#Chapter 6: Blood and Honor

[nihilityuniverse]

𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.

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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...

ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

Do NOT Repost

Story also available on WattPad: Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

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Chapter 0 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

𝐀 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭'𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐨

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Eight members of the Harbingers had gathered in the palace-like church. Inside, the air was so frigid that the nation's flags began to freeze, crackling under the intense cold. No candles lit the space; only the ethereal glow of the polar lights streaming through the stained-glass windows provided illumination.

A petite woman with long hair, her eyes concealed behind a delicate white lace mask, hums a familiar lullaby from her deceased friend as she leans against a casket. Her voice echoes softly in the frozen stillness.

The eight other Harbingers watched her from a distance, each wearing a similar coat of identical design. By order of Her Royal Highness Tsaritsa, all Harbingers were required to attend the funeral, even the elusive 0th Harbinger.

The 0th Harbinger, code name: Innamorati — The Lovers;

A figure shrouded in mystery and danger, Innamorati remained an enigma even to her fellow Harbingers.

Known only by whispers and rumors, she was a being crafted by the Cryo Archon herself, a weapon designed to challenge the Celestial Gods. Hidden away for years, her existence was the subject of much speculation.

Some Harbingers were indifferent, focusing solely on the success of their plans, while others were intensely curious. Pierro, the Director of the Fatui, claimed to know nothing about her, adding to her mystique.

Rumors abounded: some said Innamorati would annihilate anyone who crossed her path; others believed she had perished decades ago, her legend merely a shadow from the past.

What they all knew for certain was that Innamorati had a notorious reputation for forgetting critical missions assigned by Tsaritsa herself. This unreliability made her both feared and ridiculed within their ranks.

"We are gathered here today to remember our dear comrade," an old dwarf with a long nose and mustache solemnly broke the deafening silence. "In honor of her sacrifice, all work shall halt for half a day as the nation mourns her passing."

"Hehe, merely half a day...?" Pantalone laughed coldly, crossing his hands in front of his chest with a mocking smile. "People say the Northland Bank's true currencies are blood and tears... But mayor, even speaking as a banker, that sounds a little unconscionable."

"Rosalyne died in a foreign land," Arlecchino stepped forward, her crimson red X-cross pupils glowing dangerously bright with annoyance. "But you heartless businessmen and dignitaries always find a convenient excuse to remain in the comfort of your homeland..." She frowned. "You couldn't hope to understand, so why don't you keep your mouth shut?! We don't want to make the children cry."

"Hey, c'mon now, even I don't think this is the right time or place for a fight," Childe chipped in, lazily sitting on one of the wooden benches.

"Utterly risible!" Sandrone mocked, and the machine behind her emitted an audible angry sound.

"Though her methods tarnished her honor, Lohefalter's sacrifice is a great pity. Her loss shall not hinder our progress," Capitano's deep voice resonated through the entire palace, catching everyone's attention.

He turned towards the Doctor, his face hidden behind a dark veil. "But Dottore... What of Scaramouche and the Gnosis from Inazuma?"

Dottore smiled, twirling a tube filled with blue liquid between his fingers. "Conventional wisdom holds that Divine Knowledge cannot be rationally comprehended. After conquering the Divine Gaze, he will make his next move."

The heavy, frozen church door creaked open, allowing the bitter winter air to sweep inside. Everyone turned their gaze towards it, even Columbina, who had paused her humming. 

A woman, clad in a coat of the same design as theirs, stepped into the church, holding a red paper umbrella. The door closed behind her with a resounding bang. The click of her heels on the marble floor echoed through the hall, a stark contrast to the silence that had filled the room.

Her face remained obscured by shadows, yet every person in the room knew instinctively that she was not someone to be trifled with. 

The sense of her power and presence was palpable, a mutual understanding among them all. To cross her would be to invite disaster.

This was Innamorati, the 0th Harbinger, a figure shrouded in mystery and danger, whose very presence commanded respect and fear.

As she advanced, the air seemed to grow even colder, the weight of her presence adding to the already frigid atmosphere. Each step she took resonated with authority, and the silence in the room deepened, a silent acknowledgment of her status among them.

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Finally, you found your way to the place where the funeral was to be held. You hadn't thought you would make it in time, given the ferocity of the snowstorm that had nearly obscured your path and made the journey treacherous.

Your heels clicked sharply with each step as you approached the group of people gathered at the center, where the casket lay. You set your red paper umbrella on one of the wooden benches, the action deliberate and unhurried. 

As the shadow over your face disappeared, the polar light from the stained-glass windows illuminated your features.

With the shadow gone, the collective breath of the eight Harbingers halted involuntarily.

Your beauty was striking: peach-colored, plump lips; long, dark eyelashes framing eyes that seemed to hold the very essence of winter. Your skin was pale and flawless, with a cold radiance that mirrored the icy surroundings. Your presence was both ethereal and commanding, a juxtaposition of delicate grace and chilling power.

You stopped a few steps before the group of Harbingers—your comrades—and looked up at them. 

"0th Harbinger, Innamorati... That is what they call me. You may call me whatever you wish," you introduced yourself, your voice ethereal and soft, yet so cold and lifeless it sent shivers down their spines. "This must be the first time we meet."

"You are quite late, Lord Innamorati," Pulcinella, the old dwarf, addressed you with a mix of respect and caution.

After all, The top-ranked Harbingers, from rank 1 to No. 3, possess powers that can rival the gods. So what about No. 0? Could she surpass the powers of the gods? Or even be greater?

You let out an annoyed sigh. "All the snow-covered streets look the same, and the blizzard did not make navigating to this gathering any easier."

Pantalone chuckled, turning towards you with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"If I had known, I would have taken you with me in my carriage, Lady Innamorati. Alas, I am left to wonder why there were no escorts ready for you. I thought I had ordered the highest-ranked Skirmishers for your protection." His voice was dangerously smooth, laden with speculation, hinting at the rumors of you annihilating anyone who crossed your path.

Before you could respond, Childe interjected from the side. "Huh? The oh-so-feared Innamorati getting lost in a mere snowstorm? This is truly a sight to behold." His tone dripped with mockery. 

"Were you also getting lost on the way to your missions?" His voice carried an angry undertone, bitterness seeping through his words. 

He had often been the one to hurriedly take on your missions at the last minute, running from one nation to another like a lackey. The mission to obtain the Geo Archon's Gnosis had been assigned to you, not him, nor the now-deceased Signora. In the end, he had faced severe repercussions after the Northland Bank had to pay heavy reparations.

If gazes could kill, Childe would have been long dead under Pantalone's icy stare. Though his slight smile remained, his eyes closed behind his glasses, he radiated a murderous aura. He longed to hear your voice again and to capture your attention. Such a rare opportunity shouldn't be wasted.

"Insolent child! How dare you—!" Sandrone hissed at Childe, her anger palpable. She, too, feared inciting your wrath. If Childe weren't a fellow Harbinger, Sandrone would have killed him long ago for destroying her ruin guard factory.

"It's time to end tonight's foolish theatrics." 

A deep, husky voice resonated through the church, cutting through the cold silence like a blade.

The man stepped forward from the shadows, his right side concealed by a dark mask. It was Pierro, the Director of the Fatui, and his presence commanded instant respect.

His voice, cold and demanding, echoed with authority as he advanced towards the casket.

"Right now, you have no captive audience," he said, his gaze sweeping over the assembled Harbingers and guests, silently commanding them to gather and pay heed.

You stood on the opposite side of Pierro, your own presence a stark contrast to his imposing figure.

"Let every worthy sacrifice be carved in ice, and let this nation endure for all time," Pierro intoned, his voice carrying the weight of solemn duty.

The assembly lowered their heads in reverence, eyes closing as he delivered the farewell speech. Your hand drifted absently towards your Divine Key, a subconscious gesture.

"In the name of Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa," Pierro continued, his voice imbued with a steely resolve, "we will seize authority from the gods."

After several minutes of mournful meditation, Pierro broke the silence and left the building, his movements purposeful and commanding.

The others followed in silent procession, a testament to their respect and shared grief. You took your red paper umbrella, closing your eyes briefly before stepping into the freezing, snow-covered landscape.

"Absolute peace."

As you all departed, the church behind you began to freeze over, layers of crystal ice encasing it under the unyielding winter sky, which shimmered with the ethereal glow of the aurora.

"Such is the gift from the Tsaritsa, such is Her Majesty's benevolence," Pierro declared, his voice carrying a chilling reverence as he halted and gazed up at the celestial lights.

"Now you rest in this coffin, encased in layer upon layer of ice. But, Rosalyne, I promise you..."

"Your final resting place will be the entirety of the Old World," Pierro's voice echoed through the night sky, his farewell imbued with a cold resolve that matched the frozen land around you.

As you watched the polar light dancing across the vast darkness of the sky, a thought surfaced in your mind. You had never known this person, but you had made a promise to someone...

You halted in your steps and glanced back at the frozen church.

Some tasks have to be done, even if they seem pointless.

Amidst the snow, you caught a glimpse of shadowy hands emerging from the icy landscape, reaching out towards the sky one by one, as if seeking transcendence. As you blinked, everything returned to normal.

"Another Memory..."

"Lady Innamorati, is something the matter?" Pierro's voice broke through your reverie as he noticed you staring back at the frozen church.

"...meaningless," you whispered to yourself, yet the faint wind carried your words to Pierro. 

"Pardon?" Pierro asked again, this time capturing the attention of some of the other Harbingers, especially Dottore. The Doctor, ever curious, considered whether you might make an intriguing subject for his experiments.

"It's nothing. Continue without me. I wish to be alone," you ordered, your voice light as silk yet cold as ice. Pierro nodded, casting one last glance at you before leaving. 

Dottore lingered a moment longer, watching you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. As he did, the falling snow seemed to halt and move backward, defying the natural order.

"Existence is fleeting as the dawn's dew," your voice echoed in a dimension separate from the real world, where time had ceased.

Dottore's breath caught as he watched you, disbelief etched across his features. His analytical mind struggled to comprehend the anomaly unfolding before him.

"Yet, I guide the wandering souls on the still waters of oblivion..."

The dimension around you cracked like glass, shattering as you began to walk towards the church.

"...and weep for the departed."

A powerful gust of wind struck Dottore, and in that moment, he perceived everything yet nothing. The world seemed meaningless and empty. He felt his body ascending, his soul slipping away...

"Don't look back..." Your ethereal voice called to him, a beacon of light in the encroaching darkness.

He felt a pull from behind, "Move forward," you whispered. In the next instant, he stood where Pierro had asked if you were alright moments before.

Dottore's breath hitched, his cold heart pounding faster than ever. This was neither a dream nor an illusion. He knew this with certainty. What had just happened? The question echoed in his mind, a mystery as deep as the winter night itself.

One thing was certain: he had unmistakably felt the presence of the Almighty One—the Divine Creator.

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Reblog if you like this story

[austinbutlerslovers]

Master List 100% Smut

💝Romantic ❤️‍🔥Passionate ⚠️Hardcore 🚨Deranged 🏆 TOP

•••••••••••••••• New Releases ••••••••••••••••

🔗 The Red Dress 11.11 🔗 His Princess 11.13 🔗 Another Load 11.15

⚠️ Obsession 🎃 10.25 One Shot

❤️‍🔥 Power & Control One Shot

⚠️Feyd Fantasy 1 Pleasure & Pain 🏆✨

🚨Feyd Fantasy 2 Baroness & Breeder 🏆

⚠️Feyd Fantasy 3 Kill or Be Killed 🏆

🚨Feyd Fantasy 4 Madness & Mayhem 🏆✨

⚠️ Feyd Fantasy Part 5 Endless Empire

⚠️ Feyd Fantasy Part 6 Brazen Baron

🚨 Feyd Fantasy Part 7 Honor & Heir COMPLETE

🚨The Chase 🎃 10.19 ⚠️ The Good Girl (one shot) 🏆 9.23

❤️‍🔥Until the Bed Breaks (one shot) 9.16

❤️‍🔥He Knows Things (one shot) 9.6

❤️‍🔥Benny Cross Part 1: 🏆 ✨ Handsome Stranger 7.3

💝Benny Cross Part 2: The Vandals 7.16

❤️‍🩹Benny Cross Part 3: Playing House 7.22

❤️‍🔥Benny Cross Part 4: ‘Til Death 8.29

❤️‍🩹Benny Cross Chapter 5 🏆 Broken Promises 9.4

❤️‍🔥Benny Cross Chapter 6: For Keeps COMPLETED 9.12

❤️‍🔥Rough Ride (one shot ) 8.4

❤️‍🔥Strip for Me (one shot)🏆✨ 6.12

❤️‍🔥Chokehold (one shot) 6.8

❤️‍🔥Hard at Work (one shot) 🏆

❤️‍🔥After Hours 9.24

❤️‍🔥Kiss it Better 10.13

❤️‍🔥Jealous 10.24

❤️‍🔥Playing Dirty NEW 11.4

❤️‍🔥Zip Ties NEW 11.7

❤️‍🔥Another Load NEW 11.15

🚨 The Hunt Austin Vampire 2 NEW 11.19 ❤️‍🔥The Red Dress NEW 11.11 ⚠️ Blood Bound (Austin Vampire ) 10.30 🚨 Teachers Pet 🏆✨5.4.24

🚨 Mr. Butlers Babysitter 🏆✨

🚨 Mr. Butlers Babysitter 2 🏆

🚨 Mr. Butlers Babysitter 3 🏆 5.12.24

🚨 Mr. Butlers Babysitter 4 COMPLETED 6.30

❤️‍🔥Eternal Ink 5.29.24

⚠️ The Belt 6.1.24

💝 Sweet as Pie 🎃 10.31 💝Major Gale Fantasy 1:He Racks You Down&Knocks You Up✨

💝Major Gale Fantasy 2 : Missing You Every Second

⚠️You Will Call Me Sir

🚨Lake House Lessons

⚠️ Bucked & Fxcked 🏆✨

⚠️Bucked & Fxcked Part 2 One Last Buck 🏆

💝Well I’ll Be Damned 6.1

❤️‍🔥The Massage ❤️‍🔥 NEW 11.18

💝His Princess NEW 11.13

❤️‍🔥Heavy 10.7

💝Austins Praises 10.6

💝One Night in Budapest 9.16

❤️‍🔥Fight Training 🏆 (Sub Austin)

💝Avec Moi 🏆 (anniversary sex)

💝Cat Daddy (fluff +smut)

❤️‍🔥Ride Me (kink)

❤️‍🔥Lazy Day 69 🏆

💝False God (meet cute)

💝Austins Bath

❤️‍🔥So Slutty (nipple play)

❤️‍🔥Wet Dream

❤️‍🔥Hollywood Authentic Feeling

🚨Austins Angst

❤️‍🔥Work Me Like Wet Clay (very first fic ever ✨)

••••••••••••✍🏼 Upcoming Fic List 📖 ••••••••••••

Special thanks to @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @lindszeppelin for helping me create a masterlist 💗

[bunny584]

For I Have Sinned ୨୧ Chapter II

“Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave.” Songs of Solomon 8:6-7.

As newly appointed Duchess-To-Be, you have much to learn. Etiquette, conduct and eventual motherhood are the pillars you are expected to live by. Because who cares about your choosing?

The Chapel, tended to by a mercurial Priest, is the perfect refuge.

…right?

Pairing: Geto x female reader

A/N: The is dedicated to the artist ( @captainsalsaa ) I mean look at our fallen Angel. His tears. His frustration. Dear GOD.

To the artist: I stared at your piece, then heard a specific song on my writing playlist then wrote the entire last scene in one sitting. To date, it’s my favorite scene in my author’s portfolio. I hope I did our fallen Angel justice. Thank you for creating this 🤍

Previous | Next

CHAPTER II: Hello, Father.

“Awake early, little dove.” 

Warm hands caress your shoulders. A welcome contrast to the chilly nautical dawn. The sun still has a ways to go, but songbirds have begun their wake up call. 

“As are you, Arella.” 

Your eyes float to your favorite maiden standing above you. No more than a handful of years older, but with a heart for you as if she raised you from birth. 

“It’s my duty to tend to you, is it not?” 

Soft laughter harmonizes with the nightingales. A quick kiss on your forehead before her warmth disappears off the balcony —  undoubtedly to go retrieve a treat of some kind. 

She’s not wrong. 

Technically it is her duty. 

But Arella is your blessing. 

Matting and kneading your surroundings to fit your needs. Eager to dampen the growing pains of settling in a new home. 

Constant hellos. 

Permanent smiles.

Not too wide, like a promiscuous woman. But not too tight, like a cold prude. 

Rooms to tour. Hands to shake. Garments to pin and tie and lace around your lungs as if your God-given ribcage was a frivolous extra not needed for life. Not needed to breathe. 

Breathe.

Your lids screw shut. Pulling in as much of the balmy, saltwater breeze gliding up the steep rock face along the overhang. 

Much like he did. 

The Chaplain. 

His hair cascading down his back in the same way poets monologue when inspired. His eyes a mural of what the Gods paint when they want to show off. 

The way earth acquiesces to his touch as if he is the Creator. The birds choose to perform for him every morning. And the ocean exists to bathe him. 

You cannot decide if the sorbet sunsets are created by the Chaplain. Or if the Gods fight over who gets the honor of painting him a new one each evening. 

“Sleep still escapes you, precious girl.” 

It does, but not for the reason she thinks. 

“You worry too much, Arella. I’ll adjust soon.” The tea she brought you is delicious.

The both of you cross back into your quarters. The stagnant, perfumed air suddenly suffocating.

“I would like to go to the chapel garden.” 

A quiet declaration that stills your handmaiden in her tracks. Then a small grin blossoms on her beautiful face. Fussing with your bedding. Wiping away evidence of your sleepless night. 

“For the flowers that bloom, little dove? Or for the God that tends to them?”

The blood in your veins runs subzero. 

“Arella! I am engaged to be marri—“

“Of course you are. But eyesight isn’t a sin.”

Another moment of feigned irritation before you burst into a fit of childish giggles. The both of you no better than school girls, covering your mouths, stifling your laughter. 

“I just wanted to see you smile.” Arella gestures to your extravagant dresser across the room. 

“In the second drawer you can find a casual garment. Come back with at least one hour to prepare for Mass.”

     · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

A hummingbird chaperones your walk to the church estate. Dulcet hums drown out the rattling heartbeat between your ears. 

This is harmless.

It is not a sin to take in Earth’s natural candy. To appreciate God’s gift to humanity.

In all of his majestic glory. 

Your eyes dart around as if your thoughts are a tangible scroll. Written in ink for the world to see.

Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no one around. 

Just you. Your fluttering companions (both heart and bird). The waking sun. God above and his plants swaying in the gentle gusts of wind. You’re safe in your mind. 

Until he decimates all logical and reasonable train of thought, that is. 

You should be angry. Infuriated. That no one adequately prepared you for seeing the demigod for the first time. Even now, you question whether he’s flesh and blood. 

Maybe an illusion? 

The Lord playing tricks from his throne? 

The mirage before you halts your paces. You can’t help but question your level consciousness. 

Because this must be a dream. 

“Oh, don’t be cruel.” 

Words slip out of your mouth, currently ajar. It’s not your place to chastise the One above, but come on. 

Your eyes taste the Chaplain for a second time and this course is even more decadent than the first. 

There he stands. 

A raven waterfall down his broad, muscular back. Half of it tied away from his face. Olive skin so rich the surrounding plants pale in comparison. Russet brown working pants hang loose around his tapered waist, but snug around his thighs. Various tools hooked in the belt loops. Heavy mahogany work boots match the worn leather gardening gloves fitted to his hands. 

His hands. 

Reaching for thorny vines plaguing his hydrangeas. Even at your distance you could detail each muscle fiber in his arm tense and release with every pull and toss.

Pull and toss.

Pull and toss. 

You would have gotten lost in his rhythmic trance, if it weren’t for the symbol branded in charcoal sprawling his back. The emblem peeks through his thick hair, every now and again. 

A spear? 

No.

A trident. With waves snaking up its stalk along his spine. 

His gravitational pull is overwhelming. Your feet move with more stealth than the King’s Guard.

“Working on the Day of Rest, Father?” Casual, measured. 

“Duchess,” Saliva pools in your mouth. His smile teases your ears before he graces you with it. 

“I have to start being more careful about my clothing.” A playful glint in his eyes. 

“Especially now that I’ve been blessed with a fellow greenskeeper.” 

He is a man of God.

And would never insinuate anything impure. 

But that doesn’t stop your cunt from clenching around his words steeped in a baritone potent enough to rumble the ground beneath you.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve sent word that I was coming.” 

“This palace belongs to you, Duchess. You are welcome here at any hour.” His hand captures a vine and tosses it into the pile without his eyes ever leaving yours. 

You are weak.

And greedy. 

The way your gaze drops to his arm. Desperately etching its contours into memory. Seconds, maybe minutes pass before you realize you were gawking. And the Chaplain just let you. 

Head cocked to the side. Soft smile ghosting his full lips. 

“Would you like to finish the tour of your new playground?” 

“Y-yes. Of course, please.” Stumbling over the uneven cobblestone in your voice, you turn away to begin the coordinated stroll. The Priest slides his arms into a linen button up. Lazily fastening two center buttons only. 

He informs you of the work that has already been done, what’s left. Where the soil is richest, where it is the most acidic. How the sun hits certain flowers at each hour of the day.

Brilliant. 

With complete command over God’s bouquet. The sun following him wherever he steps.

“Did you enjoy your swim today, Father?” Both you and the Priest come to a slow stop. One of his angular eyebrows raised.

“I’m dry, Duchess.” He responds with a low, hypnotic chuckle. 

Heat floods your cheeks. How could you be so presumptuous?

“What gave me away?” 

Your knees nearly betray you. The razor sharp grin on his face could cut glass. 

“You were born for the ocean. Or rather, the ocean was born for you.”

Your statement is greeted with blaring silence. 

Lava in his gaze. Singeing every part of your face it touches. His expression is like a foreign language. 

“I—I’ve overstepped, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. Clearly I have much to learn about social graces.” A meek apology bubbles out of your lips. Desperate to fill the space between your bodies. 

The mercurial man shakes his head slightly. Thawed out from your statement, he reaches over and plucks a stray lilac petal resting on your crown.

“My father used to say the same.” He muses, looking away for the first time. 

“Your father! Is he—“

“He was called home some time ago.” This smile is soft. Reminiscent. Polite, but his mind clearly elsewhere. 

“Oh Father Geto, I’m so sorry.” 

A foot in your mouth is not enough punishment for your indecency. Why would you go prodding like this?

“Don’t be, I’ll see him again. Soon enough.”

“Not too soon, I hope.” The statement draws a stunned gaze from the Chaplain. Eyes dancing between yours. 

“Time to prepare for mass, little dove!” Arella’s melodic call tethers you back down from outer space. 

You flicker over to her with a ruby dusting over your nose and cheeks. Like a child caught with her hand in a cookie jar before supper. 

“Happy Sunday, Father!” Arella calls out, cheshire grin on her face deepening your crude blush. 

“Indeed, Arella.” He returns the greeting while keeping his eyes on you. 

“Send my regards to the Duke.” His voice lowers, for your ears only. With a nearly imperceptible edge to his tone. 

“Happy Sunday, Duchess. We have a counseling session scheduled late afternoon, yes?” 

A statement of pure black and white fact. And yet it travels down your spine and settles between your legs. Wet heat dampening your thin negligee.

“Yes, Father. Happy Sunday.”

     · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Mass was miserable. 

Your corset laced tight enough to meld your two lungs and beating heart into one entity. To say the neckline strangled you is putting it mildly. Cold, uninviting pews dug into your skin at every turn. 

Wretched. 

But the worst of it wasn’t the thin, oxygen-deficient air. Or the shards of glass that slid down your throat with every swallow. Even the jaw pain from tensing your lips in a well-mannered smile for two hours straight was tolerable. 

The worst part of it was him. 

The Priest mesmerized an entire congregation to an ear-splitting hush. 

His first Sunday mass since appointment and nearly everyone in the country and every surrounding province stuffed into the chapel. 

So desperate for blessings from Father Geto. 

Could you blame them?

His voice danced in and out of the pews listlessly. 

Soothing fussy children. Adolescent girls and their mother’s alike — utterly smitten. Adolescent boys experienced their first “I want to be like him” with their fathers sitting right next to them. Husbands glanced feverishly at the women in their lives. 

He had to have noticed it. And yet, he floated above it all the entire service.

Above you. 

Refusing to gift you those eyes that put Vincent Van Gogh to shame. No matter how much you shifted in your seat and straightened your spine.

The Priest spoke to everyone in the room but you. 

Did you read him wrong? 

Did you misinterpret your budding friendship? 

Does it…should it even matter?

Your irritation is palpable. Innocent bystanders are caught in your friendly fire. Including Arella, who changed you out of that horrid costume. And sweet Noel, who ushered you into the seating area — just outside of the good Father’s office.

You make a mental note to send treats to the tender-hearted alter boy. And to apologize profusely to your handmaiden. 

“You are a million miles away, darling.” The sound of your betrothed tows you out of the storm clouds. 

You flicker over to the Duke. Emerald green eyes, high cheek bones — handsome in a way that is characteristic of everyone native to your new home.

“I’m right here, Ezra.” 

“Are you, sweetheart?” The back of his hand caresses your cheek. 

“Mmhm.” You offer your future husband a weak smile and kiss on his cheek. His eyes  faltering slightly, undoubtedly hopeful for lips instead. 

“Good afternoon, Duke and Duchess Ahriman.” 

Father Geto’s velvet greeting encases you both. If Ezra’s arm didn’t guide you to stand you would have been paralyzed in your seat. 

“Father Geto, a pleasure. Thank you for seeing us.” Ezra offers a genuine smile and handshake. Buying you a few extra seconds in your mind’s safe haven.

The Chaplain is tight lipped. Professional. He returns the handshake firmly. 

“Pleasure is mine.” 

Ezra shifts slightly on his feet. Straightening his spine and dropping his shoulders. Your eyes bounce between the Chaplain and your fiancé.

“I must say, Father. You are even more handsome up close. I speak for the men in this country, thank you for taking the vow of celibacy!” The words spill out of the Duke. Unknowingly thinning the air. 

The Priest chuckles quietly, dropping his eyes briefly before landing them on you. And it feels like you could double over.  Your core temperature skyrockets under his smoldering gaze. 

He, the archer. You, the bullseye. 

“Let’s get started, shall we?” 

Ezra laces his fingers in yours, taking the two seats directly in front of the oak desk. A leather bound notebook and pheasant feather pen are neatly arranged — with your names on the first page.

Blue flame rises from your toes to hairline. You might as well have been sitting naked. With how exposed, how vulnerable you feel already.

“What will we be covering first, Father? Something about how wives should obey their husbands, right?” Ezra is light-hearted. Meant to be said in jest.

But he finds himself being the only party in the room laughing. 

The Priest rolls the ink pen between his fingers. Allowing a deafening silence to coat the walls. His expression is neutral, but eyes ablaze. 

“If the man in question is worthy of submission.” He starts. A low, ominous rumble. 

“Uh, yes. Of course.” Ezra responds, shifting in his seat. 

But the Chaplain does not stop. Intent on making a point, he leans in. Pen whirling lightning fast between his long, deft fingers. Enough tailwind to launch across the room, if he desired.  

“If the man in question would give his life for his wife.” Volcanic eyes linger on you, then back to your fiancé. Ezra’s palm finds your thigh. You gnaw on your inner cheek to avoid flinching away. 

“If he would love her like Christ loves all of his creations unconditionally. Unselfishly. Irrationally.” 

“Yes, Father. I understand.” 

“Only then, should she submit.” His serrated tone could split chromium with ease. 

“Of course, of course.” Ezra wisely accepts defeat. 

He presses a short kiss on your cheek as an apology that you didn’t ask for, nor do you want. 

“Mmm.” A forced acknowledgment of the Duke’s affection through your pinched lips. Barely able to move under the Father’s microscopic gaze. 

“Now then,” Father Geto clears the boulders in his throat. 

“Tell me about your love.” 

The question stuns both you and the Duke. Looking to each other sheepishly because neither of you chose this.

War is young men dying and old men talking. And your life path is no different. Dictated by conversations between the powers that be. 

“We’ve only met a week ago, Father.” Your honesty drives both of his eyebrows upward. 

“A week ago?”

“But we are hoping you can teach us.” The Duke, overeager and excitable. 

“Teach you…?” Father Geto muses. You can’t quite interpret his tone, or minimal response. But your heart flutters all the same. 

He is thinking something. And what you would give to get a glance. To be let in. 

“Perhaps guide us?” Ezra gives an unintentionally painful squeeze on your thigh. You fail to muffle the tiny whimper. 

The Priest’s eyes laser down to where your fiancé’s hand lays. Chest rising and falling dangerously slow. 

“Right.”

Your eyes trail upwards as he stands. Closer to God than to you from this point of view.

“Duke, Duchess. You’ll have to accept my sincerest apologies.” 

His fingers dip the unused pen back into the ink cup. The edges of his leather bound notebook coming together. Seemingly without any notes, but an entire script from this session swirling in his mind. 

“My schedule is incorrect. I have another commitment. We will reschedule, yes?” Said with a finality that sends chills crawling down your spine. 

The two of you stand. Another handshake between the men. A restrained nod for you.

Just as quickly as you were let in, Father Geto shuts you out of his office and his mind. 

     · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Suguru presses his forehead against the shower tile. Warm water raining down his loose mane. Soothing his sore, overworked limbs. 

Today was maddening. 

He nearly destroyed his vestment the minute that God-forsaken counseling session ended. Seeking refuge, he took to the coast. 

And the sea provided anything but peace. 

