#I have the salt of the sea on this issue

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all! Weird question time again, this time a question I'm hoping will save me an asthma attack or three. The deodorant I've used for years is no longer being made, and the deodorant aisle at the store is kind of, uh, difficult for my asthma, so I'm hoping if I share the name of the deodorant I know I can use and a list of smells I know I can't, y'all might have some suggestions for replacements? Below a read more

Okay, so the deodorant I've used for years is Old Spice's Hawkridge deodorant. I don't need something that smells the exact same, I just need something that won't trigger my asthma. Luckily, I don't really have sensitive skin, so the only non-smell ingredient I need to avoid is coconut. Smells I can't have: - cinnamon - mint (or any menthol) - cedar - smoke - fake musk smells? the whole, like, fake leather smelling "dude" section of bath and bodyworks isn't an asthma trigger but is an insta-headache and I'd rather avoid it - strong flower smells of any kind - coconut - pine Smells I like, which would be a bonus to have: - citrus - vanilla/ambergris/oud honestly anything along those lines, stuff that might be described as smelling "warm" (I don't really know perfume description words, can you tell? lol) If you have any suggestions for deodorants that don't have any of the asthma-trigger smells, I'd really appreciate it. Or suggestions for lotions, honestly, winter's coming up and it would be nice to have something nicer smelling than Aveeno to be able to use. Thank you!!

[unboundprompts]

Pirate Terms and Phrases

-> Pirate Lingo

-> A Pirate's Glossary

Batten Down The Hatches - tie everything down and put stuff away for a coming storm.

Brig - a prison on a ship.

Bring a Spring Upon 'er - turn the ship in a different direction

Broadside - the most vulnerable angle of a ship that runs the length of the boat.

Cutlass - a thick, heavy and rather short sword blade.

Dance with Jack Ketch - to hang; death at the hands of the law (Jack Ketch was a famed English executioner).

Davy Jones's Locker - a mythical place at the bottom of the ocean where drowned sailors are said to go.

Dead Men Tell No Tales - the reason given for leaving no survivors.

Flogging - severe beating of a person.

Gangplank - removable ramp between the pier and ship.

Give No Quarter - show no mercy.

Jack - flag flown at the front of the ship to show nationality.

Jolly Roger - black pirate flag with a white skull and crossbones.

Keelhaul - a punishment where someone is dragged under the ship. They are cut by the planks and barnacles on the bottom of the ship.

Landlubber - an inexperienced or clumsy person who doesn't have any sailing skills.

Letters of Marque - government-issued letters allowing privateers the right to piracy of another ship during wartime.

Man-O-War - a pirate ship that is decked out and prepared for battle.

Maroon - to leave someone stranded on a. deserted island with no supplies, typically a punishment for any crew members who disrespected the captain.

Mutiny - a situation in which the crew chooses a new captain, sometimes by forcibly removing the old one.

No Prey, No Pay - a common pirate law that meant crew members were not paid, but rather received a share of whatever loot was taken.

Old Salt - experienced pirate or sailor.

Pillage - to steal/rob a place using violence.

Powder Monkeys - men that performed the most dangerous work on the ship. They were treated harshly, rarely paid, and were expendable.

Privateer - government-appointed pirates.

Run A Shot Across the Bow - fire a warning shot at another boat's Captain.

Scurvy - a disease caused by Vitamin C Deficiency.

Sea Legs - when a sailor adjusts his balance from riding on a boat for a long time.

Strike Colors - lower a ship's flag to indicate surrender.

Weigh Anchor and Hoist the Mizzen - an order to the crew to pull up the anchor and get the ship sailing.

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[httpsserene]

could i maybe request some super soft holiday smut with George? Like it's the summer brake and they are in their Bad on a Boat and the sun shines on them and they just woak up clinging to each other?

Feel free to change some things if you like, that's just the kinda vibe i would like it to be so just warm and slow and loving you know?

XO

𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐭 | 𝐠𝐫. 𝟔𝟑

summary: a salt-bathed, sun-drenched, yacht trip seduces you into slow and sensual sex underneath the sunbeams.

content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. yacht sex. tender. passionate, slow, and sensual. semi-public sex (middle of the ocean). belgium dsq. intimacy. fingering. vaginal sex. unprotected sex (don’t do that). no dialogue.

pairing: george russell x fem!black!reader

word count: 1.3k words.

from, serene: perfect timing for summer holiday smut (this was requested eight months ago 💀) feel like it might be what the george girlies need after the unfortunate outcome in belgium :( kinda proud of this one, feels like i found my groove again !!! title is from aaliyah's rock the boat enjoy, loves xxx (oh! check out the upcoming chapters link i added! it's my wip list, updated regularly with what's coming next!)

IF YOU HAVEN'T VOTED ON WHAT I SHOULD DO FOR MY 3K CELEBRATION CLICK HERE TO SUBMIT YOUR VOTE !!!

⌕ join taglist | requests & feedback | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

The rocking of the yacht is felt minimally. The sound of the waves lapping against the boat accompanies an occasional snuffle from George’s napping form, splayed out comfortably on his front, head resting on your abdomen. 

The British man tired himself out riding on a jet ski, swimming in the depths of the azure sea, and making sure you’re watching all of his ‘cool’ flips off the bow and swim platform of the vessel. You convinced him to eat lunch on an enforced (by you) sunscreen-reapplication break— and while he was waiting for the meal to settle, he snuck his way onto your lounger, nuzzling along your hip, asking you to read your book aloud to him.

You softly narrated the story to George, one hand turning the pages while the other played with his damp hair, your body tensing when cool drops of seawater dripped from his strands onto your stomach, shocking your bronzed skin. The mix of your tender speech, his ocean exhaustion, and the caress of the sun brought sleep to him easily. 

This morning on the water is exactly what he needed to clear his mind. You wouldn’t let the weight of his disqualification in Belgium burden his mind any longer. There’s no better way to process emotion than in the middle of the ocean on a yacht, far away from the obsessive media and pitying Mercedes team. The only person sharing his space is you (and the few staff members below deck). 

The book was set aside not long after he fell asleep, you were keen to rest your eyes and listen to the low tunes filtering through the speakers. Time slips effortlessly and you find yourself awakened by George stirring. The sunbeams have strengthened at noon and you’re aware that your next days will be spent massaging aloe vera into the Brit’s reddened skin. Yet, the flushed burn stretching across George’s tanned back isn’t a pressing issue for him. 

He presses his lips to the skin of your hip, just above the tie of your bikini. You hum, pulling your knees upwards and letting them fall slightly to the sides, leaving George ample room to lay between your legs. You feel the wetness of his tongue appear as he traces along the hemline of your bottoms, teeth scraping the jut of your hipbones occasionally, the slight ache encouraging you to arch into his grasp.

His hands grip tightly at your thighs, the umber flesh spilling between his fingers alluringly. The sight entrances him and his lips drift to love on your inner thighs, teeth threatening to bite into the plush skin. Your quiet moans at the attention harmonize with the calm waves; the bruising kisses have the fabric of your swim bottom darkening with arousal. George releases a hand to tug at the ties of your bikini and pulls the strings loose. The cloth covering your cunt limpens and is tugged away smoothly.

George murmurs lowly, his fingers parting your folds and keeping you open. You’re sure your hole is fluttering at him, the heated skin of your cheeks disguised as a product of the sun and not George’s stare. He spreads your wetness along your vulva leisurely, pausing to flick your clit lightly, humming reassuringly as your hips buck upwards into the pleasurable sensation.

He toys at your entrance with two fingers, watching your cunt try to drag him within. He teases, pushing inside briefly, eyes flickering upwards to watch your mouth part at the gentle stretch before he pulls out to stroke along your folds. George repeats the action until you whimper needily, ceasing his torment to give you his fingers. The awaited full stretch lights up your spine, his digits curling against your walls deliciously. He lifts upwards, intertwining his lips with yours. The brush of lips matches the sensual stroking of his fingers; it’s slow and syrupy, tongues skimming together in a relaxed dance.

He withdraws, dragging his pulsing length from the confines of his swim shorts. He strokes his cock loosely, choking at the slickened friction, lowering to thrust his cock along your cunt, the reddened tip parting your moistened folds. You see George shudder over you, bottom lip bitten by his teeth as he hisses through the stimulation.

You tangle your hand in his sundried locks as he sinks inside of you, breathy moans leaking into the open air. The British man shakes when his hips meet yours, stilling to stifle your shared cries into each other's mouths. The pressure of his cock can’t be forgotten but the ache of fullness combined with the embrace of his lips distracts you from the lack of movement after the initial thrust. You’re not sure how much time passes as you and George become absorbed in the kiss but you’re only brought back to the present when his hips slowly start to roll against yours.

You gasp into his mouth, eyes fluttering open to meet his. They’re hazy, clouded with lust and desperation. You stare, captivated by the sight of his blissed expression, his blushing cheeks, and his ocean-colored irises swallowed by enlarged pupils. The sway of your hips has George melting, the sound of his choked whimpers complementing your breathy babbles. 

His strokes remain deep, tantric, and toe-curling. The surrounding air dampens with the heat and moisture radiating from your activities, thin layers of sweat beading on your skin, and the taste of salt is fresh on your lips. Air is forced from your lungs as George abuses your sweet spot, hands slipping along his back in search of stability. Your chest arches upwards as you struggle to hold a firm grip on his back with the sheen of perspiration coating him. Scrambling, your nails bite into the muscle of his shoulder and lower back forcing a sharp groan from George. His hips stutter at the sting cutting through his freshly sunburnt skin before resuming the mind-numbing drive of his length within you.

Your thighs begin to tremble, the knot in your navel tightening, toes curling as you near your peak. The British man’s thrusts sharpen, pounding directly into your most sensitive areas as he feels your walls flutter and clench around him sporadically, cock throbbing as he pushes you over the edge. Waves of pleasure crash over you, the sound rushing through your ears as your eyes roll back with the force of your orgasm. George fucks you through it with shallow thrusts, his moans increasing to such a high volume you can hear it through your clogged ears. He pulls out and fists his swollen tip to completion, shooting streaks of white into his hand and across your flexed abdomen. 

While you lay boneless on the lounge chair, both of your chests heave in unison, breaths slowly calming in the comedown. The British man reaches a shaky hand for the towel he threw aside earlier after drying off, wiping his cooling cum off your complexion and from between his fingers before he picks up your swim bottoms resting on the floor. With quivering fingers, he adjusts his shorts and does up your bikini after a couple of failed attempts at fastening the ties. 

George squeezes to rest beside you on the lounge chair, an arm firmly reaching around to pull you to rest on him, tucking your head underneath his neck. You press light kisses along the column of his throat, the stretch of his collarbones, and the expanse of his pecs, smiling to yourself when you feel him nuzzle into your hair. He shifts for a better angle, his brow tightening as the raw skin of his back is aggravated from scraping against the seat, the tension disappearing slowly as he brushes his lips on your cheek.

You make a mental note to grab the aloe vera to address his sunburn. Until George convinces you to dip in the open ocean to cool off and wash away any lingering remnants, you’ll bask in the afterglow under the balmy shining sun.

© httpsserene 2024

[whitachi]

Shousetsu Bang*Bang Issue 109

cover by Prosodi

~*~

Haul Away, by Torino Koji

Arame Cove, by Domashita Romero (地下ロメロ)

Hunger at Sea, by Johannes T. Evans

In the River’s Hands, by Someone Else *

Odysseus Didn’t Know What He Was Missing, by shukyou (主教) *

Bitter Little Things, by Shrimp King

The Diary of Mr J. Walker, by Kit Miller *

* illustrated

—

Breaking in the Deckhand, by Pastel

~*~

Avast, ye landlubbers! Do not pass this booty by!

Ye heard aright! The S. S. Bang*Bang, set to sea for lo these many months, be returned to port this very day with a fine haul of booty hauled up from the briny depths for your eager eyes! We’ve the precious works of a few old salts for ye here in this pile of plunder, plus the fine pieces of a few tender mateys just beginning to get their sea legs under them. Be ye ever seeing such a fine haul of booty in all yer days?

Now, see, ye keep laughing every time I say “booty”! Do ye bilge rats not know booty be no joking matter among the men of the sea? ‘Tis true! This queer booty be stuffed with treasures galore, whether measured by league or by knot.

Aye, I spake no lies, ’tis queer! The queerest booty ever found on the high seas! So queer a thing as never before met the eyes of scallywags the likes of yerselves! Queer enough to blow ye down! To blow any man down!

Friend, ye be laughing again. What in this booty be worth such mirth? Know ye not a man’s booty be a serious thing?

Well, then! If ye still be lacking faith in me words to ye here, read the issue and see! And should ye have a friend or two in this world, pray be telling them of the fine haul to be discovered here and all the queer wonders what be contained within its pages.

Fair winds to ye, friend, and may yer anchor — and other parts — always be tight!

—

(For summaries, creators’ notes, and more, we would usually tell you to see this issue’s entry on the Shousetsu Bang*Bang wiki. In the interim, however, please visit the relevant Google Doc of contributor commentary for similar content.)

[demilypyro]

Japan has some issues with transness and such due to culture- I'm no professor this though so take my word with the Dead Sea's salt. Pretty much the same reason why Nintendo had to Scorched Earth with confirming that Shiver of Splatoon 3 is explicitly female, despite having insane nb vibes.

