door. It gave way under your body weight, and you rather ungracefully stumbled through the doorway.

Most the shelves were barren, with everyone having grabbed what they could as the invasion began. But hidden away on the bottom corner shelf you caught sight of a First Aid kit. You lunged towards it, willing to take anything you could. To your convenience, someone had abandoned their backpack in the room, so you grabbed hold of that and shoved the kit inside. The backpack contained a jacket, gloves, pencil and an empty water bottle, so you stole those too,

Was it still stealing if the owner was probably already dead?

There wasn’t much left in terms of weapons. You had a gun on you when the conflict begun, but by now most of the bullets had been fired. All that remained in the storage room was a taser, which you opted to take anyway. It was better than nothing.

With replenished supplies, you decided now was as good as any time to leave. There was an underground garage with several vehicles equipped for tough terrain, and so that was probably your best bet if it hadn’t been raided by now.

The base was located quite literally in the middle of nowhere, with only one road in and out: a straight dirt track that was likely covered by a thick layer of snow this time of year. It was never busy as the base was relatively new and unknown amongst most HYDRA agents. To have been stationed here was an honour, and the fact that the base had been discovered by SHIELD was almost unbelievable.

Brandishing your gun in front of you and ready to fire at will, you began the journey to the garage. For a couple minutes, only the alarm and an eerie silence accompanied your passage through the base. With most the building being in ruins now, the conflict appeared to have been taken outside. SHIELD versus Hydra. Both attempting to evacuate while both making a last-ditch attempt at stopping each other from escaping unharmed.

They were as bad as each other…

Opting for a riskier approach, you lowered your weapon in order to start sprinting. Monotonous grey corridors turned into a blur around you, marked only by the occasional splatter of blood and lifeless body left to rot. Or even worse, the ones still conscious that called meekly out for help. You felt sick to your stomach. SHIELD and HYDRA agents lay alongside each other, unintelligible from one another in death.

Onwards you charged into the very core of the base where bullets were still being fired. You ducked around them, miraculously making it through unscathed. Instinct guided your movements; left then right, left again and straight ahead. And then you reached the final stretch, a concrete staircase winding down to the underground level. You halted for barely a moment to listen out for danger and heard nothing but your own heartbeat thundering.

You took a frantic step, ready to descend when something solid crashed against your chest and sent you soaring backwards. Your thudded pathetically against the wall and fell down, watching as a figure swung herself down from the stair rail above.

You fumbled for your gun and aimed it at the woman. She kicked it out of your grip before you had a chance to fire. While she was unbalanced, you shoved yourself forwards and kicked her leg out from under her. She grunted, hitting the hard concrete ground. You scrambled to retrieve the gun, but she was too quick, grabbing you by the shoulders and dragging you back.

In one last attempt, you seized the taser from where it was tucked in the side pocket of the backpack and dug it into her side. There was a buzz, a flash of electricity and sizzle. She cried out in pain, loosening her grip enough for you to escape.

You didn’t bother to get the gun but leapt over her body and down the first set of stairs, then jumped down the next, and the next. A gunshot resonated through the stairway, the bullet bouncing off the wall right where your head had been a second ago. You glanced up to see the redhead catching up now, aiming the gun and about to shoot again.

You dodged another bullet, descended another level. Another shot rung out, this one nowhere near you. There was no time to celebrate the ground you had gained as another ricocheted off the metal handrail right next to your hand. And then, a faint click. She had run out of bullets, and you had almost reached the door to the garage.

Without the gun in hand anymore, the woman leapt over each rail and masterfully swung herself down, skipping the stairs. By the time you were grasping onto the doorhandle, she was kicking you in the stomach. The door swung shut again as you flailed backwards. She had you cornered, your last chance at freedom now gone, yet she didn’t immediately attack.

At the same moment, you both heard it.

From the other side of the wall, a harsh beeping, its pace getting quicker and quicker.

“Shit.” You glanced at your attacker, who’s horrified expression matched your own.

The beeps grew louder, less distance between each as you remained paralysed, waiting for the bomb to implode.

She sprung suddenly at you, throwing both your bodies to the ground.

A shuddering blast.

Overpowering heat.

And then, darkness.

The first thing Natasha became aware of was pain. It started as a dull thudding in her head, then spread to a terrible ache all over. She was exhausted in every sense of the word, and endlessly grateful for the comfort of the mattress beneath her. A high-pitched ringing in her ears drowned out all other thoughts, becoming gradually louder and contributing to the pounding headache she had.

But what was that sound?

She tried desperately to think what could be causing it, or perhaps more importantly, where she currently was, but her mind came up blank.

The mattress shifted beneath her, a spring suddenly poking into her stomach. She tried repositioning herself to avoid the discomfort, and in doing so inhaled a lungful of dust. She coughed and spluttered, untangling herself and trying to sit up. Her body felt as heavy as lead, but something here wasn’t right.

Fighting against the agonising pain behind her eyes, Natasha finally took in her surroundings.

Pale sunlight was filtering in through the broken structure, reflecting blindingly off the snow that had found its way inside the remaining shelter. All around her was piles of shattered concrete, with metal pipes and other indistinguishable objects poking out. Snow had begun to cover everything in a crisp white blanket, as if hiding the damage done, reclaiming the site.

It all came back to her rather abruptly; the HYDRA base, the mission, how everything had gone wrong. The person she was tasked with capturing had escaped, and the mission was taking a turn for the worse. An order had just come in over the intercom for all remaining SHIELD personnel to escape, so she had been attempting to make her own way out when she’d run into-

Natasha realised now that the mattress that had cushioned her fall was in fact not a mattress.

You lay face down underneath her, unconscious where she had knocked you to the ground before the bomb had gone off. Despite how the world around her spun, and how every muscle called out for rest, Natasha was quick to push herself off you, sitting back on her heels to observe your current state. In response, you groaned, slowly but surely coming back to life.

She hadn’t gotten a good look at you previously, only now allowing her eyes to scan over your face, which was littered in small cuts and bruises. Yet underneath it all, she was forced to admit you were rather beautiful. She almost regretted inflicting such injuries on you- like damaging a skilfully sculpted statue. Her gaze continued roaming over your body, taking in the basic protective gear you were wearing and concluding you were at least partly battle trained, and definitely still a threat.

The taser you had used against her was still tightly gripped in your hand, and she shuddered at the memory of how much it had hurt. She decided there was no way she was leaving you with it and leant over you to take the weapon from your grasp.

Suddenly, your elbow flew back, smacking into her face and throwing her off balance.

“Fuck!” Natasha cupped her nose, spluttering through the pain.

You had turned yourself over onto your back and were holding the taser out like a sword. There was recognition in your eyes, but you appeared just as disorientated as she felt- only without a freshly broken nose. You were breathing heavily, eyes darting around the destroyed stairwell and recalling what had happened.

You finally looked back at Natasha, expression softening ever so slightly as you took in the blood pouring from her nose. “Truce?” You suggested apologetically.

Natasha didn’t respond, her mind too busy racing over what was the best course of action in these circumstances.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows and stared at her. “Did I break your jaw too or do you not speak English?” Then sighed as she continued being silent. “Tregua? Перемирие? Trêve?”

“Yes, I speak English.” She harshly answered at last, putting an end to your rambling.

You watched her curiously as she took a deep breath, bracing her hands on either side of her broken nose. Natasha knew the best thing to do was pop her nose back into place. She closed her eyes, mentally counting down from five and then pushing harshly inwards. There was a load pop as she grimaced, waiting for the agonising feeling to subside.

“You couldn’t have done that, I don’t know, not in front of me?”

“You’re the reason my nose was broken in the first place.” Natasha muttered, shooting you an unimpressed look.

“It was an instinctual response!” You stated, loosening your grip on the taser. All things considered, neither of you were fit to fight one another. “But I’m sorry.” You conceded, eyeing up the current state of her nose.

Out of all the things she expected from you, an apology wasn’t one of them. Natasha reconsidered you for a moment. You were in a more dishevelled state than she was, with dark red stains starting to seep through patches of your uniform, and a nasty gash along your forehead. With every small movement you winced, leading her to conclude that perhaps you didn’t pose as much of a threat to her anymore, apart from the taser which you were reluctant to let go of.

“If that’s your reaction to waking up after a bomb’s just exploded then I don’t want to be near you on a normal day.” She quipped, summoning the resolve to stand up fully.  

Despite everything, you smiled and joined in. “Yeah, I did wonder why none of my relationships lasted past one night.”

Natasha didn’t respond, instead scanning herself for injuries. A bullet had nicked her shoulder, but otherwise every other cut was small and inconsequential. The main sufferance was the general ache that encompassed her whole body. From head to toe she felt beaten and bruised and knew it was only going to get worse. The stillness that enveloped the base meant that any chance of rescue was minimal. With SHIELD evacuations likely having finished hours ago, she would have to make her own way back. Somehow.

The wall separating the stairway and underground garage was now nothing but a pile of rubble. She could see that roof had collapsed in on itself and destroyed any remaining vehicles, resigning herself to the fact that the journey would have to be made on foot. Luckily enough, the structure of the building had taken the brute impact of the explosion instead of falling inwards and crushing you both.

Although unlikely that any survivors or supplies remained, Natasha decided to search the remnants of the base. She started to climb up the fragmented chunks of concrete that had once formed the ceiling when you called out after her. “Wait, where are you going?”

She didn’t bother to slow down or face you. If she was to make progress, then there was no time for delay.

“Hey!” You quickly followed the route Natasha had taken, clambering up after her. “Wouldn’t it make sense for us to stick together? For now, at least.” You proposed between breaths. You were already exhausting yourself trying to keep up with her.

“That depends. Do you plan on tasing or elbowing me in the face again?” After hauling herself up one last block, the ground levelled out into a gentle slope. From here she was able to overlook the barren, colourless scenery, broken up only by the demolished structure.

“You attacked me first!” Crunching footsteps in the snow alerted her to the fact you had caught up. She turned back to see you walking over determinedly, occasionally slipping on the icy, uneven surface.

“I attacked a HYDRA agent, don’t make it personal.”

“Yes, and then you saved a HYDRA agent.”

Natasha halted. “What do you mean?”

“You pushed me to the ground before the bomb went off,” You explained with a shrug. “And I highly doubt it was because you wanted a softer landing.”

Natasha nodded. “I did.” She hadn’t really thought of it like that, but in retrospect, she had probably saved you from some life-threatening injuries.

“Why?”

“Force of habit, I guess.” She sniffed, refusing to meet your probing eyes.

“Well, intentional or not, thank you.” You said sincerely. “Let me make it up to you.”

“How, by slowing me down? Turning me in to HYDRA?” She scoffed.

“No. By sharing my supplies,”

Natasha glanced briefly at the backpack hanging from your shoulder. After being stood still for a minute, she had become acutely aware of the snow falling softly all around her. Everywhere she looked was a mix of white and greys, with a line of dark green trees in the distance. The base appeared already devoid of everything, in the process of being reclaimed by the unpredictable wintry weather.

As if reading her mind, you added, “trust me, you won’t find anything useful in the wreckage if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

Natasha didn’t say anything, feeling rather defeated.

“Look, I have a first aid kit. I can treat that gash on your shoulder.” You placed the backpack down to rummage through. “And I have a jacket in here. I can see you shivering.” You held up a sandy coloured jacket. It would hardly provide much warmth, but it was a start.

“Fine.” She surrendered. As much as she didn’t trust you, there was also no point in going separate ways. “But only if you drop the taser.”

You frowned, shaking your head. “What if we run into trouble? This is the middle of the Russian wilderness. You think you’ll be able to take down a bear, or a wild boar with just some showy Karate Kid tricks?”

Natasha smirked. “Karate Kid?”

“You heard me.” You quirked an eyebrow challengingly, shoving the jacket back inside the bag.

“Fine,” She folded her arms. “Then give me the taser.”

You froze for a second, pursing your lips thoughtfully. “You really have trust issues, you know.” With a sigh, you hesitantly placed the taser in her open hand. “Try anything and I’ll hit you with my backpack.”

“I’m sure me and my Karate Kid tricks can handle that.” Natasha examined the small weapon. It wouldn’t do much damage, but you were right, it was better than nothing. She tucked it into her belt where she usually holstered her gun.

“Alright. Truce, Miss…?” You extended a hand, which she shook cautiously.

“Natalie.” She lied. “Natalie Rushman.”