She was angry with him, tonight. 

Curt. With unpredictable currents. Rip tides at nearly every turn. She tested his adaptation without mercy.

Just like that night.

“I’m going to stay on board, brother!”

Suguru flickered over to the silver-haired deckhand. An unfamiliar reservation opacifying his nearly translucent, iridescent eyes. 

Brother in name, technically. 

Their bloodlines were oil and water. He was a high born. Suguru was born unworthy of a beggar’s pity. 

But, bloodlines were inconsequential when their souls were instep as one. Both handed to humanity on the same night. During a thunderstorm already inscribed in history books.

‘The Tide of Eternal Requiem.’ 

It brought complete devastation. Crops destroyed. Families torn apart by tragic accidents inland and at sea. 

Then fate struck. 

Within the same hour, a voltaic boy, with a halo that put the clouds to shame and diamond eyes that could draw truth from murderers was born into the loving embrace of his parents. 

And Suguru was born with a crown so dark that the raging midnight appeared bright. 

With eyes as ominous as the sky above. 

Gunmetal grey, accented by an eerie violet swarm. Dormant volcanoes, threatening eruption. His birth mother abandoned him in an alley. Driven by fear that he was a bad omen from the Gods. 

“Ahhh, Satoru come on. Since when do you shy away from a few waves?”

Suguru teased. Already well into the process of shedding his work gear. 

“Zeus is the one rumored to be my father.” His counterpart flashed a knowing smile. 

“Poseidon doesn’t watch over me like he does you, Suguru.”

A tsunami couldn’t keep Suguru from his home. Much less a little rain. 

They were 3 miles away from the shoreline. Using his God-given ability, Suguru regularly acted as their scout. Performing his own reconnaissance then alerting the incoming ship of safe or turbulent terrain. 

“Almost ready to go, son?” 

His chosen father came up behind him. Suguru knew there were tears lining his meek eyes before turning to face him. 

“Dad.” Suguru sighed, fully disrobed now. Just his muscular frame and a compression suit. 

He met his father’s concerned gaze. Always like this during sea storms. Quiet prayers written all over his gentle features. 

Despite the worry, he never once attempted to convince his oceanic boy to stay on board. It would have been too cruel.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve traversed angrier swells.”

“Suguru, take care of yourself when I’m gone.” 

Elder, worn hands landed on his shoulders. Nearly too high for his reach. Suguru cocked his head to the side. 

This goodbye was different. 

“Stay on this path. For me. Albeit straight and narrow, there is a wonderful view. This is all for you, son.” 

Both men glanced to the Persian gulf. She thrashed against their vessel. Swaying their catch left and right with the intention of taking her creatures back. 

“Where is this coming from?” A genuine question from his younger self. Unable to read between the lines. 

“Can’t a man just speak from the heart?”

The melancholy smile didn’t meet the wrinkles of time decorating his eyes, but they shared a laugh anyway.  Suguru turned away but was promptly drawn back. 

“My beautiful boy.” 

The fisherman cradled his son’s face. Swimming in the eyes that Suguru once hated. The eyes that convinced his birth mother to abandon him. 

“Make it to shore, son.” Suguru rested his head against his father’s neck. Taking a slow, sweet drag of his scent.

Oak. 

He always smelled like oak. It was one of Suguru’s favorite things about him.

“If Poseidon calls—“

“I’ll tell him to fuck off.” Mischievous grin plastered on Suguru’s face. His father planted a kiss on his cheek, pushing him towards the end of the boat. As he always did.

Then the Gulf wrapped him in her hostile embrace. 

She was irate. 

Vicious tidal waves. Rapidly shifting currents. Even her creatures knew to settle below their usual depth. Suguru cursed the fact that he was born with useless, human lungs. Unable to withstand the pressure of the Midnight Zone. 

Within minutes his long, lean frame was riding her whims without a shred of control. Tossed around like a rag doll. At her complete mercy — or lack thereof. 

This was the first time he struggled to tame his element. A muffled groan bubbled around him. Serrated edges of long coral stalks dug into his back. Stark white foam whirled around him. 

Aerated waters. 

Suguru could barely maneuver against the waves pummeling his core. Searing heat traveling up his spine. His lungs demanded oxygen. 

The boat. 

The boat would never make it to shore. 

Desperate, furious strokes of his arms meant nothing against her unrelenting grasp. Effectively pinning Suguru to his underwater cross. 

A piece of chewed plank wood whizzed by his face. 

Followed by another. 

Then another. 

And Suguru watched his nightmare materialize before his eyes. Mustering his last oxygen reserve, he bellowed against his closed lips.

As if she hadn’t already ignored the cries of his fellow fisherman. 

Even still, he screamed so loud his ribcage should have vaporized. But ushering him to a watery grave at that time would have been too merciful. 

Suguru blinks out of the harrowing memory. The steeping tea takes at least two layers of epithelium off his esophagus.

Fucking, hell. 

He can’t seem to escape pain today.

The swim was excruciating.

Mass was dreadful.

Watching that boy’s hand lay on your lap was grating. 

Suguru’s mind drifts back to you. Your thought washes over him like baptizing waters purifying that which is impure.

The gleam in your eyes when you asked about his morning plunge. Barely a week and your pulse on him is already this precise.

Do not covet, Suguru. 

He scoffs to himself. Shaking free of your tempting spiral. 

This ‘straight and narrow’ path is proving to be more challenging than he let on. 

“Would you be proud, Father?” 

A whisper of accusation at the end of his inquiry. Suguru would give his arms, his eyes…his life to hear his father’s voice on the other end of his questions, once again. 

“Did He tell you?” 

Roaring silence. Of course. He knows that. He expects it. 

But it angers him all the same. 

“Did He come to you in a dream??” Suguru echos louder. More frantic. Punched out in a way he can barely recognize. 

“Was the reaper at His left, my heart on the right?!” A weak sob slips through the crack in his baritone. 

Yet another pain. But this one is tart and blurring his vision. 

“Did you KNOW? D—did you know that day was your last?!” He hisses through a salty stream.  Storming out to the garden to escape the walls collapsing in on him. 

Suguru’s eyes laser to the remaining thorny vines along his bed of hydrangeas. Without a second thought he wraps them around his bare arms. Staining the plant and his freshly bathed skin with crystalline tears. Once its thorns sufficiently bury into his skin he rips it away from the soil with all his might. 

“Bastard. I’m your SON.”

Warm metallic drips down the hills and ridges of his arms. Collecting in the flower bed. 

Is he cursing his earthly father? 

His Heavenly One? 

Or the Deity that brought this grief on him in the first place?

It hurts. 

An unforgiving pain. 

Much like the thorns in those rapids. Much like the inconceivable burn from his lungs begging for expanse. The time limit, even for him, ran lethally low. 

Well exceeding his father’s time limit. 

Poseidon stole from him that day.  

A callous trade for Suguru’s continued existence. 

“Why didn’t you…I—I should’ve been there.” 

Guilt eviscerates Suguru’s remaining resolve. Tilting his head up, he lets the salty crystals rain down his cheeks freely. 

The full moon cradles his face with the same warmth, the same adoration his father’s hands used to. 

Suguru accepts its celestial kisses for a moment before burying his face into his bloodied palms. His damp locks curtain his flushed face. Protecting the world from his unruly sobs.

“I’m here.” Barely audible words escape through desperate grabs for air. 

“I made it to shore, Dad.”

E/N: Oh hello, don’t mind me just sobbing. Also, guest appearance by our glorious Blue Eyed Babygirl King™️ If you need me, I will be in witness protection before Gege finds this since it’s a crime to be a S*toru lover. 

taglist: @blkkizzat @rotteneyess

[the20thangel]

The Dragon and Raven: Chapter 6 (The Wedding)

Chapter Summary: The day has arrived, the day the princess and her lord come to marry.

Notes: There is a steamy session, so MDNI !!! 18+ for this chapter,

Word count: 4275

Keep track of the story: masterlist

The camp was busy in the week leading up to Queen Rhaenyra’s arrival at Harrenhall and the Crown Princess’s wedding. Aemma herself scarcely saw Benji throughout the week, having to make quick preparations for her three ceremonies. They concluded Cregan would officiate the ceremony in front of the weirwood tree, Maester Gerardys would do the Seven Faith ceremony, and Princess Rhaenys would officiate for the Valyrian. Rhaenys, being the eldest of the Targaryen clan and grandmother of the bride, had the privilege and right to see her granddaughter bound her heart and soul to her new husband. Baela and Aemma worked on her maiden cloak. A beautiful black cloak with red accents that weaved along the edges, and in the middle is the sigil of House Targaryen, a three-headed dragon embroidered in red thread. To honor her Velayron's heritage, Aemma decided to replace one of the dragon heads with that of the seahorse. Alysanne Blackwood took the liberty to create Aemma’s marriage cloak, which the princess had yet to see, claiming it was her wedding gift to her and her nephew. 

Benjicot and Jacaerys finally seemed to bond with one another, with Benji helping Jacaerys train each day whenever they had the time. Aemma knew she should be happy that her older brother finally accepted her future husband. However, she was annoyed; she had hardly seen Benji this week due to the wedding preparations and any free time instead of spending it together. Benji is occupied with her brother or father. 

Aemma sighed in her bath. She got a letter from her mother stating that they were only a few days away and that she had a special surprise for her. She wondered what it would be; it couldn't be Rhaena and her three youngest siblings, for it was too risky. Maybe it was her wedding gown? Nevertheless, she would soon find out. Aemma stepped out of her bath and quickly threw on a silk chemise, for it was too humid for something thicker. As Aemma walked into her makeshift bed chamber, she gasped at feeling two strong arms around her waist. She soon leaned into the arms, catching the scent that can only be connected to Benjicot. 

“You shouldn’t be in here..” whispered Aemma, not meaning her words as she turned to face Benji. 

Benji smiled crookedly at her as he brought her closer and kissed her. Aemma threw her arms around his shoulders and pressed her body to him, deepening the kiss. After a while, Benji’s arms snaked down to her thighs as he raised her, with Aemma hooking her legs to his waist as he led them to her bed. Laying her bed, Benji kissed her neck, careful not to leave any marks. Then, to her cheeks before placing one on her forehead. They never went further than kissing, as much as they both wanted to. Aemma smiled at him; she would never tire of his kisses. Benji lay next to her, bringing her body to press against his as he drew imaginary circles on her thighs. This is how they usually spent the night: Aemma or him sneaking to each other's tents, sleeping in each other's arms, and quickly sneaking back to their own in the morning. So far, no one seemed to catch what the princess and the lord did each night. 

“How was your day today?” asked Aemma, looking up into his stormy eyes. 

“It was fine; your father and brother were explaining to me what to expect from the Valyrian wedding, but after a while, it grew awkward, and Jace practically ran out of the tent.” Chuckled Benji, remembering Jacaerys’s face turning bright red once Daemon explained the last portion of the ceremony. 

Aemma giggled. Yes, she supposed it would be embarrassing to hear that after the blood bonding and vows, Benjicot had to quickly bed her in the middle of the fourteen flames to ensure the gods of Old Valyria would bless her marriage. Usually, it would be done on top of the altar, but since they were in Harrenahll, after the vows, the flames would be taken to a tent, where Benjicot and Aemma would spend some time there before the feast. 

“What about you, my love?” Asked Benjicot as he pressed another kiss on her crown. 

Aemma sighed; she loved hearing those words come out of his mouth. 

“Aly and Cregan walked me through the ceremony that would take place in front of the weirwood tree…. They asked me who I wanted to present me… Jace or Daemon.” Aemma sighed; she was unsure. 

Technically, it should be Jace since her birth father was gone, but Daemon has been her father ever since. She did not want to disrespect Laenor, but she also wanted to honor Daemon. Benjicot thought for a second, knowing her words and concerns were valid. 

“Why don’t you let Jace do the Northern ceremony and have Daemon walk you to the Valryain one? That way, you honor both sides of your family without causing strain?” advised Benji as he was met with another kiss to his mouth. 

Aemma smiled at the kiss as she pulled away, laughing at him when he tried to continue kissing her. “You do know how much I love you?” 

Benjicot smirked, “Yes, but I never grow tired of hearing come out of your pretty lips.” 

Aemma giggled as she placed her head on his neck, “We should sleep if you are going to sneak out before the others wake tomorrow morning.” 

Benji, hmm, and he made himself more comfortable; he couldn’t wait until they could stop sneaking and sleep in the same bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following day, everyone was off doing their daily routines; Benjicot and Jacaerys were training with Daemon and Cregan. Baela was checking with Alysanne about the marriage cloak. While Aemma decided to patrol in the sky, she felt guilty about neglecting Sliverwing and decided to fly over the camp. Just because her wedding was coming soon did not mean the war had paused; they needed to stay vigilant. Aemma was about to turn back when she heard a  Dragon shrill, whipping to the sound. Aemma scanned the air around her… When then, a golden blur soared out of the clouds. Syrax, her mother’s mount, greeted Sliverwing and her rider’s daughter. Then came out the Red Queen herself, Meleys, with her grandmother on top and someone behind her grandmother. Aemma gasped as she commanded Sliverwing to land, seeing a crowd gathering to greet the queen and her party. 

“Mother!” exclaimed Aemma and Jace, each running to their mother. Rhaenyra, teary-eyed, embraced her two eldest children in her arms. Baela ran to Rhaenys, hugging her grandmother. 

Rhaenyra took Aemma’s face, caressing her daughter’s cheek. “Oh, how much I missed you, my Pearl,” whispered Rhaenyra as she kissed her daughter’s brow. 

“I have missed you as well, Muna…” replied Aemma as she looked behind her mother, gasping at the man hugging Baela. 

“Gransire?” questioned Aemma as she saw Corlys smile at the princess. Aemma squealed with delight as she ran to hug her grandfather, who welcomed the princess into his arms and kissed her crown. 

“My little Sea Dragon, you did not think I would miss your wedding now, did you?” questioned Corlys as Aemma stepped back with a massive grin. 

“Oh, I am so happy you are here!” exclaimed Aemma, truly happy that Corlys’s health became well enough for him to travel away from Driftmark. 

Aemma led her family towards the camp as the Vale, Northern, and Riverlands men bowed to the Queen and her royal party. Benjicot was highly nervous; Queen Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys, and Lord Corlys were all a force to be reckoned with, especially concerning Aemma. Luckily, before Rhaenyra reached him, Daemon walked up, bowing to his wife. Rhaenyra froze. She was still upset with his decisions regarding Blood and Cheese. Aemma looked at her two parents and sighed. She, too, was upset with the events, but she also did not want her wedding to turn ice cold with two parents awkwardly dancing around each other. 

“Please, can we not make this awkward for a few days? Allow me to have a happy wedding, and then, if you want, you can continue ignoring each other, just not during my wedding?” Aemma pleaded with her parents in High Valyrian. 

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, nodded to her daughter, and gave Daemon a strained smile. “Of course…. Now introduce me to the lord who managed to win your heart.” 

Aemma smiled as she extended her hand as Benjicot took it, being led to the Dragon Queen. Benjicot gave a nervous smile as he clumsily bowed to his queen. 

“My queen, House Blackwood is honored to fight for you.” he greeted shakenly. 

Rhaenyra smiled at the young lord, finding it endearing how nervous he was. 

“Lord Blackwood, thank you. Again, I want to express my condolences to your father and brother. House Targaryen grieves with you.” 

“Thank you, my queen,” replied Benji as he bowed to her again. 

Rhaenyra nodded as she addressed the rest of the camp, asking them to stand and dismiss them so they could return to their previous activities. Rhaenyra then turned and motioned for her family and the young lord to follow her. Once she entered a tent set up for her, she sat and asked how the wedding preparations were going. 

“They are all set for tomorrow, Mother,” replied Aemma as she held Benji’s hand on her lap. 

“Although I did want to clear up one more thing now that grandsire is here,” she further explained as everyone turned to her and waited for her to continue. 

“Since I have three ceremonies, I need someone to present me for each one, and now I feel confident with my decisions on who I want for each. For the Northern one, I want Gransire to present me, the faith; it will be Jace, and the last one will be Daemon… each representing the most important men in my life,” she whispered, staring at each man, all who seemed surprised but overjoyed in being a part of her wedding. 

Rhaenyra's eyes watered, knowing that Aemma was missing Laenor and Lucerys more than ever. They should have been here witnessing her marriage, but fate was cruel. Everyone else in the room agreed with these decisions, and Corlys asked when the ceremonies would begin. 

Benji cleared his throat, capturing the room's attention. " The first ceremony is based on the old ways of the north. We usually do them at night. It will be small, and only family will be present.” 

“Then we should rest; we have a long day starting tonight. We need to make sure we are not exhausted before reaching the last ceremony,” commanded Rhaenyra as everyone stood leaving the tent.

“Aemma, please stay; I have something to give you,” asked Rhaenyra to her daughter. 

Aemma nodded, smiling at her betrothed as he left the tent. Turning to her mother, she gasped. Her mother held a beautiful ball gown, a black dress with red accents and sheer sleeves. The dress was gorgeous and would greatly complement her maiden cloak. 

“Usually, Highborn ladies would wear white to their weddings, but you are a Valyrian princess; you do not need to follow the ways of the seven,” explained Rhaenyra. 

“It's gorgeous, Mother,” whispered Aemma as she ran her fingers on the red accents. 

“I’m glad you like it. Now go rest; your grandmother, Baela, and I will go later to help you get ready.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

At the hour of the wolf stood the Targaryen, Velaryon, and Blackwood families beside the weirwood trees, all holding torches to light the darkest hour of the night, with Cregan Stark standing before Benjicot waiting for the Princess. It did not take long before they gasped at the sight before them. Princess Aemma truly lives up to her moniker as the Realm’s Pearl. Her beautiful pale hair was pulled into intricate Valyrian braids, her dress showing off her shoulders as it beautifully flowed down her body. Her maiden cloak proudly shows her Targaryen and Velayron heritage. 

As Corlys walked his granddaughter up to the tree, his eyes glistened with tears. Once they reached Benjicot, Cregan cleared his throat. 

“ Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” 

Corlys puffed up, “Crown Princess Aemma, of the Houses Velayron and Targaryen, comes here to be wed. A woman has grown trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods.” 

Cregan nodded as he turned to Benjicot, who glanced at him, gulping before nodding to continue. 

“ Who comes to claim her?” 

Benji inhaled as he stared at his princess and her grandsire, “Benjicot Blackwood, of House Blackwood, lord to Raventree Hall. 

“Who gives her?” asked Cregan, looking at Colrys. 

“Corlys Velaryon, of House Velaryon of Dritmark,  her grandsire in place of her father, Laenor Velayron,” stated Corlys. 

Rhaenys sniffed as she closed her eyes, remembering her sea dragon, as did everyone else. 

Cregan smiled at the woman he considered his sister, “Aemma, do you take this man?” 

Aemma smiled, looking in her beloved eyes as she answered, “I take this man.” 

Aemma reached out to grasp Benji’s hand as Cregan asked the couple to kneel and hold for a few minutes in silent prayer. Aemma and Benji both kneeled in front of the hearttree. Aemma stared at the face, closed her eyes, and prayed to the old gods, asking them to bless her marriage. After a few minutes, the couple stood as Aly Blackwood stepped forward, holding the marriage cloak that would replace the current one Aemma was wearing. Benji removed Aemma’s maiden cloak before handing it to Corlys, who stepped forward. Then Benji took the cloak from his aunt, smiling in gratitude, as she unfolded the cloak and draped it on Aemma’s shoulder. The Targayens and Velaryons gasped at the marriage cloak. The cloak was House Blackwood red, with a Black three-headed dragon in the middle; around the dragon were ravens that looked like they were flying around it. Rhaenyra, feeling moved, looked at Alysanne, mouthing a thank you as Aly bowed to her queen. With that, Aemma and Benji shared a sweet kiss, sealing their union in the eyes of the Old gods. 

As the families returned to the camps, Benjicot took hold of his bride and carried her bridal style through his tent. They would not consummate the marriage yet, waiting for the Valyrian ceremony later. Morning came faster than they thought, with Aemma changing her hairstyle to loose waves and wearing a tiara her grandsire brought from one of his expeditions. 

Both Aemma and Benji were nervous. This ceremony was the biggest out of the three, with everyone in the camp joining to watch the union of the Dragon Princess and her Raven lord. Maester Gerardys was waiting in the clearing as he would officiate the ceremony in the eyes of the seven. Again, Benjicot was waiting for his bride, feeling more nervous than last night with all eyes staring at him; he hoped he would not mess up the vows. 

Again, gasps were heard as Princess was led down the aisle, Prince Jacaerys walking his sister; both looked like dragon twins. As they reached Benjicot, Aemma kissed her brother’s cheek, whispering a thank you. Jacaerys kissed his sister back and clapped Benji on the back, nodding to him as he joined his family. 

Maester Gerardys clears his throat as he begins the sermon. 

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” Once again, this allows Benji to cloak Aemma with her marriage cloak. 

Then Gerardys speaks to the crowd, “We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

The Maester then takes a cloth and binds the hands of the princess and lord as he says, “Let it be known that Crown Princess Aemma of Houses Velayron and Targaryen and Lord Benjicot of House Blackwood are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words.”

After he speaks the word, he motions for the couple to begin their vows. Turning to each other, Aemma and Benji talk simultaneously. 

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger… “I am hers, and she is mine. From this day until the end of my days… “I am his, and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days.”

Both staring at each other, Benjicot ends with reciting, “With this kiss, I pledge my love,” taking the princess’s face into his hands and placing a kiss, causing the whole camp to cheer for their princess and her lord. Benji flushes as he bows his head while Aemma bites her lip, trying to hold her giggles. 

As the camp makes way for the feast, the Valyrians walk towards a hill where all their dragons rest with fourteen flames in a circle. Rhaenys takes the center with Benjicot, and Daemon leads his daughter to the middle. Again, for the last time, Aemma is handed off to Benji; Aemma teary grins at Daemon and throws her arms around him. 

“Thank you for stepping up and being my Kepa,” she whispers to her father, 

Daemon huffs, trying to hold his own tears, and kisses Aemma’s brow. “I love you, my little sea dragon. Thank you for accepting me as your kepa.” 

Aemma turns to her grandmother, who hands her a dagger; Aemma creates a cut on Benjicot’s lips, taking the blood and rubbing it on his forehead after Benjicot does the same to Aemma. Then Aemma and Benjicot each cut their hands, pressing them together, allowing their blood to mix, creating their blood bond; then Rhaenys hands the cup of wine to the couple. As the couple drinks from it,  Rhaenys starts reciting the vows.  

“Hen lantoni ānogar, Va syndroti vāedroma, Mēro perzot gīhoti, Elēdeoma iārza sīr, Izulī ampā perzī, Prūmī lanti sēteksi, Hen jeny māzīlarion, Qēlossa ozūndesi, Syndroro ōñō jēdo, mazvestraksi.  (Blood of two, joined as one, Ghostly flame, and song of shadows, Two hearts as embers, Forged in fourteen flames. A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness. The vow is spoken through time, of darkness and light.”)  

Benji felt an immense heat grow in his stomach as the candles around them grew taller, signifying that the Valyrian gods approved of this union. Aemma and Benjicot kissed more passionately, knowing that their blood had to mix, and Benji couldn’t help but feel a hunger erupt within him, tasting his wife’s blood in his mouth. Soon, the pair separated as the Valyrians each took hold of a few candles and placed them around the bed in the middle of the tent. Rhaenyra, gave a quick kiss to her daughter as she took her husband's hand, laughing as Jace practically dragged Baela as he ran away from the tent towards the feast. 