??? I don't think writers explicitly using trans themes in their stories but refusing to actually make their characters canonical trans women is the same thing as people looking at a character design and saying it looks queer and being told no

[bullet-prooflove]

Rumours: Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson x Reader

Tagging: @chickensrule @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface @justameresimp @lxaah11 @librarian1002 @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond 

You don’t know about the affair, not until Beau tells you.

Apparently, a couple of the graduates were off base one night and caught sight of their Vice Admiral in his civvies, leaving a restaurant with a woman in a little black dress. The heat in his gaze when he looked at her…

It’s clear they’re sleeping together.

There are other sightings. All of Beau with the same woman, all in compromising positions. Stolen kisses in doorways when it’s raining, his hand resting on her hip as he leads her from the theatre, whispering something salacious into her ear.

His poor wife, they say, sitting at home waiting for him while he’s out playing the field.

It’s at a retirement dinner for one of the Majors that the scuttlebutt reaches its peak. He’s seen leaving early with one of the JAG officers, a Lieutenant Commander, his hand on her lower back as he holds open the car door.

Beau doesn’t realise he’s a topic of conversation until Warlock approaches him. It’s becoming an issue, the other man tells him, you’re losing their respect.

Over what? he asks and then Warlock is forced to tell him.

He’s confused at first because not once in your entire relationship has ever he stepped out on you, the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind despite the deployments. He listens as Warlock recounts the events and he checks each one of them off in his head and he realises in every single occurrence the woman that he’s been seen with…

It's you.

It’s only when they bring Maverick in for a chat do they understand what’s happened.

There’s a lot of fresh faces on base and you’ve been deployed for over six months. They’ve all just assumed that his wife is the little lady that runs the house he lives in, like most of the other Vice Admiral’s wives. Never seen, never heard from. Just existing in the background.

It doesn’t help that you kept your maiden name when you married or the fact that Beau hates clutter, so he doesn’t keep so much as a picture on his desk. Why would he? He has them all on his phone.

You find the whole thing hilarious when he comes home and tells you that night. You’re sitting in front of the coffee table, your files spread out across it as you make notes in your legal pad, wearing  his old college t-shirt and a pair of paint splattered leggings.

The two of you have a perfectly good dining table in the kitchen, but you never use it. The living room is your space, the soft sound of Norah Jones playing in the background and the scent of wild sage and sea salt from the candle you have burning on the mantlepiece.

“It’s not funny.” He tells you as he sits down on the floor alongside of you, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

“The woman you’re having an affair with is actually your wife.” You remind him, tapping your pen upon the legal pad. “It’s a little funny.”

“You know I’d never…” He trails off as his lips brush over the curve of your shoulder because the thought of it is so repugnant to him. He doesn’t want to think about another woman in your bed, trying to take your place.

“I know.” You tell him, inclining your head so that he can read the honesty in your expression. “I would never either.”

He’s never doubted you, not for a minute.

His thumb trails along your jaw, guiding your mouth to his and he kisses you with a tenderness he reserves for no one else. He loves these moments, the ones where it’s just the two of you, at home, simply being with one another.

“Show and tell.” You say softly as his hands begin to wander, his lips seeking out that delicious little spot just underneath the hinge of your jaw, the one that makes you say his name.

“Hm.” He mumbles distractedly as his fingertips delve under the hem of the t-shirt, skirting along the line of your bra.

“I mean it Beau.” You utter, your head tipping back as he guides the shirt up and over your body, before tossing it onto the couch.

“I’ll take it into consideration.” He whispers against your skin as his fingers tug at the waistband of your leggings. “Right now, I’ve got other things I want to focus on.”

***

Beau chooses to address the issue with the Top Gun graduates. They’re fierce, loyal and above all else, he knows that they’ll put a stop to those rumours that are circulating the base. He can’t have his subordinates doubting him, he needs them to trust him, in the field and off it. News of an affair erodes that, it makes him seem duplicitous, makes them question his motives and that leads to mistakes. People get hurt or worse killed. So, yea, now he’s taking your advice, he’s doing show and tell.

“Final order of business.” He says as he stands in front of them, hands clasped together. “I need to address the rumours regarding the affair I’m having with a JAG officer.”

He senses the mood shift, backs straighten, and all eyes are on him. He nods at Warlock, whose waiting at the side door before he opens it. There’s a low murmur when you step inside, a few elbow nudges because the source of the scuttlebutt has now entered the room and is now standing alongside their Rear Admirable clad in a navy-blue JAG uniform.

Briefly Beau wonders what they expect from this latest development.

Maybe the whole, we’re just colleagues’ speech.

“This is my wife.” He introduces you to the group. “She’s a Lieutenant Commander in JAG and recently returned from a six-month deployment overseas. If you need an attorney, she’s the best we’ve got.”

It’s true, you excel at your position, and he couldn’t be prouder of you. You’ve achieved so much throughout your career and one of the reasons he’s here today is because he hates the idea of your successes being diminished by gossip.

“You have two minutes for questions.” He tells the graduates before folding his arms over his chest.

Phoenix is the first one to speak up, she raises her hand and Beau inclines his head towards her.

“How long have you been married?” She asks, leaning forward on her desk.

“Seven…” You pause because the deployments make it harder to keep track, you’ve been away for some anniversaries and home for others. You look to Beau for clarification.

“Eight.” He says, the edges of his mouth tipping up into a small smile because he knows you can never remember the exact timings. The only reason he does is because he’s meticulous about putting information into his calendar.

“Eight years.” You correct yourself. “Together for three before that.”

Rooster is next up; his elbows are on his desk before he raises two fingers.

“How does it work with the deployments?”

“Patience.” Beau informs the Lieutenant, rubbing his palm across his jawline. “Open communication.”

You don’t know the graduates, this is the first time you’ve met them, but you think you can see something underneath Rooster’s demeanour.  There’s a reason he asked that question, so you elaborate.

“You have to be honest with each other, talk about your feelings, the good ones and the bad ones especially on the lead up to it.” You reiterate before gesturing between you and Beau. “We talk as often as we can, keep each other up to date with what’s going on in our lives, even if it’s just the day-to-day stuff. If one of us doesn’t get in contact for a few days, we try not to take it too personally. I know that life on the base can get hectic and he knows sometimes you can’t just get a signal in the middle of the Pacific.”

That gets a little laugh and it’s good to see that there’s a little humour in them. You hate it when people take themselves too seriously.

“Care packages.” Beau supplements into the conversation.

“Oh, sometimes when I’m away he sends me things from home, and I send him stuff from my travels.” You tell the group, leaning back against the podium at the front of the room. “Just a little something to say we’re thinking of each other.”

You can see you’ve given Rooster some food for thought. You wonder what his circumstances are, if there’s a girl in the background, he’s thinking of getting serious about.

“Have you ever thought about giving it up?” Hangman asks, a cocktail stick dangling out of his mouth. “The job for the sake of the marriage?”

Another one with something on his mind, you think. Although you don’t spy a wedding ring on his finger, you suspect something that might be heading that way. You’re good at reading people, it comes in handy in the courtroom.

“Yea.” You answer honestly, with a small shrug of the shoulders. “We’ve talked about it a few times, but this is who I am, the same way it’s who he is. Neither of us will compromise on that, if it’s right you shouldn’t have to.”

Hangman nods knowingly before Beau interrupts.

“Alright, your two minutes is up.” His palm comes to rest upon your lower back, thumb skating over the vertebrae. “We have other places to be, so good luck with your training.”

It isn’t until you reach the corridor outside that he slows his step. The two of you find yourself alone for a minute, a rarity on such a busy military base. You lean against one wall, while he stands rigid in front of the other, both hands coming to rest on his hips.

“Those were some tough questions, right?” He asks you, his mouth setting into a grim line before he looks at you.

“That last one…” You shake your head. “The job for the sake of the marriage, that felt a little too close to home.”

Beau nods his agreement before his gaze meets yours.

“You know I’d never…”

“No, I know.” You assure him, pushing away from the wall and coming to stand before him. You reach for his collar straightening it just a little, despite the fact it didn’t require any intervention. “But it is getting harder to leave.”

Then don’t. He wants to say but instead he bites his tongue because he’s a good husband and it’s a lot more complicated than that. Your palms come to rest on his chest, he can tell you’re preoccupied with something. It’s in the way your brows crease just a little.

“What is it?” He asks you, studying your expression for clues.

You’re interrupted by the door opening as Warlock steps out into the corridor, the encrypted tablet clasped in his hands.

“We have a full schedule today...” He pauses, his finger lingering over the calendar as the two of you step apart. “I can give you a minute.”

“He’s all yours Solomon.” You say with a smile as you draw away from him.

He can already feel you slipping through his fingers, he isn’t sure what it is that gives him that sensation but it’s acute. There’s a trepidation in the pit of his stomach, something he only gets when it comes to your deployments but it’s far too soon for that. You’ve barely been home more than a couple of weeks.

“I’ll catch up with you later.” You promise before turning on your heel and striding down the corridor with purpose.

It reminds him for the moment of the first time he saw you, walking into the courtroom with your head held high, that black leather legal binder tucked under your arm. He’d been sitting in the gallery watching the trial of an Ensign accused of smuggling coke through produce in the kitchens. The idiot had been under his command at the time and elected for a court martial. You had eviscerated his case; it was both beautiful and painful to watch.

He spends the rest of the afternoon distracted, wishing the two of you had had a chance to finish that conversation.

Love Beau? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[sophrosynesworld]

The Night Shift (Pt. 4)

Part One:

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains content that may be distressing for some readers, including scenes involving hospitals, blood/gore, vomiting, major caffeine addiction issues and a severely injured child. Also, my only medical knowledge is from tv shows. So enjoy.

A soft, rhythmic knock echoes against the wall, pulling you from the edge of sleep. You squint into the harsh hallway lights, your makeshift nap spot feeling less isolated. "Is someone dying?" you mumble, your voice rasping with exhaustion. A few interns hurry past, giggling at the gurney you’ve claimed as your temporary bed.

"I’m afraid it might be you," Airi’s voice teases. Stepping toward you with her usual mix of concern and humor. She nudges your feet off the bed, and you groan, sitting up as she hands you a large cup. Airi sits next to you, resting her feet. A quick glance at your beverage makes your stomach churn—the murky color and chemical stench hit you before the liquid even does.

"How long?" you ask, hesitating as you lift the cup to your lips. You take a cautious sip and immediately gag, the bitterness clinging to your throat. "Oh, fucking hell. What’s in this?" you sputter, coughing violently as you slam a fist against your chest, glaring at her.

"A few spoonfuls of instant espresso, a can of extra-strength Riot Rush, a splash of cola we found in the breakroom, and I threw in some of my cold brew for good luck," Airi lists off, grinning at your suffering.

Before you can respond, the overhead system crackles, announcing an emergency code orange. Near-capacity. Perfect.

"How long?" you ask again, setting the cup down, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Airi glances at her watch. "You had about 45 minutes. I’m sorry, you couldn't sleep longer. We have a unit five minutes out."

You nod, resigned. With a deep breath, you pick up the vile concoction and down it in one go. Airi cheers you on with exaggerated disgust as you finish, your face twisting in discomfort. You slam the cup down, raising your hands in mock victory before sliding off the gurney.

"Let’s go," you mutter, scanning your ID against the door. The lock clicks open, and with a sigh, you step into the chaos that waits beyond.

Airi keeps pace beside you as you enter the emergency room. The beds spill into the hallways, patients lying shoulder to shoulder, a grim sea of bandages, blood, and pain.

"How many?" you ask, though the answer is obvious.

"Too many."

You push through another set of doors, weaving past nurses and doctors scrambling to keep up. You sidestep a young man clutching his side, blood seeping through his fingers, and a mother trying to soothe her crying child despite her own wounds.

Airi notices a man sit up, erupting into a coughing fit. She grabs a blue vomit bag and hands it to him just in time for him to spew black chunks into it.

"Look who’s up from her cat nap," a sneering voice cuts in from behind you. You turn slowly, already dreading the encounter, locking eyes with Haruto. His icy blue gaze holds yours for a second before he dismisses a nurse with a huff and returns to his chart.

"Maybe when you heal as many patients as I do, with the success rate I have, you’ll get to take breaks too," you quip, flashing him a sweet smile. You know it’s salt on an open wound.

His lips twitch with irritation. "Success rate?" he scoffs, stepping closer, his laugh cold. "It’s easy to be perfect when you’re cheating with your little quirk."

"Right. Because your healing quirk is so much cooler than mine," you counter, not backing down. "I don’t have time for this. I’m needed in the pit."

His jaw clenches at your words. "One day, that quirk of yours is going to fail you. And when it does, everyone will see how useless you are as a real doctor."

You force a tight-lipped smile, your pulse quickening. "I’d be more concerned about keeping your patients alive, Haruto." Turning away, you dismiss him, heading back toward the patient area. You can feel his glare burning into your back, but you don’t care. You don't have time to compare dick sizes.

"Incoming!" someone shouts as you break into a sprint, throwing on a yellow PPE gown and gloves, running to the entrance.