“That’s not your real name, is it?”

“Nope.” Natasha didn’t bother to elaborate.

The location of the HYDRA base you had called home for the last few months was incredibly convenient for running undetected by most major governmental bodies, but as you soon realised, it was possibly the worst for wilderness hikes. You relayed this thought to Natasha, who stubbornly insisted on walking a few paces behind you. “To keep an eye on you,” she had said.

“I’m not sure walkability is usually taken into consideration when deciding that sort of thing.” She said in all seriousness, though you were certain you heard a smile in her voice.

It had been a few hours since you’d formed your impromptu truce and left the destroyed base. The sun was now steadily rising through the pale blue sky, the clouds having parted and snow discontinuing its assault. Still, enough of it crunched under foot that an uncomfortable puddle of water had invaded your boots.

“If I were in charge on designing military bases, I’d have them built in the middle of busy cities.” You stated, thinking out loud.

“Oh yeah?” Natalie prompted, thoroughly uninterested.

“Yeah. Inside of Starbucks’ or something. Somewhere no one would suspect.” You chuckled to yourself. “But I guess that’s why they don’t let me make the decisions.” You lied.

Despite finding Nat’s company to be relatively enjoyable, at the end of the day you were on different sides, and you were reluctant to let her discover your true role or identity within HYDRA.

“Well, that is a pretty stupid idea.”

You put your hand on your heart and turned back to her acting offended. Your gaze lingered on her for a second longer than necessary. Amongst the endless, flat fields of snow, Natalie provided respite for your eyes. The striking red of her hair and inky black suit stood out like artwork on an otherwise blank, white canvas.

After a beat you turned to face forwards again. “You’re the one with the taser. I think I should be making you walk in front.”

You heard her exhale loudly, but otherwise she said nothing.

“Or what if I tried to make a run for it.” You continued. “I know the area better than you do.”

“I thought you were just complaining about how un-walkable it was.” She retaliated.

“Doesn’t mean I haven’t walked around before.”

“Fine. When we make it to those trees, we can walk next to each other.” She pointed towards the approaching forest of evergreens.

“Wow, what an honour.” You said sarcastically. “Or is it because you know I could hide so easily in there?”

“No, I’m more worried you’d try to run and smack straight into a tree. I don’t want to have to carry a concussed agent round with me.”

You chuckled. “Why? Bad for your image?”

“Exactly.”

Upon entering the forest, the snow became a lot deeper and harder to wade through. The green of the evergreens was darkened by the shadows of other trees standing tall, and so all around you was a scene of black and white- like motionless static in which your mind played tricks on you. Every so often, you swore you saw movement out the corner of your eye, as paranoia began to press down on your chest and rendered you silent. With the taller pine trees blocking sunlight from penetrating the layer of foliage, you found yourself feeling a lot colder after only a couple minutes of walking through it.

“Hold on.” You called out to Natalie and placed the backpack down to dig out the jacket and gloves.

“What happened to sharing resources?”

You looked up at her, pulling on the gloves and feeling instantly a lot warmer. “You should have asked earlier.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t complain.

As you unravelled the jacket fully, a bright green wrapper fell out of the pocket. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes- or luck, as a granola bar fell into your lap.

Unfortunately, Nat saw it too. “I call dibs on the granola bar, then.”

You looked up at her, exasperated and unimpressed. Food hadn’t been on your mind but seeing the snack suddenly brought to light the gnawing hunger in the pit of your stomach.

She simply shrugged and reached down to snatch it out of your lap. “You get the clothes; I get the food. It’s only fair.”

You rolled your eyes and watched as she tore open the wrapper. ““I would argue but I don’t have the energy. I’m too weak from hunger.” You stood up and walked onwards without her, determined to ignore the sound of her crunching behind you.

“Wait.” Nat’s voice was suddenly too serious for your liking, a horrible prickle at the base of your spine convincing you to listen to her.

You stopped in your tracks, allowing the silence of the forest to resonate all around you. There were no birds chirping, no branches snapping or wind rustling leaves. It was eerily still.

Static. The crackling of a radio in the distance. “Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me.” An unfamiliar person was speaking into an intercom, met only by more static and silence.

The sound was coming from behind you, growing steadily closer.

“Requesting immediate assistance.” It was a different voice this time, but they had no better luck in reaching out for help.

Your mind was racing, your heart beating in your chest yet you didn’t dare to breath. They could be fellow HYDRA agents willing to join you in the search for safety. Or they could be SHIELD agents, left behind like Natalie and ready to kill you.

Should you reveal yourself and pray they would help? Or stay silent assuming they were the latter?

A quick glance at Natalie revealed the same indecision in her expression. You realised she was in the same situation as you, wondering whether to risk it and trust them, or to continue alone in your unstable truce.

Regardless the fact remained that, if you called out to them, one of you wouldn’t survive.

At this realisation, your mind came to an answer: you would not contact the strangers. Although Nat was your enemy, she had unknowingly saved your life earlier, a debt you were willing to repay. Any desire to fight with her had faded, replaced by the desire to cooperate, and to a certain degree ensure her safety.

“Y/N.” Natalie hissed your name, drawing your attention back to the matter at hand. The voices were steadily growing nearer and nearer, your view of them obstructed by the thick row of trees surrounding you. They hadn’t seen you yet but inevitably would.

Nat inclined her head to the right, eyes widening in an attempt to convey her plan. You followed her gaze to a fallen tree a few metres away, quickly assessing what she meant for you both to do. Relief filled your body as you recognised that she had come to the same conclusion not to turn yourselves over to the strangers,

Careful not to make too much noise, you ducked down and tiptoed over to the fallen tree, hearing her softly following behind. Having recently fallen, the leaves were mostly intact, and you were able to lean back into them and hide. Snow balancing on the branches fell onto you while the shark pine needles stuck uncomfortably into your back, but you ignored the discomfort to shift over, allowing Natalie to settle wordlessly down beside you.

Both of you held your breath and listened out, praying they wouldn’t see you as they went past.

The crackling static grew nearer, interrupted only by the same phrase repeated over and over. “Is anyone out there? Hello? Requesting immediate assistance-“

The footsteps stopped where you had been standing barely a minute ago. There was a dull thump of something hitting the snow, then an agitated. “Just give it up! No one is out there, and nobody is listening!”

The man who had previously been speaking into the intercom sighed. “Well what else would you have us do? Continue wandering aimlessly?”

“Better than listening to your stupid, fucking whiny voice over and over.”

“Yeah, and who made you team leader?”

“Can you two just shut up? Please?” A third exasperated voice interrupted the heated conversation between the two men. “Arguing isn’t going to help us. We’re stuck, the base is gone and HYDRA isn’t coming back to safe us so why don’t you just-“

You zoned out from the rest, too caught up on what he had said. They were HYDRA. They could help you. A sinking sort of feeling enveloped your stomach, previous hunger quickly forgotten and replaced by regret. You listened as the group continued onwards, their voices slowly fading, and with it; your regret only grew.

You glanced to the side, seeing how Nat was watching for your reaction with concern in her eyes. She expected you to run after them and leave her alone, or to call them back and have her ambushed. She must have seen the remorse on your face as her expression hardened, her fist clenched ready for a fight.

Without thinking, you placed your hand over hers and shook your head in way of silent communication. At your assurance, she seemed to relax slightly, so you removed your hand to stare straight ahead and wait for an all clear. Nat continued to impassively observe you until the voices had dwindled, and the forest fell into silence once more.

Darkness was descending upon the forest when you decided to stop for the day. You had made a fair bit of progress, but hunger was gnawing away at your patience, tiredness slowing down your limbs and the cold night air sending pain shooting through all your injuries. Yet in spite of all the negatives, you found you were getting on well with Natalie. Apart from the occasional meaningless squabble, you worked well as a team, and the only issue you had so far was the granola bar peaking teasingly out her pocket.

Currently, she was gathering as much dry kindling as she could find in the fading sunlight, while you were tasked with trying to keep the fire going. Under the shelter of particularly thick evergreen tree, you had brushed away the thinner layer of snow and set up a small pile of twigs. Then you had used the lead from the pencil left in the backpack as a fire starter and gotten Nat to spark the taser against it.

You were rather proud to see flames burning tall barely a moment later. Although, the evergreen pines burnt away rather quickly, hence Natalie searching the area for better materials.

Exhaustion caused your eyelids to droop and your vision to blur as you stared at the fire, hypnotised by the orange glow that danced through the still air. The warmth it emanated felt like a luxury, the light it provided was your saving grace. As much as you loathed to admit it, you found the forest ominous at night, preferring to focus on the way the smoke burned your eyes.

“Hey.” Nat reappeared before you, clutching onto armfuls of sticks which she set down just out of reach of the fire.

You simply smiled at her, too tired to think of anything to say.

“I found these as well.” Nat extended a handful of berries toward you. They were dark in colour, and you couldn’t help but be suspicious. Although you were certain you had been cooperating well, perhaps Natalie didn’t feel the same. Perhaps this was some big ploy to have you killed.

She quirked an eyebrow at the obvious suspicion laced in your expression. “They’re buckthorn.” She explained. “I’m not trying to poison you.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you.” You mumbled, though there was no real weight behind your words. You were starving, and at this point, willing to eat anything.

Carefully, she tipped the berries into your cupped hands. Hesitantly, you ate one.

They tasted fine.

You devoured the rest.

“So how come you know so much about Russian-wilderness gastronomy?” You asked eventually, changing the topic from your obvious distrust of her.

She regarded you with curiosity, surprised that you had thought to ask and considering how much to say. “I was born here.” She put simply.

“And what, you were a Russian girl scout?” You smirked, prompting her to say more.

The corners of her lips lifted up in a smile, then fell back into a serious straight line. “Not exactly.”

You could tell she was avoiding saying something, and you decided not to press her for an answer. Seeing the reminiscent sadness in her eyes, you felt the sudden need to apologise for having brought it up in the first place. “Sorry, just I’m trying to work out how you go from Russia to SHIELD.��

“With great difficulty.” She tilted her head amusedly. “What about you? How did you end up with HYDRA?”

You sighed, slumping against your backpack and debating how much to say. From Nat’s honesty, you decided she at least deserved a truthful response. “Accidentally.” You chuckled humourlessly. “Believe it or not, working for a secret organisation founded in a Nazi ideology wasn’t exactly first on my careers list.”

“Did you accidentally stumble across one of their secret bases located in a Starbucks?” She jokingly asked.

You laughed tiredly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “No, that would’ve been too easy.”

Both being equally exhausted as the other, you allowed the conversation to end and settled back to sleep. The ground was freezing beneath your body, the fire only providing so much warmth. You were using the backpack as an impromptu pillow, which made the sleeping situation slightly more bearable, yet it was still impossibly uncomfortable. You could hardly imagine how intolerable the night would be for Natalie.

Right on cue, you heard her hiss in pain from beside you. She was clutching at her shoulder, suddenly jogging your memory that a bullet had nicked her.

Your head lolled to the side as you faced her. “Do you want me to bandage that?” You asked quietly.

“I was waiting for you to offer.” She snarked.

You rolled your eyes and sat up, your muscles already aching from the two minutes you had spent laid down. You thumbed through the mostly empty bag to retrieve the first aid kit from the bottom. Beside you, Nat pulled her suit down enough to reveal the gash. You were unable to stop your eyes from lingering on the exposed skin; pale from the cold and covered in dried blood, yet your gaze still traced the way her collarbone jutted out. Your mouth felt suddenly very dry.

“I don’t mind doing it myself.” She commented, a smirk crossing her lips as though she had read your mind.

“No. Its’ fine, I’ll do it.” You shuffled towards her, examining the wound and preparing the necessary equipment to treat it.

She said nothing more as you set to work, your hands surprisingly warm despite the weather.

Softly, silently, you tended to the cut. Softly, silently, Nat basked in the warmth of the contact.

> PT2

[sordidmusings]

A Coronary Tale - Chapter 1 (Sanji x Reader)

Chapter Summary: You have been hiding away in The Wood, biding your time with the company of your three dear ravens. Fearing those who could find you should you leave your new home, you settled yourself deeply in with the trees and rocks and river, building a quiet routine. Unfortunately, you were wrong to expect no one else to enter the abandoned woods.