Once the tent closed, Aemma, also feeling the heat, turned to her husband; grinning widely, she practically jumped him, kissing him with so much hunger that Benji led them towards the bed. 

~~~~~~SMUT WARNING!!!! PLEASE SKIP IF NOT 18+ or NOT COMFORTABLE~~~~~~~

Benjicot couldn’t understand the heat building up in him as he began fonding Aemma, moving from her lips and kissing down her jaw and then neck, spending time sucking and biting where her pulse was. Aemma gasped at the feeling, spreading her legs, allowing him to rest more easily in between her legs.  

Benji moved his mouth on top of her bosom, Aemma’s corset pushing them up for him to kiss. Aemma mewled, pulling at his hair and making Benji groan at the sensation. Sitting her up, he began to unlace her dress, pulling it off, exposing her body to him and the night chills; Aemma, in turn, took off her husband’s shirt as Benjicot kicked off his trousers, leaving him in his breeches. 

Laying his wife down again, he took one of her perky breasts into his mouth, his hands slowly traveling in between her legs. Aemma gasped his name, running her hands through his hair. 

“Ben…please… yes..” whispered Aemma, feeling his fingers slowly tease her soaking cunt.

Benjicot grins, enjoying the sweet sounds coming out of his wife’s mouth before moving his fingers away, which makes Aemma whine. 

“Please, what, my love? I can’t give until you ask.” taunted Benjicot as he traced her thighs. 

Aemma playfully glared at him, “Touch me, Ben; I want your fingers inside of mhm.”  

She couldn’t finish as Benji slammed his mouth to hers, slowly easing one finger in her and pulling it out, adding another, and pushing in and out until he felt he could add a third. Aemma was withering underneath him. The feeling of his fingers going in and out of her was overwhelming. She gave a loud moan once she felt him use his other hand to rub her clit. Benji grunted, his own hard cock twitching with everything delicious sound coming out of the princess's mouth. Aemma felt a growing sensation in her stomach, nearing her climax before Benji stopped. 

“No, Please,” gasped the princess, watching as Benjicot removed his fingers and placed them in his mouth, sucking on them.  

Then Benji kissed her, letting the princess taste herself, and he rubbed his clothed bulge on her soaking cunt. Aemma whined again, closing her eyes as she grabbed onto his shoulder. 

“ Tell me what you want, my princess, for I am just your lowly servant meant to serve you,” whispered Benji as he placed his forehead. 

Aemma shuddered as she forced her eyes open, staring into her husband’s eyes. 

“Take Ben, Take me, let the whole camp know I am yours,” commanded Aemma.

Benjicot growled as he ripped off his breeches, releasing his weeping cock, and rubbing it on her entrance. 

Aemma nodded and sharply inhaled, feeling him enter her; he was large and thick. It was painful and pleasurable at the same time. Benji waited for a moment, allowing her to get used to him. Closing his eyes, he nearly finished her; she was warm and tight. Afterward, Aemma permitted him to start moving, groaning, and feeling him move steadily. Benji also groans, her walls clenching him with every thrust.  

“Faster…” commanded Aemma, to which Benji was more than happy to comply; moving faster and harder, he grabbed one of her breasts, fonding it as Aemma began meeting him with each thrust. Soon, both felt warmth growing in their bodies and the room as they chased their release. 

Benji groaned, picking up one of Aemma’s legs and placing it on his shoulder, going more profoundly inside of her, making Aemma moan loudly. Aemma began whispering yes as she dragged her nails down his back, giving him painful pleasure; feeling his release, he lowered her legs and kissed her as his thrust started moving choppily. 

“Yes, Ben, please, please, finish inside me…. Give me your babe. I need your babe.” Pleading Aemma as her climax washed over her. 

Benjicot soon followed after, shooting his spend inside her walls, moaning out her name, picturing her heavy with his babe. During their Climax, the fourteen Flames rose exceedingly before extinguishing, leaving the couple gasping in the dark.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Welcome back~~~~~~ 

Aemma held her husband close to her, feeling incredibly warm. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she knew they had to make some appearance in the feast. As she moved his sweaty hair from his forehead, she kissed him before trying to get up. Benji whined, not wanting to move, huffing as Aemma explained that they needed to be at the feast. Sitting up, he gave his wife a quick kiss before dressing. 

Once the couple finished dressing, they walked hand in hand to the feast; once the Blackwood knights saw their lord and princess, they began whistling, causing Aemma to blush. 

The royal family smiled at the couple, with Corlys, Daemon, and Jacaerys not making eye contact, to the amusement of the women. Aly Blackwood embraced the couple, and Aemma joked as if she should call her lady aunt now. Rolling her eyes, she explained that Aly was just fine. 

Everyone was enjoying the feast, making toasts and jokes around the camps. Unbeknownst to them in the dark distance was a knight wearing green with a golden dragon, staring at the celebration before galloping away, never being noticed. 

The festivities went well into the early morning before anyone went to bed. Aemma decided to sleep in her husband's tent, feeling whole. In what seemed only minutes, Jace awoke Aemma harshly, staring at her worriedly.

“Jace, what’s wrong?” asked Aemma as she sat up, noticing Benjicot still sleeping beside her. 

“Get dressed, wake Ben, and come to our mother’s tent quickly!” he stated, rushing out of the tent. 

Aemma’s heart was beating fast with worry. She woke Benji, quickly explaining while dressing in a red tunic and riding pants. Benjicot also followed as the two ran to the Queen’s tent. Rhaenyra let out a breath, seeing the couple enter. 

“Muna, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” asked Aemma, looking around the room and seeing grim faces. 

Rhaenyra turned to her daughter. “A letter came in this morning. Lord Darklyn is dead, Duskendale has fallen, and Lord Staunton has asked us to help him. The greens are moving,” the queen explained to her daughter and good-son, seeing both pale. Let the Game of Thrones begin.

[thepersonperson]

Sukuna's Loneliness Part 2 (Sukuna is a fraud and it's funny.)

Part 1 Part 3

Before we start...

1) I will be mainly using the TCB scans because of their accessibility. 

2) This was written as of JJK 262.

(Click pictures for captions/citations.)

Fraudkuna

You’ve probably heard JJK dudebros call The King of Curses a fraud. Fraudkuna to be exact. I want to say that they’re 100% right, but that doesn’t make Sukuna a bad fighter. Sukuna is a fraud in the way Saul Goodman is a fraud. He’s so good at being fraudulent that it’s his very way of life.

This person puts it succinctly. 

And remember Reggie’s Star’s words of wisdom.

The best sorcerers are masters of deception.

Mimicry

Sukuna constantly steals from people—he takes something that isn’t his, and then morphs it into something for his purposes whether it’s bodies, Cursed Techniques (CTs), or strategies. This guy barely has original ideas of his own, using someone else’s work as the base and then building himself on top of that. This is fraud behavior. 

Puppeting Megumi

In a 2 for 1 special, Sukuna steals Kenjaku’s original idea to turn body parts into cursed objects and Megumi’s 10 Shadows along with his body.

Naturally he steals the hand signs for Megumi's CT too.

What’s interesting about this copying is that the hand signs are inversed for every Shikigami except Mahoraga.

I think the inversion for Sukuna is an act of disrespect or a form of acknowledgement for a lesser since the hand sign for Mahoraga, who Sukuna respects greatly, is identical to the original form. Sukuna’s Mahoraga is virtually unchanged in design as well. It might be slightly bigger, unlike the other Shikigami whose forms are distorted compared to Megumi’s.

I lean towards distortion being an act of disrespect since Sukuna despises Choso almost as much as Yuji and steals his Piercing Blood while tweaking the hand sign.

They say imitation is the highest form of flattery. And just about everyone has picked up on Sukuna’s Megumi obsession. However, what most don’t realize is that this obsession wasn’t for Megumi the person, but his potential. Mahoraga to be exact.

And though Sukuna adores Mahoraga, his obsession with this Shikigami is in service to someone else…

Professional Gojo Satoru Simp

When I was writing this section, I was greatly surprised. I went back and scanned through everything post-Gojo Death (JJK 236-262) to see how often Sukuna copies Gojo as evidence of fraud. What I found fundamentally changed the direction of this analysis. I will tie it all into how Sukuna is a fraud don't get me wrong, but there's something else at play here...

Post-Gojo's demise, Sukuna thinks of Gojo whether directly from himself or implied by the narrator. 15 TIMES.

Sukuna, for no discernable reason, keeps copying everything Gojo did. It's not a one-off thing like Megumi for a long-term goal, it's a consistent non-stop mimicry after their fight. Here's all of them so far:

1. Using Reverse Cursed Energy (RCE) to heal a burnt-out CT.

2. The hand sign for Unlimited Void. (Aside: Yuta inverts the hand sign as Yujo, but in his case I think it's an act of respect since he doesn't see himself as Gojo's equal.)

3. The hand sign for Red.

4. Shrine based Infinity barrier.

5. Using Blue's gravity to fast travel.

6. Black flashing to restore Cursed Energy (CE) output.

7. The chanting and Honored One Pose at the same time. (And there’s even more layers to the chants themselves check out this post.)

8. Detonating his own technique on himself.

9. Even the way in which he smiles as he beats teenagers up.

By the way this face punch he did to Yugo is a replica Gojo's very first punch he landed on Sukuna.

They say imitation is the highest form of flattery but got dang. This is a bit obsessive to put it lightly.

But it didn’t start here. Sukuna’s Gojo obsession started from this panel. As Sukuna himself confirms.

No. Let’s go back further. This is when it began. Chapter 2 of the manga and Episode 1 of the anime in early June of 2018.

This motherfudger has been planning on how to slaughter Gojo for 200+ chapters. In canon time that is about 6 months.

I want to point out that his promise to kill Gojo first wound up being a lie on multiple fronts (more fraudulent behavior). He admits that it's the wrong brat's body while leaving out the fact that Gojo wasn't his first kill.

Technically Sukuna made Yuji's body his temporarily in Shibuya and killed thousands, but that wasn't deliberate. Sukuna didn't target those civilians specifically, they just got caught up as collateral in his fights with Jogo and Mahoraga. The first person Sukuna went out of his way to kill was Yorozu/Tsumiki (killing Ryu along the way). And he didn't tell Gojo that for a reason.

Much like Gojo, Sukuna is a 2 birds and 1 stone person as in he has multiple reasons for doing a single action. This can make his motives appear dubious or have plausible deniability. Sukuna on the surface went after Yorozu/Tsumiki to subjugate Megumi's soul. But that too was still in service of killing Gojo. Yorozu’s Perfect Sphere, if you remember, acts just like Infinity. And Sukuna trained Mahoraga on it deliberately to get past it.

This also means that retroactively, his Megumi and Mahoraga obsession is a part of his Gojo obsession. He saw his personally trained student’s potential, found out about Mahoraga’s adaptation, and used it specifically to upgrade his CT for the sole purpose of killing Gojo. Sukuna admits to this himself.

Not with his own technique by itself, but with Megumi’s because deep down he realized Gojo’s CT was better than his and he’d lose to him in a fair fight. A fraudulent way to victory.

By the way, when Mahoraga finally adapts to Infinity in a way Sukuna can copy, he's observing the adaptation from the shadows, fully bumming the fight, as Gojo 1v2s Agito and Mahoraga.

What’s so fascinating about this planning is that it was made up on the fly. Sukuna has been obsessing over how to kill Gojo Satoru since their first 10 seconds interaction. (Toji behavior much?) Megumi and Mahoraga being a part of his plans occurred by chance. There’s a certain level of adaptability and skill needed to think on the fly like this. It truly makes Sukuna the Best Fraud in verse.

Lies and Hypocrisy

Simply copying those you admire is base level fraudulent behavior. What makes Sukuna the King of Frauds are the contradictions in his words and actions. This isn’t like Gojo Satoru who is actively hiding his true feelings as a trauma response. Sukuna betrays his own inner logic on convenience. Uraume even notes this as his “capricious nature”.

These are excuses made by a Professional Sukuna Understander who also acknowledges just how much he was into Gojo despite Sukuna actively denying it himself. (He’s just a fish? What kind of fish engages in 6 months of psychological mind games and preparation to catch outside of Moby Dick? Yes I know he’s a whale but the obsessiveness bordering something else is there.)

We'll get back to this eventually. For now we will focus on how Sukuna picks on children.

Hating Ideals and Roles

Sukuna hates ideals. Everyone knows this because he tells Yuji constantly how much he hates them. He spits on Yuji for having ideals and goals. And then turns around and gets hyped when he finally has his own goal to chase. The hypocrisy speaks for itself.

But that’s not the end of it. He also berates Yuji for seeking a role in life, outwardly teasing him when he finds one besides cog. And then gets this excited when Maki “forces” one on him.

He’s not just being a hypocrite here. I think it’s envy. Yuji gets all the things he was denied—a society that does not exclude him for the circumstances of his birth, clear cut goals and purposes alongside others, and fulfilling connections with equals. In the worst case of Sour Grapes I’ve ever seen, he derides the things he believes he’s incapable of having. But the second he gets a taste, he starts salivating.

Hating Love

Sukuna's hatred of ideals and roles in society is but a microcosm of his one true hate—love and connections. Anything soft like bonds makes people weak. Sukuna seeks only strength so he believes the following:

Not only does Sukuna admit here that connections with other people are a weakness, he believes Gojo to be the modern pinnacle of casting them away to obtain strength. In a very roundabout way this is him praising Gojo for being a monster like himself.

And that's where the next contradiction lies. Despite Sukuna preaching the benefits of isolation, he still craves that monster to monster connection. He adores anyone just like him. Monsters who throw all their humanity away just like him. He wants that connection so badly. Look at how often Sukuna gets excited when he thinks others might be like him. (Notice the half-assed Brat is Sukuna calling Yuji out for not committing to monsterhood.)

Uraume of all people should fulfill a bit of that social want Sukuna has, but they put him on a pedestal. They are his servant and he is their master. Even though they can intuit his needs, they can’t fulfill all his emotional ones since their relationship is one with inherent distance between them. That being said, Uraume still understands exactly what Sukuna is looking for—other monsters.

Professional Sukuna Understander once again gives insight onto how this fraud thinks. Sukuna is strong enough to endure solitude. He is fearless and alone by embracing power.

And yet Sukuna cannot abide by his own principles against love.

December 24th is the most romantic day in Japan. This information is in part how we infer Gojo Satoru is in love Geto Suguru time and time again. Kenjaku calls Gojo out for this. Setting a battle date to December 24th is romantic in nature. And Sukuna, of his own volition starts seeing Gojo as the one who will teach him love.

No. That's not right either...

Gojo has never been the one trying to teach Sukuna love. He never heard those words from Yorozu. Not once. It's the other way around. Sukuna is the one trying to teach Gojo about love. Every single time "The one who will teach you about love is..." appears, Sukuna is in the final frame. It's never Gojo. It's always Sukuna.

The loneliness that comes with unrivaled strength. The one who will teach you about love is...Sukuna.

Kashimo takes Sukuna up on the offer. He has Sukuna teach him about love. When Sukuna first starts his speech about love, he speaks of Yorozu as someone who could've taught Gojo of love—as in Gojo was the one who needed teaching. He also spells out for Kashimo that the strong love with their violence. Sukuna himself admits that he loves by slaughtering. All while saying it's worthless in the end, because the only thing that matters to him is strength.

Wanting love and strength is greedy. You can't have both. Sukuna killing Gojo was not only an act of love, but an act of denial in pursuit of self-preservation. Sukuna found someone he could possibly love and he did everything in his power to kill him for the sake of maintaining his strength.

This could be proof he's not a fraud when it comes to hating love. But he still engaged with it and became stronger as a result of it—contradicting the very principles on which he decries love as weakness.

In retrospect, this makes this particular Gojo glazing Sukuna sequence from the infamous JJK 236 ironically hilarious.

Gojo never realized that Sukuna obsessed over him for 6 months nonstop after meeting him for 10 seconds. He never realized that Sukuna's cruelty and cuts were trying to reach him. The most Gojo knew was that Sukuna bagged Mahoraga to kill him. He didn't know about the planning that went into it or the heart behind it all. Gojo has always been iffy about understanding other people's feelings towards him mind you, but...

In the same way Geto did not understand Gojo's love for him until both of them were dead, Gojo did not understand Sukuna's love for him even in death. Because Gojo and Sukuna are the same person.

Umineko no Naku Koro ni (When the Seagulls Cry) is a visual novel about a person who is fundamentally misunderstood by those around them. They desperately want to be loved without being perceived, believing themself to be unworthy due to trauma and immutable characteristics given to them at birth. Instead of telling anyone these feelings directly, they play games akin to torture. They torment the ones they love over and over in hopes they'll see through their actions and understand them.

The Consequences of Fraudulent Behavior

The tragedy of Sukuna is his inability to fully realize his desires. He wants an equal in strength to play with or be killed by, but he crushes anyone with the potential to do that. Gojo was the closest thing Sukuna ever got to realizing that desire. Hence the “You cleared my skies. I shall remember you for as long as I live.” and subsequent "Where's Gojo Satoru?" ad nauseum.

Instead of allowing these potential companions to realize their abilities fully, he kills them and then gets upset about it. There's honestly no difference between him and a dog impulsively tearing his favorite chewtoys to pieces and getting confused by the outcome. (And in the case of Gojo Satoru, that's the dog catching the car but if the dog had spent half a year studying the exact speed and timing down to the stud before ripping the bumper off.)

I genuinely cannot tell if Sukuna is aware of this problem himself. Seriously, I don’t think anyone has told him that if he wants a matured fighter, he needs to let them…mature in the first place. I know he was treated like animal since birth, but he’s smart enough to know better. 

He’ll never reach satisfaction like this and it’s as funny as it is pathetic. Even Megumi, the first person he saw with the potential to entertain him, was chewed up with ease. Not just him, but the very reason he took interest—Mahoraga. Instead of having a Shikigami that will always evolve with him and therefore always be a source of everchanging entertainment, he tamed it and added it to his arsenal.

Sure all of that was to kill Gojo via masterclass frauding, but that too cucks him in the long run. Gojo is still the only person in Sukuna’s entire existence to keep up with him and nearly kill him on his own. If Sukuna were smarter, he could’ve developed a lifelong rivalry that fueled both of their growths. But Gojo beats him fair and square, so he binding vow frauds his way out in a way that permanently destroys this source of fun.

And on top of that, his killing of Gojo may have also been Sukuna trying to trick himself into believing he doesn't need anyone to satisfy him ever. He probably believes this from the bottom of his heart. Kashimo calls him out for it. "Then why mince your soul into cursed objects and watch all those years go by?" Why get so excited when Uraume shows up too?

I'm not saying that Sukuna has been secretly craving romantic or sexual love for the past 1,000 years. He has had plenty of opportunities to engage with this kind of love and has chosen not to. (Though I do think Sukuna saw his fight with Gojo as a some warped version of a date at this point.) The kind of love Sukuna seems to crave is one between friends, peers, and equals. What I'm saying is that Gojo shattered his world view in the same way Gojo also shattered Toji's world view. But unlike Toji who was able to admit his way of thinking was flawed, Sukuna is actively in denial.

He denies his own feelings and desires for companionship while running around looking for another Gojo Satoru that will never exist. All that Sukuna is left with are disappointments and ghosts to chase. The only person who keeps getting up stronger every time he knocks them down is Yuji. And he hates Yuji. 

I’m not sure what this all means in the grand scheme of this story, but I am fascinated by how this absolute menace sabotages his own chances at happiness because his power and fraudulent behavior has stripped him of his ability to socialize.

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood Season 1 Masterlist

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Updates every Friday: A work in progress

Chapter 1: A prophecy foretold Chapter 2: Fireflies and Funerals Chapter 3: A debt made Chapter 4: The Arrival Chapter 5: The girl who leaves, the Woman whom returns Chapter 6: The unholiness of burning Chapter 7: Gossip and Needlepoint Chapter 8: Schemes and Artisans Chapter 9: The Feast Chapter 10: Beware the Blood Red Roses Thorns

Chapter 11: Words of a Scandal Chapter 12: The Whore that Lies Chapter 13: On Your Knees Chapter 14: From the Shadows Chapter 15: White Poppies Chapter 16: The Tourney; The Joust Chapter 17: The Tourney; The Melee Chapter 18: Ruination Chapter 19: Tea & Charity

Chapter 20: Sympathies for Maegor the Cruel Chapter 21: Moon Flower Chapter 22: The Ugly Seat Chapter 23: A Woman's Shame Chapter 24: The Boy With the Stars Chapter 25: The Seafarer Chapter 26: Dragonstone Chapter 27: Betrothal Chapter 28: The Sting of Bitter Betrayal Chapter 29: Little Nightshade

Chapter 30: In That House On Top Of The Rock Chapter 31: The Stranger's Company Chapter 32: The Hunt Chapter 33: Brōzi, riña hen narys Chapter 34: There's no measure 'within reason' for women Chapter 35: Pulling the Strings Chapter 36: Boris Baratheon Chapter 37: The Image of a son Chapter 38: Wine and Company Chapter 39: Once in Ivory, to the sound of bells

Chapter 40: Trapped like a Fox Chapter 41: The illusion of choice Chapter 42: Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer Chapter 43: The Depravity of Desire Chapter 44: Think of the Stars Chapter 45: Blood in the Water Chapter 46: The Boundaries of a Winged Pig Chapter 47: The Vigil of the Old Gods Chapter 48: The Stag that Rages Chapter 49: The Stag hunts the Stag

Chapter 50: The Performance of Grief Chapter 51: Once in front of the fire, two become one Chapter 52: The Funeral of Boris Baratheon Chapter 53: The Hunger of Man Chapter 54: The Funeral Procession Chapter 55: Keeping Alliances Chapter 56: Souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt Chapter 57: Wisps of Smoke Chapter 58: A Missive of Ravens Chapter 59: A Claim of Bastardry

Chapter 60: The Last Supper Chapter 61: The Taste of Silence Chapter 62: Waves Chapter 63: In the Eye of the Father Chapter 64: The End of a Noose Chapter 65: A Fool with a Fool's Honor Chapter 66: The Son of Duty Chapter 67: The Daughter of Insolence Chapter 68: The Tempest of a Woman Chapter 69: Birds in a Cage

Chapter 70: The Beast Beneath the Boards Chapter 71: The Tower of the Hand Chapter 72: Ill Tidings Chapter 73: A Woman's War Chapter 74: Salt and Smoke Chapter 75: A Golden Crown of Sorrow pt. 1 Chapter 76: A Golden Crown of Sorrow pt. 2 Chapter 77: Haunted By The Daylight Chapter 78: A Boy And His Dragon Chapter 79: Vengeance Hungers

Chapter 80: The Bloody Hand of Dread Chapter 81: The Fool That Loved You Chapter 82: The Coward's Heart Chapter 83: The Death of A Son Chapter 84: A Sister's Rage Chapter 85: The Red Dress Chapter 86: A Vow of Fire and Blood Chapter 87: The Sworn Shield or The Boy Chapter 88: Cursed Child Chapter 89: Byka Ābrazȳrys

Chapter 90: The Mother's Prayer Chapter 91: The Favor of the Smallfolk Chapter 92: A Mother's Search Chapter 93: Once in grief, heart of black but forced in green I Chapter 94: Once in grief, heart of black but forced in green II Chapter 95: Once in grief, heart of black but forced in green III Chapter 96: Once in grief, heart of black but forced in green IV Chapter 97: Etched in Flesh Chapter 98: Think of Home

[vanilleandclove]

the meadow in which you lay | 6

ser erryk cargyll x arryn!reader | chapter six: a raven disguised as a crow

Upon reaching Dragonstone, the ideals of allowing your love to pursue his oath unabashedly and correctly ring through your head, only problem is, he is unabashedly and correctly understanding the means of loving you whilst being sworn into an oath.

word count: 1.5k | warnings: me when the reader is avoidantly attached like every man i have once encountered, LUCERYS, tooth-rotting love confessions. | a/n: currently listening to thoroughfare by ethel cain, this part is going to be angsty i fear.

previous - next

taglist: @wolvestitches @holb32 @callsignwidow @fwaeriys @hummusxx @erysione @snixx2088 @opheliax98

Erryk and yourself had reached Dragonstone come the set of the next sun, seeing flames in the distant, you felt a lump in your throat as you both approached the scene. As three, now Queensguard, drew their swords at the sight of Ser Erryk as another announced your name and title. You found yourself holding Erryk, lacing your arm within his.

"I mean no harm brothers" Erryk told the guards, Daemon signaling them to rest their position as Erryk took the Crown of Jaehaerys I and Viserys I. Erryk kneeled, swearing fealty and his life to your dear cousin, her eyes filled with shock before they caught yours, the look of love it was.

"I swear to ward the Queen with all my strength and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honor" Erryk swore as Daemon took the crown from his hands, crowning your cousin before kneeling. Soon after, you all kneeled, besides Rhaenys who just gave your cousin a nod of both pride and honor.

After which, Erryk found himself walking to you, resting his forehead on yours "I am sworn to a Queen now" he whispered, you nodded as there were no words to say, his hand found itself on your waist. You bit your lip lightly, forbidding yourself from letting your emotions be on display.

"You- We must go" you whispered back, choosing to bite your tongue rather than tell him how much you love him, you too, would give your blood for his. You removed yourself from the hold of his, finding your now Queen of a cousin to hug her, she had a stillbirth and was crowned within the next turn of the night.

"Any secret would you like to share?" Rhaenyra joked to ease the mood, you looked at her somberly, "There are men in the Kingsguard whom are oathbreakers and heathens. He is not one of them, no matter the vow of chastity".

"There is a war to be fought over the succession, I fear his blood being in me more than it is defending you may cause some feats we can prevent" you told your cousin before giving her a warm hug.

Towards the end of the sunset, you had not spoken a word to Erryk, simply walking side to side with your cousin, even in the war room. You chose to remain distant, it was the easiest way for you, but you knew it was cruel to Erryk. Near the end of planning and Daemon's outburst, your cousin dismissed all of you. You quickly made your way to your set chambers in Dragonstone.

Your peace interrupted by a knock on your door, opening the door to be met with Erryk, hair completely down and armor retired into sleeping attire. You opened the door wider to invite him in, not speaking a singular word.

"I was raised in the Crownlands" Erryk started, fidgeting with his fingers lightly, "I was knighted into the Kingsguard alongside my brother when we were just eight and ten. By then, I was privileged to be infatuated with this Lady of the Vale. At times, I regretted the decision of my oath seeing that I would potentially have to see her marry a higher lord, siring his children, and live a life that I was not in. Extremely selfish, I loved this Lady to the extremes that it did not matter what oaths I took or swore" Erryk confessed, your lips parted from the confession. "Tell me you do not love me and I will forget everything we shar-".

"I love you Erryk" you shook your head, "You are the only man I have ever loved and found myself waiting for; I cannot let you go, ever". You walked away from the knight, going to your vanity, "There is a war to be fought, blood to be spilled, I cannot fully love you the way I am able to under these conditions".

"Come the end of the war then," Erryk told you optimistically, "I will marry you". You smiled at the promise of certainty, you looked into the knight's eyes once more, eyes reminiscent of the ocean. "I should go to my quarters; we both have long duties to be served".

You nodded in agreement before Erryk left your quarters. There was an exaggerated feeling of anxiety in the air, the unsettling pit in your stomach led that feeling to increase by tenfold. Taking a breather to look outside your chamber's windows, wondering if there was a reason. You seemingly shut out all the worries that clouded your mind in order get rest, must the gods punish you like this? Without reason?

Come morning, the anxiety diminished, as you entered the war room, you took place next to Erryk. His hand found a place on the small of your back before his fingers brushed through your hair, he admired the color and how it flowed, he loved the feeling, even with his gloved hand.

"Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm" Erryk shouted as your cousin made her way into her war room before her people.

As the lords planned out the war, spitting out ideas that quickly faltered, your cousin being the only one whom held restraint, Daemon's temper led him to be excused on his own terms. You positioned yourself opposite of Erryk, next to your nephews.

"The Lord of the Tides! Lord Corlys Velaryon and his wife the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen" Erryk announced out of nowhere as the lords ceased their dispute. Your back straightened from the announcement, fearing the words that were yet to be declared by Corlys, your hand found itself resting on your blade.

Though you did not have to worry as much, as Corlys swore anew his oath to your cousin, giving his land for her cause. One of the happiest of memories it was in the war room. As Jacaerys advocated for his mother's cause simply putting that he and his brother should be the ones delivering the messages to Baratheon, Arryn, and Stark. Though you swore allegiance to your cousin, it was Jeyne who had a say on whether House Arryn would ride for your cousin's cause and claim, you trusted Jace in the care of your Jeyne, though she was kind, she always had been fierce for the sake of your house.

It took upon hours, the sun had since set, yet you and the lords strategized the war, surprised the lords took your words into consideration despite the sexism you faced to that of the Lannisters and Hightowers. The Lady Arryn must close her mouth as well as her legs, Alicent once teased as she figured out your affections were set to Erryk, you were near ladies of nine and ten, as she married Viserys and sired him children- boys to be exact including sweet Haelena, Rhaenyra married Laenor, you remained unmarried.

It was only until Daemon came back into the war room, that feeling of anxiety came back once again, your back straightened, only Erryk took notice as his hand reached for the small of your back. You shrugged him off, giving him a look of worry, as the room went silent, you reached for the raven's words that nearly left your cousin's hands in defeat.

Your heart dropping, a gasp leaving your mouth that quickly turned to sobs, the raven delivering the message of crows.

Prince Lucerys Velaryon, heir to Driftmark, has been slain in a harmless dispute with Prince Aemond Targaryen.

Harmless? Harmless be the murderous instinct both Aemond and his older, drunken, usurper brother, Aegon exhibited when your nephews were their kin and significantly younger than them yet constantly berated. Your blood ran hot, boiling even, your ears rang to the point where you could not hear the words that came from Erryk's mouth.

[uglypastels]

Not Wholly Evil / Pirate!Eddie au - Series Masterlist

'Do not worry; we shall release you straight back into your father's arms– for a reasonable price, that is,' he looked around at his men, who all once again erupted in a jolly sea of laughter, matching his much softer depiction of humour. 'But for now….' He bend in a bow, dramatically removed his hat as his unbrushed locks grazed the floor. When he rose back up, his grin had spread to the widest corners of his mouth, and his dark eyes were filled with menacing mischief, freezing your core at the thought of what he could possibly be holding back in his mind. 'Welcome aboard the Hellfire.' 

Full ST Masterlist - Inbox - Reviewbox

- keep up to date with NWE -

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. pirates are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying.

Chapter 1: The Death of the Red Tail

Chapter 2: Asphodel

Chapter 3: An Affair of Honor

Chapter 4: Columba

Chapter 5: Flintlock

Chapter 6: Shiver Me, Timbers

Chapter 7: Four Corners of Heaven

Chapter 8: Earthshine

Chapter 9: Paragon - [18+ version]

Chapter 10: Lock and Key

If you want to see any more of pirate Eddie [or Steve] requests for one-off oblurbs are open!!!

Chapter 0.1: The Treasure of Old Man Jim Chapter 0.2: Eddie and Tabitha Chapter 0.3: A Ceremony of Love

[magics-neptunes-things]

Mockingjay - Part 6

Hello world!

So this is the new chapter for Mockingjay :)

Unlike what I said before, the Games are starting in this one, I was a little bit tired of them being in the Capitol and wanted a little more action!

I hope you will like this chapter and enjoy it. Please let me know what you think about it ♥

TW : Fight, weapon, blood, death. It's the Hunger Games, after all.

Also! I made a map that you can find at the end of the chapter, if you want to see what I imagined :)

Please don't make fun of it, it took me one all night to do it.

Chapter before

Saying goodbye to Lucy last night was something horrible for Ona. She was glad to find no one in the living room when she came back to their quarter. She then took a shower and went to bed. She didn’t realize that she was crying until she heard someone knock on the door.

Ona was scared to see Tony, but it was only Alexia. The blonde hasn’t asked anything, she just asked Ona if she needed her. Ona needed her, but the brunette didn’t know how. Alexia took care of everything though, giving her one of the gummies to help her sleep and cuddling her all night long.

Breakfast and everything else felt really strange this morning. It was strange to realize that it’s their last meal together, the last time Ona smiles at Leila’s jokes or the last time she changes into her bedroom.

Only today she realizes that Jana might have slept in the same bed.

Ona was taken away by two Peacekeepers from her quarter and it’s Alexia from her team who comes with her. For Tony, it was another man of the team, who Ona doesn’t really like. Ona says goodbye to Leila too, hugging her tightly and thanking her for the way she dressed her.

Just before going inside the Arena, her clothes were checked by people probably working for the Capitol. Ona is a little bit out of it to be honest. Those people could do what they want with her, she won’t say anything. But on the other hand, she knows that Alexia is here to keep an eye on her.

“She has the right to have it. The President said it was okay.”