Two paramedics rush in, rattling off stats. The boy on the stretcher is small and ghostly pale, a metal rod impaling his abdomen. His mother stumbles in beside them, nearly collapsing as she tries to keep up, tears streaming down her face.

"We’ve got a six-year-old male, impaled by a metal rod," one of the paramedics reports, breathless. "Severe blood loss, BP’s dropping fast, showing signs of hypovolemic shock. Where do you want us?"

"Bay 3," you bark, your voice cutting through the chaos. You help guide the gurney through the crowded hallway, pushing past panicked staff and injured patients.

In the trauma bay, blood soaks the sheets beneath the boy. His face is nearly as white as the metal protruding from his body.

"Stabilize the rod," you order, your voice sharp. "We can’t remove it until we control the bleeding."

A student nurse stands trembling, her needle shaking, eyes wide with fear. “The veins keep blowing,” she stammers. “They’re too small.”

“Think!” you snap, your voice sharp but focused. “You know what to do.”

She hesitates, then asks, “Can I go through the leg?”

“Intraosseous vascular access,” you correct her firmly. “And yes, that’s the right move. Have you ever done one before?”

Another nurse, Coda, steps forward. “I have,” he says without hesitation.

“Good,” you nod, offering a quick smile. “Kaede, watch him closely.”

You glance down at your patient—his pulse is weak, his breaths shallow. Time is running out. You begin to guide the ultrasound across his abdomen, but your quirk hums beneath your skin, begging to be used.

You hesitate for just a second before placing your hands on either side of the wound. Your quirk flares to life, raw energy crackling through your fingers. You’re exhausted, on the verge of collapse, but you don’t have a choice. Not now.

Sweat beads on your forehead as you pour your quirk into his torn muscles, shredded arteries, and ruptured organs, desperately trying to buy him enough time for surgery. His vitals flicker on the monitor, heartbeats struggling to hold steady.

"Come on, buddy," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. "Stay with me."

The damage is worse than you thought. Blood is pooling inside him, choking his lungs. Something you would have noticed with the ultrasound. Your quirk fights to keep pace, but you’re losing ground. Still, you push harder, ignoring the toll it takes on your body. You can’t stop. Not when he’s this close to slipping away.

A scream erupts from the doorway, shattering your concentration. You whip your head around just in time to see his mother living through the worst moments of her life, fighting desperately against the nurses trying to pull her from the room. Her cries are heart-wrenching, and for a brief second, your gaze locks with hers. Desperation floods her eyes, causing your chest to tighten.

The machines suddenly scream to life, alarms blaring as his stats drop. The room erupts into chaos. Nurses scramble, shouting vitals and instructions, but the noise fades to the background as panic creeps up your spine.

Focus.

You tear your eyes away from the mother and force yourself to confront the reality before you—you can feel his heart slowing beneath your hands, each faint thump weaker than the last. His tiny body is fragile, and you can sense the life slipping away from him, barely holding on.

You push harder, willing every last drop of your energy into stabilizing him. Your quirk surges painfully, overextending to the point of exhaustion. Every muscle in your body trembles, but you keep going, fighting against time itself.

With one final, desperate push, the chaotic beeping begins to slow, the erratic rhythm leveling out. You exhale shakily, relief washing over you as the boy’s vitals stabilize.

"Someone find me a surgeon!" you shout, your voice hoarse.

As the nurses prepare him for surgery, you stumble back, the adrenaline draining from your system. Your stomach twists, and before you know it, you’re vomiting near the doorway, gasping for breath.

Rina kneels beside you, her voice soft. "That bad, huh?" She hands you a blue puke bag with a grim smile. Loose red strands of hair escape from her ponytail.

"Worse," you admit, dry heaving.

Rina wraps an arm around you, helping you to your standup. "Come on. You need a break."

She guides you to the break room, where you collapse into a chair. She walks off telling you to give her a second. A few minutes later, she hands you some coffee and medicine.

"Take it easy, you can't be risky like that every time." she lightly scolds before returning to her patients.

As you sip the stale hospital coffee, the TV catches your eye. It’s a live news feed of a hero battle. The city skyline is unmistakable, but what makes your heart drop is the hero on screen—Dynamight.

He’s in the middle of the city, explosions erupting from his palms as he charges toward a massive, grotesque monster tearing through the city. Your heart pounds in your chest, your eyes glued to the screen as he dodges a swipe from the creature, countering with a devastating blast that leaves smoke and debris in its wake.

But something’s wrong.

The camera zooms in just as the monster's arm whips around, faster than Bakugo can react. It slams into him with a sickening force, sending him flying across the road and into a nearby building. Smoke fills the air around him, but nothing happens.

“Katsuki…” you whisper, gripping the arm of the chair. Another wave of nausea rolls though you as the reporter’s voice echoes in your ears.

“It looks like Dynamight has taken a pretty serious hit—he's not getting up. We… we will keep you updated on his condition as we get word."

Your stomach twists into knots, worse than before. You’re frozen, staring at the screen, begging him to move, to stand up, to prove he's alive. But the feed cuts to another shot, the fight continuing without him.

Just as you’re about to reach for your phone, an urgent voice breaks through your focus. “I have a 56-year-old female with 3rd degree burns, are you ready?”

Your head snaps up to see a nurse standing in the doorway, her face flushed. You're not. But there’s no time.

With a heavy heart, you force yourself to stand, grabbing your ID badge from the table. You cast one last glance at the TV, hoping for a miracle, but the screen has already shifted to another scene.

"Nurse, I need another Riot Rush."

Next Part:

Author's Note: I just want to thank you all for the nice comments on my last post. It really meant the world to me. I have so many ideas for the two of you, it's not even funny.

Tags @simplyraeblue @moonfloweronmars @kalulakunundrum @froggy-crystal @msjaeger

[xo-hugs-n-kisses-ox]

Rumination

Ruminate

(v.) To think about something deeply

After Edward left her, Bella Swan fell apart. Desperate to try and save his eldest daughter, Charlie brings his youngest daughter to Forks to see if she can bring her sister out of her depression.

Now, y/n must try to help her sister find her way back to the light while also trying to navigate her Junior year of high school in the odd town of Forks.

---

Chapter Eleven: Contemplation

Now Playing: Salt And The Sea by The Lumineers

Paul and I went to Port Angeles today. Bella was hanging out around Emily’s, and I was still sore with her. Like the first time she showed back up, Paul had taken my keys, grabbed my purse, and snagged me to whisk me away somewhere that would take my mind off my anger with my older sister.

We had seen a movie today. It was some crappy action movie, but it made me laugh.

We got lunch afterwards, sitting in my truck as we ate.

I don’t know why I decided to do it. Maybe it was how he shared about his dad, but I started rambling about Charlie and Renee.

“My parents were high school sweethearts,” I blurted, “They were together all four years. They got married as soon as they were both eighteen, and had my sister soon after.”

I studied my sandwich as I spoke, avoiding looking at anything else.

“The pregnancy was hard on my mom. She had postpartum depression bad, the only thing she could manage to do was feed my sister when she cried.” I recalled the stories Mom had said, her voice light and joking. I had always seen the pain behind her eyes as she remembered.

I continued, “Dad worked long hours at the station to try and cover bills, pay back the hospital, and scrounge up dinner. Mom got better after a while, but she lost some of her spark.”

“They had me about a year later. I think it was to fix the marriage.” I slowly take a sip of my slushie, thinking. I continue on, “Didn’t work, obviously. They lasted three more years before Mom grabbed us and fled Forks for California.”

I look at Paul from the corner of my eye, and he’s already looking at me. I feel like the breath is being punched out of me, his attentive silence making my heart pound.

I take a deep breath, steam-rolling on.

“They divorced. Charlie gave her almost everything she wanted. He still loved her so much. I think he still does,” I admit, “But not as someone loves their spouse. I think it’s more a mourning and appreciation for what they used to be, what they used to have. Mom’s always been a, uh, free spirit. She’s gone through hobbies and boyfriends like I go through clothes day to day. She tires of them, then goes looking for the next one to hold her interest.”

“I—” I cut myself off, organizing my jumbled thoughts for a moment, “My friends have goals in life, milestones they want to achieve. Graduation, university, marriage, kids, grandkids, retirement. It all sounds nice, but marriage never had a solid meaning for me. I saw how easily it could break. Nearly forty-eight percent of marriages end in divorce, according to Bella.”

I was quiet for a long moment before murmuring, “So I maybe that if you have an issue with expression your emotions, I’m sure I have an issue with pessimism.”

He was quiet for a good moment, and I was afraid that maybe I said too much. Then, without a word, he reached out and put his heavy hand on my shoulder. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and leaning my head against his knuckles.

---

Edward bribed Alice into kidnapping my sister for two days so she wouldn’t visit Jacob. I sprayed Jacob’s cologne in her vents and her clothes.

It was a nice enough day, and I had gone for a hike. Jacob, while patrolling, had come by a few times to check on me. Sam had, also, and around noon was when Paul showed up.

His hulking wolf form no longer startled me, and I wordlessly passed him the bacon I had saved from this morning. He huffed, taking it delicately from my hand and sitting down beside me.

“I heard Quil imprinted,” I told him, having heard from Jake. “I’m happy for him, Jake said she’s a girl from his school, too, in the class beside his.”

Paul remained quietly looking out at the scenery with me, but he tilted his head towards me to hear better.

“Though, I’m still confused on the whole imprinting thing,” I admitted, “I asked Emily and Sam, but they didn’t give me a clear answer about it.”

At my words, Paul turned fully to look at me. I stared back, wondering what he was thinking. He huffed, sounding like he was sighing, before nudging me up and back towards the trail.

The two of us walked back to the house for dinner, and I went inside while he went over to the shed to change back. Bella was over, apparently rescued by Jacob, and I looked at her for a long moment before Embry drew me into conversation.

I won’t lie and say I didn’t miss my sister. I did. Desperately. But I was still hurt that she would choose the Cullens over her own family.

Lunch was normal. We had burgers again, since there was a sale on ground beef, and everything felt like it did in February.

I clung to this shred of normalcy, fearful of when it would no longer be an option.

---

My allusion of normalcy was shattered when Bella went right back to Edward as soon as the hunting trip was over. Jacob had stormed back in and told me that she still thought it was none of our business what happened to her, that she was still set on becoming undead.

I didn’t have the energy to cry, or to yell. I didn’t even have the energy to be surprised.

Jacob had stormed back out at my lack of reaction, and I watched him go passively. I sighed.

I slept for most of the day, woken up around noon by a call.

“Hello?” I asked, my voice raspy from sleep. I rubbed my eyes, taking a deep breath to try and wake up.

“Y/n, a vampire was at the house. Not Victoria, someone new. I need you to tell the pack that, and—” my sister hurriedly explained, and I woke up quickly with her explanation.

Tipping out of my bed, I ran back towards the living room.

“Sam—” I started, nearly falling over when I scrambled around the corner, “Sam, a new vampire was at my house, Edward smelled it!”

Immediately, Jacob was reaching for my phone. He spoke into it quickly, interrogating my sister and Edward. They decided that I would stay here, still, and that Jacob would go see if he recognized the scent since Carlisle didn’t.

I waited anxiously for a verdict, and Sam started drafting new patrol routines.

Bella sent a text after a while, Possible murderer in Seattle, maybe linked. Let you know more when I do.

“I can’t believe this shit,” I muttered, “Why can’t this nightmare be over yet?”

---

We had a bonfire tonight. Bella was driven over by Edward, and I gave him a long look when I collected her. Emily was with me, grabbing her bags as I held my sister’s hand. The three of us traveled down to the beach, and we set her things down at our blanket.

Bella was sitting on a log across me, Jacob leaning on her knees from his seat on the sand.

He was idly roasting a hotdog, bickering with Paul over it. He relented, though, handing the skewer over to him. He took it, putting it on a bun and reached for condiments.

Embry tried to sneak a bite of it, only to get Paul’s massive hand shoving his face away. In his distraction, I reached around him to pinch off a piece of it, popping it in my mouth as he turned to scowl at me.

I smiled at him, handing him the ketchup. He rolled his eyes, dressing his hotdog and eating it quickly.

When he was finished, he leaned back against the log I was sitting on and told me, “Tell Bella to sit down wind next time, all I smell is Leech.”

I snort, “What does it smell like, anyway?”

He thought for a moment, putting words together, “Like dust, but in an old folk’s home.”

I laugh, overjoyed at the revelation.

I was about to speak again when Billy cleared his throat to begin telling stories.

———

Hey guys! Sorry for the super late update, today was actually hell 🫠 school sucks and I hate it but whatevs I guess

Anyway, hope you guys enjoy!! I’ll likely update again over the weekend bc I’ll be traveling tmr 💕

Once again, if yall have any ideas you want me to write, please lmk!! Anyways bye bye pookie 🥰

[somanyratsinthewalls]

omg I am a SUCKER for the one bed trope 😭 with sanji, please? 🙏🏼

congrats on 300 followers!! 🎉 you deserve it all and more! 💕

S A M E ! I'm such a loser it's my FAVORITE TROPE!

Pairing: Sanji x afab!reader

WC: 15000

Prompt: "We aren't sharing a bed. I'll sleep on the floor."