Themes and tropes: slow burn for her/lit fuze for him, hidden identities, witchcraft, curses, political pit of vipers, lost royalty, witch hunts, nonverbal gestures of love

A/N: Howdy doodie I finally done did this 😩 My addition to @fanaticsnail's Storyteller collab with the tale of The Three Ravens! I am shuffling stuff around quite a bit and I really hope that you all enjoy my changes and additions! What we have here is an absolute train wreck of a meet cute so that's a start lol The title is a reference to one of the songs I had in mind writing this and definitely the main one with lyrics, A Coronary Tale by Dana Sipos

@fanaticsnail also gifted me the mood board

Wordcount: ~5.2k

Warnings: fem!reader, bit of blood, descriptions of injury but no gore, you're like a little feral maybe, Sanji's kinda into that too at least

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Another twig snapped and your breathing stopped. Every nerve threading through your body pulled your mind from one place to the next: under the skin of your palms, scraping against rough bark; in the balls of your feet, throbbing from their recent pounding at the ground; in the  depths of your lungs, burning for oxygen but turned still as stone in fear. Mostly, though, your mind lived in your ears, desperately sifting through the forest ambience and calling ravens for clues of your hunter.

Enough moments passed to release your lungs from their stalling and you began planning your next steps. Your burrow was far but that was good; you had more time to make sure he couldn’t track you there. You had been leading him East, away from your home, since he’d chased you across the river. The last you’d heard of him was due Northeast of you. If you headed exactly opposite him, you’d be back at your river, able to follow it down to your stuff and scramble back to your hide.

The weight of the risk settled down on you and kept your body from following through with your plan. What if he circled back to find your trail again? What if he was waiting for you at the river, knowing you’d likely collect your things?

You shoved your forehead into the scabbed bark of the great oak that hid you. The calming breath you hissed out held the hint of a whine and you cursed yourself further for the noise. Each moment he was more likely to turn back. Each moment he was closer to finding you. 

Scrunching your face in a snarl towards your fear, you shoved yourself off the tree and ran westward.

Traversing the Wood was second nature to you by now, but you’d only flown through it with such great speed one time before. You moved much more like a fleeing elk than the panicked rabbit you were then, even with your fright measuring close to that of your memory. Your eyes and body knew the trappings of the woods before your mind could even name them; thorny vines were ducked, wayward branches were parried, felled trees were vaulted. Even your long dress wasn’t a hindrance; you simply gathered the skirts high and tight to free your legs and keep the cloth from stretching branches. The only thing slowing your race home was your adrenaline beginning to weaken beneath the force of your exhaustion.

You burst forth from the Wood’s edge, scattering leaves and dirt and noise in your bid for speed over stealth. You could see the river close now, only a stretch of stony shore between you and safety. Not a single stride shortened despite the shrieking of your muscles or the begging of your lungs. You were beginning to boil in the heat of your blood pumping in your hands, feet, and head, but you would not slow, not even with the new glare of the sun making the air feel even more hostile. Your flight would continue as long as the flutters and caws of the ravens urged you on. 

“Wait!”

You shrieked in response and slid right into the swirling current before you. Still furious and frigid with late spring melt, the river overwhelmed you, forcing a gasp from you at the shock to your system. Water flooded into your open mouth and nose, choking you as you spun until up was left, down, and sideways. Despite flailing for a chance at breath and life, your mind kept screaming, West, west, that came from the west!

Your saturated dress sunk you deeper in the toiling water. It gave the chaotic current more purchase to rip and tug you in every direction, bouncing your limbs off all the river’s hidden weapons. Rocks tripped your sandaled feet at every attempt to find footing and thudded against your shins and arms with each turn in the water. Skeletal branches from long submerged trees scraped at you and grabbed at your skirts. Each new hold on the cloth only ended with another old seam ripping and releasing you back to the whims of the river.

Reigning in your sense, you curled into a ball to keep your feet from shoving beneath a rock, trapping you, and to protect your head from smashing in on any of the great boulders that lurked under the water's surface. Just when your world was fuzzing away at the edges, one of those boulders found you and punched the last bubbles of air straight from your lungs.

Before the current could take you further, you used the last of your strength to spin and scrabble at the rough stone’s surface. The moment you got a grip you summoned every ounce of life in you and heaved. 

With a crouping cough you broke the surface of the water. Great lungfuls of cold water scraped their way out of you. Through your heaving and gasping you drug your upper body to splay across the sun baked stone. It burned into your cheek and you couldn’t help but be thankful for the distraction from your raw throat and skinned fingertips. Everything but that sensation began to swirl and drift away into a distant fog.

Within that fog was a warm embrace. It wormed around your chest and lifted you away from the grounding heat under your cheek. You whimpered, agitating your tender throat, but couldn’t bring yourself to do anything further to protest. Sweet shushing soothed your mind, quickly replacing the comfort of your stone and covering the distant cawing. As you floated away, the steady rhythm of each hush set your sore lungs to breathe in soft waves.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

The afternoon sun pierced right through your eyes the moment you opened them. Wincing them back shut, you changed your goal to taking stock of your injuries. Your whole body was throbbing, muddling the deeper hurts in a constant protest that sounded with each beat of your heart. Through the cacophony, you heard your right ribs screaming, your throat moaning, and your fingers sobbing. 

You flexed your hands slowly to test them. They trembled and ached at your orders but followed through with no great spike in pain. Next, you shifted your torso in a minute rock from side to side. Your ribs punished you spitefully for the motion, but there was no telltale crackle of bone and you were able to keep breathing throughout your shimmying. Lastly, you began sucking in a deep breath to attend to your throat and lungs. You began hacking halfway through, earning more ire from your battered side.

“You’re awake!,” a relieved voice chimed. Gentle fingers traced your face, continually brushing from your skin into your hair. “Thank goodness. You haven’t been out long; it's only been a minute since I pulled you from the river.”

Your heart kick-started again, not caring the least bit about the man’s attempts to seem non-threatening. His claim as your savior did little too; wishing you death and wishing you harm were two separate things. Your pain quieted to a whisper as your awareness shifted to scouring the space around you for information. The ground under you was solid and your palms felt warm stone. The constant swish and rumble of rapids filled the air. I’m still on the riverside. Calm breathing sounded quietly from your left, only a foot beyond the fingers still caressing your face. He’s already recovered.

“You gave me quite the scare there, Bichette. I thought the river took you,” he whispered to you. “I’m so glad I ran back to the river instead of continuing in the woods.” The genuine care and worry in his tone only made your distrust grow. You instead trusted the continued caws from the treeline. His touch disappeared and you heard the grind of his shoes against the rocky ground as he stood up.

“Keep resting, Mademoiselle, I’m just going a short way down the river’s edge to see if I can spot us an easy way back.”

You counted each step he took away from you, every crackle on stone ramping your anticipation higher and higher. The roaring of your blood in your ears grew to match that of the river but his footsteps still cut through. You slowly bent your knees up to remove your sandals and plant your feet on the ground. Despite their exhaustion, your muscles listened when you tensed them. Your count was nearly there. Thirty! You flung yourself onto hands and knees then bolted.

“Stop! Please!”

You were much slower than before, having to drag the weight of your water-logged clothes, half-drowned body and freshly abused skeleton with you. Your lungs couldn’t keep up with even the diminished speed of your strides and you had to fight with each breath not to cough, yet the urgent calls of the ravens circling you pushed you on. The man’s thumping steps were quickly catching up, but you were almost at the treeline.

“You’re going to hurt yourself, chérie, please stop,” he tried again, begging through panting breaths.

One raven sped ahead of you and landed on a large branch with another loud call. You zeroed in on his choice - an old maple spreading high over its neighbors. Its branches started far above the ground, but that was no problem for you, even now. Your switch from sprint to climb was seamless; one step launching you from between the maple's snaking roots and the next propelling you just that much higher with a bare foot catching deeply against its sturdy bark. Ignored the warnings from your hands, you used knots and lumps for handholds, hauling yourself higher and letting your feet follow the same path. You didn’t let yourself slow until you were well mingled in the smaller branches of the tree, nearly forty-five feet in the air. The way the distance shrunk your pursuer gave you a small bit of comfort.

“I’d climb up there but you’d just jump out, wouldn’t you?” he called up to you.

As if to prove his point, you widened your stance and bent low, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. The three ravens flapped their wings in threat of flight. It was all mostly for show; your body was at the end of its rope.

“Ah, Bichette, what has you so scared?” he asked, voice and eyes mourning.

You bared your teeth at him and hoped that he was too far to see your watery eyes. The aches of your body were becoming too much; your bruised ribs stunted every breath, your flayed hands trembled and bled, your scraped toes weren’t far behind their damaged state, your abused throat burned at every scrape of air in and out, and your shaken head, as well as all below it, thudded with pain. The worst of your worries though was the wooziness creeping in on the edges of your mind in the wake of your adrenaline rush. Also the man below you, wrapped in his absurdly expensive clothes, which were just as soaked as your torn rags.

“You’re a strong one, I’ll give you that.” 

You held your shaky snarl. The ravens flapped and cried.

“But even you need food, water, and rest after a chase like that. You nearly drowned,” he pressed, desperately trying to make you see reason. “I’m not going to hurt you, Mademoiselle, I promise.”

You continued to stare down at him with all the ferocity of a caged animal, and he sighed.

“You’re also going to want to get out of those wet clothes. Your laundry on the shore should be dried by now and I dropped my food there as well. There’s plenty to share. I can help you back to go get it,” he persuaded. “I’d go get it myself, but I don’t want you to disappear.”

You’d hold my clothes hostage to find me again, you grumbled internally. The three ravens stilled and took their time looking down at the man. After their analyzing, they took off, leaving you feeling truly cornered and alone. The man saw your face crumble as you watched them go and he ached for your sorrow.

“Well, neither of us are going anywhere, so-” he blew out a long breath and looked down at the tree’s base “-might as well get to know each other.” He found a spot he deemed worthy and settled into the cradle between two large swells of roots. He craned his head back to check on you and found you still staring down at him. He couldn’t decide if he preferred your teary glare to the lost look you sent the birds; both had him wounded.

“I’ll start,” he offered patiently, looking down to his hands fidgeting with his gold rings between his bent knees. “My name’s Sanji.”

He waited a good twenty seconds but received no response. He looked back up and you stared down.

“Can I have your name, chérie?” he pleaded gently.

He was met with more silence.

“Okay,” Sanji relented. “Okay, Mademoiselle, that’s fine. I’ll talk for both of us for now.”

He settled in deeper against the tree, continued his fidgeting, and wished he had his cigarettes.

“I’m a chef; feeding people is my greatest joy,” he started earnestly. “I was sailing the seas, feeding a patchwork crew. Our captain managed to find trouble everywhere he went, dragging us along with him toward his ridiculous dream.”

Sanji paused. You watched as he raked a hand through his shiny blonde hair and attentively took in the way his face softened into a fond smile. Craning further for a better look, you managed to see the sad scrunch in his brows conflicting with the upturn of his lips.

“He was dragging us towards our own foolish dreams, too, though. I want to find the All Blue,” he admitted. He looked up in time to see your incredulous look and the curious tilt of your head. They made him burst out in bright laughter at the dramatic shift in expression from you. You hated how pretty he looked like that.

“Yeah, that’s what I expected; most people think it's a fairytale.” He calmed his chuckles and asserted delicately, as much to himself as to you, “I know it’s out there though. It has to be.”

You fought hard against this man’s charms chipping away at your suspicions. Your complaining injuries helped keep you cautious, even through the strong pull of his placating eyes.

“Our captain would like you. Anyone with your tenacity catches his eye. He’d probably want to add you to his collection,” Sanji joked lightly. “You would fit right in; our navigator and archaeologist always respect a strong woman like themselves. Our musician and engineer are welcoming to new company. Our sniper and doctor might fear you a bit though.” He took a moment to think before looking down and grumbling, “And that damn mosshead would complain, but when isn’t he.”

You were about to start tuning him out, needing to defend yourself from being endeared, when his next words cemented your curiosity to the forefront of your mind.

“I guess it doesn’t matter now. I’m stuck here.”

He sounded so heartbroken. You knew that sound; had heard it leaking from your father and brothers - from your own lips.

“My family-” he spit the word with potent vitriol “-found a use for me. Pulled me back here with a threat against my real family.”

You diligently tried to see the emotions in his face, but he kept it firmly turned from you, hiding away. You cursed him for adding a sad ache to your chest as if you didn’t already have enough pains. Looking again at his fine clothes, you began to wonder if they felt more like a trap than a trophy to him. Sanji turned back up to you and his heart stuttered at the first glimpses of compassion on your face. It made you even more beautiful.