Ona raises her head when she hears Alexia’s voice, just to realize that the woman in front of her was looking at her pendant with suspicion. But the woman finally nods and takes her hands away from Ona.

“I’ll give you time to say goodbye. May the odds be ever in your favor, Ona.”

“Thanks” Ona mumbles back.

She takes a big breath when the door is closed, turning to face Alexia. For the first time since she knows her, Alexia seems a little bit lost in her feelings. Or at least she’s not as good as she was until now to hide it. She looks sad, her eyes a little watery.

“Come here” Alexia says.

Without hesitation, Ona takes two steps to be in the blonde’s arms. It’s sad to say that she had two of her best encounters just before fighting for her life. But at least she was in good company.

“You can do it, Ona” Alexia whispers, still holding Ona in her arms. “You are clever, you are smart, you are strong. Just don’t take unnecessary risks and don’t fight if you don’t need to. Try to survive and don’t forget everything you had learn about survival”

Ona nods in Alexia’s arms and jumps when she hears a robotic voice resound in the room.

“Games start in 2 minutes.”

Alexia let go of Ona, just to gently take her face in her hands.

“I am honored to have been your Mentor”

“Thank you” Ona smiles back this time. “I couldn’t have asked for a better one. I really hope you will be happy for the rest of your life, with Olga too.”

“Thank you. If we have a girl one day, I’ll call her Ona.”

Ona doesn’t know what to answer, so she just takes Alexia in her arms one last time and kisses her cheek.

“Games start in 1 minute. Please go inside the tube.”

“I’m going to miss you” Alexia says, helping Ona to get inside the tube. “Trust your guts, okay?”

Ona nods once more, biting her lips.

“I’m scared” she whispers.

“You would be stupid not to be”

“Games start in 30 seconds.”

Alexia arranges Ona’s hair and outfit, briefly squeezing her in her arms before backing away from the tube. Ona feels like her heart will explode soon.

“Big breaths,” Alexia says softly. “I trust and believe in you. And I’m already proud of you, no matter what. Just like your family and friends.”

“Games start in 15 seconds.”

“Thank you. Thanks for everything. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Then the door of the tube closes itself and Ona feels the ground where she’s standing starting to move. It finally goes up and she looks at Alexia as long as she can. It’s black for some seconds before a bright light dazzles her.

After she blinks her eyes, Ona takes a moment to look around her. There is a red digit count above their heads, counting from 30 to 0. All the tributes are positioned to form a circle, just like the other years. Next to her is Tony, his gaze right in front of him. Ona knows he will try to take supplies or a weapon. She won’t try this, even if it’s tempting.

Ona’s eyes stop a moment on Lucy’s frame, a little more on her left. She never had seen Lucy with a face concentrated like this. Her jaw is tense, just like her body, ready to jump from her platform. She’s not looking at anything but her goal in front of her. Ona turns her gaze, looking for an escape.

She doesn’t know where they are on the map, but she decides to run as fast as possible in the forest behind her. The view seems clear in front of her, meaning she will have trouble hiding. Ona wants to stick with her plan, hiding at day, moving at night.

Reassured by her plan, she stands a little straighter on her platform and gets ready for the ten last seconds before the beginning.

When the shot sounds, it is an incredible cacophony. Screams, shouts and other noises Ona doesn’t know what they are. She hears several shots of cannon too, meaning some of them are already dead. Feeling her heart go down, Ona remembers that it may be Lucy.

But she keeps running, zigzagging through the trees with agility. After some minutes, she’s only able to hear her respiration and she decides to slow down a little. The forest is dark and dense, she’s not used to this kind of environment. Just like they decided with Alexia, Ona looks for a good tree to climb. She finally chooses one oak who has enough branches for her to do that.

She manages to reach the top pretty easily, offering herself a breathtaking view of the surrounding area. There are only trees around her, but it seems to her that she recognizes the shape of buildings in the background. Which would be a first, but at least it’s something she knows.

Ona freezes suddenly when she hears someone running below her. Silently she descends a little bit to try to see who it is. It’s a boy she never had talked to, from the six. He’s pretty young too, but Ona realizes very soon that he’s chased by other people.

He doesn’t stand a chance when they surround him, and Ona closes her eyes just before a new shot of canon. Some minutes later, they are gone.

It’s strange to look at that boy and she’s ashamed of the thought that she still can have a look at what is inside his bag. But he won’t need it now, unlike Ona. She hesitates for several more minutes before going down her tree. She doesn’t look at the bag for now, she just takes it and looks for another tree to climb.

In her quest she goes closer to the city but decides not to go inside for now. It’s still the day and it might have more people coming. Instead, she sits on a branch of the big tree she just climbed.

Then she opens the bags, looking at what is inside. She finds a gourd, rope, metal bowl and small knife. Which is pretty great, to be honest. She wasn’t expecting that much. She won’t be able to defend herself with that knife, but she could cut fruits or small wood pieces if she finds some.

When the night starts to fall, Ona is still sitting on her tree. It’s a little bit boring to be honest, but she doesn’t really have a choice. She hasn’t counted how many shots of cannon were heard, but when the sky is dark, there is this famous music. And then the pictures of the dead people are shown.

She feels sad when she sees that Anna hasn’t made it, her picture white in the dark sky. But Lucy is still alive and that is what matters to Ona. It looks like all the careers tributes are still alive too, just like Tony and Teagan.

Just like she asked herself if she should walk to the city now, Ona hears someone walking near her. She frowns and tries to look without being seen, but she’s just able to see a frame going back to where they started several hours before. Ona decides to use the rope to attach herself to the branch and not fall if it ever falls asleep.

Which seems to be a good idea, because Ona ends up dozing for several hours into the night. She jumps when she wakes up, looking around her just to remember where she is.

Ona waits until dawn to go down from her tree. She even finds a little river to put some water inside her gourd and wash her face and hands. The forest is a little scary in the dark like this to be honest and she’s relieved when she sees the buildings drawn in the sky. It’s something that feels familiar to her. She grew up in this kind of view and it almost feels comforting.

The city looks like an old, abandoned city and she wonders if and how many tributes are hidden in there. For her, it’s the most perfect and secure spot. She feels a little too exposed to her taste, even if the sun isn’t really there for now. The city contains a lot of buildings with at least six floors, what looks like a nuclear factory, some small houses and several warehouses. Everything seems grey and concrete.

Ona chooses a building a little outside the centre that allows her to see the horizon and eventual tributes coming. She doesn’t want to fight, but she knows she will have to at some point.

The door of the building seems heavy to push, and she decides not to enter by it, scared to make too much noise and attract attention on her. Bypassing the building, she eventually found another door and pushes it slowly. The silence is almost overmelting here.

Silently walking through the different floors, Ona finds no one. The building has six floors with two flats on each floor. The last stairs lead to the roof, but Ona decides not to go there for now. She’s certain that no one came here before her. She finds different things, like a lighter (who is working) and a hoodie who feels hotter than the dress provided by the Capitol.

She decides not to wear it inside though, where it’s colder than inside the building. Sighing softly, Ona sits on a mattress on the floor, hugging her knees. She misses Lucy’s warmth. She just misses Lucy. But she’s not sure that the feeling is reciprocating. Ona remembers Lucy's concentrated face perfectly, the way she hasn’t even looked her way.

Sighing softly, Ona presses her forehead against her knees. She doesn’t want to be here, why was she the one chosen for the Games? Why hasn’t she met Lucy somewhere else? Why does Life give her something so strong and beautiful just for some days before taking it back? She wishes that Lucy could hug her right now, she never felt so alone in her life.

Her breath is hot like her tears when she hears a little “bip” coming from somewhere next to her. It makes her jump, and she quickly looks around to try to find it. It’s when she spots it, a little metal box with a parachute. Ona frowns before taking it, she knows what it is. It’s something given by the Sponsors. She forgot that point.

With shaky hands, she opens the box and looks at what’s inside. And she feels her heart jump. It’s dry meat, bread and chocolate, something she can eat later if she wants, but something that will give her the energy she needs. And something that definitely will help her to fight hunger.

There is a little message inside too.

“Keep going, Onita. You are stronger than you think. Love, A.”

She knows it’s Alexia. Smiling softly, she wipes a tear on her cheek and carefully folds the paper in the inside pocket of her bag.  The small paper warms her heart up. She realises at this point that she doesn’t have any weapons and starts to freak out a little bit. She has nothing to fight if someone finds her.

The sun is shining when she realises that she falls asleep again. She needs two seconds to understand what has woken her up and jumps on her feet when she hears several voices coming from inside the building. She’s screwed. She can’t go out of the building because she’s on the last floor and she’s pretty sure that she will die if she tries to go out of the windows.

Ona can’t count how many there are, and she doesn’t recognize any voice until…

“There is another floor.”

It’s Lilith’s voice.

Which means she is here with maybe five other people. Lucy told her that all the career’s districts planned to stick together. She doesn’t stand any chances. Ona is really panicking and looking for a good hiding place. But the rooms are empty, if it is not for a shelf or mattress that is lying on the floor.

Ona finally hides behind the open door and the wall inside what she imagines is the bedroom, putting her hand on her mouth to hide her breathing. She’s so stressed that she’s shaking, and her heart is pounding. She can hear it in her ears.

“I’m going to see the roof” a male voice says.

Ona can hear the footsteps from the boy resonate from the other side of the wall where she is. Another footstep is going in the flat next door, but she can hear someone walking on the same flat that she is.

Ona freezes when she hears the person entering the room. She can’t see who it is. She’s not moving at this point but she’s not breathing either. But she jumps when the person suddenly comes in front of her.

It’s Lucy.

Lucy looks at her right in her eyes, her gaze hard and dark. It makes Ona shivers, Lucy never looked at her like that. Lucy’s eyes were always tender and full of teasing when she looked at her.

But, after several seconds, she slowly raises a finger on her lips to tell Ona not to make any noise. A fraction of seconds later, she’s gone.

“There’s no one here” she says several seconds later, her voice now coming from between the two flats.

She seems irritated, as if someone made her lose her time.

“I was sure I saw someone coming here” another female voice mumbles.

“It’s the last building” Declan points out. “We should go back across the river.”

There is a whisper of general approval and footsteps going down the stairs.

“I hate her” Lucy grumbles. “She’s the first one I’ll kill after we separate from them.”

“Just wait for several hours please” Declan laughs.

Their voices indicate that they are going down too. Ona still hasn’t made any moves, too scared to be spotted by someone else. As their voices are fading away, Ona realises that Lucy just saved her life. Maybe she’s not the only one missing the other, after all?

Ona waits a long moment before going out of the room. Her hands are still shaking, and she treats herself with a little bit of water. She takes deep big breaths too, closing her eyes several seconds to recompose herself. She probably never has been so scared in her life.

Maybe she will be safer in the woods after all. Golden hour is here when she leaves the building, choosing to pass from inside the city this time. During her time in the building, she realises that she was next to the end of the map, the force fields being sometimes visible, especially when they are showing pictures of dead tributes.

The night is almost here when she’s finally inside the woods again. She took the time to grab some fruits that she identified as goji berries. She started climbing a tree when she heard someone running.

From her point of view, she’s able to see the boy from the 5, chasing Teagan. It makes Ona’s blood boil. She knows it’s the rule of the Games, but Teagan is only twelve and that guy might be seventeen.

Teagan is almost fifty metres ahead of him though, her smaller frame making the run in this dark forest easier. Ona doesn’t hesitate to go down a few metres, positioning herself just at the right place to catch Teagan when he reaches his height. The adrenaline helps her to lift him without problem on the tree where it is.

“Up, up, up!” she whispers-orders him, pushing him to go faster.

Teagan hurries to obey and finally the boy from the 5 passes the tree without seeing them, much to Ona’s relief. The girl sighs of relief, but still makes Teagan go higher on the tree.

When they reach a branch strong enough to support both of their weight, Ona finally makes Teagan sit on it.

“Thank you” Teagan says finally, when he has enough breath to talk again.

“Anytime” Ona answers easily.

She looks at the boy attentively. He has a big wound on his cheek which might be hurtful. But other than that, he seems pretty good.

“Are you okay?” Ona asks anyway.

The boy nods and they exchange some news. They stop talking when they hear the boy from the 5 coming back, apparently looking for Teagan. From that moment they whisper more than talk but Ona manages to learn what happened to Teagan anyway.

He was with the girl from his district when they were attacked by the two tributes from the 5. His teammate made him run and she fought the two others alone. It seems like she killed the girl before being killed herself, at least it’s what Ona and Teagan deduce when they see that both of them are dead.

It makes Teagan sad and Ona comforts him, feeling once again relieved to see that Lucy is still alive. Still like Tony and the other career’s district.

Ona shares a piece of chocolate and some fruits with Teagan, before securing him with her on the branch. They decide to take turns to sleep, Teagan starting because he almost hasn’t slept since the beginning of the Games.

It’s strange for Ona to realise it, but it’s relieving to have someone to look after. Teagan is sweet and she appreciates his company. Her fingers go for Jana’s pendant under her clothes, stroking it softly. Jana was sweet and innocent too. Maybe that’s why she wants to protect Teagan, even if Jana was older than him.

She learned at some point during training that he has a little brother and a little sister.  She can’t imagine his parents’ pain about him being here. Suddenly, Lucy’s point not to have children is a little bit clearer for her. She understands why it might be selfish in her opinion to have children.

Ona then thinks about her parents and her brother, wondering if they are watching the Games or if they are sleeping. She knows there are cameras everywhere on the map, but they can only show one thing at a time.

After the heath from her bedroom in the Capitol and the good meal, she feels cold and a little hungry, even if she ate bread and fruits earlier. But she decides to ignore her angry stomach, to look at the stars over their heads.

They are hidden thanks to the foliage of the tree, but she still can watch it. She remembers the nights when Lucy talks to her about the stars, the constellations and the whispers exchanged between them at this point. Ona could name a lot of constellations now, mentally listing them in her head.

“I miss you… So much.” Ona whispers, hoping that if Lucy survives, she will be able to see that moment.

And, of course, that she understands that those words were for her. Because she misses everything about her, and she misses the possible future they could have had together. But it seems to be really far away now.

Little did she know that Lucy is looking at the same stars, at the same time. Lucy is thinking about the same things, and how much she misses Ona too. But she sadly doesn’t have a choice. It makes her desperate, but she doesn’t have the choice.

Next Chapter

The Map.

[moonbaby26]

Title: The Crane

(Chapter 11 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader, Doflamingo x Tsuru (platonic, mostly)

Chapter Warnings: language, heavy petting, emotional manipulation, mommy issues, implied praise kink, trauma response, blood, violence (flashback)

Chapter Synopsis: Still on Doflamingo’s ship as it nears Dressrosa, you and the Donquixote captain remain holed up in his cabin together. But after a much anticipated phone call, you finally learn a bit more about his and Vice Admiral Tsuru’s shared past.

Chapters: 1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9,  10,  11, 12

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You didn’t speak. His wet fingers were moving through your hair, massaging into your scalp as you watched the soap further clouding the water around you both.

You knew Doflamingo’s purposeful movements weren’t those of contrition, nor were they mercy. 

These lingering touches that now crept across your body were more like the tendrils of indoctrination. 

Trust me. His hands said.

Need me. Exuded from that warmth of his hard abdomen now pressed against your back, and his bent legs still spread around you, walling you in on either side within the large tub.

You closed your eyes, the bathwater running over your face while he poured it from a metal pitcher, down above your head to rinse it. 

Even if the warlord’s current actions should have felt pleasurable and excessively intimate, you were entirely somewhere else within your own mind then. Still replaying that prior violence you couldn’t reason with or accept.

To you, there’d been no honor on either side of that brief fight. But as skewed as things had already become between the two of you, you’d somehow felt as guilty over your own actions as you had been threatened by his.

Because you couldn’t forget that moment of his helplessness, the brief fear in his body after you had attacked him without warning.

Nor could you forget the bewildered rage in his mismatched eyes immediately after when he’d struck you back twice as hard. Not an ounce of regret or hesitation in his fist for you then.

“You’re shaking again…” Doflamingo’s low voice came as you felt those large hands move back to your shoulders once he had set the pitcher back in the bathwater.

You watched that vessel as it floated briefly empty, before it tilted enough to take on water and sink. The metal grazing your ankle under the water as the pitcher found the tub bottom.

“I’m just in pain.” You somewhat lied. The trembling was more an outlet of severe emotions. Stress leaving the body when you wouldn’t let yourself cry again in front of him.

And at that, those same long fingers massaged across your collar bone before sliding up and around your throat.

You waited for his hand to close there too as it normally would. But he only chuckled, actually caressing your jaw instead as he stretched his legs out further.

Those lean calves with the fine blond hairs running down them came out of the water then as Doflamingo lifted both of his ankles to rest them on the far edge of the tub.

He was all too comfortable. A continued insult really, when even now he must not see you as truly dangerous to him. He couldn’t, to be so content with his wet legs spread on either side of you. A devil fruit user willingly lounging in water to be made more vulnerable.

“And you’re just as pretty with all these bruises you know.” He spoke that twisted compliment abruptly rather than any apology of contributing to them.

You felt him toying with your hair again next, just before his hand slid down your front, gently cupping the breast he’d bitten so harshly earlier.

He couldn’t keep his hands off of you. Not now or then. And you breathed out, with just the sheer audacity of him. 

“I don’t see how they’ll ever heal either. You don’t give me a break.” You responded, albeit with the back of your head leaned into him all the more as his fingers started lightly massaging your exposed chest.

“Mmm?” He made that noise and you could hear the bit of a grin forming again in his next words. “But you liked how I handled you in Scylla well enough. Don’t forget all that just because you thought you’d already be running back to Momonga by now. You were going to use me and run again…”

Of course he’d thrown focus right back on you with that. As if he was never responsible for anything with his extreme reactions and manipulations. 

“I didn’t use you.” You managed. But you knew he’d never take real blame regardless. “And yes, I did like it there. I liked when you were in a good mood. So are you just going to sell that villa now?” You still tried to divert into something less important yourself as you weren’t in the mood for another argument.

“Should I?” He answered so immediately though, surprising you a little when he accepted that shift in topic that easily. His hand was still roaming between your breasts before he closed his legs enough for his thighs to hug either side of you again beneath the water. “I was thinking you may like it as a wedding gift actually. You barely got to see the island after all…I’m sure you’ll want me to take you there again won’t you?”

And at that you did twist, enough to try to look up at him. You knew this was bait. Of course you knew this, but how could you not react?

He was really smiling too. It actually carrying up into his uncovered eyes as well. The right eye at least looking mischievous in the way it narrowed. The left was clouded as always as he loosened the grip of his legs around you. He let you shift so that you could face one another again in the bathtub.

“Well?” He still goaded a little more in response to your stare. “Would that be acceptable to your tastes, woman? A private vacation home for Dressrosa’s soon to be queen? After all, why would we want anyone else living in and sullying our very first nest?”

And you wanted to just blurt out that he was full of shit, especially then. Or to at least say that you couldn’t be bribed half this easily. Which was true. Real money and all the extravagance that came with it did little for you in the end.

But the way he’d said the last part specifically. It did bring back those mental images of being twisted up with him in that bedroom in Scylla. Day and night as he’d mounted you like a beast in heat and kissed you up and down over and over again before falling asleep in each other’s grip for the very first time. 

The city where you’d played pretend with him as well. Holding hands and eating and dancing. Watching fireworks light up the dark, side by side like you’d never truly hurt each other again.

“Then when can we go back?” You finally replied. Maybe daring to think for even a moment that your boldness would call his bluff.

Because of course you rather be in Scylla if there was a choice. Even after all that had happened now, it was still the island from your childhood dreams. And more of a neutral ground for you both to be sure.

Yet Doflamingo didn’t falter, that wicked grin only growing as his right eye locked onto yours.  

“Fuck, woman. We could turn this boat back around right now and elope if you’d like. But…I know you are a little worse for wear right now. I want to get you protected back in Dressrosa first. Now that I’ve put your name out there, you may have more new ill wishers than you realize.”

And that was something you hadn’t even considered yet at all. Pirates always had enemies. And the bigger the pirate, the worse they would be. But they couldn’t know whether you were something Doflamingo would negotiate for either. Actually, you didn’t even know the answer to that yourself. 

But he was still talking as your attention went back to him.

“We can plan something more public while you recover. I’m not against that church in Scylla as our venue in the end though. Because can you imagine our guest list? Every pirate and marine that’s even worth a damn? And then shove them all together? Not sure even I want that kind of mess on my doorstep in Dressrosa. If we take the party to another island though, the cleanup becomes someone else’s problem.” 

“You’ve…actually thought about this already.” And as guarded as you still should have been, some tiny part of you did feel thoroughly floored at the idea of returning to that famous church in such a context. 

A beaten down brat, just a daughter of a literal whore out of a starving town in the North Blue could never have even fantasized to that level. Just seeing that church in person had seemed impossible to you for the longest time.

But to be married there?

Even if fake and loveless, even with chains and caveats stretching to infinity, there was something both awful and amazing in that concept.

“I think you’ve thought of it too.” He taunted, surely noticing that conflicted expression on your face. His white teeth practically beaming down at you with the wideness of his smile. “Though I do need to still get you a ring. Big News Morgans is trying to hurry us along, hinting it as a secret engagement already. But the very moment I do call you my fiancee publicly, I’m going to make sure that everyone knows it.”

And he’d bent his back and neck forward enough to lean into you again. This time face to face as you allowed it, even welcomed him as you sensed that sudden softness.

It was another deep kiss as he parted his lips to let you in. Your eyes were still slightly open, enough to watch his close as he made a pleasured sound.

It was back to affection now. These mind games he played that you just couldn’t overcome.

His hands were on your arms, helping to hold you up as you moved more onto your knees. One kiss transitioning into another and another. Your sore face was still aching all the while as his tongue gently swept across your mouth.

“It’s going to be fine…” Doflamingo breathed abruptly between that exchange. “…because you’ll endure anything I throw your way…won’t you, darling?”

And there seemed to finally be the summary of his approach with you right now. Instead of working on his own self control to not repeat this kind of damage again, he was going to simply trust you to survive it.

He was making this your current responsibility…not his. 

———————————

You didn’t bother to put any clothes back on. You only had so many clean uniforms in your luggage. And you feared Doflamingo just ruining more of them as your still damp body now lay on his mattress.

Like magic, all the blood stained sheets and bedding had been changed by his servants while the two of you had been in the bath with the door closed. And there was then a tray of hot food and another couple bottles of wine with clean glasses waiting.

The food was some rice dish with poultry and lots of peppers that you now declined, stretched out and resting again instead while Doflamingo ate.

He remained nude as well, sitting cross legged on the bed beside you with paperwork in one hand that he was reading. A spoon in his other as he ate from a bowl that was hanging seemingly precariously in mid air.

More strings were supporting the bowl of course, a unique substitute for a table as you’d actually started to fall back asleep.

You’d been through so much in just the last twenty four hours. And the quiet was mostly all you wanted before a transponder snail had started ringing abruptly.

As your eyes opened again to that noise, you saw Doflamingo looking around. There were multiple snails on shelves throughout his large captain’s quarters.

But this ring did sound more muffled as he emptied his hands, then sliding off the bed, and walking to try and track it. 

You didn’t care at all though. At least not until you saw him crouch near your bags.

You’d spent nearly the entire day on this pirate ship by now. The sun had set again and this was the first time your snail had ever rang.

He cast you an annoyed look back over his shoulder. “Well…which of your boyfriends do you think this is?”

And you tried not to show any emotion in response as Doflamingo unzipped the bag roughly. The silence from your fellow marines to this point had been more proof to you that you were truly on your own now.

Just as Sengoku had made Momonga stand down, that directive must have gone out to everyone. Even when you still couldn’t understand why.

But you said nothing to the pirate. He was going to do what he wanted. You just watched as he pulled that snail up and out, bringing the receiver to his ear with a scowl.

“You’ve reached the Donquixote pirates. We’re a bit busy right now.” He mocked, already turning to walk back towards the bed with your phone still in hand.

Yet then his eyes widened and you saw him stop immediately. 

He took a breath and the corners of his mouth shifted back up in what seemed like an almost nervous smile. He looked down to the ground, listening. For several seconds even to whatever the unknown party was saying to him before he made eye contact with you again.

And his tone had completely changed then. Smooth, but cautious. Careful as he started to walk to you again. “How harsh…really. She’s fine, Tsuru-san. She’s right here.”

Your heart had absolutely jumped into your throat at that name of course. You were then sitting up instantly as Doflamingo slid himself back onto the bed beside you. The snail now between the two of you as he clicked it onto speaker without you even having to fight him for it.

“Vice Admiral!?” You blurted, just relief and hope and so much dread mixing all at once as some last remaining wall within you started to further crack. 

And she too made a sound of audible relief even within her clear anger. “Thank heaven. How badly are you hurt?”

You did see Doflamingo’s body bristle slightly at the question, but he was fully disregarded by you both in this moment. 

Your voice remained rapid, but stressed. You had waited so long to hear her again. Even now in your utter shame for everything she must already know.

But work always came first. And it was so much easier to debrief on the initial cause of your injuries rather than what had worsened them today.

“I’m so sorry, Tsuru-san!” You were trembling again. You felt that wetness in your eyes beginning already. “I screwed up. I got pinned down protecting that girl. I didn’t ration my armament well enough. And-”

Tsuru said your name fully then. Kind, but so effective in silencing you in that heavy tone you’d so rarely heard from her. “No. You did exactly as you had to do. You saved that girl’s life. But that’s not what I’m asking you about. Has he hurt you?”

And this time Doflamingo refused to be ignored, leaning in to loom over that snail as his voice rose to snap back. “If anything, she would have bled out without me! Throwing her life away for that Nefertari brat! Would you have rather had that happen, Tsuru!? Should I have just left her for whoever really did it to take revenge at their leisure later!?”

The room was quiet after, his emerging petulance so evident. But you were right here in front of him. You saw his chest muscles tighten, and his hand clench into the bedsheet as well.

This was more than anger. The look in his good eye was actually becoming something closer to desperation then. But Tsuru read that tone in his words even better than you. She’d known him far longer.

“It really scared you that badly then…did it, boy? You thought someone was going to take something from you?” Tsuru questioned flatly.

And Doflamingo’s tense mouth hesitated, surprise edging into his eyes next. 

“You possessive, childish, selfish little brat.” She continued, bitterly even before he could retort. Not letting up in her accusations. “You panicked. You made a drastic move, and now you think you’ve won? But you have no idea how to care for another person! You’re only plunging head first into another disaster.”

His teeth grit and his hand moved from the bedsheet to hold to you instead at that. His arm actually went around your waist as he drug you back into his lap all in one strong movement.

You tried not to make a sound that she would have heard with the pain that caused. But he spoke right over you anyway.

“It won’t end that way! Because she’s not weak! She’ll heal, and then I can teach her to be even stronger. She’s already learned all she can from you. And I told you this was what I was going to do! I told you goddamn years ago!”

So rarely had you gotten to hear both sides of their arguments. But this was not the confident and antagonistic Doflamingo you would have expected. Even as combative as his words sounded, his body language still didn’t match it.

The nervous rate of his breathing, the way he was holding you so tightly now. As if you might slip away somehow. Away from him and back to her all over again.

“Even you can’t be this deluded.” Tsuru spoke. Calm by comparison, but her own anger sounding so much deeper. “You can’t lock her away. She’ll never thrive. She’s not meant for a cage. No matter how pretty you might pretend it can be. Dressrosa would be a prison. And a marriage to you nothing more than an additional tightening of the noose.”

You felt a twitch in his hands. And you heard the growl before he spat back. His words addressed to her, but his cheek almost against yours as he’d draped himself around you fully then, still seated together with your back against him. “I fell for a marine, Tsuru…so she can stay one if that’s what she really wants. She can sail again. As long as she still comes home to me!” 

And you heard her scoff instantly. A woman who had no time at all for his nonsense. A woman who had heard it all before in a hundred ways. “Lies. I do wish we could ever believe you. I wish you were anyone else but what you really are. What you choose to be, boy.”

But Doflamingo did quiet suddenly then. As if she may as well have reached out and slapped him through the glaring eyes of that transponder snail.

“Tsuru-san…” He breathed. His fingers had slid to interlock with yours against the bedsheet. Hands now together without your consent as he squeezed. You could feel sweat forming on his palm. “I’m exactly what you all made me to be. I didn’t choose a fucking thing of this misery.”

And then they were both quiet. All you knew then was that you didn’t want to be between them in this moment as you waited for something violent to happen next.

You waited for him to explode, and Tsuru so many seas away, to only be able to hear it when he would. You could feel the tension still rising in his body.

But that all ended the very moment a new tone emerged from her. One you did know as Doflamingo raised his own head from your shoulder at the sound of it.

A mother’s exasperation.

“Doflamingo…you did choose. You chose your path and Rosinante chose his. You both had the same starting point.”

He actually chuckled at that after another moment, but it was still a different kind of laugh. Weak and only reflexive now. She had done something just that easily with her voice alone as you felt him subtly relaxing. Like water cast over that fire. “And you never told her did you? About me? About him? You white coats and all your goddamn secrets…”

“No.” She affirmed. “All that is a conversation whose weight deserved to happen in person. Yet you couldn’t bloody wait until I could get home!”

And he was smiling, no longer angry then as she snapped at him instead. Like they were trading that energy back and forth. But his voice was thick, taunting again now. “I’ll tell her some of it at least. About you when we first met. How you used to hold me, and wash the blood from my hair. Those long nights in that medical tent. Back when you used to actually love me.”

“He was ten and in triage at our field hospital.” Tsuru clarified immediately, surely anticipating your absolute brain break from his words. And she scolded him just as fast too, her own built up anger going nowhere soon. “Quit making everything sound disgusting!”

But he just doubled down, speaking to you instead. “We used to sleep together too. She wasn’t entirely such a mean old woman then.”