Pairing: Sanji x Afab!Reader

Prompt: “We aren’t sharing a bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.” 

— — 

*wheeze*

“No, no please! Tell me again, HOW exactly you beat that sea king?” You laugh out while you clutch your beer to your chest on your barstool. 

“See this? It’s a very special exploding star! And you just-“ Usopp grabs a small bundle out of his satchel and moves to show you while you wipe tears from your eyes. 

“Wait I thought I slammed the thing and we ate it for dinner last night?” Your sweet, naive captain chimes in as he over hears your conversation with sniper at the end of the bar. 

“No, you’re remembering it wrong!” Usopp crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. You take another sip of your drink and snort. Another voice booms from the other end of the bar. 

“You had the rest of the beast for lunch, and yes, Luffy punched it in the face.” Sanji slurped the rest of his red wine and placed his glass on the bar top. 

“Well, if your stomach isn’t growling, we have our answer then?” You held back your giggles over the top of your beer glass as you looked at Usopp. 

The rest of your crew surrounding you at the bar laughed. 

— — 

“You’re a fucking idiot you want to put Maldon salt in an apple pie?! Get off your fucking high horse!” You slurred your words as your pointed your beer bottle in Sanji’s chest.

“Mon cherie, I am not arguing with you tonight about the integrity of a pie crust.” Sanji smiles as he takes your hand on your beer in his and lowers it back down to the bar at your side. The rest of your crew had retreated to their rooms at the inn you had all chosen to stay at for the night… minus you, Sanji and Zoro. 

“Holy shit… you guys are like… so boring?… woah…” Zoro claimed from his horizontal position on several barstools next to yours. You and Sanji were drawn out of your conversation and looked down at the blacked out swordsman. 

“We should leave him here, right?” You smirked up at the blonde man in front of you. 

“Obviously.” Sanji smiled as he reached out to grab your hand and helped you down from your tall bar stool. He leads you towards the innkeeper’s desk with your hand still in his. 

“We’re part of the Straw Hats. We’d like our room keys, please.” Sanji politely says to the innkeeper. 

The innkeeper shuffles through a large, leather bound book of reservations and stops on a certain page. “I-..I’m sorry sir bit it seems we only have one room left available.” The nervous innkeeper sputters out, afraid to offend a group of such powerful pirates. 

“What? You’re telling me that you can’t-“ Sanji begins to become upset. 

“That’s fine.” You interject. “No need to make a fuss.” You assumed it would be a typical room with twin beds and a couch. You and Sanji could sleep easily and if Zoro got his shit together he could end up on the sofa. You didn’t feel like fighting an elderly innkeeper in order just to have a private room to yourself. You were a pirate, there were much bigger issues in the grand scheme of things. 

The innkeeper gave you a thankful smile and gave you the key to your room. You and Sanji head up the wooden stairs and arrive at the door of your room. Number 17. You turn the key in the lock and enter the candle lit hotel room. To your dismay there was one queen sized bed and no other large furniture in the room other than a bear skin rug. 

You and Sanji stood in the doorway of your newly minted hotel room. 

“Shit.” The both of you said together. 

“We aren’t sharing a bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.” Sanji immediately retorts as he enters the room and begins stripping himself of his suit jacket. He takes it off and drapes it over the chair in the entryway of the room.

“Oh…. Uh… Ok…. I’ll get ready for bed then…” You head into the ensuite bathroom and prepare yourself for bed. You strip yourself to your panties, and take off your bra underneath your shirt after washing your face and brushing your teeth. After getting ready for bed, you exit the bathroom and quickly slide your body under the covers of the bed. Sanji awkwardly and wordlessly slides past you into the bathroom and you hear the shower start to run. 

In the darkness of of the bedroom you lay back on the bed. You were just a bit drunk, you felt your head buzz as it hit the softness of your pillow. You listened to the sounds of the shower and couldn’t help but think about how close Sanji was to you, completely naked. Your mind wandered… You thought about how his blonde hair might plaster his forehead under the shower stream… you thought about how the soap would foam and drip down his toned abs… You felt yourself start to become wet… you slipped off your panties and discarded them somewhere underneath the covers. 

Your right hand slid under the sheets and crept towards your cunt. Your delicate fingers began to circle your clit just the way you know you like and you breathed out in pleasure. You find yourself becoming lost in the pleasure when you hear the bathroom door swing open. 

“Y/n?” Sanji emerged from the bathroom clad in just a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Oh! Sanji! Sorry I was… distracted….” You curl the covers up under your chin. 

Sanji stands at the foot of the bed, seemingly assessing the situation in front of him. 

“Y/n… were you… touching yourself?” Sanji cocks his head and asks you while standing over you. 

“I… I was…” You sheepishly looked down at the top of the comforter, too embarrassed to make eye contact even in your drunken state. “Can we just forget about this?” You lifted your head. 

“Y/n… I could… help… if you want? I mean… you probably didn’t finish… right?” Sanji met your gaze.

Your stare met his and your mind went through a laundry list of better ideas before you settled on the act you chose to take next. You lifted your shirt over your head and leaned up towards Sanji and placed a chase kiss on his lips. Fully naked you pulled back from him. 

“Fuck me, Sanji.” You whispered with his head in your hands. 

At the speed of light, Sanji shed the towel and landed on top of you again. He smashes his lips into yours with a hunger you had never experienced. He pressed his tongue fervently into your mouth, like you’d never give him this opportunity again. You felt the velvet tip of his cock brush against your hot sex. 

“Let me just put it in… please, y/n?” Sanji moves his lips to mewl into your neck as he nips and sucks at your nape. He begs you so cutely and desperately while he grinds his hard cock into your wet center, there’s no way you could say no. 

“Please Sanji, want to feel you…” You move your right hand down to position his cock at your hole. You grope sensually at his cock and try to push it inside of you. “Sanji, want you inside of me, please…” You whimper out in his ear as he pushed his face further into your neck. 

Sanji obliges and pushes himself balls-deep inside your waiting hole. He lets out a high pitched whine as he bottoms out. 

“Y/n…” Sanji lifts his hands and starts pinching at your sensitive nipples below him. Sanji leans backwards and looks at your wrecked body beneath him, tight hole enveloping his throbbing cock. “Pretty girl needs to cum… let me help…” Sanji plants one hand on your hip and the other on your throat. 

Sanji uses the thumb of his hand on your hip to stroke your clit and the applies pressure with the hand on your neck so that your airway is perfectly restricted. 

“San-….. ji!….” You choke out against your lovers grip as you cum on his hand that was deeply stroking your sex. Sanji’s soft, deft fingers swirl around your clit and spasming, stuffed hole. The feeling of Sanji’s thick cock buried deep inside you and the stimulation from his hands on your bud was too much as you felt your eyes roll back into your skull… 

“You’re so pretty mon Cherie, I want to cum in you baby…” Your head shoots up and Sanji slams his hips deeply into yours. “You’re mine now, sweetheart…” 

Sanji plows his slender hips into yours as he cums deep inside your raw walls. 

“Ah!-“ You squeeze and cream all over your lover, eliciting a pathetic whine from the spent lovecook who was still inside of you. You try to catch your breath and flop your head back on the pillow. Sanji gently pulls out of you and lays himself down next to you. You toss and turn on your stomach for a moment before settling in and Sanji moves to sit up.

“Let me clean you up, beautiful angel…”

 “Can we just sleep tonight, this bed is really comfy…”   You whisper as you stroke Sanji’s cheek, keeping him in bed with you.

“Im certainly glad I’m not on the floor, ma belle.” Sanji wrapped his arm around your torso and promptly began snoring. 

xx Mo

[fanaticsnail]

To the ends of the earth

I am so sorry, I let the words run away with me again. I had no idea how much I had in me for this plot until it sprung onto the page.

Word Count: 6.814 (Again, I apologize but I truly couldn't resist!).

This is angsty, and I am sorry. This is my first time writing for Koby, at the request of @bonedaddi3. (I hope you and your friend enjoy!)

If you enjoy my writing, please let me know. It really encourages me to continue honing in on my little hobby.

As the sails lay rustling in the breeze directing the large, sea-worn ship into Shells Town. You closed your eyes and relished in the scent of the salt-riddled water engulfing your senses. Seagulls shrieked above, directing your attention to the beams supporting the crows nest. You squinted your eyes and smiled at the sight as you continued to bring the vessel into harbour.

“Lieutenant!” you heard Vice Admiral Garp call, addressing you by your formal title. You snapped your head towards the direction of his voice and stood to attention as he briskly made his presence known to you.

“Sir!” you sharply responded from your place adjacent to the helm, saluting to welcome him to the deck.

“At ease,” he directed you while raising his right hand and nodding his head. You responded by separating your legs and releasing the hold of your firm posture, pulling your hands behind your back and resting them with interlocked fists. You trailed your eyes over your Vice-Admiral before looking behind him to acknowledge commissioned Officer Bogard, nodding to him.

“We’re going aboard shortly,” Garp said, bringing your attention back to fall before him, “as you had been informed yesterday evening, things have been slipping here for some time.”

You nodded at him as he continued to instruct you in your duties.

“As discussed, I am relieving the Captain of his title and issuing a formal reprimand for his behaviour,” Garp added, looking to the approaching shore, “I may even string him up in the stock-yard for losing the map to the grand line.”

You noticed a small smirk appear on Bogard’s face at the thought of knocking Captain Morgan down a few paces.

“I’ll be leaving my ship in your command, Bogard will join me in Shells Town,” he added, nodding to the man behind him. You accepted his orders with curt, “yes, Sir.”

“From what I’ve gathered, he’s got a volley of cadets in dire need of training,” he smirked slightly, his eyes twinkling in thought, “I’ll be bringing them aboard for you to train.”

You smiled at the new command broadly. Your current title of lieutenant was thrust upon you at a hastened pace; as your renowned battle-ready and iron-clad will were the topic of many dinner conversations with the higher-up military generals. This was part of the reason why Vice-Admiral Garp requested you personally to join him on this particular voyage. Your military expertise at running drills until your underlings either passed out from exhaustion, threw up the contents of their stomachs or withdrew their applications from the Marines in service would break in the most successful cadets Garp had seen.

“Yes, sir,” you responded, prompting him to smile and turned on his way towards the dock where you steered the ship to make port.

Vice-Admiral Garp and Bogard exited the ship, leaving you with a bare-bones crew to continue to maintain the vessel against the port. You sent off your Boatswain to collect enough ingredients for the chef to prepare rations for the new recruits, leaving you to your duties as Quartermaster.

You maintained an air of formality while instructing your crew to create enough crew-quarters for the new arrivals as they were brought aboard.

After several hours of preparation, the Vice-Admiral and his Brigadier returned aboard the vessel with twenty fresh-faced recruits trailing behind them. In acknowledgment to Garp’s arrival, you marched down the steps atop the deck to welcome your leader to his ship.

“Vice-Admiral,” you stood to attention as you did hours prior., saluting him in respect.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” he responded with a curt nod. He used his beard-whiskered chin to nod for you to follow him away from the new recruits with Bogard following along silently.

“Quite the array you’ve managed to claim, Vice-Admiral,” you acknowledged the troops with a downward nod, prompting Garp to follow your gaze.

“That I have,” he agreed with you with a slight, downturned smile, “I can’t wait to see what you’ll mould them into.”

You smirked at his compliment before asking him, “how did the formal reprimand go with Captain Morgan?”

“As well as you could expect,” he chuckled, “I’ve instructed the newly branded Captain to leave him tied in the stocks for a week or so.”

You hummed in response, turning again to look at the cadets as they climbed aboard your ship. Your attention was immediately drawn to a small cadet with circular broad-rimmed glasses who was slightly drowning in his oversized uniform. You quirked your brow at him slightly, prompting Garp to follow your gaze.

“Ah, that one,” he acknowledged, prompting you to return your sights to your superior officer, “he’s the newest recruit.”

You nodded in response before furrowing your brows.

“And you are certain you desire me to train this troop exactly as I would back at base?” you asked him before looking over the young recruits. Vice-Admiral Garp paused for a moment before leaning in close to your ear and issuing one final command.

“Break them,” he voiced above a whisper and clapped his left hand atop your left shoulder before turning back to address the cadets.

“Cadets, you had better prove yourselves if you are to sail under me!” he ordered in a booming voice, “the pirates who attacked Shells Town have a head start, but once I sink my teeth in; I won’t let go.”

You turned your head slightly to the right to release a sharp crack from the joint at the nape of your neck.

“Am I understood, Marines?” Garp barked.

You joined the ship-wide singular voice responding to his question, a loud: “Yes, Sir!”

He smiled at his crew before gesturing to you to step forward to begin an introduction.

“This is my Lieutenant,” he boomed as you stepped forward into view. You held a determined look adorning your features as you assessed the twenty young members of crew.

“She is under my direct instruction to train you and rid you of any inadequacies you had learnt under the former Captain Morgan,” he continued sharply, “she has my sanction to use any means necessary to break you in, understood?”

“Yes, sir!” echoed throughout the deck as the cadets began to bring their attention to you. You rolled your shoulders back began issuing your first commands.