“I-I’m sorry, chérie, I didn’t mean to make this a therapy session.” He chuckled awkwardly at his own foible, frustrated with himself for dumping his emotions on you but happy with the result. You decided with great conflict that his unsure smile was just as pretty as his laugh-scrunched face. He let that smile slide off of him, meeting you instead with a vulnerably relaxed face that looked so intrinsically forlorn. Seeing his bare humanity, you needed no further prompting.

Sanji watched in bewildered awe as you pursed your lips at him and sent him a warbling whistle. Your imitation was perfect; it sounded exactly like a robin greeting the sun.

“What…” he trailed off, still taken aback by the strange but sweet turn. “What does that mean?”

You finally allowed yourself to relax your posture and settled your beaten body to splay across the tree’s limbs. Your legs dangled around a few branches, allowing them some much needed relief, and you laid on your front, making it easier to keep your watchful eyes on the man below you. Bedding your forehead into your forearm, you offered a miniscule smile from tight lips before repeating the birdsong.

“It’s beautiful,” Sanji complimented. “Fitting for such a striking lady.”

You scrunched your nose disapprovingly at him and whistled out a piercing warning call.

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed. “I just can’t help myself with-”

Avian shrieks split the air and you shot up to find their source. You easily ignored the whimper the action forced from you, but Sanji struggled to do the same.

“Ma chérie, please be careful-”

You spotted six flapping wings and laughed in bright joy, fully distracting Sanji from his worries. The flying forms looked odd; one had a bulbous blob by its head and the other two had billowing streams of color falling from them. You recognized the streams as cloth as they grew closer, but the final item remained a mystery. That raven landed the easiest, having nothing that would snag on leaves or branches. The other two were having much more trouble.

You giggled again at their hijinx, fully amused by their frustrated crying and hopping and flapping at the edge of the tree. To help them, you began weaving your way out towards them until you were at the limits of the branches’ strength to hold your weight. You reached your arm out as far as it would go, feeling the straining stretch in each joint, but still fell short of bridging the gap between you. The whole time, Sanji was calling up fretful and concerned warnings, which you easily ignored. 

Despite your attempts to help, the two raven still just fretted about and progressed no closer to a solution. A shrill whistle cut their actions short and captured their attention. You held up two fingers to them then pointed to the smaller garment. They stayed still and you frowned at them with all the practiced disappointment of a school teacher. You repeated the actions with more gusto, this time finishing the display with a hand waving them toward you. Suddenly getting the memo, both ravens began working the same cloth in your direction, repeating the process of free-shift-snag until it was within your reach. 

You grabbed the familiar green cloth and held it in front of you, recognizing an oversized men’s shirt. The ravens continued their work until you were holding a pair of loose beige pants too. You gave the two birds a loving pet and a quick kiss on their bowed heads in thanks. You slinked your way down to about thirty feet from the ground, seeking more open space between the branches to change out of your sopping and torn dress.

Sanji took in the whole exchange with wonder.

“You really are the Witch of the Wood,” he whispered reverently.

Your face twisted with confusion at the title and you rapidly shook your head.

“But your ravens!” he argued. “They all say the Witch has three ravens for familiars - that they help her spy on all who enter this stretch of forest.”

Well… he’s close, you admitted to yourself. You squeezed the excess water out of your ruined skirts (you hoped some would land on his head), removed your freezing underwear, and slid the pants on under your skirts. The top went on next, acting as a cover for you as you squirmed your arms out of the sleeves of your dress. Once that was accomplished, you began shoving the heavy material through the neck of the shirt. The process was frustrating; the wet material clung to you with every move, forcing you to make more and more and agitate your wounds further and further. When you finally managed to get it all out of the shirt, you shoved your arms through their holes and pulled the dress over your head.

Luckily, your quick work left a minimal transfer of moisture from your old outfit to your new one. The relief of mostly dry clothes felt even greater than you imagined, and you took great pleasure in balling the ruined fabric up and tossing it to ricochet its way down the tree, landing next to Sanji with a great plop. Staring at him again, you turned bitter at the reminder of the title he gave you. I am no witch. You wished you aimed for his head.

The deep crimson smears and fingerprints Sanji spotted on your discarded clothes refreshed his worry. He had gotten far too distracted trying to charm you and even more distracted once he saw your smile. Sometimes he regretted his overwhelming soft spot for women. Then he would see another woman and have that thought overwhelmed. C’est la vie.

“Bichette,” he cooed, hoping again to win you by charm, “ma chérie, please let me take you back. We need to get those wounds looked at.”

You looked down your nose at him then pointedly turned away, looking instead to the final raven bearing a gift for you. He was still holding tight to a cloth knot at the top of a parcel, but he had adjusted to rest its weight on the branch below him while he waited for your attention. You grabbed the parcel from him, immediately noting the intricate weave of the fabric beneath your fingers, matching well with the delicate patterns unfolding throughout it. This must belong to the expensive man at the foot of the tree. A shame to get bloody fingerprints on his fineries, you thought with sadistic glee. Serves him right for chasing me through my woods.

Untying the cloth proved easier on your fingers than your wardrobe change, they had turned to a monotonous pounding instead of the sharp alerts of pain sometime during your first challenge. Opening the wrapping revealed two containers of food, a smaller one sat atop the larger. First popping the top option open, you found two perfectly prepared pieces of meat on the bone. They were seared to perfection, browned just so, and smelled of gentle spices, just enough to enhance the natural flavor of the meat. You snapped the container back closed so you could check in the other. This one contained the most mouth-watering curry you’d ever seen or smelled, nestled in a thick pool next to fluffy white rice. You looked back and forth between the food and the man below with a raised brow.

“A quick lunch I whipped up,” Sanji responded to your unspoken question. You rolled your eyes at him, doubtful that anything in this meal could be made quickly. Maybe the rice. You wrote his dismissal off as showboating in a further attempt to woo you. 

Having no silverware, you prepped your fingers as best as you could by dabbing them on the rich cloth, licking them to wet any dried blood or dirt, and repeating the process until only the barely there leak of fresh blood remained on your raw fingertips and broken nails. The process had them stinging angrily at you again, leaving you biting desperately on your tongue to hold back whimpers that still pushed through. Thankfully, it didn’t take very long. The river water had rinsed them mostly clean, leaving only the layered mess of blood and the dirt from your climb.

Taking a clump of sticky rice, you scooped up a bit of the fragrant orange curry. The taste was just as divine as the smell and you moaned at the best food you’d had in years. You bit into a piece of the scrumptiously tender meat next, recognizing sea king, and you were yet again reminded of Sanji’s opulence. You had to admit to his good taste though; the meat from this variety of sea king leaned much more towards chicken than fish in both texture and flavor, absorbing the bold mix of spices in the curry perfectly. Judging by the vibrant tint to the meat, he set it in a well-crafted marinade as well. Had he not told you he was a chef before you got the food, you would have never believed this was the work of his own hands.

“At least I know you’re getting a good meal,” Sanji said. You were angered and endeared by his honesty. “I came to The Wood for a break. Before the rumors of the Wretched Witch of the Wood, this land and its river were known for their beauty. I can see why now.” He looked up to you with warm eyes and an affectionate smile. You snubbed your nose at him.

“Before I found you, my plan was to find the calm stretch of river, wade around, then sit and eat where absolutely nothing and no one needs me. I chose the food to bring the memory of some of my friends with me.”

You slowed your ravenous shoveling to stare at what was left of the curry with guilt twisting your gut. If it were just food you were taking, you’d happily rob this rich stranger blind, but memories were a different story. Your gaze roamed your three ravens, earning inquisitive coos from them with your misty eyes. You centered your gaze back on the massacred curry, feeling hot shame smother over you. A gentle beak nudged at your cheek.

Sanji let himself sit in the quiet following his confession. He was glad you slowed down, fearing you’d upset your stomach with a quick and filling meal, but he did have to admit, it warmed his heart how much the messy display reminded him of his captain. 

While he had no great time to appreciate the beauty of the scenery before, he found the time now. Trees old and new clustered lovingly around each other in a long stretch, interwoven with blooming hedges of mountain laurel and patches of lacy ferns. Moss hugged the damp places of The Wood, keeping them warm and alive. The earth here was not soft; it was made of packed dirt, rock falls, giant boulders, and wrestling roots, but sweeps of dead leaves did their best to cushion the path of each resident.

The river that had previously felt so threatening and cruel now soothed him with its endlessly running waters. He was mesmerized as his eyes followed the shifts from a shrouding deep blue to frothing white and back again. The cycle felt endless and inevitable, stable and sure, outside the reach of time or the shortfalls of consciousness. It made him small, it made his problems small, and he found peace.

The whisper of rustling feathers broke him from his blissful mindlessness. Sanji turned to see one of your ravens nudging the mound of his tied cloth toward him. The reminder of you made him realize he hadn’t heard a peep from you since he started his zoning. He found you had fully turned your back to him and you were staying statue-still. Now slightly concerned, he reached for the cloth only to stop with a surprised yelp when the raven pecked his hand. It cawed mockingly at him before flying right back to your side.

Reaching cautiously despite the raven’s distance, Sanji grasped his cloth. Again, he looked at your bloodied fingerprints with a clenching heart, but he brushed past it as best as he could and untied the limp fabric. Laying out the cloth, he saw that it held the smaller of his food containers. Opening that, he found the two pieces of meat on the bone untouched. His cheeks ached with the force of his new smile.

“Thank you, ma chérie, you’re very kind,” he called up to you. He shook his head at your lack of response and began munching happily.

Hearing that he had begun his own meal, you were able to stomach the rest of your food.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

The sun had long since bruised the sky, its wounds showing the end of their healing in purples and blues instead of oranges and pinks. Sanji still sat stubbornly and dutifully at his post under your tree. You had succumbed to sleep a while ago, your body much too ravaged and worn to fight the need for rest any longer.  

Seeing you’d fallen under, Sanji tried to scale the tree to bring you down and carry you back to get help, but each attempt was swiftly thwarted by stabbing beaks and talons. They first started as more of a threat, tugging at his clothes, but as he got bolder in his attempts so did the ravens. They found their courage to fight him and would not back down. Instead, Sanji backed off fully after a beak opened his hand for first blood and the other two readied their screeching weapons at each of his eyes.

Retreating from them, Sanji took his time to collect you some fresh water from a fast-flowing piece of the river in his rinsed container. He used the clean inside of his cloth to dry the excess from the outside of the sealed container before laying it carefully on the expensive fabric at the base of your tree like an offering. He stood before it and looked at you through the time passing around his frozen stance, wishing he could just decide what was best for you. Your ravens seemed to think it was not him, nor his wishes to take you away. They were adamant that you were best left to rest as the tree cradled you. He supposed this forest was your home, it fit for its pieces to care for you.

Then again, it was the very river of these woods that so readily snatched you up to steal you from the living.

Sanji waited until the sky had grown much darker than the deep blue of his eyes in the waning light to leave you. He feared more for your future than finding his way across the river and out of The Wood in the dark. Before he could tear himself away though, he had to take you in one more time, hoping the vision will last him until the next time he lays eyes on you. He grieved for the state of you; not just your new hurts but your patchy clothes, your frayed hair, your callused hands. He felt especially for the prominent ribs that greeted him when he wrapped his arms around you to free you from the river. His mind toiled with worries and indecision his whole trek back to the castle.

“Oh, Bichette, how am I going to help you?”

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

End Notes: Robins can symbolize renewal, new beginnings, and finding joy as they are one of the first signs of spring. They are also part of the dawn chorus, announcing the sun each morning.

[syluscore]

Original Sin

~Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Word count: 3402

Shoutout to @myrarenee for sending the request that inspired this and being down for my idea <3 This one’s for you.

Content warnings: religious iconography, smut, sexual content, submissive reader, married leon, affair between reader and leon, cheating leon, degradation, praise, faint misogyny if you squint, strip tease, vague masturbation, handcuffs, blindfold, gagging reader, using his wife’s vibrator, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, begging, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, reader blacks out for a minute. also wanted to note this references addiction, smoking/drug use in terms of comparison to someone’s feelings. none of those things actually take place, but it is described a bit!

anywaysssssss, enjoy this one. leon and reader have no shame 

!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!!