“Literal sleep. Gods, if you were in my reach, boy!”

“Her devil fruit washes do start to feel good after a while you know.” Doflamingo sounded so much more like himself now.

“Joke all you want to try and divert from what’s coming for you. She’ll get wise to every trick of yours soon enough, just as I have.” She told him. 

And she called your name again then, seemingly refusing to waste any further energy on him.

“I’m still here, ma’am. And I’m alright.” You assured as you did answer her. But trying to convince yourself of that as much as anyone. “I’ll keep my head up.” Of course you wanted to spill your guts to her. You wanted to confess it all. But not like this. Not in front of him.

“We’re still in Lyra. But it’s finally winding down. And you shouldn’t have to be dealing with any of this alone. The absolute first moment we can sail for Dressrosa, we will.” She promised you.

And Doflamingo huffed, his large hand squeezing yours again where your fingers were still interlocked. “You’re welcome on my island, Vice Admiral. Because you have tact of course. Your crew as well. I’m sure the captain here will want to see all her ‘sisters’ before the wedding anyway.” But his teeth bared a little again as he warned regardless. “Yet if any of your lessers…her little boyfriends for instance, try to make a move, you know I won’t be near as accommodating.”

“You’re not stronger than the current admirals, just so we’re clear. More malicious and cunning than them certainly. But not in brute strength.” She answered with no hesitation, throwing that warning right back to him.

“Strength is knowing their weaknesses, dear Tsuru.” He purred in that way of his, lips still pulled back cruelly as he nuzzled you none the less. 

And at last you felt like you were really dreaming. As if you had fallen asleep before this transponder snail ever rang.

You must be in some psychotic break of a dream. Because you couldn’t actually be sitting here, nude with a warlord’s soft cock against your ass as he held your hand and nuzzled your neck. All while he also threatened your colleagues, almost flirting with your commanding officer, and referencing what he really thought would be your soon to be wedding with him in the same breath.

“She wants to get married in Scylla. You might as well go ahead and tell Sengoku to start preparing. That island’s going to need a hell of a lot of security then.” He also bragged, grinning all the while. “I’ll let you know as soon as we set a date.”

“You’re such a prideful fool.” Tsuru sighed at him and you could fully picture the way she’d pinch the bridge of her nose and hang her head in stress. Like when arguing futilely with Garp. She knew when she was absolutely wasting her words.

“Terms of endearment only you could get away with.” He retorted. “Well…and maybe your disciple here. You’d be proud of her. She hasn’t lost that fire yet.”

“I’m always proud of her.” Tsuru said, completely sincere.

Quick enough too in her praise to make you bite your bottom lip slightly as you didn’t think there could be a way you still deserved such a compliment from her level. Not after all this that you’d drug the marines into now.

“And me?” Doflamingo asked though, and that need in him was evident just as instantly.

You supposed some semblance of a rapport could form even between enemies when the chase went on long enough. But this well exceeded that.

He wanted validation, he wanted her focus. It reminded you so much of a child who would act out purposefully. Because even a return of negative attention was better than receiving none at all.

And she knew the game. You could hear it so plainly in her dry response. “I’d be impressed only if you did let her come and go freely. And if you postponed this marriage nonsense all together.”

“Feh.” He grinned again. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

“I will be on my way to Dressrosa soon.” She reiterated in further warning.

“And we’ll be looking forward to it. It’s been too long.” He just teased right back, but it almost sounded warm from him then.

She sighed once more. “I have to hang up now, (Y/N). I have no choice as we have enemies nearby. This area is still a hot zone and we need to keep moving. If I can’t call you back, then call Sengoku at least. I want daily checkins from you with HQ. Do you understand?”

To make sure you weren’t dead? To make sure you weren’t being tortured? What could they really do for you right now anyway? But you answered dutifully regardless. “Yes, ma’am.”

Doflamingo made another disapproving sound, yet butting in before the line could disconnect.

“Well, take care then, Vice Admiral.” And he snickered, mouth curving so mockingly. “Love you as always.” 

And you absolutely froze, briefly stunned before you turned your face to look back up at him.

He had his left eye closed, like it was bothering him again. But it made him look more like he was actually winking, his smile then falling on you instead.

“He doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Remember that. He’ll use it against you like any other tool.” Tsuru retorted, as if she really had battled this so many times already. “Be strong. We’ll talk soon.”

And then came the click. The snail closing its eyes once more as you returned to this imprisonment on your own.

Doflamingo purred again though once certain the call was done, that odd mix of a growl and a hum in his still tight chest as his hands moved back over your breasts from behind.

“You’re lucky to have had so many years with her.” He said then, the quiet of his voice actually matching the almost tender way he was now massaging your chest.

You did feel the bit of sweat still on his palms though as he cupped you and his fingers dimpled into that soft flesh.

He really had been nervous. But he was using your body to come back down from that anxiety now.

And the calm silence that followed only reinforced that. You leaned the back of your head against him again, resting as he began stroking up and down your torso idly. 

For so long in fact, that you’d started to close your eyes once more. Being petted soothingly really while your breathing grew deeper and more rhythmic.

“You never ate anything.” His deep voice dispersed that brief haze of sleep suddenly though as you felt him nip the top of your ear. “I don’t want my woman wasting away.”

Admitting a pirate could ever be right was still extremely difficult for you. But you only wanted rest, even as he finally let go of you and you were forced to sit up on your own again on the bed.

“It’s paella. A recipe straight from Dressrosa.” He told you, while a bowl of that chicken and rice dish from earlier came floating over with the movement of his fingers. He suspended it over the bed for you just as he’d done for himself earlier. “The peppers are normally only a garnish. But I like it hot, so my cooks always put more. Pick them out if it burns too much.”

And he’d given you a spoon after. Followed by a glass of wine he himself poured. 

He hadn’t finished his own serving before Tsuru’s call though. Going back to his bowl too now as the two of you shared dinner in bed together just like this.

And he wasn’t kidding about the peppers. You had to pause and down some of the wine more than once when that heat had built up too much on your tongue. But it’d definitely woke you back up then, letting your mind go to thinking about that surreal phone call before you were the one to finally speak again.

“You said you’d tell me the story. How you and Tsuru really met.” The vice admiral had insisted he’d been only a child then. And you couldn’t shake that image now either. Doflamingo actually being small or weak at any point in his life. 

And both of those warlord’s eyes were open again. He was watching you. “How she and I met? That’s quite a tale to start right now. Are you certain?” But the dark smirk as he asked this in return said more than enough as well. He clearly wanted you to know.

He’d just finished his own food as he dropped his spoon into the bowl and got up to move it away. Whatever contracts he’d been reading earlier were also set aside with your transponder snail onto the nightstand. He grabbed one of the wine bottles before returning to the mattress with it as he propped his back into the pillows.

Of course you were both still fully nude. And Doflamingo kept his legs open enough to purposefully show you everything. Soft cock hanging, impressive even at rest as he took a large swig straight from that bottle.

“Fine, love. I’ll tell you. But I want you back over here as soon as you’ve emptied that bowl. We’ll change your bandage again, and then I’ve got something else you can fill your stomach with.” He gave his cock one lazy stroke, letting it flop back down over his sack as he spread his thighs even more with a lewd smile.

You must not have looked too thrilled in this moment as he laughed after, another guzzle taken from his wine bottle before he went on. “So…let’s see. The night I met Tsuru. That would have been…goddamn. Twenty three years ago. How time flies.” He closed his left eye again. His smile tightening, closer to a sneer so quickly as he tapped one long finger against that heavily scarred eyelid. “The very same night they took this away from me.”

——————————— 

It was back in the North Blue. The most pain Doflamingo had ever known to that point in his life. So much so that he must have kept blacking out while Homing had carried him on. But he remembered Rosinante’s crying from below all the same.

“Papa there’s so much blood, please Papa…is Doffy still breathing?” The other boy would absolutely not stop whining.

But neither would Doflamingo. Incomprehensible words escaping him even through sobs as his father had held him against his chest while they hurried through those woods in the night. 

He couldn’t open his left eye at all any longer. The pain coming from that side of his face had made him feel as if those villagers had ripped the flesh to the bone. He knew he must be disfigured. He may even be dying. But he absolutely refused to do that yet even as his blood thoroughly soaked through Homing’s shirt while he’d cried against it.

“They said there was a field hospital,” The man was panting, carrying his badly wounded oldest son while the youngest still held his pants leg desperately, almost being drug along from below. “Only a bit farther, boys. Please, it’s all we can do.”

——————————

And when they had finally gotten there, it’d been a blur of uniforms and rifles. Doflamingo remembered the guns slung over so many shoulders. It was not a hospital at all as he had known the meaning of the word. 

It was a slum. A muddy city of tents and angry faces. But Homing was begging, not an ounce of godly pride left in that worm as he’d tried to hand over his already brutalized child to these filthy strangers.

For the last time in his life Doflamingo had actually clung to his father regardless though. Not trusting anything or anyone in this new nightmare as he’d started to screech again. It was just too much. These were just more humans. Ones with guns. The others had only had sticks and pitchforks and arrows, and look at what they had already done to him.

These soldiers would learn what he was and shoot him dead here in the mud. Just as he would have done to them if they’d crossed his path when he’d still had any power.

The power he’d lost when Homing had stolen it from him and sentenced them all to death in this surface world. 

So Doflamingo was screaming and of course Rosinante was still crying in response. And soldiers were just yelling at them all to leave. Saying that this was a war zone and a restricted space.

It was hell, in every meaning of the word in that chaos.

But from nowhere, a voice had suddenly been louder than even all the others. And there had been that intangible force behind it.

“ENOUGH!” 

The voice of a leader. Doflamingo knew that, even instinctively as he’d felt hands pulling him from Homing and all the others fell silent.

He was then against a new chest, still trembling as he felt an arm go around his back.

“We’ll treat the boy.” The female leader now continued as she held Doflamingo against her. “But civilians cannot stay here. This is an active military zone. Captains, escort this man and his other son back out of here.”

“Yes, Vice Admiral!” They agreed so immediately. 

“Wait at the next town to the south. It may be several weeks before we can move our encampment. We will deliver your son back to you there when we move again.” She said with such practicality to Homing. As if this was just what she was made for, calm and infallible.

“Captains, get his name and all his information while you escort him.” She added as Doflamingo felt her also cradling his head. The blood didn’t even faze her.

“Yes, ma’am!” They even saluted her before she’d turned to walk away as she carried him.

Vaguely he could still hear Homing and Rosinante’s blubbering. Saying thank you, goodbye, or both.

But Doflamingo didn’t care. He could feel his rescuer’s warmth, her strength in that moment. And when she spoke to him, he finally gave in. He was practically limp against her, no longer fighting.

“We’ll get you a numbing medicine and clean that out before it gets infected. Obviously you’re going to need sutures.” She was telling him as she carried him to the nearest medical tent. No false platitudes or comforts offered. These were the concrete things that they were going to do next to fix this.

———————————

Of course he’d learned her name soon enough. Vice Admiral Tsuru from marine HQ. The marines were the humans that served the world government as a military power. He knew their top ranks answered direct to the Five Elders themselves.

So in these seas of vermin, that meant she had been rewarded to still be placed on a higher pedestal than the rest. And he could easily see why. Every time she was in the medical tents, the others were subservient to her. She completely commanded the space.

Sometimes she’d have a rifle slung over her own shoulder when she did arrive. But hers was more intricate than the others. Somehow he knew that too. They got standard supplies, she had her own.

But there was still much more to her than that. In time, it was obvious that she was also a mother. The other staff knew what to do, but not always how to do it with him.

“You haven’t even gotten the blood out of his hair?” She’d noticed at one point.

“No ma’am, he wouldn’t let us-“ the male nurse had tried to explain as she easily interrupted.

“He’s a child. You don’t let him decide.” Tsuru had said, but her expression not actually stern in those moments.

Doflamingo had still protested of course. Likely more from fear than anything then. Human hands had only beaten him, skewered him, and burned him before he had known Tsuru.

But that is when that mothering side most came out of her. Something he’d thought he’d forever lost before then as she stood behind him and washed his hair for him one night. Just some soap, a bucket of water, and a cup as she had gently worked out the dried blood from his scalp with her bare fingers.

“How is your eye gauze today? Do you want me to change that dressing while I’m here?” She asked calmly too as she helped him clean up. 

“It hurts. But yes. You can change it.” He found himself answering her more and more easily too as the days had passed, even as he still refused to speak to any of the others. 

It got to the point that not only did he tolerate her, but he actually waited for her. He was beginning to understand her schedule. There was a battlefront nearby and this encampment was protecting the rear. She was in charge here, but for hours at a time she’d disappear. She was out there fighting he knew, and when she’d come back, more wounded would sometimes come with her. 

She personally checked on all of them. And when that was done, she would come check on him as well. On the days she looked more tired, he knew perhaps there had been a setback. She took it personally whenever any of her underlings were harmed.

“But wouldn’t that be their own fault? Why help them when they fail you?” He’d asked her one day as she rested in the chair by his cot. 

And she’d actually looked a little amused. Maybe because he was finally being inquisitive and interested in anything at all again as a boy should be.

“That’s not how leadership works.” She’d told him so easily too, never knowing how very much every word back then would influence him for years to come. “It’s my job to know the strengths and weaknesses of everyone in my command. If they have failed, then I let them get into something that was over their head. You don’t punish them for that. In my crew, they’re my family. We live and die together. So I’ll have their back and they’ll have mine.”

Their little chats would sometimes go on well into the nights too. She rarely seemed to sleep. She was protecting him, protecting the whole encampment. 

And there were cold nights in those tents where he’d even allowed himself to be picked up again because he couldn’t stop shivering. 

She hadn’t said a word, not humiliating him as she’d pick him up from his cot, wrap him in an extra couple of blankets and hold him in her lap. Letting him bury his face against her as she sat in one of those chairs again with her arms around him.

And he’d never say thank you or admit it was the deepest sleep he’d ever had since descending to this world. But he had felt a true sense of safety then, cocooned against her on those nights.

Of course time had still passed far too quickly. His eye was healing, even if he’d never have full sight in it again. And they were starting to pack up supplies, revealing that they would soon be moving again as battle lines shifted.

Tsuru had come to bring him extra rations again that night. He was sure she went without food herself at times just to give him double, her noticing how malnourished he’d been at first arrival here.

So it was like that again, only him eating while she rested in the chair when he finally proposed what had been weighing on him for days.

“When you move again, I want to go with you.” He said it as forcefully as he could in the near empty tent. 

And her eyes had reopened, looking at him seriously. “You’re too young.” She responded somewhat simply at first. But she was not discounting his potential. It was not an insult. “And you still have a family waiting for you. That’s a rare thing in this part of the world.”

“That man is not my family!” He’d erupted immediately though. Even as a child, that venom could come out in his voice rather quickly. “My life is like this now only because of him. I would have died already if it wasn’t because I just refused to! I want to be strong again!”

And her eyes had narrowed a little as his voice rose at her. “There’s more to strength than just wearing a navy uniform. You’re only ten years old, Doflamingo. Go home and be strong for your family. When this war is over, this area will stabilize again. There will be more food and opportunities. If you’re really so strong willed, you’ll prosper despite the poverty you’ve known to this point. I know that you will.”

But his immaturity had still gotten the best of him. Because he became even more emotional despite her calm rebuttal, the tears finally starting before he could hope to stop it. “I don’t want to go back! I don’t want to live like that anymore!”

And he could see he’d likely ruined any hope he’d had of actually swaying her too. Just being that sobbing, angry little boy in front of her once more.

“You are a survivor, boy. Being here still talking now is proof of that. But I’m not looking for child soldiers. Not to mention it being illegal. Fourteen or fifteen maybe as a chore boy…but at ten? You only get one chance at a childhood. Allow yourself that.”

And as if to reiterate all this, she had stood and picked him up all over again so easily. She’d held him once more as he cried against her shoulder. Even the eye gauze getting so wet then in his frustration.

He couldn’t hate Tsuru though. Somehow he couldn’t as she’d held him like his mother used to. The last safety he’d ever known, until Homing’s ignorance to the real ways of the world had taken that weak woman from him too.

“I want…to go with you.” He’d still whimpered as she’d rubbed his back and his arms stayed wrapped around her neck.

And Tsuru had sighed. “Everything has a cost, boy. We all have our chains. Mine are that I have to follow orders. I have to lose friends, and sometimes even family though I don’t want to. I have to watch people suffer when I’m not given the tools to fully help them. Being a marine can still be a choice when you’re old enough to make it. But it’s not the only path.”

That was the very last night he’d fallen asleep with her in that chair too. Him crying off and on as she’d stroked his hair and given him those lasts embers of unconditional affection that’d be all he’d have to hold onto for literal decades to come.

The next day she had gotten orders from HQ to move the encampment. And she’d had to stay there, seeing to all of that as she’d assigned other marines to escort him back to the town to the south.

Back straight to Homing and Rosinante and their damned suffocating world of weakness. The one that only Trebol had finally broken him away from in Tsuru’s absence.

But Doflamingo had still wanted to see her again. He’d wanted to show her his new strength and to have her be proud of him in his own way. As different as things could have been, he still so desperately wanted that woman’s attention and her approval in the end.

Yet if he couldn’t have that, he’d settle for being her enemy and imagining the regret in her eyes every time she’d seen his bounty posters and their ever increasing values through the years. Every time she’d wished he’d be the good son instead of the monster the world had made of him.

But even after everything, after years of blood and death and sacrifices. Somehow she had never stopped caring, and neither had he. 

That was why she lived even when all his other rivals had fallen. That was why he still felt like that nervous little boy whenever she raised her voice to him. And why his heart beat so fiercely even at the smallest hint of her praise.

That was why he loved her.

The proof that he still could, in his own way at least. And he could say it as many times as he wanted because neither of you would ever believe him. He was free.

Free to feel whatever he wanted. For both the crane that had mothered him. And her daughter, the swan he had now trapped to become his own queen.

———————————

    T⨂  BE 

CONTINUED

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Thanks for reading!

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 6

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction 2023) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Original Characters, Akagami no Shanks, Roronoa Zoro , Perona. Warnings: Mention of blood and physical torture, violence, 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching. Summary: Constantly evading capture due to a bounty on your head, you were forced to embrace the life of a pirate, despite your initial desire for a thrilling adventure and a simple exploration of the world. One fateful day, the Marines dispatched Dracule Mihawk to hunt you down, plunging you into a game of hide and seek with the formidable Warlord of the sea throughout the East Blue. However, to your surprise, the man proved to be less bloodthirsty and hostile than you had anticipated. His piercing, hawk-like eyes, shimmering with a deep golden hue, left an indelible impression on your mind, while his apathetic yet self-assured demeanor ignited a newfound sense of intrigue within you.

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

Tagging: @gg-trini, @commanderfreethatdust, @canthebest1, @shakysif, @i-am-vita. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the future chapters, feel free to drop me a comment!

Read on AO3

Waking up beside Dracule Mihawk felt both unusual and entirely right. As a man of honor, with principles ingrained from a lifetime of rigorous swordsmanship training, he channeled the same passion and dedication into his relationship with you. In fact, It wasn't long before the first signs of jealousy surfaced. He made it abundantly clear that he didn't like to share, demonstrating this concept in his own, sensual way.

Author's note: This is another update that suffered severely from the heat this season. I can't really stand hot temperatures as humidity makes me physically sick. I apologize for the long wait.

Warning: Detailed NSFW content ahead!

You were immersed in absolute, utter bliss.

With the music still resonating from a distance, you were comfortably sprawled on your bed, lying on your back with your legs spread open and Dracule Mihawk nestled between them. His tongue was delivering the most exquisite pleasure you had ever savored, caressing your clit with a sensual rhythm, alternating movements from up and down to side to side. His golden eyes were locked on you, perfectly still, observing every expression, every nibble of your lower lip, every soft moan escaping your mouth.

You were captivated by his breath, steady yet slightly hastened, accompanied by the soft, tantalizing wet sounds his mouth was producing. He appeared to quicken his pace and apply more pressure whenever you ran your nails against his scalp, while his own hands were gripping your thighs, maintaining their position despite the frequent spasms of your hips.

Your eyes rolled back every time his tongue hit a particularly sensitive nerve, your chest rose and fell repeatedly, your nipples hard and rubbing against the fabric of your crop top. You were on the brink of climax, yet not quite there yet.

With an arm propped behind your pillow, you tried to stay relaxed and prolong the moment as long as possible, but he was making it exceedingly difficult for you to hold back with all the proficient moves he was performing on your body.

And then he took your clitoris between his lips, sucking on it as if it were a delectable sweet. Your knees clamped onto either side of his face, but the usual hum he emitted indicated that he didn't mind.

And he was quite torturous too. Whenever he sensed that you were teetering on the edge, he slowed down again, barely caressing your sensitive spot to keep it aroused, but not enough to push you over. You lost count of how many times you muttered curses under your breath. The anticipation was excruciating, yet simultaneously, you appreciated his measured pace, cautious not to apply excessive force and trigger your release prematurely.

As his tongue danced around your folds, you could feel the familiar buildup of heat in your lower abdomen. The tension was almost unbearable, but delicious in its own way. Your heart pounded in your chest, matching the flow of his ministrations.

Your breath hitched as the waves of pleasure intensified with each passing moment. The surroundings seemed to blur into insignificance, and all your senses were honed in on Mihawk and the exquisite stimulation he was offering you.

The sensation was escalating beyond your threshold, your clit throbbing and quaking with each tantalizing lick. His name tumbled from your lips in a breathless entreaty as the impending surge of pleasure loomed dangerously close to engulfing you. You undulated on the mattress like a gentle sea wave, his hands anchoring your lower body.

Sensing your imminent climax, he intensified his efforts, giving you tacit permission to let go. His tongue moved more quickly, circling your bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pressure and speed. The moment that familiar knot unraveled, your hand seized a fistful of his hair, while your orgasm exploded through your limbs like a powerful storm.

You convulsed uncontrollably, letting out moans and arching your back upward. He showed no mercy, persisting with his licks, sweeping his tongue through your slick lower lips before returning to your clit again. He only ceased his actions when you became overly sensitive to his touch, and you descended from your peak like a crème brûlée - your muscles gradually relaxing into a state of exhaustion.

Through your half-lidded eyes, you saw him licking his lips to savor your taste. His mustache, although a little damp, remained impeccably neat.

"I'm not done with you," he declared, moving upwards and trapping your body between his arms, his hands pushing into the mattress.

"Obviously. I wouldn't expect any less from you," you replied with a smile. "Just.... give me a moment to catch my breath.”

“Mh.”

He complied, honoring your need for a brief respite, and reclined on the bed beside you without objection. His hawk-like eyes stared unblinkingly at the ceiling.

Slowly regaining your stamina, you rolled onto your side and propped your head up on the pillow with your elbow. "Thank you for that. It felt amazing.”

"Consider it your payback.”

You laughed softly, running your fingers along his chest, feeling the heat and smoothness of his skin beneath your touch. "I didn't go down on you with the expectation of getting something in return, but I appreciate it nonetheless."

As your fingers glided over the contours of his muscles, you couldn't help but notice the prominent bulge in his trousers. For the moment, you decided to ignore it, relishing the way he seemed to unwind under your gentle caress.

Every moment spent with him—each word, contact, kiss, and intimate act—seemed to fortify the foundation of a deeper relationship. Mihawk's admission, though somewhat vague, made it clear that he didn't regard you merely as a casual diversion for his physical needs.

"No one touches what’s mine and lives to tell the tale.”

"Did I miss something?" You questioned aloud. "I wasn't aware of the fact that you considered me as yours.”

"If you see this as a game, I have no inclination to participate.”

Articulating what you shared was arduous, and the idea of openly discussing it with him was unnerving. Perhaps one day, at the right time, you would find the courage to thoroughly examine the situation.

Your heart rate gradually steadied, your breathing becoming more stable and controlled. Now that you had caught your breath and felt prepared for the next course of action, you lifted yourself up and sat astride his waist. You meticulously and patiently started to unbuckle his belt, your gaze meeting his seemingly indifferent golden eyes. A familiar glimmer lingered in his dilated pupils, giving them an intoxicated look of desire for you.

"How did you manage to persuade the World Government to revoke my bounty?" You inquired nonchalantly, setting the belt buckle aside and gently tugging his clothes downward.

"Do you seriously want to discuss that now?”

You shrugged. "Just a passing curiosity.”

His erection stood firm beneath you, swollen and veined. It lay against his stomach as you positioned yourself above it, allowing your wetness to slide over its length in a slow, deliberate motion.

"They owe me a substantial favor," he replied. "They're the ones who require my services.”

You smiled, allowing your hands to roam over his chest, grazing the sides of his cross knife. "In other words, you have the advantage. Not that I ever doubted it."

"Does that answer satisfy you?" He asked in annoyance.

Whenever he put on such an aloof and seemingly uninterested demeanor, a grin would instinctively form on your face. "For now.”

His hands drifted back to your hips, halting your movement. "Remove your top," he commanded.

You savored the irritation in his voice, as if the sight of the last piece of clothing on your body was intolerable to him.

You leaned in, your lips barely grazing his rugged, bearded cheek. "Make me," you whispered provocatively.

A low, almost inaudible growl emanated from his chest. "Do I have to tear that off?"

"I'd rather keep it intact, thank you.”

His struggle with that uncomplicated garment, which lacked the usual clasp of regular bras, underscored his impatience and desire to get straight to the point. It was absolutely hilarious.

With the grace of a vixen, you slowly took his hands and guided them to your breasts. You let them move along your belly, up to your stomach, until they reached the curves of your mounds and rested there. You positioned his fingers, holding them firmly in place until they began to move of their own accord.

"Come on. It's not like you need a knife to remove it.”

His stare was intense, quite difficult to interpret. He reached for the hem of your crop top, lifting it cautiously until your breasts were partially revealed. You raised your arms, allowing him to remove the offending piece from your torso, your nipples hardening even further as soon as they were exposed. Once the top was fully taken off, he tossed it unceremoniously onto the floor.

Being so unveiled and vulnerable under his gaze, as his piercing eyes lingered a moment longer on your breasts than he had intended, made you feel slightly self-conscious despite the times he had already seen you in your full glory. Still, you allowed him to look at you in silence, again and again, feeling your lower muscles clench with desperation.

Without uttering a word, you lifted your hips and positioned yourself over his arousal, gripping it firmly at the base. Again, Mihawk offered no opposition, but the twitch in his erection betrayed his longing for you.

You were taken aback by how effortlessly he let you take control. He appeared completely at ease, almost relaxed, as if he were evaluating your boldness and endurance. His eyes drifted downward to where your bodies connected. He observed intently as he sank into you, enveloped by your warmth, pushing deeper with each second. He absorbed every detail with meticulous attention.

The stretch was astounding, but you had become accustomed to it. He was scorching, sizable, and precise, hitting the most sensitive spot within you without any difficulty.

You felt whole, fitting seamlessly with him like a puzzle piece, as if he had been crafted specifically for you.

As you found a steady rhythm, you pressed your palms against his chest for support, using it as leverage to channel strength through your arms and legs. You moved slowly, adjusting and gaining confidence, while the Warlord remained almost unresponsive. He merely watched, impassive.

"Keep going like that," he encouraged, his golden eyes flickering and glinting in the dim light.

Clearly, with his physical resilience, he wasn't averse to gradually building up the passion. His Adam's apple bobbed, his lips pressed together in a thin line, and the wet sounds of your intimacy exquisitely filled the air.

You sighed and moaned, pressing your forearms against his chest. His warm, steady breath brushed against your face as you descended.

"Are you really in the East Blue just for me?" you asked, panting.

With an arched eyebrow, he remarked, "You certainly have a tendency to choose the most inconvenient times for these discussions, don't you?”

You found his focus on the moment, rather than anything else, both flattering and admirable. "I love to keep things interesting."

You moved your hips with a seductive allure, releasing another moan of pleasure as he answered with a deep, resonant sound.

"You don't want to tell me?”

He looked at you with an inscrutable expression, tightening his hold on your sides to steer your motions. "You have captivated my interest, though I'm sure you were already aware of that."

You smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. "I wasn't certain about that until today, actually."

"I did make myself clear.”

"You mentioned that you don't view me as a plaything, but sometimes a woman needs a little more reassurance. After all, we still don’t know each other that well."

He sighed. "What kind of reassurance are you seeking?"

"What you said earlier... is it true? Do you actually see me as yours? I don't mind, but I thought you valued your freedom.”

He contemplated briefly, his attention drifting away. When he looked back at you, his eyes were as bright and captivating as gemstones. "I am indeed a man who values freedom. But freedom isn’t all about isolation. It means choosing where and with whom I spend my time, and I have chosen you.”

If metaphors could make sounds, your current state would be like your heart dropping with a thud, rolling off the mattress, hitting the floor, knocking the door open, and leaping into the ocean with a loud splash.

Mihawk twitched inside you, his scruffy beard brushing against your cheek as you pressed your face to his once more. "Is that so?"

"Let's get one thing straight: you're not just a mere possession," he declared.

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

"You're not the type of man who would relegate someone like me. Or anyone else, for that matter. I've seen enough to know you're far too honorable for that, Mihawk.”

Mihawk’s eyes softened, a rare glimpse of vulnerability in the stoic Warlord. "You understand more than most," he conceded, his voice a low rumble.

The warmth of your body increased as you continued to flow up and down. "I want to learn more about you," you admitted. "Not just the legendary swordsman, but the man behind the blade.

"There are parts of me that you wouldn’t like to find out. But if you are truly determined to know, I won't stand in your way.”