“Fall in, recruits,” you sharply ordered, prompting five rows of four cadets per row. You wove between them, sharply assessing each of them as they stood. You noticed several cadets had their cravats slightly skewed, prompting you to reach up and firmly readjust them with your hands. Stalking their forms and trailing your merciless gaze over them, not uttering a single word as you began your trial of intimidation. You flicked a loose button on the vest of a cadet with your index finger, prompting them to trail your gaze to your administration.

“Repair that,” you ordered under your breath.

“Yes, Ma’am,” they responded sharply, holding their gaze ahead. You continued your stalking assessment through the final two rows, noticing two mismatched individuals at the head: the smaller cadet with glasses and a tall blonde with a ridiculous hair cut and what appears to be a fresh blackened eye.

You focussed your gaze on the smaller of the two, looking him over as you assessed his presentation.

“You need a new uniform,” you commented in a monotonous voice, “this one is far too large.”

“I-it was all they had, Ma’am,” he quietly managed to stutter out while not making eye contact. You noticed the tall blonde snicker at the comment made by the cadet you formerly addressed and snapped your gaze over towards him.

“Something amusing, cadet?” you sharply asked him, prompting a small smirk to disappear at the corner of his mouth. He looked at your sharpened gaze, eyes wide at your immediate attention.

“No, Ma’am,” he responded quickly in a hushed tone.

“What was that, cadet?” you asked him with hard direction, narrowing your eyes and sizing him up.

“No, Ma’am!” he responded withholding no hesitation in his voice.

��Disrespect your fellow cadet again with something as atrocious as a snicker, and you will be dealing with more than just a black eye, understood?” you threatened him, prompting him to again reissue a resounding: “Yes, Ma’am!”

You returned your attention back to the pink-haired recruit with a sinister gaze. He continued to stair ahead, a slight quiver from his shoulders did not escape your attention.

“What’s your name, Marine?” you asked him, bluntly.

“Koby, Ma’am,” he responded in a quiet tone.

“When I give you an order, you respond with ‘Yes Ma’am’, understood?” you reiterated.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he responded quietly, fixing his gaze at the floor and quiver slightly under your direction.

“Eyes forward, Koby!” you barked at him, prompting him to jolt his shoulders slightly before bringing his gaze up to meet your unrelenting aura of authority.

“Cadets, what are we?” you barked.

“Marines, Ma’am!” you heard them respond in unison.

You nodded your head and began to pace the front of the five rows silently before beginning a small monologue.

“We are Marines,” you confirmed, pacing the rows and staring out into the open sea with slight pause.

“I have been instructed to break you,” you continued, again pacing the five rows, “and believe me when I tell you, I will.”

Several cadets appeared to be slightly rattled at your threat, but continued to fix their gaze ahead.

“There will be pain,” you said, stopping in front of the right-most front facing cadet, “there will be sweat and blood pulled from places you never thought you could sweat and bleed from,” you said, continuing to stop in front of the leaders of the lines.

“And you will take every inch of training I bestow upon you until you feel yourself break under my authority, is that understood?” you directed at them in a firm voice.

“Yes, Ma’am,” they responded, keeping their eyes fixed on the horizon line before you.

“I do not care who you are or where you’ve come from,” you halted in front of the blonde who snickered moments prior before moving on to the circular glasses-clad cadet in front of you, “you are mine.”

You saw his Adams-apple visibly bob as an indication of him swallowing a wad of collected saliva behind his lips. His eyes flittered between your hardened gaze, before triangulating down to rest his sights momentarily on your lips before hastily returning them to your eyes.

“Do I make myself clear, cadets?” you fixed your gaze, baring directly into his eyes.

“Yes, Ma’am!” their confirmation resounded in unison, but your sights were continued to be fixed on the small cadet in front of you.

“Good,” you said with a small smirk and an arch of your brow. Up closer to the small cadet, you accidentally assessed his features. Your attention was brought to the semi-frightened intensity displayed freely from his blue irises before your eyes flickered down to rest slightly on his supple, parted lips before you hastily returned your gaze to his eyes once more.

“Boatswain!” you called suddenly to your coworker.

“Yes, Lieutenant!” he responded, stepping forward with a salute.

“Assign the the cadets their chores,” you ordered, turning to face your boatswain, “I will be watching them very closely.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he responded with a salute. You nodded your acknowledgement at your coworker before returning to your cadets.

“Dismissed!” you said, prompting the twenty newcomers to fall in line to receive their orders from the boatswain. You remained stationary as your eyes trailed the cadets as they eagerly scurried to receive their orders from the boatswain, paying particularly close attention to the smaller, pink-haired individual you intimidated moments prior.

You watched him as he, even before receiving instruction from the boatswain, began checking the rigging for faulty knots, moving any hazards from the pathway between the arched corridors of the large vessel. You narrowed your eyes in thought, almost not hearing the approaching footprints of your Vice-Admiral.

“Nicely executed, Lieutenant,” Garp complimented you, prompting you to angle your body towards his without breaking your gaze from the small recruit; nodding to him in gratitude. Garp followed your gaze to the small recruit and arched his brow before bringing his sights back to your form.

“Impressed already?” he asked you, prompting you to tear your sights from watching Koby successfully undo a slipknot you had purposefully rigged and retied it skilfully before he turned to receive his orders from your boatswain.

“The cadet, Koby,” you began, looking slightly behind Garp to address Bogard, “who is he?”

Garp let out a small chuckle at your question.

“He was travelling among the Alvida pirates as their prisoner until arriving in town with the leader of the Strawhat pirates,” Bogard informed you monotonously.

“A pirate prisoner?” you asked him with your eyes slightly widened.

“I thought you said you didn’t care who they were or where they came from,” Garp taunted you slightly, prompting you to bring your attention back to him, “do not relent your training on his accord.”

“Yes, sir,” you responded with a curt nod, “may I be dismissed so I may supervise the cadets, sir?”

“You are dismissed,” he nodded at you, prompting you to salute and turn on the balls of your feet to supervise the newest members of your vessel.

“I was initially hesitant at your request to bring her along,” Bogard addressed the Vice-Admiral and stepping beside him, “she seemed far to young to undertake this task, but after that little display; it’s safe to say I’m impressed.”

“I wouldn’t let her youthfulness dissuade your confidence, Bogard. I’ve seen the marines she trained, and her results speak for themselves,” he confirmed with his underling, which prompted him to nod in response.

Over the course of several months, the marines would only eat when you allowed them to eat; slept when you permitted them to sleep and you trained them in combat until exhaustion would overcome their bodies. You taught them to maintain their uniforms to an appropriate standard; teaching them to maintain their stitches and polish their brass buttons with ample discipline. You continued to monitor the progress of Koby as he quickly rose to become one of the best cadets this particular allotment produced. It also did not escape your notice that he hastily became the starred protégé of Vice-Admiral Garp, who called him into his office for intellectual challenges.

One evening, Bogard came to fetch you while you were leading a particularly heavy cardio and combat-intensive training exercise for the recruits.

“I know you can give me more than that, cadets!” you taunted them with a smirk, prompting them to make their movements harder, sweat dripping from their faces at your command. Koby flicked his eyes over to you while panting hard through partially open lips at the drill you were instructing him. His face was flushed partially from the over-excursion of the drill and the fact that you were focussing your eye contact with him as you continued to taunt them.

“This is the final stretch, cadets,” you called to them, stepping closer to Koby as he continued to push himself at your command, “make me proud.”

Koby wanted nothing more than to push himself beyond the point of exhaustion to satiate your desire for absolute excellence. He adhered to your taunt and strenuously pushed his body to complete the spirited task you had appointed all of the cadets. You smiled in response at him with slightly surprised eyes before turning your attention to another recruit. Although your eyes no longer focussed solely on him, he continued to push and push, tasting the familiar metallic twinge of blood over his tongue as he exhausted his body for you.

“Lieutenant, the Vice-Admiral requests you join him in his office immediately,” Bogard interrupted your instruction to inform you. You growled slightly at the interruption, but relented.

“Alright, Marines,” you addressed your cadets, “that will be all for today. Cool down your bodies so they don’t seize up. Focus on your arms first, they’ll need it most.”

A collective, resounding sigh of relief could be heard passing through the lips of the marines, after acknowledging your instruction with a: “Yes, Ma’am”.

This prompted you to laugh slightly in response to their relief. Over the past few months, you successfully broke the young recruits in and eased up on your hardened exterior; forming friendships with several of the newcomers. Although you continued to hold an air of authority over the troop and never engage in inappropriate conversations with them; you were closer in age to this lot than any you had trained prior, and it showed.

Garp would often watch you engage with the recruits and smile at how organic you were with this collection. After he requested your attendance on his vessel, he grew very fond of you and the rapport you engaged with him.

“Don’t be too relieved,” you said with a small smirk, “I will be pairing you up in size and skill tomorrow and lead you in sparring against one another. You are not to hold back, only stopping once your opponent is either unconscious or otherwise incapacitated. Is that understood, cadets?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the cadets responded in unison.

“Dismissed, then,” you said to them with a small salute and a warm smile, “I’ll see you all at dinner.”

You turned to bring your attention to Bogard and grinned at him before stepping forward to greet him. You walked in step with one another towards the office of your Vice-Admiral, blissfully unaware of the eyes baring into your retreating form.

“Alright, out with it,” Helmeppo prodded his fellow cadet with a roll of his eyes, “What is it, Koby?”

He noticed Koby’s eyes were continuing to focus on the lieutenant as you finally fell out of sight beside Bogard.

“N-nothing, Helmeppo,” he responded, turning back around and readjusting his uniform to be as pristine as he could make it.

“Are you sure it’s not the fact you have a little crush on our commanding officer?” he teased him slightly with a nudge from his shoulder to Koby’s. Koby’s eyes widened and his face immediately flushed a warm pink tone.

“I don’t have a-,” he stuttered slightly, “-a crush on the Lieutenant.”

Helmeppo smirked broadly and felt as if he finally had a leg up on Koby. Although he had the history and knowledge of someone who grew up on a marine base under the command of his father; he did not foster favour with any of the authorities on this vessel. He needed to use this to his advantage somehow, hoping sharing this moment with Koby would grant him favour with at least one of the commanding officers.

“Oh yes you do,” Helmeppo reiterated, “I’ve seen the way your beady little eyes trail her when she’s ordering us around. I know you push yourself hard to impress her in physical training, even though you absolutely suck at it.”

Koby gulped the saliva he collected in his mouth and nervously flickered his tongue out to dampen his lower lip. Helmeppo widened his sinister smile at the reaction he managed to bring from Koby at his sudden taunt.

“The sooner you come to terms with it, the sooner you can do something about it,” he advised off-handedly. Koby didn’t grace Helmeppo with a response, choosing to kneel down and undo and retie his shoelaces.

You made your way throughout the hall to meet with your Vice-Admiral, knocking lightly on the doorframe to alert Garp to your presence.

“Enter, Lieutenant,” Garp called to you, prompting you to open the door. You pushed on the frame to reveal your boss seated at his desk.

“Sir,” you addressed him, clicking your heals and offering a salute, “you asked to see me?”

“That I did, Lieutenant,” he responded, “at ease.”

You widened your stance and laced your hands behind your back at his direction. He reached down to a draw beneath his desk and retrieved a bottle of rum and twin crystal short-glasses. You knit your brows together at his movements, prompting him to smile.

“Come and sit,” he gestured to the chair in front of him. You nodded your head and made to walk over to the chair before him. You pulled it out and took a seat, keeping an alert posture as you watched him pour the liquid into the glasses.

“You have done a more than excellent job in training the recruits,” he said, placing one of the glasses in front of you, “they have made me proud.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said, accepting the glass he placed before you.

“They are a direct reflection on you,” he continued, “which means you, in turn, have made me proud.”

You smiled slightly at his comment, before adding another; “thank you, sir.”

He smiled, clicking the side of his glass against your own and raising it to his lips and taking a small sip. You followed his example and brought the liquid to your lips and taking a sip, savouring the smoky and burning liquid on your tongue before swallowing it.

You both sat in comfortable silence as you sipped at your rum.

“What do you make of the cadet, Koby?” he asked you with a small twinkle in his eyes.

You searched your mind for an adequate response, thinking only of words of absolute praise. You can admit to only yourself that you harboured more than the feelings of comradery for the cadet, but you would never express those to a commanding officer.

“I was taken with him immediately, as you recall,” you said, nodding your chin to the Vice-Admiral.

“Yes I do remember that,” he confirmed, bringing the glass again to his lips.

“His strength has improved,” you added, “he pushes himself further in physical training than any of the others, although they all give me their strength. He’s determined, experienced in sea bearing activities and eager to learn.”

“That he is,” Garp smiled into his glass.

You finished your glasses and reflected on the various months of strenuous training you had provided to break in the cadets for several more minutes before Garp dismissed you to retire for the evening meal.

“There looks like there’s a storm brewing,” Garp said, gesturing out his window towards the grey clouds eclipsing the once clear sky, “go get some dinner before making sure everything is fastened to brace for some choppy waves.”

“Yes, sir,” you said as he dismissed you.

You walked down the corridor of the large ship towards the dining quarters. The waves began to pick up, clashing against the wooden frame of the ship and rocking you slightly as you walked down the hall. You held onto the side of the ship to brace yourself against the hull, steadying your movement over as another choppy wave flung itself against the ship. After pausing, you continued to make your way towards the dining hall. Turning one final corner, another large wave seemingly threw you from your feet. You attempted to brace your body, in the process colliding your form directly into the chest of the circular glass-wearing, pink-haired cadet.