Obsession. Fixation. Infatuation. Compulsion. The way you’d drop to your knees before him without him ever asking wasn’t something you could’ve anticipated. You weren’t ashamed to call it what it was: you had a fetish for this man. The moment you laid eyes on him, something within you changed–something clicked. And you knew that no one else would ever compare to him. Others could give it their best shot and they’d never reach anything beyond a bleak dullness next to him. What’s one measly, useless star compared to the fucking sun? Nothing, that star would always mean nothing.

And Leon S. Kennedy was your sun. From the day you two met, your universe began to orbit around him. Placing yourself in his life, forcing yourself into his path. It had been enough for a while, but you wanted–no needed more of him. You craved him like a smoker craves a hit, needing to feel the burn throughout your chest and lungs. If you could shoot him directly into your bloodstream, you’d wear your collapsed, abused veins with a smile. Your salvation was somewhere within his flesh and blood and you were more than eager to tear him apart in search of it. You would dig it out from somewhere between his thighs and that is where you’d finally be saved. 

You’d dropped your sneaky links and casual flings. If you had to take a guess, you maybe had another 40-60 years of your short existence. And from this point on, all of it would be dedicated to the only man who could ever make a life worth living. You’d found your faith, so why waste a single minute on such mediocre things when you could be falling to your knees and praising the holiest of bodies. His flesh was forged from nicotine, his blood flowing with amphetamines. Maybe the addictive personality was deep in your genetics, but addiction never looked so beautiful. You were made to worship him; you’d never been so sure of your life’s purpose.

Obsession. Fixation. Infatuation. Compulsion. The way he’d abandon everything he’s ever known and keep you locked away for him only wasn’t something he thought he was capable of feeling. How your eyes darkened when they connected with his for the first time. It’s as if he had lived his entire life with it merely passing him by, and now he could feel the blood pumping through his veins and the breaths he took expanding his lungs. He was lost in the pitch black in the dead of the night and you were the moon finally poking through the trees.

And you were his moon. You were the light shining down on his skin, pulling him from the darkness that engulfed him for centuries. The world went from a blurry fog, to pristine and crisp. He could make out every little detail of textures in the walls, to the patterns in the carpet. He had ascended from a mere man to an ethereal being, just because of one look from you. He felt as though he was being mind controlled by you and you were fixing his broken pieces into something somehow worthy of you. He was in a daze, transfixed by his new affliction. 

That night when he went home with his wife, he plowed into her while imagining you beneath him. He thought of his cock spreading you open and ascending to the Heavens above through the waves between your thighs. Every moan or noise that fell from her lips morphed in the air between them into how he hoped you would sound beneath him. Your pussy that was made just for him would grip him so tight and milk him dry of any sins or imperfections. His soul would be cleansed within you. The same soul that fell from his body every time he came while thinking of you, and you alone. 

You were the reason people were tempted away from their faith, being pulled away and into the unholy sin of worshiping a false idol. And if one day he has to be brought forth in front of the jury as they cast judgment and assign his punishment, he won’t have learned a damn thing. He could be taught lesson after lesson, delivered punishment after punishment, and his soul would still follow you to his own demise. He’ll always chase after your torment and torture that you serve for him and him only.

That’s what brought you two to these less than holy places. Dingy pay-by-the-hour motels, gross bathrooms, poorly lit closets, both of your cars–just about anywhere you could hide away from watchful eyes and cure the craving for one another. It didn’t matter how rough the terrain may be beneath you two, you’d always fall to your knees for each other. You would always be the one habit he couldn’t kick no matter how much he tried. Well, he assumed that would be the case if he had ever tried to kick the habit, or even considered it.

It was risky for him to sneak you through the backdoor of his marriage home while his wife was visiting family. But after much discussion, you both had come to the conclusion that you couldn’t find it within yourselves to care. If that made you terrible people, then you were completely okay with that. It just added to the compatibility you suppose. He was made terrible and unholy, yet sculpted in your perfect image. 

“You’re one to talk about my obsession with you. You’re the one getting on your knees for a married man,” Leon spoke as he eyed your body up and down. You wore his favorite dress because you loved how it always riled him up. He loved when you wore it for him because he knew it was all for him, such an obedient thing you were.

“And what would your wife think, huh? How every time she turns her back, you don’t hesitate to shove your cock inside of another woman?” you crossed your arms over your chest, taunting him. He rolled his eyes and shifted his eyes back towards the TV. 

“One woman wasn’t enough to please you. You need your cock buried deep inside of me, often several times a day. You’re obviously out of control. I sleep with one man and I’m the issue?” you continue taunting him. You just had to know how far you could push him before he gave in and defiled you where you sat.

“I’m just a man, sweetheart. Dangle a bone in front of a dog–,” you cut him off with a loud laugh. He turned back to you and raised his eyebrow at you, challenging you almost.

You stood up from the bed, the same one he shares with his wife, and slipped the straps of your dress off of your shoulders. He stared at you with intense eyes, as if he was trying to eat you alive with just a look. You weren’t wearing a bra, so when you pulled the dress down until the top was bunched around your waist, your breasts were on full display for him. 

You continued pulling it down, shimmying it down past your hips, letting it fall at your feet. You turned around and slowly slid your panties down your ass, letting them glide down your thighs as you shook your ass to aid in taking them off. You peaked over your shoulder and saw Leon staring directly at your ass, causing you to smirk.

Once you were free from any clothing, you turned back around and threw yourself back onto the bed. Legs spread unashamedly. He inched closer to you and as he went to reach out to you, your hand darted out and stopped his wrist.

“Prove this self control you’ve been boasting about then. If you touch me in absolutely any way, you lose,” you told him as you pushed his hand back to his side. 

He scoffed out at you, “Are you serious?” He stared at you as you confidently nodded back at him. “Well, in that case,” he spoke as he stood up, slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt, “If you touch me, then you lose.” You watched hungrily as he undid every last button and let the shirt fall behind him. He slowly worked his pants and boxers off and you ate it up with your eyes. His hard cock sprung out, already begging for you.

He sat back on the bed, relaxing back into the pillows as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But it was all an act he was putting on for you. He knew you were stubborn, it was just in your nature, so maybe if he could irritate you enough, intrigue you enough with his disinterest, he surely could get you to give in first. So he went back to mindlessly watching TV, although he couldn’t pay any attention to the show that was playing. All he could think of was the sight just to the right of him and trying to discreetly stare at you from the corner of his eye. 

This went on for a few minutes, before you decided you needed to up the ante. You started to run your hands up and down your body, a small whimper leaving your lips. Leon’s head snapped as he watched you tease your nipples between your fingertips.

“What have I told you about touching yourself?” he growled at you.

“What are you going to do about it, then? Come punish me? Touch me and lose? I think you know just as well as I do that you hate losing,” you tested him. Your hands abandoning your breasts and gently caressing your stomach as they slowly moved lower and lower. He followed every single one of your movements, as if he was in a trance. 

You caressed your thighs, spreading them all the way open as Leon eyed your wetness. After a few seconds you snapped them close, hiding the sight Leon was desperate for the most. He bit his lip as his brows furrowed in irritation. 

You rubbed your thighs together, giving yourself the vaguest bit of friction. You were so needy that even the faintest ping of pleasure had you throwing your head back and whining. Plus, it’s not as if you were holding yourself back at all. You allowed yourself to feel every little bit of sensation from your little touches here and there. 

And you just carried on exactly like that. It was hard to hold any sort of self control when you were working yourself up so much. But reminding yourself of who you were also working up, yet refusing to look at, was all the encouragement you needed. 

You barely opened your eyes and peeked over at Leon. You could see the sweat building up on his chest and forehead. His hands were clinging to the sheets beside him, his knuckles going white from the intense grasp he held on them. You saw him gulp deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing and tempting you deep down into your core.

You closed your eyes tightly again as you spread your thighs for him once more, gently caressing your soaked lips with your fingertips. Your teeth were biting into your bottom lip so hard that you felt like you might draw blood, but it was the only thing grounding your mind down to Earth currently. Your middle finger swiped over your clit just right and you arched your back and whined even louder than you had before. 

Just as your eyes were about to flutter into the back of your head, a harsh grasp pulled your hands from your body, holding them above your head as you were pinned down to the mattress with his body hovering over yours.

“You think I give a fuck about losing?” he laughed as he brought his lips to your ear, “As if I won’t punish you either way? Make you pay for being such a fucking tease.” His voice was full of venom. His patience was more than just wore thin. It was crumpled up and had run away, somewhere far fucking away from here. 

“Doesn’t matter to me,” you lowered your voice until it was barely above a whisper, “loser.” He looked at you with a look of disbelief, before he laughed loudly directly in your face.

“I’m going to have so much fun making you eat your fucking words,” he sneered as he looked directly into your eyes. The darkness of his pupils nearly consuming his eyes, his irises nothing more than a hint of his usual blue. 

He slid open the drawer of the nightstand directly to your right, pulling a pair of handcuffs out. You raised your eyebrow at him as he used one hand to click them open and shut teasingly. He roughly pulled your hands up to the headboard and secured you to the iron bars with the handcuffs. 

He begins rummaging inside the drawer again as you nervously fiddle beneath him. Before you can process it, he’s securing a blindfold over your eyes, encompassing you in near total darkness. You were breathing heavily as he dragged some sort of piece of fabric over your mouth.

“Is this okay?” he said as he shoved the fabric in your mouth, successfully gagging you. You nod in response and he caresses your cheek gently before lightly slapping it. “Now be a good whore for me,” he whispered before you heard him press a button and some sort of device kicking on.

It doesn’t take you more than a few seconds to recognize the sound of a vibrator before he’s running the device down the valley of your breasts, past your belly button, and swirling the device around on your inner thighs. You were desperately arching your back and thrashing around beneath him, the cuffs clinging loudly against the metal bars of his headboard.

He laughs directly next to your ear, startling you. You didn’t realize how close he’d brought his mouth to your ear while he was teasing you. 

“Let’s see how many times I can make you come with my wife’s toy. You’re such a dirty fucking girl, letting someone’s husband fuck you with her toy,” he speaks into your ear deeply. You whine desperately and he continues, “And you’re going to fucking love it. Her husband’s cock isn’t enough for you, is it? You have to steal all forms of her pleasure, hmm? You can’t help but plague her life with your slutty pussy.”

As soon as the last word leaves his mouth, the vibrator is directly pressed to your clit, causing you to moan out loudly as the waves of pleasure crash through your pussy. And he’s so fucking right, every single word he said. You shouldn’t want this as desperately as you do. It’s depraved, her husband using her toy to get you off in her bed. But as your climax fast approaches, you can’t help but arch your back and fully take in the pleasure. 

Your first orgasm crashes through you, your body trembling against the vibrator as you desperately try to get in enough air through your nose. He pulls the toy away from your pussy for a few seconds before he presses it against you again. You’re basically screaming into your gag as your eyes roll back at the sensation returning so soon. 

“That’s it. A whore like you can take it, can’t you baby?” he chuckles. “Yeah, you fucking can. Cream all over this toy for me. Show me what a filthy girl you are. I fucking love how filthy you are for me, you dirty fucking girl,” he grinds his hard cock against your thigh as you climb up to another orgasm.

Just when you think you’re gonna be held on the precipice of release forever, your second orgasm finally crashes through you. You throw your head back as tears pour from your eyes and past the bottom of the blindfold. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst through your chest, but he’s nowhere near finished.

He once again gives you nothing more than a few seconds to gather yourself, which helps nothing, before he presses it against you again. The pleasure is so painful, but so good too. You’re sobbing as your entire body tenses up against the toy again.

“Look at you, already about to come again for me. What if my wife saw how your pussy weeps for me, huh? What if she walked in right now and saw how happily you give yourself over to her husband? You have no shame. A shameless little slut. My shameless fucking slut. All fucking mine,” his words sent you over the edge again.

You were completely his, he’s absolutely correct. It didn’t matter how his life appeared, who it looked like his heart belonged to. He belonged right here between your spread thighs. Not just his cock, but all of him. You knew you were selfish, you knew God should smite you right this second because you definitely deserved it, but you wanted all of this man. You’d suffer through an eternity of damnation to spend your time Earth side beneath Leon. 

He sat the vibrator down on the bed beside you before he pulled your gag out. You greedily sucked in big gulps of air into your lungs. He gently sucked on your neck as he ran his hard cock up and down your messy, drenched folds.