"I'm not easily deterred.”

"Good," he said, a small grin tugging at his lips. "I need someone who can match my pace."

With a resolute gleam in your eyes, you deliberately tightened your muscles around his shaft. "I'm going to do more than just keep up."

He nodded, silently acknowledging your strength and resolve, his arousal twitching in response. "Then let's see where this journey takes us.”

His fingers returned to your chest, tenderly lifting and caressing your breasts, his middle and forefingers framing your nipples. Your clit throbbed with the exquisite friction, the pleasure from his touch sending electrigying jolts straight down.

"Harder now," he instructed. "Let's see how far you can go."

You took a deep breath, spreading your legs wider than you thought possible, allowing him to slide in nearly to the hilt. Despite the protests from your groin, you remained indifferent to it.

"Challenge accepted," you proclaimed, adjusting your stance for swifter motion while maintaining your balance.

You continued relentlessly, ignoring the fire burning in your muscles. You could see him struggling to keep his pelvis still, his knees bending and his lower abdomen hardening like marble as it contracted. You were losing yourself, eyes tightly shut, your voice becoming strained and labored. You gritted your teeth, pushing past the threshold of fatigue, focusing solely on the rhythm and the task before you.

"Don't stop," he uttered, his voice barely audible over your labored breathing. "I want to see you push past your limits.”

With one final burst of effort, you propelled yourself upward again, feeling a sense of triumph as you overcame the barriers that once seemed insurmountable. The room faded away, leaving only the two of you, locked in a shared moment of immense exertion and unyielding determination.

Finally, he intensified his motions, gripping your sides with his strong, calloused hands, his hips meeting yours halfway. Mihawk grew impossibly hard, thick, and on the verge of release inside you. Your body reacted instinctively, driven by an innate desire for pleasure and fulfillment.

He slid his right hand past your thigh directly to your unstimulated clitoris. His thumb grazed it, lifting its hood, and stroking the tip with extreme care and precision. Finally, as your limbs screamed in protest and your entire form trembled with exhaustion, you reached the pinnacle of your endeavor. Your climax left you spent, collapsing against him as your inner walls quivered, pulsed, and held onto him tightly.

His release followed just a few seconds later. Amid spasms, his fingers gripped the back of your head, entwining in your hair and drawing you closer. He didn't break a sweat or make any sounds of gratification, but the way he held you and exhaled through his nose showed just how powerful and satisfying his orgasm was.

He had just settled back against the mattress when he spoke again. "Well done. You truly have it in you.”

The bond you felt with him was unparalleled, and you couldn't bring yourself to pull away as he held you securely against him. The cross knife shifted slightly to the left, letting you rest more comfortably against his heated skin.

It was more than you could have ever imagined; each intimate encounter with Dracule Mihawk outdid the last.

He let go of your hair, his fingers trailing down your back. With a gentle touch, he traced the contours of your scars, finding a quiet comfort in the act. Somehow, Mihawk had developed a keen interest in them, never missing an opportunity to feel them.

Eventually, you disentangled yourself and rolled onto the mattress. He readjusted his clothes, pulling up his trousers and fastening his belt, restoring them to their original state. As he leaned back against the pillow with one arm behind his head, you suppressed a smile, understanding that, against all expectations, he had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

You retrieved your underwear from the floor and slipped it on, keenly aware of his scrutinizing eyes. He tried to conceal it as soon as you returned to the bed beside him— still bare from the waist up, twisting his head and diverting his attention elsewhere.

Considering how composed he typically was, you found that reaction irresistibly endearing.

You stayed there, wrapped in a silence that felt both reassuring and intimate, watching as his long eyelashes gradually drooped, shading his eyes. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow, regular cadence, his breath soft and soothing in the quiet room.

You were exhausted, physically drained, as the accumulated tension throughout the day hit you like a ship at full speed. However, you resisted the urge to drift into the world of dreams, for all you wanted was to study his face, committing every little detail to memory before he could slip away.

Mihawk’s beauty was so mesmerizing that you couldn't help but lose yourself in it.

You anticipated Mihawk slipping away in the night, vanishing as quietly as he had appeared. To your surprise and delight, however, you awoke to find the Warlord still beside you in bed the following morning.

Perhaps you were more than just two seafarers crossing paths at inopportune moments, more than mere strangers swept up in fleeting passion. Your mind wandered, conjuring vivid images of a shared future—a life intertwined with his.

While not impossible, you chose to avoid entertaining thoughts that might lead to delusions.

During the night, your leg had draped over his and the sheets had been pulled up to your chest for modesty. Mihawk lay shirtless beside you, his dark hair slightly tousled and fanned out across the pillow.

With Mihawk appearing sound asleep, you exercised utmost caution not to rouse him. With painstaking slowness, you eased yourself off the mattress, the covers slipping to your waist. Poised on the bed's edge, you suppressed a yawn and extended your arms, the crisp morning air accentuating the pleasant ache in your muscles—a reminder of the night's passionate activities. Your fingers kneaded the nape of your neck and combed through your tousled hair as your toes grazed the cool wooden planks below.

Outside, tranquility had descended, the music now silent. Only seagulls' cries and your ship's gentle rocking pierced the quiet. Dawn's golden-orange light flooded the cabin, bathing your skin in a warm, shimmering glow.

Without your knowledge, Mihawk began to wake. As you savored the peaceful atmosphere and the sun's warmth on your face, you remained still. Behind you, the Warlord's eyes traced the outline of your partially nude form against the bed. His gaze lingered on your back, where once-deep gashes had softened into faint lines, before drifting up to your shoulder blades.

A man of few words, Mihawk rarely expressed his thoughts, especially unaccustomed to waking beside such a magnificent presence. Yet, he felt an irresistible urge to voice his feelings as they formed, naturally and genuinely, as if they were the most obvious thing in the world.

His words were like those of an art critic praising a masterpiece.

“You are breathtaking.”

His voice startled you, even more so because you had thought it a figment of your half-asleep imagination. As you turned, pivoting on your pelvis and inadvertently exposing your breasts—perfectly round and bathed in the sun's pastel backlight—you noticed his intense scrutiny. His golden eyes flicked briefly to your nipples before meeting your bewildered expression. He reclined comfortably, waiting without so much as a flinch.

Breathtaking? No one had ever described you that way before. You felt unkempt, your makeup likely smudged and your hair a tangled mess.

Seeing his evident conviction, you bashfully clutched the sheets to cover yourself, letting out a self-conscious chuckle. "Thanks, but I doubt any woman looks breathtaking first thing in the morning."

"I'm not concerned with other women. This is how I perceive you. Do you find that offensive?"

You shook your head, clutching the sheet tighter to your chest. "Not at all. It's just... unexpected."

His voice wrapped around you like a warm embrace. "I only speak the truth, and right now, it demanded to be said."

You swallowed hard, a genuine smile spreading across your face. Summoning your courage, you leaned forward on the mattress and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. You quickly retreated, not wanting to linger and risk any awkwardness.

You hesitated, apprehensive that he might regret his compliment or interpret you as becoming overly attached. Yet, he remained composed, entirely undisturbed by your gesture.

"Good morning, by the way," you said with a cheerful tone.

“Mh.”

Brimming with joy at the start of a wonderful day, you slipped out of bed, wrapping the covers around yourself. After tucking the crop top back into its drawer, you browsed your wardrobe for a fresh outfit. Your choice struck a perfect balance between comfort and style: light pants, a crisp white cotton tank top, and a supple brown leather jacket. This ensemble exuded confidence without being overly provocative—casual yet daring, it accentuated your femininity just as you intended.

At that very moment, you felt gross, sticky, and utterly unpresentable in front of him. Mihawk, however, always looked impeccable regardless of the circumstances. Even in the morning, he appeared as if he had just stepped out of the bath, presenting an exquisite blend of cologne and sea salt, while you were marked by the scents of sweat, blood, and sex.

Despite your current state, Mihawk showed no signs of revulsion or disgust. You realized you might be overthinking, conjuring problems where none existed.

As you entered the washroom and closed the door behind you, your cheeks burned with a fierce blush. You had to let the cool water run for a moment to collect yourself. Euphoria coursed through you, your heart raced wildly, and your legs trembled with growing weakness.

It was novel, peculiar, and unfamiliar, yet it felt natural and couple-like, absolutely perfect.

You cherished that feeling and wanted more—more of those moments, more of him in your life.

Emerging from the washroom, you felt refreshed in your new Loguetown attire. At the bar counter, you spotted Mihawk donning his coat and iconic hat. When you'd offered him a drink before his departure, you hadn't anticipated much. However, his prompt request for black coffee hinted that he might be, slowly but surely, beginning to let his guard down.

Wine and black coffee. It was just a grain of sand, yet undeniably a delightful way to start. You were eager to uncover his other interests, to discover what else brought him joy beyond swordsmanship and combat. You longed to delve into his depths, as if he were the most enthralling tale ever penned or a treasure chest secured by an impenetrable lock.

Sharing breakfast with Mihawk was an unprecedented experience. Between occasional exchanges, he maintained his trademark seriousness and economy of words. You both savored your drinks in comfortable silence, attuned to the distant sounds of the town stirring to life after a night of celebration. The moment felt genuine, and above all else, it felt right.

You were hit by a surprising sense of excitement as he mirrored your actions and disappeared behind the bathroom door, leaving you to wash the empty mugs and tidy up. The soft sound of running water hinted at his comfort in sharing your personal space without pretense. He moved through your private quarters, which no other man (not even Isaiah) had entered, as if it were his own domain.

But like all enchanting fairytales, that exhilarating moment was fated to conclude.

As the sun climbed higher, painting the sky from orange to blue, you prepared to depart Mirror Ball Island for headquarters to brief Isaiah on the Neon Mirage events. Watching Mihawk about to disembark made your heart twitch, as you wished to remain with the Warlord all day, all week...

…if not forever.

Notwithstanding all the reassurances he had given you, the question slipped out spontaneously. “Will I see you again?”

"I'm not vanishing off the face of the earth," he replied casually.

“You know what I mean, but okay.”

Mihawk paused, his expression softening as he gazed at you. With fluid elegance, he stepped closer, bridging the gap between you. His fingers delicately traced your jawline before gently cupping your chin between his forefinger and middle finger.

“I will find you,” he said quietly, his voice a low, velvety rumble. “No matter where you are.”

His words carried an undeniable weight, a promise that transcended mere pleasantries. His thumb lingered a moment longer, as if committing the texture of your skin to memory, before he reluctantly withdrew his hand.

"You better," you responded, striving to keep your tone light despite the ache in your heart.

Mihawk’s lips curved into a faint smirk, a well-known countenance that expressed more than words ever could. “Until then,” he murmured, his golden eyes locking with yours one final time.

“Until then,” you echoed, lifting your head to press a quick goodbye kiss to his lips, which he accepted with a low, guttural sound from deep in his throat.

With that, he pivoted on his heels and strode toward the door, his presence commanding and unyielding even in departure. His retreating figure burned itself into your memory. You listened as the door closed and his footsteps faded into the distance, until silence once again enveloped your surroundings.

As you weighed anchor and set sail from Mirror Ball Island, you allowed the sea breeze to guide your vessel away. Mihawk's lingering touch remained a sweet affirmation of the future awaiting you both—a prospect you embraced with absolute thrill.

A week had elapsed, and you stood at a crossroads, finally resolving to reconnect with your family after much internal deliberation. You had been hesitant, wondering how they would react to the recent events involving the World Government and the bounty that had been placed on your head. Even though the charges were no longer in effect, the general public remained unaware of the circumstances behind the incident and your exoneration.

Given your parents' nature, you should have felt confident in their unwavering support and belief in you, regardless of the rumors circulating across the seas. Yet, you couldn't shake your nerves about it, fearing rejection for becoming something they might despise. After all, you had, to some degree, adopted a life akin to that of a pirate.

After several deep breaths, you finally activated your portable transponder snail. Sitting cross-legged on the bed with your back straight, you waited for what felt like an eternity until your father's familiar voice came through the receiver.

Your throat constricted, and tears you'd long held back welled in your eyes. You attempted to respond, to reveal your identity, but only managed a faint, barely audible sound.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

You had been waiting for that moment for so long. How much pain, struggle, and perseverance had it taken to reach it?

Finally, before he could hang up on you, you found the energy to speak. “Dad… it’s me.”

“…Y/N…?”

“Hi.”

"Y/N! Is that really you? My precious girl!!"

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, warmed by his enthusiasm. Despite all that had transpired, their love for you remained as strong as the day you'd left home. You chided yourself for ever doubting it, even for a second.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” you said. “I couldn’t risk putting any of you in danger.”

"I understand, sweetheart. I had a feeling that was the case. I'm just so relieved to know you're safe and sound. Thank the heavens!"

“Y/N!!!!!”

Your mother's voice came through the snail, a blend of joy and desperation. She was crying, hiccuping even.

“Hey mom!”

"What on earth happened?? Why did they put that dreadful bounty on your head?!"

You took a deep breath, carefully considering how to share your story without burdening them with distressing details. Despite your efforts to find a gentler way to explain it, the essence remained unchanged in your mind.

And so, you resolved that telling them the truth was simply the best solution. "Listen, I won't lie to you. I did something awful, and they sought to punish me for it. But I swear on everything I hold dear, I had no other choice. It was either my life or his."

You waited, but when no answer came, a wave of panic consumed you.

"You were right about one thing," you continued. "My expectations were flawed from the beginning. I was naïve, stubborn, and deaf to advice. My recklessness left me without berries and supplies. I struggled on the streets until desperation drove me to make a fateful mistake. That's when they caught me."

Your voice quivered, but you took a deep breath to center yourself, resolved not to let past frustrations overwhelm you again.

"They dismissed my account entirely and offered no assistance. For days, I endured starvation and torture until I faced an ultimate threat. Had I not acted decisively at that crucial moment, I wouldn't be alive to share this story with you now."

Just when you thought the call had been disconnected, you heard them exhale on the other end of the line.

"We believe you, sweetheart," your dad said reassuringly. "We've seen how cruel people can be, and we know you well enough to say you wouldn't harm anyone without a valid reason."

A warm smile blossomed on your face as the burden weighing on your heart finally lifted.

"Indeed, honey. And let me tell you, if those bastards dared to lay even a finger on you, then you did the right thing. Hell, if I could, I'd strangle them with my own hands," your mother declared.

"I have no doubt you would, and it would be quite a spectacle to witness."

“But the bounty has been cancelled now, hasn’t it?” she asked. “Does that mean you can come home at last? Because you will, right? It’s far too dangerous for you out there.”

"Actually, I might visit you, but... I'm not coming back home permanently."

You anticipated their disappointment but were surprised by the ease with which you dismissed it. On numerous occasions, you had contemplated abandoning everything, feeling adrift and doubting your suitability for a seafaring life.

However, everything changed dramatically in the blink of an eye.

“You won’t…? But why? You mentioned you were struggling. Are you really okay on your own?”

"Dad, I'm not the person I used to be since you last saw me."

“I suspected as much. And if you're worried that we might not accept you anymore, don't be. You're our daughter, Y/N, our flesh and blood.”

“Your father's right. Even your uncle and cousins are impatient for you to return. Please come home, sweetheart. We won't judge you.”

You sighed, shaking your head even though they couldn't see you. "It's not that. Yes, it’s been tough… but I've finally built a life for myself. One that I actually enjoy. Now that my bounty has been cancelled, I want to make the most of this opportunity.”

A brief silence hung in the air as they contemplated your words. After a moment, your father cleared his throat and spoke again. "But there's something else, isn't there?"

You pondered your options, carefully considering what to share and what to keep to yourself. While it might be too soon to call Mihawk your boyfriend, you felt compelled to express your feelings and provide a clearer picture, especially after all the worry you'd caused your parents in recent months.

Ultimately, you accepted to disclose it. “Yes. I've met someone.”

"So it is true, huh.”

“What is?”

"Well, you know," your mother interjected softly, her voice tinged with shyness. "Rumor has it you've been seen with one of the Warlords of the Sea. What was his name again? Hawk-eye?"

Your jaw dropped in astonishment. "Wait, you've heard about that over there as well?"

"The East Blue might be vast, my dear, but news travels quickly," your father joked.

How could a single sighting of the two of you spark gossip across the entire region? And most importantly, why was it such an important matter that someone felt it was vital to turn it into a worldwide rumor?

It would be pointless to lie about it, and after everything Mihawk had done for you, you had no intention of hiding your connection to him.

"His name is Dracule Mihawk. And before you say anything, you should know he's the reason my bounty was lifted."

Your mother's voice radiated relief. "Oh, truly? So, he's not such a bad lad after all, is he?"

"Do you really think I'd be interested in him if he were anything less than admirable?"

"Aye aye, we understand."

You leaned back, gazing at the ceiling, holding the snail receiver against your ear. “It’s not that I don’t want to come back, but I’ve started to find value in what I do here. And as unbelievable as it may sound, I think he’s someone worth getting to know.”

You could hear the smile in your mother's voice, its warmth resonating through the call. "Well, that's certainly intriguing."

“What do you mean?”

"That is exactly what I said about your father when I first met him."

“Really?”

"Absolutely," your father confirmed. "And look at us now. Your mother's judgment proved correct back then. We trust yours will be too."

Although you would have pursued Mihawk regardless of their stance, your family's approval meant the world to you. Their immediate blessing, based on their trust in your discernment and decision-making, deeply moved you.

“Thank you. I love you.”

“We love you too, honey. Will we see you soon? Even if it's just for a short visit?”

“Soon. I promise.”

Your intention was sincere. While you couldn't manage a trip home within your busy schedule, you were committed to making time for your family with the burden of your bounty finally removed.

Thus, you prolonged the conversation for as long as your journey permitted, treasuring the voices of your loved ones from whom you'd been apart for far too long.

Several more days passed without any sign of Mihawk. This time, however, you felt neither restless nor worried. The Warlord had assured you he would always find you, no matter where you went. You knew with certainty that he never spoke without meaning every word.

As you got ready for your dinner with Isaiah, an invitation extended to celebrate and relax after your recent achievements, you sat in front of your mirror, searching for the perfect look for the night. While you typically didn't favor elegant attires, there were moments when you enjoyed wearing dresses for a change. For this occasion, you opted for a simple gown of silky light blue fabric, featuring spaghetti straps and a mid-length skirt. While the dress offered a generous view of your chest, you made sure it provided enough coverage to maintain your dignity, as you had no desire to flaunt your assets. The skirt wasn't tight or overly large, either. It flowed gracefully as you walked or when caught by the wind, yet it remained secure enough to avoid lifting excessively and exposing anything you'd prefer to keep hidden.

After finishing your hair and makeup, you scrutinized your reflection, turning your head from side to side and nodding in satisfaction of your work. You were especially meticulous about your looks, a habit formed from frequently disguising yourself and perfecting your image.

It's not as if you were heading out on an intimate date. It was a laid-back evening with your best friend at a public restaurant, just the kind of distraction you needed once in a while. You didn't have to impress him or anyone else, you just wanted to feel good about your appearance for your own sake. It was your means of self-expression, especially now that you no longer had to conceal it in fear of a potential ambush around the corner.

Choosing the ideal jewelry to complete your outfit was your favorite part. Rummaging through your beauty box, you pulled out a few accessories and arranged them neatly on the table before you. Over the months, you had amassed an impressive collection of tokens, each one carrying a value that transcended its monetary worth.

After careful consideration, you set aside the jewelry that clashed with your dress. You closed the box and returned it to its hiding place—a secret compartment beneath the floorboards by your bed. You selected a choker made of thin, light grey chamois-like cord with a piece of sea glass, a silver chain necklace with a coin pendant featuring a wave carving, a leather wrap bracelet adorned with an aquamarine stone, a macramé band with a few iridescent pearls, and a shimmering gold cuff with swirling engraved patterns for the other wrist.

And without fail, you always wore the ring you'd taken from that island on the day you first encountered Mihawk, the moment that sparked the magic between you. Its golden band and emerald stone reminded you of the Warlord, and once you began wearing it, you found it nearly impossible to take off. It was one of those items tied to a particular memory, so rich in sentimental value that its rarity in gold and crystal seemed negligible in comparison.

You ended up parting with many of the precious belongings you had collected, as none of them ever held much significance for you. That ring was your most treasured possession, so precious that anyone attempting to take it would have to sever your finger to claim it.

As per tradition, Isaiah was punctual, never once missing an appointment or arriving late. His dedication and attention to detail were among the qualities you admired most in him. Upon seeing you, Isaiah was awestruck by your beauty, expressing his appreciation in his usual respectful and gallant manner. It was obvious that he still found you physically attractive, but he never attempted to cross the boundaries you had set.

While you couldn’t deny Isaiah's attractive features, your feelings for him remained purely platonic.

The restaurant had a bit of a crowd, though the seating was spaced well apart. He secured an outside spot, where the ocean breeze softly played with your hair, just a few miles from the shore. The ambiance felt cozy and inviting, with strings of lanterns suspended above, linked to a delicate cotton canopy.

The food was spectacular, offering a variety of meats, fish, side dishes, and some of the most incredible desserts you had ever seen or tasted. As the sun set and stars filled the sky, your conversations with Isaiah spanned from work-related topics to the silliest of jokes. You laughed and savored the joyful moment, a glass of wine in hand to cap off the wonderful dinner.

It was a relief to finally be free, no longer seeing your face plastered on posters all over the walls. You were living the life you had dreamed of when you left your hometown: earning a decent amount of money through hard work (even if the job was different from what you had envisioned), exploring various places around the East Blue (and maybe even beyond someday), meeting diverse people and races, and savoring the little things without a single worry in the world.

In the end, weathering that storm brought you more than you could have ever anticipated: a cherished friend, newfound inner strength and resilience, and an extraordinary man who occupied your thoughts constantly.

Despite your efforts to banish his image from your mind, you found yourself missing Mihawk every day. You ached for his sharpness, his cool demeanor, and those captivating golden eyes. The memory of his touch, his unique scent, and the strength of his embrace haunted your senses. His words echoed in your head, those unexpected, heartfelt compliments where he called you breathtaking—leaving an indelible mark on your heart.

You longed to know him more deeply, see him more often, engage in more conversations, and spend more time together.

If only you had known that the object of your affection was observing you from a distance, narrowing his eyes at the way you laughed and smiled with the guy across from you, even leaning in to exchange whispers. You were oblivious to the fury that consumed him, to how it rankled him to see you so carefree with someone other than himself.

Dracule Mihawk, the Warlord known for his calm and detached attitude, reduced to an impatient fool driven to disrupt it all.

Oh, things were just about to get interesting.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Isaiah ventured after a brief pause. “I hope this doesn’t sound inappropriate.”

With a warm smile, you set your half-empty glass down and settled back comfortably in your chair. "I know."

“You do…?”

"Come on, Isaiah. You've been tense for days now. This is about the rumors concerning me and Dracule Mihawk, isn't it? You were going to ask me the night before I left for Mirror Ball Island."

After a moment of surprise, Isaiah chuckled and shook his head ruefully. “Of course. I should have realized you were sharper than that.”

You gave a casual shrug. "Let's clear the air, then. The rumors you've heard are definitely true."

He choked on his wine, pounding his chest with his fist and erupting into a series of rough coughs.

“Are you okay?”

"Y-yes, I apologize," he sputtered. "I didn't expect you to confirm it so bluntly."

"Would you have believed me if I had denied it?"

“I mean, I guess?”

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, allowing the salty air to fill your lungs. Amid the briny scent, you detected a whiff of something unmistakable, a fragrance that could only belong to one person.

Strange. Evidently you were truly beginning to fixate too much on it.

"You deserve to know the truth, Isaiah. There's no point in deceiving you about this."

“So… you and Dracule Mihawk, hey? Are you two a couple?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure what we are. We haven’t spent much time together. The Marines sent him to hunt me down, whether I was dead or alive—it made no difference to them.”

He gulped nervously. “That would explain why the World Government let you go bounty-free overnight. You must be important to him if he managed to convince those bastards to give up on you.”

“I suppose, yeah.”

“And... I take it he’s the real reason things have changed between us?”

You nibbled on your lower lip. "Well..."

Isaiah offered a gentle smile. “No worries, I’m not upset or anything. I know I could never match up to someone like him. Honestly, I really value what we have right now.”

“Me too. It feels like we've grown even closer than we were before.”

“True, I believe that as well!”

Your relationship with Isaiah had evolved remarkably quickly. Despite your past intimate encounters, there was no awkwardness or discomfort between you. Your connection felt natural and unencumbered by expectations or possessiveness. You had seamlessly transitioned into a friendship built on mutual respect and a thriving work partnership, leaving behind any remnants of your previous physical involvement.

"I'm curious, though," Isaiah inquired. "How did he approach you? You didn't actually fight him, did you?"

"If I had, I'd be sashimi by now."

Isaiah snickered. "A very cute sashimi, I dare say."

"Ew."

"Okay, yeah, that's pretty disturbing. I swear I haven't developed any weird fetishes."

You burst into laughter, amused by the look of sudden revulsion on his face.

“Anyway, I just can't fathom how someone like him would let anyone walk away unscathed. Granted, you are a woman, but…”

You nodded. "He pursued me relentlessly. We'd cross paths frequently, and he'd chase me without fail. I'd always manage to slip away, and for a while, I found it exhilarating. But as time passed, I began to suspect there was more to this dance than met the eye."

Isaiah listened intently, a thoughtful expression on his face. "He never truly intended to capture or kill you."

You shook your head. "No. It seems he had no better way to occupy his time, and I gradually piqued his interest. He ultimately decided to let me go, completely disregarding the Marines' orders."

“It makes sense. He may be a Warlord of the Sea now, but he was once a pirate who took the lives of many authorities.”

“Yeah.”

Before leaving your island, you knew absolutely nothing about Mihawk or his reputation. You naively believed the Marines were purely benevolent, devoted to upholding peace and justice for the innocent. Consequently, you would have loathed someone like Mihawk or any pirate engaged in questionable activities. You were blissfully ignorant, trapped in an illusory world that never truly existed.

Reality wasn't simply black and white. Among pirates, one could find both villains and heroes, just as the ranks of Marines harbored numerous dubious characters.

“So, what’s it really like being involved with Dracule Mihawk? I’ve heard so many stories about him. Some say he’s as cold as ice, others claim he’s ruthlessly unforgiving. How do you even manage to deal with someone like that?”

Based on your observations, Mihawk was a formidable force in combat. He showed no quarter to those who dared challenge him or disrupt his peace. Yet, he wasn't one to take lives needlessly. At times, he would merely threaten his foes with his blade, allowing them to flee and spread tales of his prowess—a testament to his calculated approach to conflict.

While Mihawk wasn't known for his compassion, his sense of honor rivaled any act of kindness.

Then there was that hidden side only you had witnessed—his refined tastes and that romantic streak he struggled to express, yet which never failed to make your heart soar.

Your smile widened as you prepared to respond, but the moment you glanced up, your gaze locked with those unmistakable hawk-like eyes. The Warlord had materialized behind your best friend, his approach silent and stealthy.

"I mean, it must be something extraordinary if a man like that is interested in you,” Isaiah continued, oblivious to Mihawk’s imposing presence just a centimeter behind him.

Mihawk's face was partially hidden by the brim of his hat, his piercing eyes fixed on the back of Isaiah's head with such intensity it seemed as if they eyes could drill holes through it. You struggled to contain your laughter, finding the absurdity of the situation strangely amusing.

“Isaiah—”

“You’ve got to have nerves of steel to handle Dracule Mihawk. What’s he like when he’s not swinging that big sword of his around?”

Unable to respond, you covered your mouth with one hand in a futile attempt to stifle your laughter. Despite your efforts, the chuckles escaped, bubbling up irrepressibly.

Mihawk, now impossible to ignore, spoke in his characteristically calm and measured tone. "Perhaps it would be wiser to ask the man himself, wouldn't you agree?"

Isaiah froze, his eyes widening as he slowly turned to face Mihawk's imposing figure. Tension crackled in the air as the Warlord scrutinized your friend with an enigmatic stance. For a brief instant, time seemed to stand still, the two men locked in a silent, intense exchange.

And then, taken by a sudden wave of dread, Isaiah stammered. “M-Mihawk??!! I-I didn’t realize you were…”

Mihawk inclined his head slightly, a subtle smirk curling on his lips. "Clearly.”

A light, melodic laugh escaped your lips as you reached out, gently placing your hand on Mihawk's arm while rising from your seat."Relax, he's just curious. There's nothing to be concerned about."

Mihawk's eyes softened as he regarded you. The warm glow of the lanterns bathed his face in a beautiful orange hue, smoothing his features that had seemed tense upon arrival. "Curiosity can be a perilous thing," he remarked, his voice low but tinged with humor. "Especially when it involves discussing matters best kept private.”

Visibly flustered, Isaiah hastily stood up and placed some cash on the table to cover the bill. "Yes, of course. I should, uh, probably get going. It was nice catching up with you, Y/N.”

Guilt gnawed at your chest as you witnessed Isaiah's discomfort. He had graciously invited you to dinner, intending to treat you, but now felt obliged to depart due to Mihawk's imposing aura.

"No, wait, don't go."

Isaiah shot a nervous look at Mihawk before hastily retreating, offering you a shaky laugh and a wave. As he departed, he mouthed the words "Holy fucking shit," his astonishment at Mihawk’s blade unmistakable.

Even in such a situation, Isaiah still acted like his usual goofball self. You watched him leave, almost tripping over his feet, with a few more giggles shaking you up.

"Do you find this amusing?" Mihawk asked, his golden eyes boring into you with razor-sharp intensity.

“Will you hold it against me if I admit that I do?”

“I’m not accustomed to being a source of entertainment.”

“You should take it as a compliment,” you stated. “Not many people can make me laugh like this.”

"So, I’m competing with a jester now?”

“Oh, please. He’s not a jester, and there’s no contest here anyway.”

He rolled his eyes in annoyance, which heightened your joyous mood even more. “I suppose I will allow it. Just this once.”

With a satisfied sigh, you motioned for him to sit. Mihawk gracefully took the vacant seat opposite you (carefully positioning his blade to avoid any contact with the chair's back), his right hand resting on the table. "But I don’t take kindly to those who dare crossing the line.”

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Have you forgotten what I said?"

“Wha—”