“Apologies, Lieutenant,” he said, stepping back from your close proximity and saluting to you to the best of his abilities. You smiled warmly at the cadet.

“At ease, Koby,” you chuckled slightly at his immediate reaction, “it was my fault. I was miles away and these waves don’t help either.”

He released a nervous chuckle from between his lips and smiled at you. You collected yourself and used his arms to steady yourself and rode out the final reverberations of the wave as it quietened.

“I don’t think I have ever expressed this to you before,” you began, bringing his blue irises to rest on your own, “I’m truly proud of you. You’ve come so far and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed watching you flourish under my instruction.”

He gasped slightly at the affirming words you were bestowing onto him. You released his forearms from your grip with a light chuckle, nodding to him in thanks for allowing you to brace yourself against him.

“Thank you, lieutenant,” he said with a warm smile, eyes shining brightly at your compliment. You smiled warmly at him as you watched him beam in the ambiance of the compliment.

“I-I can honestly say,” he stuttered with a smile, “I have enjoyed having you break me. I-I’d do anything for you.”

He froze after speaking those words, his smile dropped and a tinge of red overcame his features. You widened your eyes at his confession.

“I didn’t mean it l-like that,” he spluttered out his words hurriedly, “I mean, I would follow your commands. I would do anything to continue to make you proud-.”

You creased your brows with a small smile as you watched the cadet continue to use a hypothetical shovel to dig a deeper hole for himself, choosing to remain silent; giving him all the time he needs to find the correct words he wished to express toward you.

“-The marines, Ma’am!” he continued to correct himself, “-to make the marine’s proud. I would follow you to the ends of the earth to make the marines proud.”

You broadened your smile at him, enjoying watching him squirm slightly while falling over his words. As he continued to depict his affections for you, and you refused to smother the growing feeling of affection rising in your chest for the pink-haired cadet. As he continued to spur words of adoration for you, the well seemingly erupted as your body tingled with an almost giddiness you had not experienced prior.

“I just-,” he halted his words, “I just want you to know how much you mean to me-.”

You giggled slightly at his words. The waves began to swell again and clash against the wooden ship once more, your bodies both swaying slightly as you rode through them together, interlocking your knees to steady yourselves against the impact.

“-to all of the cadets, Ma’am,” he furrowed his brows and avoided your eye contact by looking all throughout the empty hall; focussing on anything other than your gaze. The waves began to dissipate once more, allowing you to steady yourselves. Koby continued to blink sporadically around the cabin and avoid your gaze in an attempt to stifle his flushed emotions.

You reached up with your left hand and placed it on his right shoulder, immediately bringing his rose-tinged attention to fixate on your face. He gazed into your eyes, triangulating down to your lips and holding his attention there slightly as he did the first day he met you before bringing his blue orbs back up to your knowing eyes.

This was not the first time a subordinate had developed feelings of affection towards you, especially as you trained them over the course of several months. It was, however, the first time you felt yourself reciprocate the affections of a crewman; and a cadet at that.

“It’s ok, Koby,” you reassured him with a fond smile, quirking your head to the side in amusement. You allowed a momentary softness in your formal demeaner as you gazed into the affectionate, timid eyes of the pink-haired cadet. He flittered his sights to the placement of your hand against his shoulder, feeling the warmth you offered so freely to him before looking back to your face.

He switched, flittering his eyes between focussing on one of your irises before swapping to the other nervously.

The waves again began to swell aboard the vessel, prompting you to release the cadet from your grip and look to your surroundings to ensure the rigging to be completely secure in the lower decks. He followed your gaze slightly, focussing on the rattling chains adorning the walls as they shook in sync with the waves.

“Lieutenant?” he asked you suddenly.

Your face adorned a slight amount of unease at the large swell of the waves breaking against the hull of the ship. You reached again to Koby’s shoulder and brought his body against yours while you both braced for the swelling impact of the approaching tidal waves. You frowned in determination and fixed your sights to the stairs leading to the upper deck. You saw water begin to flow down the steps and enter into the lower decks, indicating an object not correctly fastened above the chambers below.

“Stay below decks, Koby,” you commented before releasing your grip from his shoulder for the third time since you interacted with him.

“Ma’am?” he asked you, focussing on fixating his gaze following your own.

“Cadet, I need to go and secure the loose object above decks,” you said, turning to look directly in his eyes, “stay below deck and stay safe,” you emphasized your final instruction.

You began to brace yourself against the walls as you were thrust into them from the swelling waves brought onto you. You wiped stray hairs falling into your face that became damp with offensive seawater away from your vision and pulled your body above deck by the ropes adorning the walls.

While maintaining a blissful ignorance to your surroundings, you were unaware that the cadet you instructed moments prior to remain secure within crew quarters disregarded your orders and followed closely behind you.

As you brought yourself above the deck, you noticed several weighted cannons had become loose at their rigging, prompting you to spring into action to resecure them in place. Squeezing your eyes shut between sprays of sour seawater as they splashed onto your face, you paid them no mind as you continued to make safe the cannons by securing them with complex knots.

While securing the last cannon in place, you felt the true weight of the object as it barrelled into you, successfully trapping you between the polished wooden frame of the ship. Freshwater sprayed onto your face as the clouds above swelled the substance over your face, combining the with the prior saltwater from the swells to successfully shield your vision from any approaching figureheads.

The surrounding bellowing clashes of thunderous clouds combining with the swelled waves provided no response from your struggle against the weight of the final cannon. You felt yourself begin to panic slightly under the weight of the cylindrical object as it pressed you against the side of the deck.

You witnessed a large wave begin to swell, your eyes widening at the sheer size of it. Before you could utter a sound of plea for rescue, you noticed a truss of candy-pink damp hair field your vision. You felt the cadet audibly strain against the weight of the cannon, utilising all of his strength to pull the object from its hold on your body.

“Koby, what are you doing here?!” you barked at him in surprise, “I ordered you to remain below deck!”

“With all due respect, lieutenant,” he said while grunting, pulling the cannon from your body by issuing all of his strength, “you can’t do everything alone.”

You nodded at him, still with a frown adorning your features as you both utilised the reserves of your strength to pry the weapon from crushing your body.

You managed to feel the cannon pull away from your body, meeting each other’s gaze with a laugh of relief. The relief, however, was short lived as the large swelling wave thrust itself against the stern of the ship and managed to sweep you from your feet and carry you overboard into the dangerous waters.

“Man overboard! Lieutenant overboard!” reverberated in your ears as you felt yourself be pulled beneath the surface, your senses becoming overwhelmed with the pressure of the water below. Although you were a confident swimmer, you felt yourself continually be pulled beneath the surface of the water; unable to claim a breath of air to sustain your lungs. As your vision began to spot with darkened circles, you saw a small object join you beneath the surface of the water; an arm claiming your body and bring you to rise to the surface. Your vision became clouded and you found yourself succumbed to the darkness the water had desired to bestow before you.

Before your body could comprehend what was happening to it, you found yourself suddenly thrown back against a hard surface. You had no idea if you were dead or merely unconscious for some time. All you were alerted to was a pair of soft lips against your own as you felt air enter your lungs as water sprayed onto your face.

“Breathe, lieutenant!” you heard orders being thrust onto you, “please breathe!”

You coughed slightly, ridding your lungs of the toxic seawater. You rolled onto your side as you continued spluttering up the liquid consumed by the chasms within your chest. You heard a sigh of relief from the form above you while you gasped for breath and continued your coughing.

After you inhaled a burning breath into your chest, you rolled onto your back as you felt the waves subside. You watched a small eye in the clouds above begin to form, flowing beams of warm rays from the sun onto your skin as you continued to inhale the air surrounding your body. You shut your eyes and focussed on deeply inhaling life-sustaining oxygen before reopening your eyes and focussing on the cadet kneeling in front of your reclined form.

You narrowed your eyes, noticing the pink-haired cadet no longer supported his spectacles on his face and his uniform was incredibly damp.

“Koby?” you breathlessly asked him, confirming the individual was exactly who they presented themselves to be. You searched his eyes for security, noticing his waterline was slightly red.

“Lieutenant,” he gasped, eyes wide and an air of anxiety pronounced over his features.

“You disobeyed a direct order,” you reprimanded him sternly, bringing your elbows up below your torso to rise your chest from its reclined position below you, “why did you disobey my direct order?”

He immediately bowed his head before you in apologies, bringing your attention to a slight sniff from his nose as his shoulders began to shake slightly.

“Because I couldn’t let you go,” he murmured while maintaining his concentration on the wood below you, refusing to bring his sights to gaze upon your own.

You brought your fingertips to your mouth and traced the outline of your parted lips. You noticed a slight swell beneath your fingertips, indicating a pressure had been applied to your body.

“I was down, wasn’t I?” you asked him, eyes widened in shock.

“Yes, Ma’am,” you heard him confirm in a low tone above a whisper.

“How long was I down?” you asked him, releasing your lips from beneath your fingertips.

“Twelve minutes, Ma’am,” he uttered, continuing to keep his head bowed to you. You coughed slightly before lifting your body into a seated position, feeling the weight of your lungs that you believed to be priorly weighed down with seawater.

You gazed to Koby’s form, noticing his bent knuckles as he grasped the polished wooden floors beneath his fingers, his face shrouded by his candy-floss pink hair. He appeared to be trembling slightly at the shoulders, whether it be from the cold water dampening his clothes or from the adrenaline spiking his senses as he brought you back above deck; you were unsure.

“Koby,” you whispered, bringing your hand to his chin, claiming it between your fingers. He stifled his shuddering slightly, his shoulders solidifying at your sudden touch. You lifted his gaze to meet your own, noticing tears had began to well at his glazed-over eyes.

“Why did you dive in for me? The sea could’ve claimed you, too,” you said, releasing his chin from your grip and tracing them gently against the line of his jaw, prompting him to inhale sharply and shut his eyes, leaning into your caress.

“I told you, lieutenant,” he whispered into your palm before reopening his eyes and looking beneath his long eyelashes and baring his blue orbs into your own, “I would follow you to the ends of the earth.”

You upturned your brows at him and offered him a half-smile at the corner of your lips. He looked away from you, turning to the righthand side of the deck.

“Koby-,” you began with a deep sigh, releasing his jaw and cheek from your caress.

“-and I know it’s inappropriate, lieutenant,” he interrupted you with a slight sigh, “but I couldn’t leave you. I-,”

He paused, bringing his gaze back to yours before again declaring; “-I-I love you.”

You felt the air hypothetically this time flee from your chest at his sudden declaration.

“A-and I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way-,” he began, halting his words only at your sudden outburst of adoration. You claimed his shoulders in a warm embrace, holding him against your torso and smoothing over his back.

“Koby,” you again whispered into him, bringing your cheek flush against the side of his pink hair.

“Ma’am,” he responded in a breathily whimper. You released his shoulders from your embrace before bringing your forehead to rest against his own, your eyes closed. You inhaled through your nose, breathing in any anxiety he continued to hold, feeling the waves of his unease dissipate with each passing moment.

You felt him snake his arms around your waist and bring you closer against his body, continuing to press his forehead against your own for as long as you would permit him to do so. You opened your eyes and brought your forehead away from his own, keeping only a few centimetres between you.

“I owe you my life,” you whispered into his face with a warm smile, “and I am willing to spend each moment of the rest of the life I could’ve lost just now to show you just how much love I truly have for you.”

You heard him inhale sharply first before you witnessed how wide his beautiful blue eyes were, beginning to brim slightly at your declaration. You giggled slightly at his reaction, scrunching your nose; teasing him slightly.

“Does that mean I can kiss you?” he innocently asked you in a hurried voice, prompting you to giggle in response.

“Koby,” you half laugh-sighed deeply before hooking your elbow behind his neck and suddenly bringing his face flush with your own. You leant your lips into his and pressed a deep kiss upon him, filled with the adoration you truly held for him. You were apprehensive to express yourself further to deepen the kiss than what he was comfortable with, noting his anxiety in your prior interactions.

His enthusiasm was quickly expressed through his administrations, bringing both of his hands to your lower ribs as he pulled your torso against his own with a small whimper falling between his lips. You smiled into the kiss and gasped into his lips as you unhooked your elbow from behind his neck and opted to cradle his cheeks within your palms. You could feel his body begin to shake with all of the emotion he was holding back, prompting you to respond empathetically as you continued to hold him against.

Koby nearly lost you; not only his superior officer who had trained him so vigorously in his quest to achieve his dream of becoming an elite marine, but the woman he came to truly love. He administered chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth to your unresponsive body for twelve whole minutes before you sucked in a shaky breath and ridded your body from the salt-water your lungs had filled beyond capacity. He cried for you, willing every fibre of his being to bring you back from the brink of death to be at his side.

You felt warm tears freely spill down his cheeks as he continued to press his lips against your own, exchanging angles to deepen your kiss between gasped breaths.