You’d never been someone who ever wanted more than one orgasm. Just one was always enough to wreck your body and have you satisfied, unable to handle anything else. You couldn’t stand the overstimulation at all. But just as Leon had completely uprooted your life, he changed your needs too. You’d always crave every bit of him you could get. When you two were alone together, you somehow committed all seven deadly sins unapologetically. 

“Beg for it. Beg for my cock or I’ll leave you here like this,” he said as he yanked on your handcuffs to emphasize his point.

“Please. Please fuck me. I need your cock, I need you,” you whined out as he chuckled at you.

“Such a greedy fucking pussy,” he said as he shoved his cock all the way in. His balls smacked against your ass as you wrapped your legs tightly around him, pulling him in deeper. “Can’t get enough of my cock, can you? It’ll never be enough for a whore like you,” he growled.

“It’s never enough, fuck,” you moaned loudly, “Give it to me. Need you to give it to me all the time. I’m an empty whore without you.” Leon began thrusting roughly into you. He fucked you deeply into the bed below you. So deep, it felt like you might push through the mattress and descend straight to Hell. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world either. You could commit your sins of the flesh, commit your adultery, with him forever. You’d be all he needs. 

“Fuck, your pussy is so tight, so wet for me. I’m gonna come already,” he moaned out before bringing his mouth to yours and kissing you intensely. You were so close too, just a few more thrusts and you’d both be done for. He reached down and grabbed the vibrator, bringing it to your clit and that was it for you.

Your walls clenched tightly around his cock as you come undone again. Your eyes roll back into your head as sobs leave your throat. You weren’t sure what happened next, but one second you were coming around Leon and the next you were opening your eyes to a concerned Leon trying to get your attention. You blinked a few times as your senses came back to you.

“Holy shit! Not you blacking out from my cock,” he chuckled before kissing you again, “I’ve never come so hard in my fucking life.” His hands cling to your cheeks as he smiles down at you, his expression filled with satisfaction and something else you couldn’t quite identify. 

If you were Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, you still would’ve committed the original sin. You would’ve damned the word with the knowledge of good and evil. And it wouldn’t have involved a fucking apple. 

~masterlist~

[sengardet]

Dainty Knight's Big Fat Meaty Heart

Gertrude, the delicate blonde knight, gripped her bastard sword tightly as she faced the wall of leering invaders before her. Despite her slight frame, her delicate arms steadied the weighty blade, shifting her lithe body to balance its heft. Her small, dazzled breastplate gleamed in the sunlight.

Beyond the sneering ruffians, Gertrude spied a group of fair maidens huddled into a garrisoned church, their dresses tattered, eyes wide with fear and desperate hope. The damsels cried out to her.

Gertrude's heart swelled with blood and purpose, the mighty organ pounding like a war drum in her chest, flooding her veins with hot crimson. She could feel its bulging mass straining against her ribs, too big and vigorous for her willowy frame to contain. An engine of pure power thundering within her breast.

The men laughed wickedly and closed in, brandishing their weapons. "You dare challenge us, little girl? We'll cut you down where you stand!"

But they underestimated the might of Gertrude's determination, the raw power of her oversized, powerful heart. With a high-pitched battle cry, she surged forward and sliced through their ranks in a whirlwind of flashing steel. Her strokes were inhumanly fast and precise, driven by the panic in the voices of the helpless women, and the desire to rescue those in distress.

Hot blood sprayed and men crumpled before her onslaught until none were left standing. Panting raggedly, Gertrude staggered and dropped to one knee, leaning on her sword. Her lungs burned for air as her massive heart swelled and throbbed against them.

"Fear not, fair maidens," Gertrude gasped out between strained breaths, "I have come to set you free! No man shall lay hand on you now."

Rising unsteadily to her feet, she strode through the broken doors of the cathedral to break the chains of the cowering women, ever the valiant rescuer, even as her legs trembled beneath her.

Gertrude slumped to the stone floor, her sword clanging as it fell from her trembling hand. The damsels she had just freed surrounded her, their delicate faces twisting into cruel smirks.

Gertrude's oversized heart pounded against her ribcage like a war drum, making her frail body quake with each mighty thud. Sweat plastered her golden hair to her forehead.

"I hope you are not harmed, my ladies." she said between labored breaths.

The tallest damsel scoffed, flipping her dark tresses. "Look at her, weak as a kitten! Some knight in shining armor." She shoved Gertrude onto her back with a soft kick.

The other women tittered. "Pathetic." One knelt and roughly groped Gertrude's heaving chest. "Gods, feel how her heart hammers! Like some frightened rabbit."

"Sit on it, Elise! See if you can make the poor dear's heart burst," another urged with a wicked grin.

Elise hiked up her skirts and straddled Gertrude's chest, digging her knees into Gertrude's shoulders. The pressure made it hard to breathe. Gertrude squirmed beneath her, but Elise's weight pinned her down, pressing her soft flesh against the bulging, beating mass of her heart.

"P-please..." Gertrude wheezed, "I can't breathe..." But the damsels only laughed cruelly.

"Aw, poor thing," one mocked in a baby voice while the others snickered. "Is that big fat heart squeezing the air from your little lungs?"

The knight's eyes rolled back as she teetered on the edge of consciousness, lungs compressed in her delicate little chest as her defeated heart lay engorged in defeat.

One leaned down, breathing air into Gertrude's mouth, barely keeping her alive to endure more. "Look at that! her heart just keeps going for us! What a Fighter!"

The damsel on top of her giggled. "It's like a big, squishy toy! Pump, pump, pump... Oops, stopped again! Better keep our hero alive so we can play with her more."

Despite herself, Gertrude felt a shameful throb between her legs at having this buxom beauty atop her. She tried to protest, but Elise pressed a palm over her mouth. "Hush now, sweetling. Just lay back and take what you're given."

Another damsel noticed the growing damp patch on Gertrude's breeches. "Well, well! It seems our noble knight is quite the desperate slut. Aroused by a bit of flesh, are we?"

Before Gertrude could reply, the damsel delivered a light teasing kick to her vulva. A jolt of twisted pleasure shot through her. Gertrude moaned into Elise's hand, embarrassed by how much she craved their delicate yet cruel touch. Her weakened body couldn't mount resistance or escape, heart erratically stopping and starting under their torturous ministrations.

"That's it, stay down like an obedient dog." Elise rocked her hips, grinding against Gertrude's straining heart. The organ beat frantically, as if trying to break free of her ribcage and escape this torture.

Gertrude dreamed of rescuing and serving fair maidens, but never imagined some would be so mean and demanding. Despite everything, she adored being at the mercy of these vicious beauties she had saved.

[clarepreed]

Micro-Story: Faulty

Story Content and Summary: 1,750 words. Micah's wife succumbs to a fault in a futuristic prosthetic heart. No EMS. On-site resuscitation.

--

Fuck!

The way she fell, first stiffening, then going boneless and collapsing in a heap before he could reach her. The way she fell, her face slack and her eyes rolling back. The way she fell pulled a silent curse from him, one he kept repeating as he skidded to his knees beside her, the accidental impact of his body rocking hers in the dirt.

“FUCK!” Micah finally shouted, losing control, his hands shaking as he reached for her, already knowing what was wrong as his fingers pressed into her neck.

Goddamn artificial heart. First mass-produced cardiac replacement piece of shit!

The artery beneath his fingers lay still, and her light eyes stared half-lidded up at him, even as her mouth slanted open and her lungs stuttered air.

Recalled.

He unzipped her coat and spread it wide, then dug in his pocket for his knife, flipping it open. Her hands curled, body shaking as her brain freaked the fuck out at the sudden lack of oxygenated blood. Micah sliced his blade through the collar of her t-shirt, then tossed his knife to the side and gripped her shirt with both hands. The shirt tore down to her navel and he spread the fabric wide open, reaching next for the small, rectangular lump just below her collarbone and above the cups of her lavender bra.

Recalled, and a fucking waiting list…

He pressed the center of the implant, just like he’d pantomimed with her before, when he’d printed the reset instructions from the manufacturer’s website. This time, he felt a button click, depressing firmly and then popping back up beneath his fingers.

“Come on, Gretchen,” he breathed, quiet now as he reached for the butterfly clasp of her bra. He popped it open as she gave another rattling agonal breath, quickly spreading the cups and sliding his fingers down to the tiny display implanted laterally. The miniature monitor glowed red, awakening with the activation of her reset button. He pressed the center of the glowing light three times, initiating the reset sequence.

Stay calm! the instructions had advised. The heart WILL restart!

“I’ve got you,” Micah gasped, his hands skimming over her chest and settling low on her sternum, along the line of her first surgery scar.

Okay. I have to be her heart and lungs until the device restarts. 

He linked his fingers, rolled his shoulders over his hands, and started pumping.

“One, two, three…”

His mind flashed back to the little practice mannequin he’d bought and subsequently worn out in the basement where she couldn’t see him desperately trying to learn. Terrified that one day, before she could get in to surgery, her replacement heart would glitch out and take Gretchen away from him forever. 

What good is a heart that resumes beating ten, twenty, forty-five minutes later if her brain is dead?

“…thirty!” Micah leaned down and quickly tipped her head back before pinching her nose closed and drawing a deep breath. Strands of her silken hair clung to her face and his fingers as he gripped her jaw with his other hand. He held her mouth open and covered her lips with his, exhaling, watching her chest rise out of the corner of his eye. Micah broke the seal and felt his recycled air waft over his face before giving her a second.

He returned to her chest, his voice shaking as he started counting. Gretchen’s ribcage sank and her breasts wobbled as he worked, the force rocking her head from side to side. Each time he pressed down, her navel popped up in a harsh seesaw motion. Her shoulders shrugged rhythmically, body bending to the force of his love.

“Huh, huh, huh…” Breathless sounds slipped from her parted lips as he reached thirty again.

Her soft mouth beneath his felt lifeless, already cool to the touch of his overheated skin. Another breath, her cheeks rounding out, neck swelling slightly as the breath made its way down her airway. Micah turned, quickly getting back into position for compressions, his hands skimming her smooth skin as he found his landmark.

“One, two, three…” Her breast felt soft under his fingers as the heel of his stacked hands thrust into her. Her nipples, erect in the cool autumn air, pointed briefly inward with each hard compression. Oblong tracks appeared in the dirt beneath her slim-fingered as her body danced to the rhythm of his thrusts.

“…twelve, thirteen…”

Her brainstem stopped trying to make her breathe as her eyes locked on nothing, already glassy with death. Shadows gathered beneath her eyes.

“…eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…”

A glance down toward her feet showed him that her entire body twitched with each thrust, legs rocking, toes drawing little circles in the air.

“Please, Gretchen!” he begged, before giving her another deep breath. Her breasts swelled once, twice. His eyes darted to the illuminated display in her side as he resumed chest compressions. One line, regular and jagged, represented his chest compressions. The second line, however, lay flat. Asystole.

“…nine, ten, eleven, twelve…”

Micah rocked into her chest, forcing himself to work as perfectly as he was capable, judging his compression depth with a critical eye and keeping the rhythm going as he counted. Each harsh thrust forced her sternum to squeeze blood from the useless artificial organ. As he pressed, her belly rounded against the waistband of her leggings, the hollow of her navel riding the crest of each wave. Sunlight stretching through the canopy dappled her body, leaves rustling as he shifted on his knees. A snoring sound abruptly emitted from Gretchen’s throat.

“…Christ! Thirty!” He sucked in a breath and covered her mouth with his, closing her nostrils just in time. Again, the air puffed out her cheeks and throat visibly. A thin string of saliva pulled between them as he broke the seal long enough to let her body exhale. Micah pressed his lips to hers again and gave her another breath. Then his hands slammed back into the center of her chest, fingers quickly linking. “One, two, three, four…”

“Hurk, huh, huh, hurk…”

“…nine, ten…” Her chest popped, the sensation crackling under his palm. He kept at it, watching her sternum and ribcage sink and bob beneath the strength of his pumping arms as he hoped, begged, that his effort was good enough.

“…sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…” Watching the wave of force ripple down her abdomen, eyes burning, he choked back the tears that threatened to fall.