"I have little patience for those who challenge the boundaries of what belongs to me."

"No one touches what’s mine and lives to tell the tale.”

“No one touches what’s mine.”

Could it be that he interpreted your outing as a date behind his back? Was Dracule Mihawk actually feeling jealous over a man he had completely misjudged?

You tilted your head, studying him. The protective tone in his words was both endearing and slightly concerning. "Mihawk," you began softly, "Isaiah is a good friend and an important merchant for my deals. He means no harm, and he definitely poses no threat to you or our relationship.”

His eyes met yours, searching intently as if probing the depths of your sincerity. "Perhaps," he acquiesced, though a trace of skepticism lingered in his voice. "But I’m not someone who likes to share.”

His words struck you with the force of a tempest, churning your stomach into knots. You found yourself swallowing hard, bracing for a follow-up that never came.

You reached out and gently clasped his hand, your touch tender and affectionate. Mihawk, however, remained motionless, neither returning the gesture nor pulling away."And what makes you think that I’d want to be shared?"

A profound silence settled between you, laden with unspoken thoughts. His hand remained stationary beneath yours, mirroring the very essence of the man himself.

After a momentous pause, his voice emerged. "That wasn't my implication."

You squeezed his hand. "Honestly, no one could ever replace you, and I have no desire to let anyone even try."

His fingers twitched subtly, his thumb grazing the emerald embedded in your ring. Mihawk's stoic nature often made him difficult to read, yet his inscrutable persona was an integral part of his charm.

Eventually, Mihawk withdrew his hand and stood up. "We should continue this discussion in a more private setting," he suggested, his voice carrying a hint of urgency.

Perplexed, you watched as he moved closer, firmly grasping your upper arm to assist you in standing.

"What are you doing?”

“Follow me.”

You had little choice but to accompany him as he led you decisively, his grip controlled yet insistent. An indescribable air surrounded him, compelling your compliance. Your heels clicked on the pavement as you traversed the streets, until he guided you around a corner.

His push was somewhat unsettling, hinting at a degree of frustration. The alley was cloaked in shadows, with only a few dim lights scattered around. You found yourself pressed against a wall, palms flat on its warm, rough surface. Mihawk drew closer, enveloping you with his arms, his hand gliding along your hip from behind.

It was uncharacteristic for him. Mihawk had always exuded composure, so why did it now appear as though he was unveiling a side of himself that seemed foreign?

"What's come over you?"

Mihawk exhaled softly, his warm breath caressing your ear as he whispered, "Did you truly believe I wouldn't notice the way you were looking at him?"

His question hung in the air, its razor-sharp edge sending a shiver down your spine. The alley seemed to constrict around you, shadows pressing closer as his words echoed in your mind.

"What? I wasn't looking at him that way at all."

“Is that so?”

His hold on your hip intensified, a gentle reminder of his strength without inflicting any discomfort. "Is this how you dress when you're meeting him?"

"No, and I'll tell you straight up; I dressed like this for myself, not for anyone else."

His warm breath ghosted over your skin. "Are you suggesting there was never anything between you two?"

“I—”

"Be truthful with me."

Denying or dismissing everything would have been futile; Mihawk wouldn't have believed you. You worried he might think you had been deceitful from the beginning, even though there was no reason to conceal something that happened long ago. Mihawk was the sole man who truly enthralled you, and you longed for him to understand this with absolute certainty.

"Okay, I'll be honest. There was something between us in the past. But Mihawk, whatever I had with Isaiah is long over and done with."

His fingers curled around the fabric of your dress, slowly lifting the hem as his hand grasped the light material. For a moment, he remained silent, the atmosphere heavy as you tried to decipher his thoughts. Your skirt inched higher up your thighs under his touch, and Mihawk finally released a low, contemplative hum. Despite his usual air of unwavering confidence and absolute control, a flicker of uncertainty now rippled through his calmness.

"You have an uncanny ability to catch me off guard," he admitted, his voice softer now, though a hint of anger could still be preceived. "It's... disconcerting."

While part of you felt anxious about him exposing your body on a public street where anyone could appear at any moment, you couldn't deny that the risk added an exhilarating thrill to the situation.

“Me? Catching Dracule Mihawk off guard? Now that's a tale worth telling.”

Mihawk's eyes narrowed, a little smile tugging at his lips despite the persisting trace of resentment. "Don’t be too proud of yourself. It’s not a common occurrence.”

"Well, maybe I should write it down for posterity.”

"Careful there," he warned playfully. "I might just make sure that tale never leaves your lips.”

You chuckled, feeling the tension melt away, replaced by a warm intimacy. "I wouldn't dream of it," you teased, tilting your head to meet his eyes. "But in all seriousness, Mihawk, I like keeping you on your toes.”

His hand traversed from your side to your front, deftly slipping beneath your dress and into your underwear. The unexpected touch sent a shiver of bliss through you, eliciting a soft gasp as his fingers circled your clit with gentle precision.

"Don’t push your luck too far. Even I have my limits.”

“L-limits? You?”

“They may be harder to reach than most.”

Your eyelids fluttered shut as his fingers caressed your nub, intensifying their strokes before moving down to your entrance. They slid inside, expertly locating that sensitive spot just behind your front wall, pressing and scissoring. You felt his unmistakable hardness against you through his trousers as he ground himself against your body, seeking a moment's relief.

"Well, there's certainly something harder right now."

Despite your best efforts, you found yourself unable to resist blurting out such awkward lines.

“You’re serious.”

"I know, that was awful," you admitted with a sheepish smile. "But you can't deny its accuracy."

"You may have a point," he acknowledged, pulling you closer as his warmth enveloped your back. "But let's attend to more pressing matters now, shall we?"

At that moment, you realized that Dracule Mihawk was capable, in very rare instances, of indulging in similarly dreadful humor.

"And here I thought my jokes were bad. It seems I'm rubbing off on you in all the wrong ways."

"You've underestimated your influence on me," he replied, his tone dry as ever yet infused with languidness. "It seems even the world's greatest swordsman can't fully resist your wit."

His fingers moved again, sliding in and out, creating a symphony of indecent sounds that you hoped wouldn't carry too far.

"Ah—So, you're saying I've corrupted you?" you managed, your voice breathy.

"You've merely unveiled a side of me that few have ever seen, myself included."

A warm flutter filled your chest at his words, recognizing the rarity of such lighthearted moments from the Warlord.

His coat was long and ample, draping forward to shield you from watchful eyes. The alley seemed utterly deserted, with the distant sounds of locals and tourists drifting in from the restaurant, nearby houses, or the beach. You jolted with unease whenever footsteps approached, only for them to fade away elsewhere.

Despite the risqué aspect of the situation, you yearned for him to escalate things further. It echoed the events on Mirror Ball Island, but with roles reversed and an added surge of adrenaline.

You strained your neck, reaching over to press your lips against his. This time, Mihawk returned the gesture, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth as he deepened the kiss.

His distinctive scent wafted through the air moments before he appeared behind Isaiah. It was unclear how long Mihawk had been waiting to reveal himself, but there he stood, watching you—the woman who had captured his interest—as you laughed and chatted with another man.

If you had seen Mihawk with a different woman, you would have been blindly furious and struggled to control your impulses. You would have charged in with all the subtlety of an elephant, yanked the lady out of her seat by her hair, and disregarded her or anyone else's reaction. In hindsight, Mihawk had displayed far more politeness and restraint than you ever could have mustered.

"I'm being completely honest with you," you emphasized. "There's absolutely nothing going on between Isaiah and me."

Mihawk's scrutiny returned, now devoid of any annoyance. "I don't doubt your loyalty," he clarified.

Your forefinger delicately traced the contours of his face, traversing as his coarse beard bristled against your skin.“Really? Because It's very important to me that you don't.”

"My concern isn't with you," he assured you. "But he would do well not to test my patience on this matter."

You smiled, brushing your forehead against the bridge of his nose. “He won’t. He’s not that type of man. Besides, I’m sure he got the message loud and clear tonight.”

"I can make it even more effective."

“Absolutely, but please don't. He's a decent guy and not really one for fighting.”

“Mh.”

His hand resumed its earlier motion, his fingertips now tracing your clit with fervor. The slick friction felt even more exquisite this time, quickening your breath and making your legs tremble.

The urgency of the situation, combined with his evident arousal, made it clear you wouldn't last much longer. It was remarkable how quickly he could undo you, setting your pulse racing and igniting every nerve, making your your body come alive.

You reached behind his head, arching your back slightly to convey your intention. "This is great, but why don't you take me now?"

With a raised eyebrow, he gazed deeply into your eyes, his own smoldering with recognition of your growing desire. "Are you really that eager for me?"

"You're the one who initiated this."

He took his fingers out and spread your wetness, assessing your readiness. "Hmm. You're certainly primed," he observed.

Without hesitation, you slid your hand down to his pants, slipping it into the narrow space between his front and your backside. You gently squeezed, feeling his hardness as your fingers encircled the base, still constrained by his clothing.

As was his custom, Mihawk released a quiet breath through his nose. The metallic click of his belt unbuckling reached your ears, followed by the soft rustle of his trousers sliding down his hips. You guided your touch without sight, bringing your fingers up until they met the smooth, heated skin of his tip. A wave of stiffness swept through the nerves in your neck and shoulders, twisting your bent elbow and wrist. You anticipated the next day's soreness, yet felt no regret for your current actions.

Mihawk's passion commanded as he guided your hand along his length in a slow, measured stroke. His fingers left your core, trailing downward to grasp the edge of your panties.

It was a dangerous game, yet you were powerless to resist its enticement.

“Please, hurry," you pleaded, widening your stance to grant him better access.

You had never envisioned yourself engaging in such intimate acts in public, vulnerable to potential onlookers. Yet with Mihawk, even the most inconceivable scenarios blossomed into extraordinary escapades.

"If you want me to continue, be aware that I won't stop, no matter what happens."

Were you truly ready to be intimate like this, knowing he would persist even if passersby appeared?

Undoubtedly.

"It’s fine, go ahead. I'm ready. Just make it quick."

Silence fell between you as Mihawk shifted your undergarments, exposing you beneath the partially lifted dress. With a strong pull, he guided you into position, angling your body for optimal alignment. He entered you in one fluid motion, causing you to squirm with your palms pressed firmly against the wall.

The sensation was divine. He filled you entirely, his perfect fit stimulating every sensitive spot inside you. You let out a sigh as you kept yourself from moaning out loud, clenching your inner muscles whenever he thrust in and out of your body.

This time, however, there was a change in Mihawk's movements—a nuance absent from previous encounters. Though barely noticeable, a trace of suppressed irritation seemed to drive his actions, as if he were expressing his discontent through the act in his own sophisticated way.

And that dynamic perfectly matched with your needs.

He quickened his pace, undulating his pelvis more aggressively, precision giving way to frenzy. Your eyes closed as the salty breeze carried the mingled scents of the town and Mihawk's distinctive aroma to your lungs.

His fingers found your sensitive bud once more, caressing and teasing it just how you both savored it. Waves of pleasure traveled along your body, causing your hand to fly from the wall to his elbow.

His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Tell me, has anyone else ever made you feel this way?"

"What's brought this on?" you asked, breathless.

His possessive streak surfaced. "Has your precious Isaiah ever satisfied you like this?"

“Jeez, Mihawk. I don’t—”

“Answer my question.”

Who could have predicted that a casual dinner with a friend would spark such an emotional journey?

You hesitated to compare two such different men, but Mihawk's persistence left you no alternative. It was clear he expected a specific response, and wouldn't accept your reluctance to answer.

Finally, you yielded. "No, he hasn't. No man ever has."

"Excellent. Keep that in mind."

A tingling sensation spread through your limbs as your entire form surrendered to his touch. Rushes of pure euphoria radiated from your belly, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

His impressive size and raw power were utterly disarming. The constant sounds of skin meeting skin, the wet noises of intimacy, and the symphony of heavy breaths and soft groans created the most exquisite melody you'd ever heard. Mihawk was unparalleled, and you couldn't envision a future with anyone else but him.

Just as you thought you could hold on, a precise pinch to your clit shattered your resolve. Your climax erupted, shaking you from head to toe as you struggled to stay upright. A moan escaped your lips, echoing off the alley walls, but you were beyond caring at that point. The only thing that mattered was your absolute rapture.

Mihawk continued, his fingers never ceasing their massage of your clit as his hips maintained their ravenous pace.

He reached his release only after a few more thrusts, joining you at the pinnacle of pleasure. With each pulse, he exhaled softly into your hair, and his well-honed physique exhibited faint tremors.

And then it was over, your face flushed from the exertion, the air around you feeling hotter and more stifling. As he withdrew, straightening your back felt like you were a nonagenarian, with your joints creaking and muscles protesting in agony.

You took a moment to catch your breath and compose yourself, while Mihawk adjusted his attire with his usual nonchalance. You fixed your undergarments and smoothed your dress back into place, your gestures discreet yet elegant. Your hair had become slightly disheveled, so you ran your fingers through it, sweeping it back and away from your face.

Once you finished tidying yourself, looking somewhat more presentable, you pivoted on your heels and leaned against the wall, folding your arms across your chest. Mihawk gave the lapels of his coat a light tug, meeting your eyes once more with a smoldering ardor you hadn't seen before. His hat stayed perfectly positioned atop his head, its white feather still impeccably in place.

The simple exchange of glances held an undeniable magnetism. Your lips curved into a mischievous grin, your breathing still quickened from the passionate interlude. Decisively, you pushed yourself off the wall and grasped the strings of his golden cross knife, using them to pull him forcefully towards you, his body yielding to your bold impulse.

As your eyes landed on the emerald adorning your ring, you were struck by its uncanny resemblance to the stone set at the end of Yoru's hilt. It was purely coincidental, yet the fact that you could associate this precious finding with him in multiple ways didn't surprise you.

Some connections are forged by fate, as if preordained by the universe itself. Though it might have been overly sentimental or an exaggeration, Mihawk was giving you every reason to believe you could wish for more.

“I hope this goes both ways. Because I'm not one for sharing either,” you asserted. "After all, I doubt anyone else could handle you quite like I do."

Mihawk repositioned one of your dress straps, sliding it back into place as it had partially slipped off your shoulder. It was simple and spontaneous, likely done without much deliberation. Yet, you found it incredibly heartwarming.

"Your assessment is correct," he stated. "And I have no interest in pursuing this elsewhere."

"Then we're on the same page."

A ghost of a smirk played at the corners of Mihawk's lips as his hand settled back on your waist.

"Though maybe next time, let’s not scare my friend half to death,” you suggested.

"I make no guarantees," he replied, his tone unapologetic.

Your lips found his in a soft kiss that spoke volumes without a single word—a silent vow from which Mihawk was unable to break away.

Ultimately, the Warlord had effectively succeeded in his task; you had fallen irrevocably into his grasp, never to be relinquished.

And unbeknownst to you, there was so much more to come, in ways you could only glimpse in your wildest imagination.

Author's final note: Phew, this one was quite spicy. The next chapter will include less smut and some more relationship development. Also, unless something else comes to mind, chapter 8 should align with the events from the liveaction/anime/manga.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 7 (coming soon) ->

[katerina-marie]

The Tragedy of a Duality

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader and (Past) Ryomen Sukuna x Female Reader

Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3, Chp 4, Chp 5, Chp 6, Chp 7 (Final)

In the present, you are a sorcerer and the cherished wife of the Honored One. In an era long gone, remembered by only one, you were ordinarily human and the beloved bride of the King of Curses. How fitting it would be, in an evening of destruction, to have your heart torn in two.

Content: JJK Universe and Canon Events (tho tweaked to incorporate reader), Fluff, Angst, Flashbacks, Ambiguous ending, Violence, Death, Female reader but left descriptively vague, No use of y/n, True Form Sukuna in the past, Itadori Yuji is Sukuna's vessel in the present but nothing inappropriate b/n reader and Itadori as the vessel, Innuendos, Allusions to + Vaguely described sex so avoid accordingly, Mildly Possessive and Jealous Satoru. Will add more CW to each chapter if needed.

WC: 6.1k

Chapter 5

You suspect that Sukuna still knows it’s you approaching the doors of his bathing chamber even if your footsteps are rendered nearly silent because of the stockings on your feet. The hour is late and the night is cool, and you are just a little vexed that he hadn’t come to see you upon returning home from his two weeks away. When one of the maids had whispered the news to you as you sat reading in the room you share with Sukuna, you hadn’t dallied and only slid on a robe over your nightgown before slipping into the hall.

Now, however, when you stand in front of large, double wood doors with your fist poised to knock, you find yourself hesitating. You still aren’t quite certain of how far your formalities with your new husband are supposed to go. Three months is barely enough time to become familiar with a person, let alone bind yourself to them in matrimony, yet you’ve resigned yourself to both. In an effort to find success in such endeavors, you’ve dipped your toes into the metaphorical waters and pushed at what boundaries you could find when it comes to establishing your place at Sukuna’s side, even when it proves difficult. 

When his temper isn’t mercurial he’s stoic, when it isn’t enough for him to be quiet he hides behind aloofness, and the rest of your communication is all done in some annoyingly blunt manner. Teaching Sukuna tact isn’t something you had foreseen as a wifely duty for yourself, but alas, maybe the two of you would be better off for it.

“You may enter.” 

The suddenness of his voice makes you jump, and you realize Sukuna must have grown tired of sensing you waiting and contemplating on the other side of the door. Embarrassment warms your cheeks, and you consider fleeing back to your room, but something about the weariness of his words stills your feet. Concern has you pressing open the doors. 

Thick steam rises to meet you and billows out behind you into the hall until you shut the doors again. Hundreds of candles are scattered along the perimeter to cast flickering light against the walls. The room is humid and damp, and instantly the fabric of your nightgown begins to stick to your skin uncomfortably. Below you three steps down is an expansive pool built into the floor. Large grey stones and black tile trim the edges of it, and at the end farthest from you, Sukuna lounges on a ledge in waist deep water. You blanch when you notice the pink tint of it and when your eyes flick to the corner behind him, soiled linens lay in a heap of dirt and blood and who knows what else. 

“You have returned,” you say in lieu of a greeting. You carefully maneuver down the set of stairs and stop when your toes reach the edge of the pool across from him. A grumbling noise is his only response until Sukuna lifts his upper set of arms out of the water and drapes them along the edge of the pool. Two of his fingers on his right hand curl back and forth in a request for you to come nearer. Not interested in denying him, you pad over to him, mindful of the slickness of the floor and the stockings still on your feet. 

You come to a halt next to his left arm, and you have to stifle a gasp because the state of him is evident up close. Sukuna’s hair is saturated in blood and drying in matted clumps. Dirt and more blood mar the skin of his face and chest not obscured by his tattoos. For a second, you fret over how much of it might be his own, but there are no visible wounds to his body and you shove down the building panic. 

Sukuna continues to watch you, and when you cast your eyes about the room and they fall onto a basket of cloth in a corner, an idea comes to mind. 

You tilt your head towards the basket. “May I?” 

He turns infinitesimally, and you see his eyes flick back to where you indicated. After he gives an elegant nod of his head, you scurry over to the basket and lift into your arms. Back at Sukuna’s side, you glance between the steaming water, the awaiting cloth, and the hem of your robe that is darkened from the moisture it has already absorbed. Without debating it further, you undo the tie that keeps your robe shut and shrug it off your shoulders. In the next instant, your nightgown falls to your feet and the warmth of the room hits your bare skin. You toe off your stockings last, and just as you go to step down into the water, Sukuna lifts an arm to supply you a steadying hand. 

When you first enter the water, the heat of it stings your skin and draws a hiss from between your teeth. You go to lower yourself to your knees next to Sukuna’s side, but halfway down his hand tightens around yours and pulls you forward. His other hand helps you straddle his hips, and the burn of the water continues up your body to where it laps at your shoulder blades. At least you could blame the heat in your cheeks on the temperature of the room, though whether Sukuna would believe that to be the cause over the way his naked body is flush against yours is unlikely. 

Sukuna reaches with the arms not on you for the basket of linens. He drags it across the stone so it is within your reach and then lets his eyes drift closed as his body relaxes. You feel a smile tugging at your lips, and with a gentle hand, you dip a cloth into the water and wipe away the grime on his face. You brush over his brow and then trace down his cheek, pausing every so often to wet the cloth again before it becomes so dirty that you discard it and replace it with a clean one. When you finish with his face, you continue down his neck to his shoulders and then the solid plane of muscle that is his chest. 

From your peripheral, you catch Sukuna looking at you through a single slitted lower eye. His stare isn’t critiquing, nor is it cautious or wary. Instead, though it’s difficult to be sure through the steam, you would think it’s focused, content on following every lithe movement of yours across his body. One of his lower arms is wrapped around the small of your back while the other grasps your thigh under the water. His nails scratch softly and mindlessly, back and forth, and the act of it sends goosebumps all over the skin exposed to the air. Dare you think, Sukuna missed you. 

“Why did you hesitate outside the doors?” 

“Is that what I was doing?” you ask innocently. A glance from beneath your lashes gives you a glimpse of a frown on his face. 

“You are my wife, are you not?” And Sukuna clearly is not interested in whatever evasive game you try to play. You scrunch your nose in defeat. 

“I suppose so, in every sense of the word.” 

“Then I must ask you again: why did you hesitate?” 

Your sigh is long, and you let your hands fall into the pool with a small splash. “I am not sure,” you tell him honestly. “Perhaps you intimidate me. I am still getting to know you, and what you allow of me.” 

Sukuna’s face is surprised and pensive. “Do I?” 

“Mhm,” you hum, and you lift your hand out of the water to resume wiping at his skin with a soaking wet cloth. “Quite the reputation precedes you, if you are not aware.” 

A hand smooths up your spine. “Well, let me be the one to reassure you, Wife.” 

You assume Sukuna will further part your thighs or find some hidden place on your body with his lips that makes you call out for him, but instead, one of his fingers hooks under your chin so he can raise it up until your eyes meet his. The burning red of them is intense.

“Would it please you to hear how your beauty bewitched me the moment I saw you standing under that pear tree?” 

Your breath hitches, and the cloth in your hand tumbles into the water with a heavy plop. 

“Or,” Sukuna continues, and there is a genuine grin that is beginning to form on his face, “I can tell you how your intellect and wit far surpasses anyone else’s that I know. You are stunning and magnificent in all your ways.

“If I had not kept you for myself, if my selfishness was not near as great, then ultimately, some worthless mortal man in that unassuming village of yours would have asked for your hand and never realized the treasure he keeps under his fingers.” 

Your body flushes warm all over, and you can no longer blame it on the heat of the water. You know Sukuna can hear your heart pounding because it is ringing in your own ears, and he confirms it when another hand slides up to settle over it in between your breasts.

“Do not cower from me,” he tells you, and his voice is resolute in its sincerity. “Come to me, when you feel so inclined, and I will always be willing to let you find me.” 

You are rendered speechless from his declaration and thoroughly flustered in every other way. Sukuna watches you patiently as your mouth opens and closes as you try to come up with some dignified response, but nothing sensible finds your tongue and you look everywhere but at him. 

There is a chuckle from Sukuna, and he lets his hand on your chest and back drift away to give you whatever space needed to not overwhelm you. Contented, he seems, he leans back again and shuts his eyes while waiting for you to continue with your earlier ministrations. 

You are thankful that his focus is no longer on you, and with a stuttered breath, you pick up another cloth to dip in the water and resume making progress on removing the evidence of whatever battles Sukuna fought from his skin. 

A few minutes later, once you have finished with his body, you turn to his hair and click your tongue in disapproval. “Did you not have the opportunity to bathe?”

Sukuna opens one eye lazily and grunts. “I did.”  

“Truly? The state of your hair and body would prove otherwise.” 

Hands tighten on your waist and thigh and now all of Sukuna’s eyes are on you. 

“I was occupied the last remaining days,” he refutes. “Besides, now I have no intention of doing it myself ever again when I know I could have your assistance instead.” 

There is heat in his voice, but you ignore it in favor of cleaning his hair. You rest your knees on top of Sukuna’s thighs and sit yourself up as tall as you can in order to stretch your arms up and above his head. One by one, you pick out bits of leaves and other questionable objects before softening the blood in it with warm water. Your stomach tilts and churns as you comb the matted parts loose with your fingers, but you manage to keep any bile down as you rinse it out. 

Sukuna sits relatively still and patient with eyes closed as the water runs down his face and over his shoulders, but as you spend an extra minute working at a particularly heinous knot right above his ear, you feel him nipping at the underside of your breast. The scraping of his teeth draws a squeal from your mouth as you shy away from him, but the strength of his grip doesn’t allow you to venture far. Instead, he urges you closer against his chest and looks up at you with eyes that are asking and beseeching.

Sukuna has never forced you. Not into the marriage that saves you from a bleak life of nothingness in a village that is equally lackluster. Not into his bed the night after the ceremony, though you did find yourself there and under him willingly. And not anytime after that, despite his best efforts in persuading you to indulge in him. He still does not now, even when you can feel him between your legs. 

There must be something answering and pleading on your face because Sukuna suddenly has two hands that grip at your rear while another cradles your jaw and brings your head close to his. Water splashes at the edge of the pool, and the knot in his hair is all but forgotten.You rock against him in a way that wrenches a gasp from you and a rumble from his throat, but you pause in making any more movement with your hips to whisper against his lips.

“Promise you will take me with you the next time you must leave and every time after that.” 

Sukuna grins at you, and it is devious and thrilling all at once. “Anything you desire, you shall have.” 

---------------------------

When you pop your head around the doorframe of Nanami Kento’s office, he is hunched over his desk with a pen in one hand and the side of his face propped up in the other. 

The paper he’s focused on is full of an elegant script you’ve always been envious of. Even in school, when Nanami was staunchly dedicated to transcribing every lecture in writing, the delicate strokes of his letters and the straightness of his sentences made his notes akin to art. You would tell him so at every opportunity, and the way the bridge of his nose would flare pink afterwards was a test to every bit of your self control to not squeeze him out of some affection-induced aggression. 

To this day he continues the habit, even if his face is lined by exhaustion and the burden of responsibility. Nanami has not once forgone wearing his fine-pressed suit or rather uncouthly patterned tie since returning to sorcery after abandoning corporate monotony—despite your gentle coaxing to do so. And the sight of him now, when it’s way past lunchtime and he clearly hasn’t taken a break all morning, makes you ever more grateful that you managed to stop at a quaint little bakery on your way back to the school. Nanami is perfectly capable and independent to nearly a fault, but you can’t help thinking he’d do well with someone to care for him. 

“Hey there,” you announce, and you do so delicately to avoid spooking him. When Nanami lifts his eyes to see who awaits at his door, you let yourself in and share a kind smile as he sits back in his chair and plucks his glasses from his face.

“Hello. It is always a pleasure to see you.” 

You don’t miss the emphasis on that last word, and you can’t help the giggle that arises from it. Anyone who has been around long enough knows of Nanami’s meager tolerance for Satoru’s antics. Diametrically opposed in their personalities, the two of them have just as many—if not more—moments of ire-filled tension than any that are relaxed and easy, and oftentimes one is in need of saving from the other (namely Nanami.) So, when he’s already worn out and not looking to be overstimulated, you know Nanami is grateful to not see your other half trailing behind you as he usually does.

“Even more so today,” you tell him, swinging a brown paper bag containing a fresh sandwich and half a dozen varieties of bread at your side before plopping it on his desk. “I’ve come bearing gifts.” 

Nanami has already been eyeing the bag since before you set it down, no doubt catching a whiff of the intoxicating scent of freshly baked bread when you entered the room, and in an impressive show of self restraint, says, 

“You shouldn’t have.”

“I insist.” You wave your hand dismissively as you fall back into one of the two tan wingback chairs Nanami has situated in front of his desk. “Besides, it’s not an entirely selfless offering. Or at least not completely. Consider it partly as a thanks for doing Satoru’s research a while back, and also because I would like to pick your brain if you can spare the time.” 

Nanami’s hand is halfway into the bag by the time you finish, and a small part of you feels bad when he withdraws it so he can sit up straight in his chair and turn his attention to you. The other half of you is desperate for information and doesn’t get hung up on the fact he’ll have to wait a couple more minutes for his lunch. 

“Of course,” Nanami says, interlacing his fingers together and resting them on his desk. “What can I assist you with?”

“Did you find anything else in your research on Sukuna pertaining to a wife of his?” you ask. “It’s not that I don’t have faith in Satoru to keep the information straight, but I just want to make sure he didn’t accidentally leave anything out, I guess.” 

Nanami nods in understanding. “I shared with Satoru everything I found, but to be thorough, why don’t you repeat what he told you and I’ll let you know if anything is missing.” 

You tell Nanami everything Satoru told you that night verbatim, but to your disappointment, he is shaking his head at the end. 

“That is the entirety of it, I’m afraid.”

You slump in your seat as some of the wind leaves your metaphorical sails. It’s not as though you expect some grand, unspoken details to emerge from the depths of Nanami’s brain, but you did hold on to some meager hope that he’d have something new to share.

 “I was wishing that wasn’t the case.” You sigh, and Nanami looks apologetic, but you let go of the disappointment in favor of moving on to your next question. “Next thing, if you don’t mind. I know since Itadori ate that one finger he’s—,”

“Three fingers, actually,” Nanami interrupts hesitantly.

“Three?” you repeat flatly, and he nods. “Where did the other two come from?” 

Nanami leans back in his chair as his eyes flick upward in consideration, and then takes a moment to click through his computer and scan through something before shifting back to answer you. 

“The first is the one Itadori found at his school and then consumed while trying to help Fushiguro. I’m assuming Gojo came home from that assignment late and told you about it?”

How could a name sound so familiar when you know you have never heard it before?

It’s your turn to nod as you stare a bit dazedly at your longtime friend. Surely Satoru didn’t intentionally withhold the information about the extra fingers from you, but you’re still shocked that you’re just now hearing it from Nanami. 

“The second Itadori ate the same day Sukuna appeared in the lounge and claimed you were his wife. Gojo gave it to him later in the afternoon.” Your mind flashes back to the unassuming black box almost hidden under used napkins. 

And the strange dream and odd tingling of your skin that followed later that night. An eerie, but reasonable coincidence?

“The third?” Something in your voice must be off because Nanami looks at you with a furrow of his brows.

“Itadori informed us that Sukuna ingested the third finger after he took over during the first year’s assignment at the detention center.”

Another vanishing dream; the urging throb in your chest; the same white-noise sensation over your arms while in the morgue. Denial could make anything sound like a second coincidence, right?