You broke from his lips only to bring your thumbs up to his cheeks and soothe over the free-falling tears he released from his eyes as he was overcome with a tirade of intense emotions. You opted not to speak, but continue to administer a gentle touch over his skin as his body trembled. You kissed his cheeks softly as he whimpered into your touch, bringing his hands to your wrists and gently holding them against his face as he continued to enjoy your touch.

Masterlist is here.

He pressed his lips into each of your palms before looking deeply into your eyes with a broad smile after he worked through the complex emotions, emitting a laugh from his lips in absolute joy as he processed the fact you were returning his affections.

You returned his laugh with a small chuckle of your own as you gazed affectionately into his eyes before bringing your lips to press against his once more as to seal an unspoken promise made between you both.

[moonbaby26]

Title: Interference

(Chapter 14 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader, Smoker x Reader (referenced), Aokiji/Kuzan x Reader (referenced), Doflamingo x Crocodile (referenced)

Chapter Warnings: language, somnophilia, non con, drugged reader, toxic relationships, violence, physical abuse, references to suicide, substance abuse, breeding kink, addictive personality, reader trauma response, mommy issues, angst

Chapter Synopsis: One step forward with Doflamingo is often also ten steps back. Neither of you have yet to learn the other’s limits, and trust is still being broken and reformed repeatedly. As you endure your latest challenge, former flames from both your past and his make their own plans to intervene.

Chapters: 1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9,  10,  11,  12, 13, 14, 15

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Smoker hated this clandestine bullshit. But it’s not like he could have slept now either. Those newspapers were still splayed on his desk with your pictures across them. Just candlelight flickering through the room as his ship lurched over waves in the dead of night.

He exhaled from his cigars in frustration, his eyes back on the clock on the wall. How many hours did this really take to rendezvous? He hadn’t even wanted to turn back for Marineford.

He could have been nearly to Dressrosa by now if he hadn’t let the other man convince him to do this. 

All so stupid as they’d had to dance around their real intentions over the phone regardless. The Fleet Admiral had reiterated over and over that everyone was just going to stand by and let this play out for now.

It didn’t make a lick of goddamn sense. What kind of dirt did that freak Doflamingo really have on those that held his leash atop the Red Line? Why could any pirate possibly have this much leeway?

But at last Smoker had heard the door knob moving as he’d straightened up in his chair. The door shifted in that hesitant way which already told him who it was.

Tashigi poked her head in, whispering more than even necessary. “He’s here, sir!”

“Then move and let him in.” Smoker grumbled back to her, already trying to somewhat look past her as he stood from his desk.

The rattle of a rusty bicycle chain was the next sound though as it was wheeled in. Ice crystals were still melting from the tire treads as Aokiji passed Tashigi to fully enter the captain’s office. And she shut the door to remain in the room behind him as well.

“How many sailors saw you?” Smoker asked already, watching the admiral lean that somewhat sea salt corroded bicycle against the wall.

“Not many. But your men are loyal aren’t they?” You told them this wasn’t their business didn’t you?” Aokiji answered, then standing back to his full height once he’d set his bike aside.

“I’d like to think so.” Smoker replied, yet his expression making it clear that he was ready to jump right into this. They’d wasted enough time. “So what do you know about all this, Kuzan?” 

The initial shock to the news about you still had yet to wear off. But plans needed intel, they needed background. And just from tone alone in their short snail conversations, he knew Aokiji had figured some things out.

The two men were close friends. But the trust they shared was one of those innate things. This relationship hadn’t taken years to cultivate. Very similar in fact to what Tashigi was now becoming for Smoker as well, regardless of her greenhorn status and much lower rank. Some marines just clicked.

Comrades he knew he could trust his life to. There was no point in wondering why.

“She made a deal with Doflamingo in Sabaody. That’s why he let those slaves go from the auction house.” The admiral said abruptly then. But still with the air of a man now letting something painful off of his chest that he’d been holding in for too long. “I think Scylla was his way of collecting on that deal.”

Tashigi’s eyes had widened simultaneous to Smoker’s narrowing. But this was just the very beginning of these revelations. Smoker sensed that too in the way Aokiji was scowling. A rare expression on his normally neutral face. 

These were things the admiral didn’t want to talk about. But they couldn’t help you if they didn’t understand. They all needed to know the full extent of this.

“I confronted Doflamingo on Sabaody too. And I confronted her at HQ.” Aokiji confessed in response to Smoker’s continued glare “They were both hiding more. But they…well she told me they’d been together already. Physically. This didn’t start on Scylla. Maybe it didn’t even start on Sabaody.”

The quiet gasp from Tashigi was still so filled with confusion. And Smoker felt that immediately too. Because that just couldn’t be right. 

But he was human as well. And that moment of surprise bled into more complex feelings as his cigars moved with his words back to Kuzan, as disgust and even a hint of betrayal began to take hold. “From when? From when I was dating her?”

He’d called you his girlfriend for a little over two years. All the way until that fight in Mariejois. The morning he’d finally cut you free. You were going to burn yourself out and he couldn’t help you understand why. It felt so much longer ago now though. But it hadn’t been. Not really. 

“She would never cheat on you.” Tashigi surprised them both with those sudden words. “She’s not like that.” 

But her eyes already looked upset. Though she was doing her best now to not let the waterworks out. 

“I hadn’t seen her for three months before Mariejois though.” Smoker admitted. He’d already known by then that it was over, but he’d been waiting for the chance to have that conversation with you in person. He had never wanted to hurt you. 

Obviously you still hadn’t taken it well. But to run into the arms of a pirate? And of all of the crooks out there, it to be that one? Tsuru’s literal enemy? No, Smoker wasn’t accepting this as anything that simple. You’d always been far more complicated. And he was not the only one to have contributed to it.

For two years he had done his best with you. But you’d been looking for something in him that wasn’t there too. He knew he hadn’t been your first choice. Second place was nice for a while of course, but it was still just the first loser in the end. And Smoker could now see that the man who had preceded him to set that unmatchable standard was still out there in the weeds obviously. Not even realizing what was right in front of him.

Kuzan still just didn’t get it.

Out of respect, Smoker had kept his mouth shut for the longest time on this as well. It hadn’t been his business. But now you were in trouble. Your actual life was likely on the line as just a bit of that anger finally escaped to the surface.

“Dammit, Kuzan! You say you made her confess…so you knew something was up when the rest of us didn’t? Then why didn’t you help her then!?”

And the way Kuzan’s eyes immediately widened in surprise didn’t suit his rank at all as Smoker kept on. He had been holding this in for far too long.

“You’d started talking to her again after I broke it off with her, right? I mean immediately, you two were getting friendly again weren’t you? You walked her out of the damned bar that night with her hanging all over you! Wasn’t it obvious to you then!?”

“The hell are you on about!?” And now Kuzan was snapping back at him, though still clearly confused. “She was drunk and trying to get over you! You’re the one that hurt her in Mariejois!”

“Me!?” And Smoker’s chest rose at that. Maybe this fully was that old stereotype of some men not being able to see the forest for the trees. Emotionally blind in these kinds of things. But Smoker could only be angrier at this man because they were friends. He held Kuzan to a higher standard than this.

“Tashigi!” Smoker called her name abruptly to her additional surprise though. “What did she tell you? That very first time me and her had a big fight and she’d only hang out with you in port all that week. Tell this dummy what she said, because I know he won’t believe me now!”

And she looked from one man to the other in a bit of escalating panic. “But she told me that in private!”

“Well you already told me! And it’s relevant now!” Smoker retorted.

“I only told you so that you’d understand what she was upset about! I was trying to help!”

And it hadn’t helped in the long run. Had it? Maybe it’d only made things worse. “Tell him, Tashigi!” Smoker ordered her this time.

Her lip was quivering, but there was a rare indignation to her expression then as well. As if suddenly she was angry at both men herself. 

“She told me that the only real partners she’d ever had were Aokiji-san and Smoker-san! But that…” And she closed her eyes briefly, as if apologizing to you internally before she blurted out this secret that was so personal. “She said that neither of you had ever told her that you loved her! That she kept trying to earn it…and she didn’t think she ever could!”

But Smoker gave her a harsh look still. Because this was almost the whole truth. There was the one other point that’d really been the final nail in the coffin of his own relationship with you. And Kuzan needed to hear it. “And?” Smoker made her keep on. “Tell him the other thing!”

Tashigi’s eyes were open again. She looked to her captain almost pleadingly. “I can’t…”

Smoker scowled. That girl was just too loyal for her own good sometimes. But fine, he’d say it then. Everything needed to be out in the open at last.

“(Y/N) told Tashigi that she kept wanting to find what she’d had before. What she felt with you, you dumbass! You were the only man that she was in love with!”

And it still hurt even as Smoker said it aloud that easily now. It hurt just like it had from the first time he’d known it was true. “I wasn’t you, Kuzan. She was never going to be happy with me. But you’re such an idiot, even when I let her go and put her right back in front of you…you let a pirate pick her up instead!?”

And the main point had still sailed right over Kuzan’s head. Even now, he was hanging on to concepts from several sentences prior as he snapped at Smoker. 

“Why the hell did you date her for two years if you didn’t even love her!?”

Obviously their ranks were off the table currently. These were just two men now at each other like petulant brothers as Smoker fired so immediately back. 

“Well I wasn’t going to say something I wasn’t ready to say! I knew she was still so hung up on you! I was trying to see if she would ever get past it…I knew she was waiting on that word! But if I’d said it, she would have thrown herself away for me and have wanted to get married! She’d probably have wanted kids!” 

Something Smoker could not allow when he knew you’d only been with him as your consolation prize. Your insane drive for accolades, for reaching the top of their ranks had only been ancillary in the end. You were filling that need for validation any way you could. He alone never could have satisfied you, and he wasn’t going to trap you with him. Even if he could have.

But the outburst that came from Kuzan then was something even Smoker didn’t expect. An entire new revelation to hit both he and Tashigi right over the head.

“And what would be so wrong with wanting a family!?” The admiral exclaimed. The hurt in his voice more than anyone could have thought.

Something even Kuzan wasn’t prepared for from himself as Smoker saw that briefly vulnerable look go through his friend’s eyes.

But Smoker was still angry. Beside himself really as all this truth only made everything all the more wasteful.

“You jackass! Why did you ever leave her when you both wanted the same things!?”

And Kuzan looked stunned. But not for long. Never for long as he tried to withdraw into those same old excuses. “Because I can’t protect her! I’d rather be alone always instead of see that nightmare ever play out again!”

“Goddamnit!” Smoker cursed, but just looking fully disgusted now. He wasn’t going to come to blows with his own friend, though he still wasn’t done yelling at him. He had never met someone so innately good, but so thickheaded all at one time. “Marines die every day, Kuzan! She’s a marine! It’s what we goddamn do! She knows that!”

And both of them took a heated breath, Smoker turning away though to go back to his desk as he grabbed one of the newspapers. He shook it in the other’s face. Like a wake up call. You were in danger either way.

You were in danger right now while they were here arguing like children. “We both fucked up, alright!?” Smoker admitted. “I care about her too! She’s a hell of a marine and she’s my friend. Just like you are!” He said to Kuzan. “But now she’s in trouble. So I’m going to Dressrosa! Either help me or get out of my way!”

“You can’t openly defy Sengoku!” The admiral groaned shortly after though, willing to finally leave those mistakes of the past on pause for the moment. To stop screaming at each other and casting blame. The discussion of what to do now was the only reason he’d come here to begin with. “This has to be done the right way.” Kuzan reiterated with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Well then damned talk, Iceman. I’m listening.” Smoker exhaled. Every mission had to start somewhere. Every odyssey had to begin with a first sailing.

——————————— 

Doflamingo needed to get up. He couldn’t reschedule this morning’s meetings, no matter how badly he now wanted to. But the temptation to abandon all responsibility was only growing as his gaze lingered over your unresponsive form.

You were finally in his castle. Finally in his goddamn bed as he wanted nothing more than to put his body back over yours and order someone else to make all those phone calls for him today. 

Money was always coming and going in obscene amounts for him. But you were vulnerable right here, right now as he dug his fingernails back into your hips.

You wouldn’t be bothered by this. No matter how hard he pressed. Because he knew a blackout when he saw one. 

And this result hadn’t even been his full intention. You just hadn’t eaten enough last night after all the arguing had started. And those so called painkillers he’d ordered the doctor to give you were all the stronger on a near empty stomach. Their effects blurring well into the next day for you now.

He knew all about that too. These were actually one of his top selling drugs. Pills he’d purposefully fucked himself up on more than once after a bad day.

Because he couldn’t have nightmares when he barely knew his own name on those nights, could he? 

And you couldn’t feel anything now either as he glanced over his shoulder to that ornate clock in the corner of his bed chambers.

He really did have to go soon. But he’d already showered last night. There was still a little more time to indulge in this if he hurried. To indulge in you, before he did lean back down to close his mouth over one of your breasts.

He sucked that nipple so carefully though, wanting it to gradually harden for him.

Harden like he already was of course. His cock awake even before his brain had been. Morning wood between his legs, and messy blond hair against his scalp as the pillows had forced even those short little spikes in different directions now. 

He’d still have liked your fingers to be smoothing it back down against his head, either that or pulling it roughly as he started to suck your breast harder. His hips already beginning to move while his cock slid across your warm skin.