Let this be enough. Let me be enough…

As he bent for mouth-to-mouth, he thought of her that morning, legs spread wide beneath him, mouth ripe for the taking, skin so soft as he stroked her. Now, she lay lifeless beneath him, her mouth slack and her eyes staring as he forced air into her silent lungs. The flat line on her prosthetic monitor haunted him as he shifted back over her bruised, motionless chest. Panic threatened to overwhelm him, even as the sensation of her body softening under his hands sent a wave of nausea rolling through him.

“…nine, please just start beating, fuck, come on! PLEASE! Fifteen, sixteen…” Micah worked desperately, letting his weight fall into his hands. She made abortive grunts as he thrust down into her chest, air escaping her lungs in harsh wheezes. “…twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty—”

BEEEEEEEP! An artificial sound cut through his panic.

“Gretchen?!” Micah leaned closer, hands shifting to frame the heart prosthesis screen. The chest compression line disappeared, but beneath it, where the flatline had been…

A rhythm!

“Gretchen!” Micah lunged, planting his hands to either side of her head. Her face tipped slightly to the side, skin ashen, eyelids slightly lifted. He moved one hand to her face, patting her cheek gently at first, then harder. “Honey? Gretchen!” Micah’s eyes trailed over her mottled chest, looking for signs of life. Despite her beating heart, Gretchen remained completely still. 

He moved a hand over her mouth, suspicion leading him to feel for breath that apparently wasn’t coming. Fear made him shiver as he bent to open her airway and tip his ear close to her pale lips. He hovered there, silently counting out the seconds as the dead air spread between them. 

With a groan of anguish, Micah crashed his mouth into hers, the angle of his face blocking her nostrils as he filled her lungs, pressure forcing a buzz of air out of the corners of their mouths. He pulled back enough to feel the air drift across his face, remembering then to pinch her nose. His eyes grazed the display embedded into her side, reassuring himself that the artificial heart still beat. Then he gave her another breath, the fingers of his other hand gently stroking the soft skin of her throat as it expanded beneath his fingertips.

“Please, Gretchen…” His plea came out quiet and broken. “I was right here. I helped you. Please!”

Another breath. His mind filled with awful thoughts. Gretchen dead, Marcus forced to sign paperwork to remove the heart surgically prior to her burial. Gretchen in long-term care, unable to recognize him or care for herself. His Gretchen, dead as her body lived. His eyes grew wet as he exhaled a fourth breath. 

As he broke the seal, Gretchen flinched beneath him and sucked in a shallow, ragged breath. Micah gasped and cupped her face with both hands, watching as her eyelids fluttered. “That’s it, Gretchen! Just breathe! You’re okay. I love you, you’re okay!” He shook with relief, his eyes blurring with tears as she coughed and gasped and moved her hands weakly. She curled them onto her chest, covering the redness there and letting out a soft groan.

Micah brushed her hair back from her face and then covered her hands with his. “I’m sorry. I know you’re in pain. Just open your eyes for me so I know you’re alright.”

Gretchen complied, her eyelids peeling open. She blinked several times before her eyes focused, latching on to his own. “Micah,” she whispered, barely audible. 

Micah shuddered and curled over her, pressing his forehead to hers and choking out: “Thank you… Thank you! Oh, I love you…”

“Love you…” she wheezed. “S’okay…”

His fingers threading in her hair, Micah wept.

[archangeldyke-all]

HEY

what about a reader winning a fight ( 👊👊) w sevika but sev is like :0 cause reader is pretty skinny compared to her like reader seems delicate, she's not, and sev gets so fucking horny that ....

I let that end to you pretty 😉

love this!

men and minors dni

sevika's cocky, smirking at you from across the mat as she wraps her hands. "you sure?" she asks. you roll your eyes as you stretch your body.

"i'm sure, sev. wouldn't have asked if i didn't want to." you say. sevika snorts.

"i'll go easy on you, honey." she says with a wink. you laugh.

sevika's strong. much stronger than you. but you've got an advantage on her.

sevika's a boxer-- it's her primary fighting background. you've seen her fight, and while her hits are powerful, they only land above her opponent's waist. she doesn't use her legs, she's a little too cocky to focus on blocking, and she relies solely on her strength.

you, on the other hand, are scrawny. when play-fighting with sevika, she always wins, pinning you beneath her. but you've got a background in mixed martial arts.

your fighting style is focused on blocking, diverting, and using your opponent's strength against them. you use kicks, knees, elbows, and headbutts just as frequently as you use your fists. and you'll aim anywhere.

last night, when you asked sevika if she'd ever like to spar with you, she simply laughed. she's still laughing now, as the two of you approach each other in the center of the mat.

"ready?" she asks as she reaches her hands out. you knock your fists against hers to signify the beginning of a fight and nod with a smile.

"ready." you say.

the two of you circle each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. sevika fakes you out a couple times, lunging at you before pulling back when you flinch, chuckling each time. you just huff and wait for her to strike.

it doesn't take long. sevika's patient in a lot of areas, but fighting isn't one of them. her arm swings out, aiming at your face, and you quickly duck beneath it. she huffs, then aims a punch at your gut. you take the hit with a grunt, stumbling from the impact as sevika giggles across from you.

"sure you wanna keep going?" she asks. you glare at her. fuck this, you think as adrenaline pumps through your body and your training kicks in. she aims another hit at you.

before she can meet her mark, you slide to the side, weaving your arm around her elbow and spinning the two of you as you shoot a knee up into her stomach. she grunts and doubles over, a shocked look washing over her face as your free elbow comes flying toward her face.

"fuck." she curses struggles in your grip. you've still got her flesh arm trapped, but her mechanic arm is free.

with a solid hook, she hits you in the temple, and you stumble backwards, letting go of her. you stare her down from across the mat.

an impressed smile is creeping up her lips. "maybe i don't need to take it easy on you." she says. you chuckle.

"i told you we'd be good sparring partners." you say with a grunt as you block another one of her punches with your forearm, knocking it out of the way and landing a solid roundhouse kick into her ribs.

as your foot meets her side, her free fist meets your face again. a crunch rings out and blood begins to dribble down your face. you groan, and sevika freezes. "shit, are yo--ah!" she huffs out as you smash your forehead against her nose.

"now we match." you say with a giggle as her nose begins to bleed.

sevika growls and reaches out to grab you around the waist, but you slide away before she can grab you. she glares at you, her chest huffing, her flesh knuckles white from how hard she's clenching them.

she throws three hits your way in quick succession, one of them barely grazing your ribs, the second hitting the center of your stomach, the third a nasty upper hook that knocks your chin back. you take the hits, letting the momentum of your spinning head twirl you into a full body spin, aiming a spinning high kick at sevika's head.

it lands, and sevika falls on her ass. you tackle her onto the ground, but before you can pin her, she's flipping you.

you quickly crawl away, but when she plasters her body over your back, you grab her arm around your shoulder and dive forward, flipping her over you.

she lands flat on the floor, sprawled out with a shocked look in her eye. you giggle from above her and she smiles up at you.

"where the fuck did you learn that?" she giggles out. you smile and duck your head down. sevika flinches, expecting another headbutt, but she melts when your lips meet hers.

it's a little awkward. sevika's upside down beneath you, so your nose keeps knocking into her chin. you pull away and sevika pouts up at you, quickly scrambling to her knees to turn around and push you down onto the mat.

"time out." she grunts as she straddles you, hungrily kissing your lips and grinding her clothed cunt onto your pelvis. you smile against her lips.

"does fighting always get you this worked up?" you ask with a giggle as she trails kisses down your neck.

"no, but it's hot as fuck that you can throw me around like that." she says. you laugh as your hands start scrabbling at her shirt, trying to get her naked. she leans up to help you strip her, leaning back down to kiss you again but being blcoked by your finger to her lips.

"hold on." you whisper as you gently wipe up the blood trickling from her nose with her shirt. she smiles softly at you, and when you're done cleaning her up, she wipes your blood up with her shirt as well. then, she's shoving her tongue down your throat, her hand snaking up under your shirt to fondle your tits.

you moan beneath her, grinding up against her as you claw at her back, trying to get her closer to you.

you trail one of your hands down to fiddle with her button and fly, shoving your hand underneath her waistband and boxers, groping her wet cunt as she shivers above you.

"f-fuck." she sighs as you start rubbing circles against her clit.

you chuckle. "maybe we wouldn't be good sparring partners-- might be too distracting." you say. she moans against your shoulder.

"fuck off. you're the only person i'm sparrin' with from now on." she grunts as she humps her cunt against your hand. you giggle and kiss her lips, gently nipping her swollen lower lip, relishing in the whimper it gets from her.

"you're so wet, can i eat you out? fuck, sev, will you ride my face?" you ask below her. sevika shudders on top of you as she scrambles to her knees and pushes her pants and boxers lower.

you grope her now exposed ass, tugging her higher up your body, trying to get her cunt on your mouth as quickly as you can. when she's hovering over you, her glistening clit three inches away from your eager mouth, the door to the gym swings open.

"what the fuck!?" jinx screams out. you look over just in time to catch the teenager slap a hand over her eyes and gag. "what the fuck!?" she cries out again.

sevika scrambles to stand, but her pants around her knees only make her fall onto her ass again. you giggle as you help her up, tossing her her shirt and helping her button up her pants and zip up her fly.

sevika's blushing profusely. you grin and launch up to kiss her cheek.

"sorry jinx." you say to the teen. "we're good now."

jinx hesitantly peeks between her fingers to check that you're not lying, and then her arms go flying as she starts on a tirade about communal spaces and pda.

sevika's shoulders rise with each of jinx's sentences, until they're practically at her ears. her blush is traveling down her chest and she's biting her lip. she looks adorable.

"relax, jinx, you didn't see anything bad." you cut her off.

"i saw sevika's ass!" she cries out. you chuckle.

"like i said, you didn't see anything bad." you repeat. she groans and throws the towel over her shoulder at you. you quickly dodge it, tugging sevika behind you to leave the gym.

jinx is mumbling about disinfecting the mats as you pass her by, ruffling her hair with one hand, holding sevika's in the other.

sevika makes certain that she locks the gym door each time you spar together in the future.

taglist!

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[inoreuct]

a study of bruises, care, and potatoes. 

Zoro’s boots scrape dully as he skids across the deck, bending his knees to drop his centre of gravity, shoulders sinking as he presses a slow breath through his teeth. 

“Is that all you’ve got?” 

He scoffs as Sanji’s stupid fancy shoes come into view, the steel-capped toes he got the cook for his birthday dripping with the same red that’s flowing from his split brow and blurring one half of his vision to shit. Squinting upwards into the light, he finds the midday sun crowning Sanji like a halo, lighting his hair up gold. Beautiful. “Fuck you.”

“Maybe, if you win,” Sanji laughs, easy as anything as he backs away. 

Shusui and Kitetsu sing in his hands as he grounds his stance and spins them around, and he hasn’t unsheathed Wado. Yet. But with the way Sanji’s pushing him back— Zoro grits his teeth and allows a heel to crack across his jaw, letting the momentum turn his body sideways as he ducks low and rams his shoulder into Sanji’s ribs. The cook gasps, managing to drive a knee between them before Zoro shoves it out of the way, spitting out a curse as the swordsman hooks the flat of one sword behind his calf and yanks his leg out from under him, and they hit the ground hard.

Zoro’s laugh rides on his exhale, heartbeat pounding fiercely in his ears, one fist slamming into the ground above Sanji’s head when the cook wraps unfairly long legs around his middle and throws him upwards. It unbalances him just enough for him to go nose-to-plank, just enough for Sanji to flip them and yank Zoro’s wrists down to trap them under his thighs, and just like that—

“Caught you,” Sanji breathes, chest rising and falling rapidly, sweat-damp bangs sticking to his flushed cheek, and Zoro doesn’t fight the grin that bares his teeth. 

“Looks like it,” he says evenly, feeling hardwood press against his skull as he stops resisting. “Come here.”

A blue eye narrows sharply. “Why?”

“Just come here.” His heart lurches when Sanji leans down, suspicious, hair falling over them both like a flaxen curtain. It’s getting long, Zoro notes. Long enough that he could braid it if Sanji wanted. He makes a mental note to bring it up to the cook, waits until a barely-trembling mouth grazes his— 

And cranes his neck back to slam his forehead into Sanji’s nose. 

The cook lurches away with an enraged cry, hands flying to his face as Zoro uses his wrists to lift Sanji by the knees and flip them over again. “You fucking bastard! That’s foul play, you piece of shit—”

Zoro just grins wider, heart pumping hard and body buzzing like a livewire. Sanji looks hot like this with iron dripping off his chin, pooling in his cupid’s bow, staining his mouth rose-rust-ruby even as he smears the heel of his palm over his lower lip, and Zoro isn’t afraid to admit it. 