“Oh,” you breathe out, and your nail bites into the meat of your finger as your hands sit in your lap. “I didn’t realize I was missing out on all that information.” 

“I thought Gojo would have told you about the second, but the record of the third was documented in the report that Shoko wrote up that night.”

You must have stopped paying attention to the words on the paper by that point. 

The sigh you release sounds just as tired as Nanami looks, and he offers you a small smile of shared pity. 

“All that’s to say, there are twenty fingers total that Itdaori will ultimately come to consume, and that will result in the full manifestation of Sukuna’s power as it was a thousand years ago. It’s just a matter of time until we find them all.” 

For once, you did happen to know about the extra set of arms that Sukuna had, hence the twenty fingers, but it wasn’t something you like to think about too much. The idea of it is a tad off putting. Freaky, if you have to choose a word. What is concerning to you, however, is a burgeoning theory you aren’t sure you believe that is unfortunately taking up space in your head. 

Would these bizarre dreams you can’t quite remember and the odd sensations on your skin continue to occur each time Itadori ingests a finger? And what could possibly happen when he eats the last one? 

“That sounds ominous,” you say because you don’t know how else to describe it. 

Nanami sighs and leans back in his chair. “We’ll all be here to handle it together, I suppose.” 

Your only response is a nod, and you glance about Nanami’s office before pushing off your knees to get up. 

“I appreciate your help. But now,” you tell him with mock sternness, “please enjoy your lunch.” 

Nanami’s face lights up, and he reaches for the bag with an enthusiasm only reserved for his favorite indulgences in life. It brings a smile to your face.

He says his thanks as you turn to leave his office, but just before you walk out the door, you spin back around. Your eyes flick to a little postcard that sits on a bookshelf behind his desk—an image of golden sand and sparkling blue water—and you call his name just as Nanami is bringing the sandwich to his mouth. 

“You should really take that vacation soon,” and Nanami’s eyes go soft as a chagrined smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You deserve it.”

---------------------------

“You’re hovering.” 

“Is that what I’m doing?” 

“Mhm.” 

“I like to think of it as I would rather never be parted from you.”

“The intention behind the action is what differentiates the two, Satoru.” 

It is not unusual for Gojo Satoru to always be right at your side at any given moment. 

“Concerningly over-attached,” is what Nanami calls it. 

“Clingy is an understatement,” Shoko remarks most days. 

“Dedicated,” is how Satoru proudly puts it. 

For you, it’s somewhere in the middle, maybe a combination of all three, but trying to decipher which one it is at any specific time is more work than you care to commit. All you know is that you don’t really mind that your husband trails after you like a love-sick puppy, or that he will always slip his hand into yours if he thinks it’s been too long since the last time he touched you. If anything, you’d argue you are equally besotted with Satoru, though maybe you reserve your physical proof of such for when it’s just the two of you. 

No matter, you would never take for granted how Satoru chooses to express his love for you, but it feels like as of late that his constant presence near you has more to do with who resides in your shared student than his desire to spend every waking moment with you while you’re at work. 

“Fine,” Satoru pouts, and he slumps over you to rest his chin on your shoulder. You’d normally bat him away for showing physical affection in front of the students, but Itadori is currently preoccupied with practicing fighting stances in the obscure training building you found in a remote part of campus, so you decide to indulge Satoru while the two of you stand in the corner observing him. 

“Care to tell me why?” you ask. You reach your arm up behind you and around his neck so you can scratch your nails through his hair, and it earns you a pleased grumble. You can feel the vibrations of it where he is pressed against your back, and you smirk—both at the sound and the way you know it’s an effective tactic to get Satoru to loosen his tongue. 

“I dunno,” he mumbles, more focused on turning his head every which way so that he can receive the maximum amount of scratches. “Just checking in on you.” 

You would narrow your eyes at Satoru if he were looking at you, but he isn’t, so you give a gentle, albeit pointed, tug of his hair. He whines and lifts his head from your shoulder. 

“You sure about that?” 

Satoru comes around to stand in front of you, though not quite enough to block Itadori from your view, and his face is drawn in some sort of concern. “I promise, I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

A weary sigh puffs your cheeks as you let it out, and you tip your chin down a little as you level Satoru with a look. 

“And I assured you that I was alright.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Satoru says, and you can’t see if there is any worry in his eyes through his blindfold, but you hear it in his voice, “but you looked upset last night when I got to the morgue and he—,” 

“I was just a little taken aback, Satoru.” 

You do reach out for his hand and give it a squeeze in reassurance, and your heart does the same when he takes in a stuttered inhale. It’s not like Satoru to be so anxious, and you try to put aside whatever disgruntlement you have in favor of making sure he feels alright. He smiles at you in return, but you note how it’s not quite as bright as usual. 

“You would tell me if there is something to be concerned about, right?” 

The question is unexpected, and you hate how it puts something inside of you on the immediate defensive. 

You smile tightly at him. “You know I would, Satoru.” 

You assume he’s studying you before he finally nods, and when he takes a step back, you pull your phone from your pocket to check the time. “Off to train Fushiguro?” 

“Yup,” Satoru quips, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ll pop back in later?” 

You bob your head a bit half-heartedly in acknowledgement before giving him a small wave goodbye. Satoru hesitates in turning towards the door to leave, but when he finally does, he calls for Itadori to offer his encouragement. 

“This month will go by quickly, Yuji. You’ll see.” 

And to some extent, Satoru is right. 

Itadori bounces back from his temporary stint in the land of the dead with relative ease and normalcy. He is eager to return to his training, and though he’s disappointed his survival has to remain a secret from his friends a while longer, he complies without complaint. From then on, the days pass with little-to-know fanfare. However, much to your displeasure, it doesn’t escape your notice that you aren’t left alone with Itadori for very long at any given time. 

Nanami claims he’s hiding from Satoru when he slips into the lounge with you and Itadori some afternoons. The boy is ecstatic to see him and hangs off every word Nanami shares with you two, but you eye him suspiciously, a little amused at how he very intently refuses to meet your gaze. You decide not to pester him too much about it, figuring that it isn’t his decision that is forcing him here, and instead you watch as Itadori does his best to crack a smile from your normally impassive friend. The two of you both cheer enthusiastically when Nanami inevitably gives in to a grin with a shake of his head. 

On other days, Satoru is already spread out on the sofa next to Itadori by the time you make it to them. Even through his blindfold you can tell that he watches Itadori carefully when you come around the sofa to greet them, but when nothing happens and Itadori simply gives you a wave and happy smile, Satoru’s shoulders relax. He reaches out for you when you stand in front of the two of them, but you are mindful of your student in the room and only allow Satoru a quick brush of your arm before you step away and laugh at the pout on his face. 

As for Sukuna, he keeps himself relatively scarce except for the rare instance. Every once in a while during training, Itadori’s eyes go blank when they are set on you. You do your best to ignore it, and once Satoru catches on to it, he’s quick to step in between and block you from Itadori’s line of sight. On another random afternoon, when you return to the lounge with your lunch in tow, a bright green pear is waiting at your place at the small dining table on one side of the room. You look questioningly at Itadori, but he only gives you an unaffected shrug, too preoccupied with shoveling his own meal into his mouth to bother with an explanation. 

When you ask Satoru about it later, assuming it was him who left the pear since he would be the only one who pays attention to your favorite snacks, his face hardens before he denies that it was his doing. You stare at each other in the following silence, and you know both of you are thinking the same thing: 

Sukuna. 

You know it’s nothing, that at the end of the day, whatever minute happenstances that occur between you and Sukuna mean nothing. Satoru, however, seems to vehemently disagree, and his penchant for hovering tips into the realm of the excess. By the time the month of Itadori’s sequestration is over, you’ve reached your limit for how much you can handle Satoru and his lingering doubts without any conversation being had about it. 

So, you breeze into your shared office one evening, long after the school day ends, and round on him with hands on your hips as you ask point blank, 

“What are you doing?”

Satoru isn’t surprised to see you, clearly having sensed you coming since his blindfold is already hanging around his neck, and he turns to you from the computer on your desk with a smile. 

“I’m actually working. You should be proud,” he says blithely and folds his hands primly in front of the keyboard. His voice is light, if not a bit snippy, but you notice the rigid straightness of Satoru’s shoulders and the way he seems to be guarding himself, and it keys you into the fact he’s playing dumb. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

He’s unbothered by the unimpressed arching of your brow and the way you cross your arms over your chest while your toe taps against the rug on the floor. “Oh?”

You let out a sigh of frustration and poke your tongue into your cheek. “Nanami has been supervising every session I’ve had with Itadori this month.” 

Satoru shrugs, dismissive in his attitude. “Maybe he’s missed hanging out with you.” 

A muscle under your eye twitches, and you struggle to keep your voice calm. Arguing with Satoru is something that seldom occurs, but when it does, your spats tend to escalate more than you would like—a wrongdoing you are both culpable for. “And what about the times he was unavailable? You were always there before I even arrived.” 

“Well, have you thought that maybe I missed—,” 

Your patience vanishes. “Satoru, that’s enough!”

The sudden loudness of your voice and the command that snaps from your mouth stuns him into clicking his jaw shut as he jerks back against his chair. His earlier smile is long gone, and the frown that takes its place is hard and displeased. If you weren’t already so worked up, both by Satoru’s overprotectiveness and now his antagonizing behavior, you’d let the argument go in favor of having a more productive conversation when the two of you have had a moment to calm down.

“That was uncalled for, I’m sorry,” you admit, but you scrub your hand over your face before letting it flop back against your side in frustration. “I just…really, really don’t like feeling like I’m being babysat because someone is doubting my abilities or questioning the trust they have in me.” 

Satoru’s expression changes into one of confused alarm, and he pushes back from the desk to make his way over to you in just three long-legged strides. 

“That’s not what I think,” he insists, crossing his arms in front of his chest so he mirrors your stance. 

“Really? Because that’s how it comes off.” You glance over Satoru’s shoulder out the window of your office and then look at a picture of the two of you hanging on the wall before returning to him. “Is this about Sukuna?” 

Satoru looks taken aback. “Why would this be about him?”

“What else on earth could this possibly be about, Satoru?” You gape at him in bewilderment and bristle at how unforthcoming he’s being. “Is what he said bothering you?” 

“Of course not!”

“Are you sure? Then explain to me why it’s only ever when I’m working with Itadori that you and Nanami just decide to come join us. That never happens when I train Fushiguro and Kugisaki.” 

Satoru sputters and drags a hand roughly through the ends of his hair. “I’m just looking out for you. I promise I—,” 

“But why? I am perfectly capable of protecting myself!” A thought crosses his mind and you gawk at him accusingly. “Do you think I’d be unfaithful?” 

Satoru’s eyes bulge and he waves his hands wildly in denial. “No! No, of course not. That’s not it at all.” 

But he pauses for a moment and his tongue darts out over his lips as he considers his next words. Even the brief hesitation stings and you feel your hands begin to tremble. “I just…what if what Sukuna says is true and you—,”

“‘I’ what? He’s a monster, Satoru!” you burst out in frustration. One of your hands slashes up through the air and you feel your throat go tight as tears burn your eyes. For a split second, you wonder which of the two of you needs the reminder more.

Sukuna is nothing more than a latent curiosity, an academic inquiry, a brief musing when boredom strikes.

 “Sukuna is evil and a murderer, and there should be no reason that conceivably convinces you that I would ever entertain the idea of being with him willingly! Where did that idea even come from? Do you really think that lowly of me?” 

Your voice rings out in the quiet of the room, and you’re left breathing heavily as Satoru stares at you with wide eyes. When his shoulders start to sag and his chin lowers in defeat, the haze of anger and betrayal fades, and you start to feel incredibly guilty. 

“Satoru—,”

Someone clearing their throat behind you interrupts whatever attempt at an apology you are about to make, and when you spin around to see who is there, Itadori is standing in the doorway of your office with a sheepish expression on his face. Your heart sinks to your stomach and embarrassment heats your cheeks as you take a deep breath. 

“I-I’’m sorry,” Itadori stutters, and his eyes flick between you and where Satoru still stands behind you. His feet begin to shuffle backwards seemingly on their own accord and he rubs a hand at his temple. “I wanted to ask Gojo-sensei about the reveal tomorrow, but it can wait.” Itadori spins on his heel as he waves hurriedly. “Sorry again for the interruption!”

The boy is gone before you can get a word out, and with a disappointed groan, you turn back to Satoru and throw an arm out in the direction Itadori just fled. “One of us should go after him.” 

His sigh of defeat hits you in the chest and has you yearning to reach for him, but Satoru is already stepping around you and towards the door before you make up your mind to move. 

“I’ll do it,” he mumbles, and you hate how he yanks his blindfold up over his eyes without looking once at you. “We’ll talk later.” 

Without another word, Satoru is gone, and you’re left in the silence of your office to stew over how things went wrong so quickly. 

---------------------------

A/N: Just two more chapters after this 🥹

Taglist (open): @kalopsia-flaneur ; @kafanizdakicokiyi

[hpowellsmith]

Honor Bound Early Access: Chapter 7

I'm delighted to share Honor Bound Chapter 7 for £6+ subscribers on Patreon! You can skip any number of chapters to start at the chapter of your choice, or you can play through the whole thing. You can try loading an old save, but you may need to start a fresh one.

Chapter 7 and various earlier edits add around 31,000 words, bringing this latest demo to around 294,000 words - that's nearly the whole of Blood Money!

In this chapter you will encounter:

a lot of bad things

Enjoy! (or endure)

[valentiinexo]

noticed something on my acofas reread that adds to the thought that it wasn’t elains black dress that was the issue, it was actually hewn city:

“There was no light in this place. There never had been. Even the evergreen garlands, holly wreaths, and crackling birchwood fires in honor of Solstice couldn’t pierce the eternal darkness that dwelled in the Hewn City. It was not the sort of darkness that Mor had come to love in Velaris, the sort of darkness that was as much a part of Rhys as his blood. It was the darkness of rotting things, of decay. The smothering darkness that withered all life.” (acofas chapter 6)

now let’s compare that to what was said about her in acosf:

“Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face…It sucked the life from her.”

suspicious how similar those are. what’s going on with hewn city that’s being hinted at here?

[saintvainglorious]

10 Best Black Sails Fics I Read in 2023

In honor of Black Sails' 10th anniversary, here's a list of my top 10 favorite Black Sails fics I read in 2023, in order from shortest to longest. Most Black Sails fic rec posts I've seen are now around 2 or 3 years old (though not all, bless @jaynovz and your #jay's esoteric rec lists tag) so nearly half of the recs in this list spotlight newer fics. It's amazing to see fantastic fics still being written and updated years after the show ended - y'all are keeping this fandom alive!

I didn't read that much Black Sails fic this year, comparatively speaking, so I'm sure there's plenty of newer gems that I missed. All the fics in this rec list are Silverflint unless otherwise stated.

1 - Gone To Port Royal by Apetslife (G, 3k) - a delightful oneshot from Gates' POV where they all go to a pirate afterlife. every scene is perfect. endlessly re-readable and never fails to make me smile.

Definition of Valhalla 1: the great hall in Norse mythology where heroes slain in battle are received 2 : a place of honor, glory, or happiness: heaven

2 - i’ll be seeing you by youatemytailor/@annevbonny (NR, 19k) - this is THEE post-canon Silverflint reunion fic. the anguish, the rage, the quiet jokes, the tenderness, it's all devastatingly in-character. particularly the chapter 5 climactic unspooling leaves me in awe upon every reread.

Silver is out of his chair and across the room before he knows it. He has a grip on the barkeep’s shirt before he knows it, and he’s pulling him up, hauling him eye-level, only to head-butt him to the ground again. The barkeep’s mouth is thrown open in a wail, but there’s no sound, Silver thinks, no sound at all, save for the blood rushing in his ears as he looks at the other man on the ground, watches him roll to his side with a groan. Flint, Silver thinks, and nothing else. It beats around the knife in his gut like a drum. Flint. And then Flint is looking at him.

3 - The Dark Lord Proprietor by Amiril/@runawaymarbles (M, 19k, Silverflintham) - a fuckin hysterical supervillain AU. Thomas has amnesia, Flint is pining, Silver tries to get them back together. what could go wrong? could not stop cackling.

A year ago, James Flint was in a stable relationship and was within spitting distance of taking over London. Now he’s single, with a dubiously loyal henchman, a lairmate determined to learn his every weakness, and a Secret Past with the new supervillain on the scene. And thanks to a new government program, it’s all a race to the bottom.

4 - the cross dimensional nassau bar of getting izzy hands laid by FortinbrasFTW/@fortinbrasftw (E, 19k ~WIP~, Flint/OFMD Izzy Hands) - a Black Sails OFMD Flint/Izzy Hands crossover. the very best kind of smut-as-character study. funny, gripping, and endlessly re-readable.

The first thing Izzy realizes is he looks absolutely fucking furious — which yeah, alright, fair enough. He’s got shorter ginger hair. A beard like Izzy’s but kept neater. Earrings like Izzy’s but worn simpler. Bleeding like Izzy but, well, maybe a bit less. And he’s handsome. Izzy realizes it suddenly and slowly somehow all at once. Bit like a bloody painting even. The kind you saw up on walls in rich folk’s houses. Only, well, no painting had eyes like that, did it? You’d have to be mad to keep a painting with eyes like that in your home. They were bright and clear and looked — honest-to-fucking-Christ — ready to set the whole damned world on fire. Izzy's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad night takes an interesting turn thanks to a completely different sort of pirate captain.

5 - frail and fragile bars by Ajaxthegreat/@francisthegreat (E, 21k) - Silver realizes, post-shark date, that he's in love with Flint. an instant, iconic fave fic. SO many delicious scenes and quotes that live rent free in my head. just read it, you won't regret it.

“I think you fuck,” Silver says. By which he means, with great intent: I think you are human. I know you are human. I see you.

6 - the whole estate of mortal man by Amiril/@runawaymarbles (T, 43k) - Creature Silver AU where he'll grant wishes in exchange for souls. first read this fic in 2020 and cried. reread it this year and cried again. the nature of the AU intersects so cleverly with Black Sails' themes, and the end result is devastating.

Silver has a limited memory, an unlimited lifespan, and a need for human souls. He spends months trying to buy Flint’s.

7 - our feast is but beginning by x_etoile_x/@etoilesombre (E, 55k) - Flint teaches season 1 Silver how to cook. they're definitely not dating. no, really. this writer writes dialogue so in-character that it cuts like a knife. features sensual cooking, Flint being a queer mentor for Silver, fun genderfuckery, and Them Being Real Tender.

Flint should walk away. Silver can figure out how to feed the men, it isn’t his problem. But roasting a pig is so easy, and when was the last time he had a hand in creating something rather than destroying it? Anyway, what else is he doing, with Billy taking the crew in hand with such annoying competency? He absolutely does not think about why he is reluctant for this interaction with Silver to end. “Go get another pig,” he says before he can reconsider. “Do exactly as I say.”

8 - With Strange Aeons by Amiril/@runawaymarbles (M, 60k, Silverflint + Flinthamilton + Jackanne) - Came for the Silverflint, stayed for the Silverflint but also for holy fuck Jack and Anne are sent to Savannah and break out of there with Thomas to battle literal Cthulhu. How can you NOT read this. I don't typically read Flinthamilton, but by god Thomas is amazing in this.

After the disappearance and presumed death of Captain Flint and Long John Silver, Max smuggles Jack and Anne to Oglethorpe’s plantation. Thomas learns that not only do the three of them have a friend in common, but he is not the only one whose dreams are haunted by a strange city and a terrifying name. Meanwhile, Flint and Silver try to escape an island trapped in time, impossibly built and impossibly old. Along the way they’re forced question reality, each other, and themselves. And in his house in R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.

9 - The Salt and the Sea by x_etoile_x/@etoilesombre (E, 60k) - a between season 2 and 3 recovery fic. i still remembered months after reading that chapter 4 in particular left me undone. a harrowing journey into the ruins of post-leg loss Silver's mind, plus exquisite hurt/comfort.

John Silver was always able to make the best of a situation. If this particular situation had started to feel complicated, well, a vast fortune ought to prove clarifying. Whatever he might have imagined he’d seen in Flint, the reality was they had used each other. And he had been set to walk away on top. Except now he couldn’t. Now he was trapped.

10 - the straight walk home by vowelinthug/@vowel-in-thug (E, 73k, Silverflint + Jackanne + Maxanne + Billy/Vane) - A western AU and one of the best long fics in the fandom. Excellent comedy, amazing AU twists on our favorite characters, found family vibes, nail-biting action, and a fucking fantastic climax. Also, I can't believe this fic got me invested in Billy/Vane.

Let me tell you a story, about a vaquero named Vasquez...

[theobjectofmyobsession055]

Of Wonders and Witches: Chapter 1 (Zagreus x Reader)

I know this game came out like 6 years ago, but I've only just gotten around to playing it and I am OBSESSED. Specifically with Zagreus. So, in honor of Halloween, here's the first chapter of my witchy little reader-insert starring everyone's favorite god! I'm not sure how many chapters this story will have, but I have a very clear plot mapped out for it, so hopefully I'll actually finish this one in a timely fashion lol. Enjoy!

Next chapter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zagreus’ blood roared in his ears as he trekked through the cold, his entire body thrumming with adrenaline. He’d done it. He’d finally done it. After all this time, attempt after attempt after attempt, he’d gotten past Hades, felled his own father. And now, now he was only a hair’s breadth away from finally meeting his birth mother. He wondered what she was like, if he looked like her in any way. Achilles told him he took more after his father, but surely there’d be some family resemblance, right? Whatever the case, he was sure she’d be an improvement from his father, anyone would be.

That was, if he managed to find her amid all this blasted snow. Nyx had given him clear directions on how to get to his mother’s abode, but it was proving to be far less simple getting there than he’d thought. The battle with his father drained him of just about all of the strength he had, leaving him with several egregious wounds that painted red across the snow as he walked. His mother’s hiding place was much farther away from the Temple of Styx than he’d imagined, but he refused to give up now, not when he was so close.

He gasped for breath, clutching the dripping gash on his side as he continued to trudge through the snow, every step feeling like he was resisting the weight of the heavens themselves. He’d never felt more sympathetic of Atlas’ plight than in that moment. But he had to carry on, he wouldn’t let himself fall like this.

A rock jutting out from under the snow caught his foot, sending him sprawling out onto the ground with a thud. He groaned, his eyes squeezed tightly shut against the screaming pain in his head. His every nerve was on fire, his body wailing at him to stop. He tried to struggle onto his hands and knees, only to find that he couldn’t make his muscles budge.

It was cold. So cold. Not even the constant warmth of his flaming feet was enough to shut out the bitter chill seeping into his bones. And he was so tired. He felt the pull of Hypnos, lulling him into slumber. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to close his eyes, just for a second. He was so, so tired.

Zagreus watched with a detached sort of curiosity as crimson blood seeped into the stark white snow around him, the puddle expanding and expanding. He thought back to the wondrous sight of the sunrise he’d seen just minutes before, the red sun spilling its color all across his uncle’s vast realm. He wondered why he’d ever been ashamed of bleeding red—it was such a beautiful color.

And then, the world went dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The scent of roasting herbs filled Zagreus’ nostrils. He groaned as he was roused from his slumber by the tantalizing smell, his head pounding. His eyes slowly fluttered open, his vision swimming slightly for a moment before his surroundings came into focus. He found himself seated on a plush recliner, bundled up in several soft, woolen blankets. He appeared to be inside a small cottage, the cozy interior decorated with paintings of creatures and places he’d never seen before. Bundles of herbs wrapped in twine hung in the windows, alongside various animal bones and crystals sitting on the sills. But the most striking thing of all about his new surroundings was the woman standing in the middle of the room, wrapped in a forest-green shawl and tending to a large cooking pot over the fire.

The woman looked up, her eyes alight with warmth as she regarded him. “You’re finally awake.” She turned to the cupboards behind her and retrieved a small wooden bowl, ladling a few spoonfuls of her concoction into it. She knelt down by Zagreus’ side and placed the bowl to his lips. “Drink. It’ll make you feel better.”

He did as she commanded, too tired and weak to resist. Warm, hearty flavors he didn’t recognize bloomed on his tongue, and he found himself greedily drinking down the entire bowl. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he’d been until his belly was no longer aching with emptiness.

Once he polished off the soup, the woman stood and filled the bowl once more. “Where…” he croaked, his voice hoarse and crackly. “Where am I…? Who are you…?”

The woman offered him a gentle smile as she set the bowl down on the end table beside him. “My name is Y/N. I found you unconscious in the snow, so I brought you back here to my home. In all honesty, I thought you were dead.” She retrieved a pitcher and poured its contents into a cup. “I’m glad to see that’s not the case. I don’t think I’d have the strength to dig a grave with the ground frozen solid as it is.” She chuckled, a low, soft sound that filled the cottage with warmth. She returned to his side and offered him the cup. “Water.”

Zagreus took the cup and drank, the coolness doing wonders for his scratchy throat. He coughed, dislodging the flehm from his esophagus. When he spoke again, it hurt far less. “Y/N… thank you.”

He was touched by this mortal’s kindness, shown to a complete stranger, no less. As he shifted, he realized that his wounds had been stitched together and bandaged. He could already feel his strength returning, his body beginning to heal his injuries. He picked up the bowl and drank deeply, savoring the satisfying flavor. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in a very un-princely manner. “What is this stuff?” he asked. “It’s delicious.”

Y/N’s soft smile widened ever-so slightly as she watched him enjoy his meal. “Just pumpkin soup. Though I did add a few extra ingredients to promote healing. You’re lucky I’m the one who found you—not everyone is as well-versed in the curative arts as I am.”

Zagreus raised a curious eyebrow. A mortal with the ability to mend a god’s wounds with just a meal? He’d never heard of such a thing before. “Are you a witch, then?”

Amusement shone in her eyes. “You could say that. Though I prefer to think of myself as more of a healer than a true sorceress. I don’t spend my days cursing people I don’t like, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

He thought of all the witches he’d slain in the Underworld, their gnarl-toothed grimaces as they spat hexes at him on orders of his father. Y/N didn’t seem much like them at all—kind, gentle, her appearance youthful and her voice sonorous. In truth, she was quite beautiful. No, nothing like the witches he knew of.

She sat down in a chair across from him, maintaining a respectful distance. She steepled her fingers together in her lap and pinned him with a curious, enigmatic gaze. Her voice lowered, far more serious yet no less kind as she said, “…I’ve seen many strange things come from the direction of the Temple in my time living here, but this is the first I’ve seen a person. Either you are very lost… or very lucky.” Her eyes shone knowingly as she looked him up and down, making him feel a bit exposed. “…And judging by the looks of it, I’d wager on the latter.”

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but she held her hand up, silencing the words on the tip of his tongue. “I won’t make you explain, I’ve no interest in prying. I’m sure you’ve encountered far enough opposition thus. Just know that wherever you are going on your journey… tread cautiously.” Her expression sobered, her keen eyes examining him as though she could see directly into his divine soul. “…I sense much darkness surrounding you, enshrouding you with the warm cloak of night. That will serve you well if you wish to save yourself from the gods’ wrath, but even the darkest nights yet have the possibility to be illuminated by Olympus’ gaze. All that is to say… be careful.”

Zagreus blinked, shocked that a mortal could sense Nyx’s blessing so acutely. No true sorceress she said, sure. But even so, she didn’t seem interested in using her knowledge against him, which he thanked the Fates for. Her words of warning appeared to come from a place of genuine concern. He nodded, his heterochromatic eyes gleaming with determination. “Thank you, kind maiden. For everything. I don’t think I would have made it through the snow were it not for your aid, so I shall heed your words—I’ll be careful.”

She smiled, and the entire cottage felt warmer. Zagreus stood from the recliner and stretched his stiff muscles. He still didn’t feel one hundred percent, but it was much better than being half-dead. He knew he’d be able to make it the rest of the way.

Then it struck him that he had absolutely no idea where they were, and thus Nyx’s directions were entirely useless. With a sheepish flush creeping up his face, he turned back to Y/N and asked, “Say, just for curiosity’s sake… you wouldn’t happen to know about any divine gardens around here, would you? Perhaps inhabited by a certain goddess…?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in recognition. “Oh! You’re looking for Lady Persephone’s garden?” A conflicted look crossed over her face, her brows furrowing together. “…Lady Persephone doesn’t take kindly to most visitors. I trust there is a good reason she remains hidden away here. But…” She examined Zagreus once again, her gaze piercing. “…I can sense you have no ill intentions. If you must go to her, I can tell you the way.”

He nodded firmly. “Yes, I must. Thank you. I will not forget your kindness.”

“Oh, feel free to forget if you wish. It is only the right thing to do, to help a soul in need,” Y/N said, as though she didn’t just save his life.

He took in the sight of the woman before him, sitting there with her hands folded demurely in her lap as she smiled up at him. His voice came out much softer than he intended as he murmured, “I don’t want to forget.”

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but he could have sworn he saw a touch of red bloom on her cheeks. She looked down at her hands in her lap. “…As you wish.”

Y/N instructed Zagreus on where to go to find his mother, and he was pleased to hear that it wasn’t far at all from their current location. But before he stepped past the threshold and back into the cold, Y/N stopped him with a gentle but insistent hand on his arm. “Wait, take this.” She unclasped her shawl from around her shoulders and placed it in his hands. “It’s awfully chilly out there. It’s not much, but it should at least help a little to keep you warm.”

He was more surprised than he cared to admit. Usually he was the one giving gifts to others, not the other way around. Besides, he was a god (not that she knew that), surely she needed it more than him? “Thank you, but I can’t take this. You’ve already done more than enough for me. Won’t you get cold?”

She waved away his protests with a dismissive hand and started affixing the shawl around his shoulders. It was heavier than it looked, a nice, warm, comforting weight. “Oh nonsense, I have plenty more just like it. Take it, I insist.” She took a step back to admire her handiwork, her lips curled up into a gentle smile. “I must say, green is a rather handsome color on you, stranger.”

“Zagreus,” he corrected automatically. He wasn’t sure why he was giving her his name when he was almost certain he’d never see her again, but he couldn’t stop it from slipping past his lips. “My name is Zagreus.”

“Zagreus…” she repeated, his name falling off her tongue sounding even more addictive than the taste of ambrosia. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Zagreus. I wish you nothing but luck on your journey.”

Something deep within him stirred. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but it compelled him to take her hand in his own and bring it up to his lips, placing a gallant kiss to her knuckles. “The pleasure has been all mine. Thank you again for your immeasurable kindness.”

This time, he knew he saw a red flush crawl up her cheeks. She pulled her hand away, which he released without resistance. But even so, a small, almost shy smile graced her lips. She cleared her throat. “Well, you’d best ought to get going,” she said quietly (almost reluctantly? Did he dare to hope?).

Zagreus steeled himself, standing up straighter. He had a mission to accomplish. “Yes. Farewell, Y/N.”

“Farewell, Zagreus.”

And with that final goodbye, he set back out into the snow. Y/N’s shawl proved to block out the cold just fine as he made the final trek to his mother’s home. Even though he was single-minded in his purpose, and he wasn’t entirely sure of what the future held, he found himself hoping that the Fates would see it fit to let them meet once again.