He watches. Watches Sanji’s eyes drag languidly from the blood on his hand to Zoro’s face, watches him tilt his head, lazy and unhurried, and suck the red off his teeth with that piercing gaze pinning him in place. He tightens his grip on Shusui’s hilt and digs his knuckles into Sanji’s shin as something tightens in his gut. “Never said we had to play fair.”

He watches Sanji’s smile sharpen into something downright predatory seconds before a foot is stomping sole-first into his chest, vicious and just off-centre, kicking the air right out of his damn lungs as he flies back. Fuck, that’s gonna bruise. The pain switches something in him into high gear and Wado’s out of her sheath, a familiar weight in his jaw even as he scrambles to get his bearings, and barely half a breath later Sanji’s on him like a fucking hurricane. 

Another signature roundhouse kick lands on his temple and re-opens the split in his brow, and he would have eaten shit if not for the palm he slams to the deck, pivoting to pop up behind Sanji and swing two swords parallel into his middle. The cook dodges and slips away, driving his heel into Zoro’s hip, and Zoro backs up to give himself space to breathe. 

The sun is blinding even when he isn’t looking up. His breath echoes in his ears, tight as he tries to slow it down, shirt stretching with the heave of his shoulders, pulse a war drum in his veins and his arms nearly trembling with adrenaline and there is blood on his face, in his mouth, sweet and metallic; he spits it in a red splatter onto the ground and sweat nearly steams off his skin. 

Up ahead, Sanji leans back against the taffrail almost leisurely, looking far more composed than he probably feels. He rolls his head back, elbows over the railing as he bares his throat almost arrogantly, and the smug look he tilts to Zoro as he tosses his hair out of his face is a challenge in and of itself.

Zoro crosses the space between them in three great strides and swings. 

He twists and drops low as Sanji slides beneath his sword, and the cook snarls as Wado grazes over his side just deep enough for it to sting. Sanji’s leg comes down over his head and he throws up a forearm, digs his heels in as he braces for the impact, shoving forward as soon as it connects. A knee jams into the same side as before and Zoro wheezes, core spasming, backing Sanji into the railing with a wide arc of his blade before the cook gets that glint in his eye— 

And Zoro gets an inkling feeling that he’s just lost himself this fight. 

Sanji spins to spring off the railing in a tight flip that brings his heel down directly between Zoro’s shoulder blades, and Zoro sacrifices his balance and Kitetsu in one last bid for victory. He reaches one hand over his head and grapples for a handful of fabric, yanking as hard as he can, biting down into Wado’s hilt as his knees slam into the planks.

Muffling his pained hiss into leather, Zoro manages to flip Shusui in his grip before his wrist is pinned beneath Sanji’s hip. Fuck. His free arm is grabbed and wrenched back, a sole pressed to his throat and forcing him into a kneeling backbend. Sanji slowly pulls harder and forces his upper body back as he thrashes, a subtle threat; it’s a futile effort, anyway. The cook’s out of Wado’s reach with the severity of the lean he’s in, neck tense, chin pushed up as cold, blunt steel digs into his jugular. Zoro’s arm strains in its socket, and as much as he is prideful— He knows when to admit he’s been bested. 

“Yield,” he grits, chest heaving as Sanji puts more pressure on his trachea and his lower back strains with the weight of holding himself up. “I yield.”

“…For today.” Sanji slowly lets go, and Zoro groans as he slumps to the deck. “You’ll beat me tomorrow.”

He spits his sword to the side and unfolds his aching legs from under him, starfishes out, tries to catch his breath. The sky is a brilliant, cloudless, familiar shade of blue. Zoro finds himself smiling and throws an arm over his face to hide it. “Hope that doesn’t mean you’ll go easy on me.”

“When do I ever?” Sanji scoffs, tapping the back of his heel against the swordsman’s thigh for good measure as he gets up. “Come on, marimo. Before the sun turns you into a dried cactus.”

*

He’d been right about the bruising. Purple and yellow blooms vivid across the right side of his ribcage, a deceptively pretty splotch that still makes him bite down a groan when he presses into it with cloth-wrapped ice.

“Let me.” Sanji gently takes the bundle from him, nudging him back until Zoro gets the hint and hauls himself up to sit on the table with a grunt. He lets the cook prod at the edges of the bruise with a frown pulling at his swirly brows, carefully rolling the ice pack back over the area, and he grunts as his ribs shift. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’d strained a couple of intercostal muscles.

The urge to scrub a fist over the blood crusting in his eye is tempting but he resists, knowing that Sanji would probably scream at him if he did— However. His lashes really are starting to stick together. 

Sanji notices, because of course he does. “Hold,” he mutters, pulling one of Zoro’s hands over the ice and stretching to wet a clean cloth by the sink. It’s blessedly cool as he sets it to Zoro’s skin, letting it soak for a few seconds before he starts scrubbing away at dried gore and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “You’re all messed up.”

“And whose fault is that?” Zoro asks dryly. “You kick like a fucking donkey. And twice in one spot? Really?” He ducks his head with a laugh when Sanji moves to yank his earrings.

“You’re infuriating,” the cook scowls, at odds with the slow, meticulous way he rubs the cloth over Zoro’s lashline. “And you were distracted today. What’s going on?”

Zoro closes his other eyes and recalls a fierce grin, blood-slick, golden hair and steel toes and a flawless kick slamming into his jaw. “Dunno. Maybe I just love you.”

Sanji stills, and Zoro clocks his soft, quick inhale before he hears the cook shift and opens his eye. “…I’m still not used to that,” Sanji murmurs, more to the floor than anything else, and Zoro tilts his chin up with two fingers tucked beneath.

“I know.” He feels his own shoulders slouching, sinking as he curves toward Sanji like a planet in orbit. He’s tentative when he cups the cook’s jaw steady and lets go of the ice pack to bring his thumb to Sanji’s bloodied nose, but he twitches back when Sanji hisses. “Shit, sorry, curls. Is it broken?”

“Nah,” Sanji chuckles airily, relaxing into Zoro’s touch and letting his eyes slide shut with a sigh as the swordsman prods at his bridge. “Just tender.”

Zoro hums, unsatisfied. “Pass me another cloth.” He wraps the offered fabric around his index finger and wipes away the blood congealed on Sanji’s lip, turning the cook’s face this way and that to make sure he gets everything as lithe hands press the ice back to his torso. 

His own face’s mostly clean now, but his brow still feels a little stiff when he raises it just to make Sanji laugh. No big deal, though; he expects he’ll scrub down before dinner and drag Sanji with him, because otherwise the cook would stay in the galley all night. Zoro loses his train of thought when blue, blue eyes flick up to his, and his breath catches in his chest.

“What?” Sanji murmurs, his jaw nestled in Zoro’s palm, gaze travelling over his face, and suddenly Zoro doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He’s not a man of words. He never has been, really, but he thinks he could try, for Sanji. The man standing between his knees is a prince, for fuck’s sake, in everything else if not in name. Sanji, with skin the colour of white sand under the sunset, eyes like pools of sapphire crystal, slender fingers and gold-spun hair and kindness in spades, given to everyone with a generous hand, even when life had tried to beat it out of him with a stick. He’s regal. Something out of one of those fairytales that Zoro had never believed in.

He’s regal, and sometimes Zoro worries that he’s too rough around the edges for them to fit. 

And then Sanji cusses him out with a sharp tongue and kicks his head back on straight, and he remembers exactly who he’s dealing with. Who he’d fallen in love with. 

Sanji makes a questioning noise but doesn’t shift back when Zoro pulls him closer, gently carding his hair out of the way to press a kiss to the space between his brows. The strands are soft between his fingers, sweet with the lingering scent of Sanji’s conditioner, and Zoro lets himself bury his nose in Sanji’s crown and just… breathe, for a second. 

Arms slide around his waist, and Sanji’s weight leans into his chest. “Are you alright, chéri?”

“I— Yeah.” He shifts a palm to Sanji’s nape and squeezes, mainly to ground himself. “I’m good, cook.” Up this close, it would be difficult to miss the cook’s slight inhale as he draws back, and he frowns. “Your side.”

“S’fine,” Sanji dismisses, shaking his head with a soft smile.

“Lemme see.” 

“Honestly, it’s just a scratch!”

“Let me see.” The cook huffs and rolls his eyes, stepping back to pull his shirt up over his side and Zoro hunches down, finding a clean corner of the cloth as he scrutinises the thin slice on Sanji’s skin. “Doesn’t look too bad,” he says, cleaning it up even as Sanji mutters an “I told you so” under his breath. It didn’t matter how bad it was. He wouldn’t take it any less seriously. 

Sanji drops his hem back down and slips in close again to rest his cheek on Zoro’s shoulder, hands locking at the small of Zoro’s back, and Zoro smooths his palm over the soft cotton of Sanji’s dress shirt. It’s a texture he knows against his skin. He knows all of it; silky hair and a sharp jaw and a smart mouth, white teeth and strong hands and cotton shirts and wayward kicks to the shin and familiar weight against him as they fall asleep. “What’s for dinner?”

Sanji hums, nuzzling into the crook of Zoro’s neck before he pulls away, reluctant. “Potatoes au Gratin and spinach pesto linguine.” He moves over to the sink, pulling a huge bowl of washed spuds from somewhere, sliding it across the table as he tosses Zoro a paring knife and a pointed look. “Chop chop.”

The swordsman scoffs, leaning back on his hands. “Chop chop, he says. No please, no thank you, no nothing—”

“Oh, come on.”

“No appreciation!” he continues, grabbing a potato and sighing at it sadly. “Or financial compensation, mind you, this is unpaid labour—” 

“Marimo,” Sanji begins, pinching his nose bridge but failing to hide his smile. “Darling. My heart. L’amour de ma vie. Will you please peel the damn potatoes, thank you.” 

Zoro sniffs, but picks up the knife.

“You know, one day I’m gonna tell the whole crew what a drama queen you are,” Sanji says lightly, pulling a cabinet open to grab a box of pasta and grabbing a pot from the shelves below. 

“They’ll never believe you.” Zoro shrugs, a what can you do sort of thing, and points the potato at the cook. “And this is still unpaid labour.” 

“You’ll survive. It’s a labour of love.” 

“Don’t recall ever saying I love peeling root vegetables.”

Sanji throws a teaspoon, and it bounces off Zoro’s forehead. “Not the potatoes, moron, me.”

Zoro can’t find a retort to that, so he shuts up and peels. It’s… good. He doesn’t recall ever smiling this much before everything. Before bloody scrapping and the gentle hands after and peeling vegetables in the easy quiet of the galley while Sanji watches the pasta boil. The cook pushes him, stretches his limits and helps him break down barriers that he would’ve been loathe to tackle alone. Helps him to dress wounds he can’t reach. Sanji holds him with a care that Zoro has never bothered with for himself, and it’s good. 

He's listened to Sanji enough to know that these are baby potatoes, finicky to peel because of their thinner skin, and still terribly tender. Sweet. The one he's working on fits nicely in his palm as he guides the knife, angling the edge the way Sanji taught him. The skin spirals over his thumb as he works his way around and he crosses his ankles when he breathes out.

“Marimo.”

“Hm?”

Sanji’s facing away from him, but the cook turns his head just enough for Zoro to see the shrewd look in his eye. “Depending on your performance in helping with the rest of dinner prep, I may be amenable to discussion about… other kinds of compensation.”

Zoro pauses, blinks, and shakes his head with a chuckle. “You always speak real fancy when you want something, curls.” 

“I didn’t say anything!” Sanji sing-songs, wiggling his shoulders as he stirs the pot. “No guarantees, mosshead. Peel!”

A laugh slips from Zoro’s throat, rich and real. Sanji’s steel-tipped shoes tap on the ground as he moves around the galley, comfortable in his element, and Zoro watches him with a fondness that warms his chest. Their cuts will heal. His bruises will fade from green to yellow before they disappear like they were never there, before Sanji paints new ones under his skin, and he’ll peel potatoes while Sanji boils pasta and they’ll curl into bed together knowing that they’ll wake up and do it all over again.

Zoro slips his knife beneath the last strip of peel and places his potato back into the bowl, pale and sweet and tender.

It’s good.