He was going to summon one of the island’s officials over to the palace by tomorrow at latest. You’d be forced to sign papers that would tie you to him for as long as you both drew breath. Documents to be sealed in the World Government’s records until the time would come to take this fully public.

Because there were strict legalities to be met whenever empires and bloodlines came under scrutiny. He knew the proper timeline must be adhered to. 

You had to be a wife before you could be a mother. All just semantics really. But these games were as old as the world itself. And he would not be outplayed in them.

His anticipation for these results was only worsening each additional day though. Burning in tandem to all of his lust as the words of last night still weighed so heavily in his mind.

He’d thought such emotions would never matter to him. He’d believed he’d just take and take regardless of your own thoughts or feelings.

But it had felt good. So very good as you’d looked him in the eyes and said you were falling for him. 

That these webs of his were working. That his efforts were not in vain.

Doflamingo’s hips were moving harder then, just useless practice in this moment. But feeling so right all the same. Precum was already smearing his tip as it rubbed across you.

He was pressing against your unsuspecting body that he knew his blood would soon be taking full root within. Because Caesar had never failed him yet. 

Whenever that concoction did arrive, Doflamingo would be putting it to immediate use.

And he did raise his head again in this daydreaming, watching your still closed eyes and your slightly parted lips. Your breathing so soft and steady beneath him.

Your life existing for him.

You looked so calm, so peaceful in this state. As if this drugged sleep really were a kindness he had bestowed on you.

But you would be cursing him soon. 

Whenever your clothes no longer fit the same. When you tired more easily, and hungered for strange things. When your feet hurt and your breasts grew swollen and tender.

Whether you begged or even cried for it to stop, he knew those changes would come. Because nature would not be overridden. You would be forming an entire new life inside yourself, and be made to endure every consequence that came along with it.

And how badly he longed to see that progression. How badly he longed to cause it.

Doflamingo groaned, feeling that tension already starting in his own abdomen as his hips pumped harder, beginning to fully dry hump you now.

Why did this particular idea fucking turn him on so badly? Thinking of you full of his seed, and made that much weaker for it, that much more dependent on him as that child grew.

But he’d always wanted to ruin you deep down. Because he’d wanted it all from day one, hadn’t he? He’d told his brother, he’d told Trebol, Diamante, Pica, and Vergo. All of them at one time or another.

I think I just met my first wife, boys.

He remembered joking.

How’d you like to be an uncle, Rosi?

He’d said that too with such incredible lust once, fully disgusting to Corazon when Doflamingo had already been drunk the night Trebol and Diamante had brought him your coat.

He remembered holding that bloodied fabric in one hand, and his brother’s spine in the other. Whispering that taunt in the younger Donquixote’s ear before shoving him away.

Corazon the snitch. Corazon the traitor. He’d probably run off to sit outside that very same night. Just as Doflamingo had retired to his room to pleasure himself against the torment of your scent still on that dirtied garment. 

Doflamingo had been fucking his own hand, wishing it was you while that chainsmoking coward had surely been sitting out in the dark with the other rats in the scrap piles. Probably with a hidden snail in all those black feathers, immediately calling daddy Sengoku to tattle about his older brother’s new urges.

But the old man still hadn’t done a damn thing to save you in the end. The marines hadn’t kept you away from him long enough. They didn’t understand how many years he could hold on to something like this.

Corazon had failed to make them understand. Corazon had failed you. 

And so Doflamingo laughed. Dark and deep as his hands moved back over your thighs to finally spread them.

He’d have what he wanted. Every morning, every evening, every day, week, month and year to come.

Because little Rosinante had failed to save his fellow marine. He’d failed his future sister-in-law with his selfishness and cowardice. And now…he’d even failed his future niece or nephew that he would never get the chance to know.

All by his own choices to turn against his only brother who had loved him. 

He had loved Corazon.

But only death could bring forgiveness.

Doflamingo smiled wide, just before he brought his hand back up, nearly against his mouth as he then spit into his own palm.

You may not feel this affection now, but he knew you would later today as he slicked his shaft, stroking his palm and that fresh saliva across the length of it.

He’d move you back to your own bed, carrying you through the passageway after he was done here. Baby 5 could check on you shortly after and encourage you to eat breakfast.

Food would sober you up. And if not, he knew where the antidote was.

He could have already given it to you as soon as he’d awoken, true. But where would have been the fun in that? This imagery was already so desirable, intoxicating even.

The queen of Dressrosa beneath him, fucked up on pills and currently dead to the world. And the king of Dressrosa fucked up on her, whoring himself like an animal just for another feel of his beloved’s flesh.

And he was grinning wildly now as he pressed himself through your waiting entrance and began to thrust inside. Harder and harder as he let out a moan, reveling in all of it as he got his morning fix between your thighs. He had no shame in his own choices at all. 

Because he was already an addict, your user and your abuser. Your best customer and soon to be husband and father to your child, unable to ever say no to this product that was you.

————————— 

“Hey! Hey wake up! Come on…rise and shine! Hello? Wake up!”

And something was shaking your shoulder.

A female voice was trying to draw you out over and over.

But you didn’t want to go to it. It still sounded far away and you were confused. The pain would be there if you woke up again. You knew at least that much and you weren’t ready.

Then something slapped your cheek.

Hard.

“Wake…up!”

And then again, to the other side of your face.

And again, back to the other side.

Your eyes finally fluttered. But those light stings of being struck were nothing in everything else that had already happened to you. In everything that was still going to happen. 

You ignored it.

You were staring at a foreign ceiling through half lidded eyes then instead. A blanket pulled tightly around you as everything suddenly got brighter. 

Rings were scraping along rods high above. Thick, velvety curtains were being pulled open to unleash the Dressrosan sun upon you.

Baby 5 was leaned over you as well, staring down intently as she stood beside your bed.

And when your eyes eventually met hers, she smiled so genuinely in relief. As if she hadn’t also been the one to just strike you multiple times. 

“Finally! You are alive! I’m so glad! The young master told me I’d probably have to do that! He gave me permission to! I was going to try water next, but that would have been a mess!”

“What…” Of course you had no clue what she was saying at first, just clutching that blanket around your body as a little more sense began to return to you slowly.

“He said you wouldn’t be feeling well, but that you must wake up and eat something if you were still in bed!” She still carried on with her words somewhat excitedly.

And you did somehow force yourself up to sitting at the mention of Doflamingo though. But still regretting it as you immediately felt dizzy.

Baby 5 wasn’t even the only one in the room either as you kept that blanket pulled up to your collar bones while you eventually realized the small crowd milling about.

It was maids. Some opening the curtains still, others setting up a new tray in your reach. Bringing more water, and more fresh food. But you were looking just further disoriented as you realized this was not the same room as the one you’d fallen asleep in.

This was “your” room again and “your” bed.

But the last thing you’d remembered was being curled up against Doflamingo in the darkness of his.

Had he moved you and left you when he awoke?

“Where…is he?” You managed, still watching everyone else so cautiously.

“The young master is on an important business call. Well, several of them. He said I was to report back to him on your condition.” Baby 5 answered dutifully, almost proud in this assignment. 

But for how happy she seemed to be, by contrast the other women were just skirting around her and refusing to even make eye contact with you. All like frightened, timid little animals before they hurried immediately back out of the room after completing their tasks. 

“So eat! Because that’s what he wanted!” Baby 5 insisted then, crossing her arms as she watched you. That suddenly stern look a bit ridiculous on a teenager’s face. 

But you felt like shit. Even if most of your body was still numb. And the last thing you wanted was to be forcing something down that would only be coming back up in a few minutes.

You always lost your appetite whenever you were really stressed though. Tsuru had had to get onto you about it more than once. Not that you ever remembered this many consecutive days of anxiety on her ship, even in wartime.

“If I eat, I’ll puke.” You said simply, head then lowering into your hand as you looked back to the mattress. This wasn’t a typical hangover either. And you knew you hadn’t even been drinking.

Doflamingo had only had them bring water last night, and that too must have been intentional. Because you’d probably be dead if you’d mixed in alcohol on top of this.

What the hell was really in those pills?

You just wanted to go back to sleep. You wanted to close your eyes and not open them again for ages.

“Hey, Baby 5!” Another voice butted in from the doorway though to have you glancing back up. A much younger voice sounding so very annoyed. “Where can I dump these stupid things?”

And Baby 5’s expression flipped instantly from stern to amazed as she gasped dramatically. “What are those!?” Her hands were on her cheeks. 

But all you saw was a moving bush of purple flowers. The pot they were planted in being carried with skinny legs and bright pink shoes beneath it.

“Giolla told me to put them in here. Some guy delivered them.” The boy huffed. “But I’m about to chunk them out of the window. I have better things to do. I’m not anybody’s room service!”

“They’re gorgeous, Dellinger! Don’t you dare throw them!” Baby 5 barked back at him just as quickly as if this was only her kid brother she was now admonishing.

“Then you take it! It’s making me itch!”

And she did, easily lifting the large flower pot away from the boy as he sneezed.

Even with the plant and its flowers moved away from him, he was then wiping his eyes in irritation. You realized the half fishman was definitely a little taller now than he used to be. No longer a toddler at least before he shot you a hateful look when he realized you were staring at him.

“What, you’ve never seen a fishman before!?” He copped an attitude to your perceived rudeness immediately. His teeth looking sharp now in an odd contrast to his still relatively short height. He couldn’t be more than eight or so now. And with far more mouth on him than restraint.

“Just thinking you’re at least a little bigger than the cannonballs you used to shoot at us.” You mumbled. You also wondered if it was still Giolla who picked out his clothes. The clashing colors were so bright and hard on your eyes. 

“Well we don’t need you here, just so you know!” He snapped back at you regardless before sticking out his tongue.

So mature.

And Baby 5 did roll her eyes, apparently briefly thinking the same. But she was still more worried about the flowers than anything else in this room now as she hurriedly sat them on a sideboard cabinet against the wall. You saw her rather excitedly pull a note from between the leaves when she realized it was there too.

But then there was her immediate disappointment once she’d actually read it. She left the note near the pot. “Boo…it’s just a thank you note from Alabasta!”

“Who’d you think they were from, dummy?” Dellinger fussed, already ignoring you again as he put a hand on one of his hips to look back at her.

“Well, the young master of course! That would have been so sweet!” She looked practically pouty.

“Ew, you’re pathetic! He would never. He’s way cooler than that!” The young boy retorted, now heading back for the door, sassily in his little pink flats actually.

“Romance is cool!” She stomped her foot.

“It isn’t! Go read more of your stupid magazines and keep dreaming, you ditz!”

“Why are you boys all so mean!?”

“Just to you!” And he stuck his tongue out from  between his sharp teeth again before darting into the hall, giggling all the way as a candelabra suddenly smashed in half against the doorframe.

You hadn’t even seen her grab it. And that was no small distance.

“Pretty good throw.” You said quietly into the new silence. Your shoulders still sunken though as you couldn’t find the energy to fully straighten up.

“A good throw would have hit him.” She answered, though still looking annoyed as she picked up the pieces. “I have to go now. Pica wanted me in town to help Gladius. But if you really won’t eat, I have to tell the young master that before I leave.”

“Tell him,” You huffed. “He’s the one that poisoned me like this anyway.”

Yes, the next time he tried to pressure you into taking anything, you were going to tell him where he could shove it.

But she only responded so cheerfully to that. “Oh, if the young master had wished to poison you, you’d already be dead!” Baby 5 smiled so sincerely with these words, while you just stared at her. Followed with a bubbly, “See you later!” 

And with a click of the distant bedroom door you were then alone again.

For a while you just stayed there too, fully ignoring the food tray as you’d told her you would. But also realizing how filthy you felt. Like you’d been sweating in these heavy blankets.

You knew what sometimes worked for you for more normal hangovers. A cold ass shower, even if it just meant sitting on the floor of said shower while the water rained over you.

You did want that now actually as you finally shoved the bedding away to find yourself still without a piece of clothing on. You swung your legs over the mattress edge regardless though and pressed your toes into that plush carpet to finally stand.

A feat by itself that was instantly precarious as your arms left your sides to steady your balance.

Simply walking to the bathroom shouldn’t have felt like tip toeing across a ship’s mooring ropes as you began to walk.

But it did, as you concentrated on just moving one foot after the other. And you were making decent progress across that large bedroom before a new, entirely disgusting sensation hit.

An almost glob like secretion of excess foreign material had slid out from between your legs. Your channel cleansing itself as gravity carried that fluid the rest of the way, wet and warm down your inner thigh. 

And maybe you were already just too worn, too starved, and too dehydrated as you stared down at that tell tale trail.

Semen.

And it was fresh.

Never in your life, not in all the late night binges or in any of the marine bar crawls, had you ever been wasted enough to not remember being fucked by someone.

And it didn’t matter in that moment what the truth really was. It was the fact that you couldn’t possibly know. It was the fact that the pills had stolen your ability to know.

Of course Doflamingo would do that to you if given the chance. Of course he probably had.

But how many others had had access to you in all the time you were unconscious? Anyone could have opened that door, anyone could have climbed over the top of you and…

Your stomach had turned and your knees were then on that beautiful stone tile as you’d reached the bathroom. Falling to them hard enough to leave more bruises before you were leaned over the open toilet, then puking directly into it.

Every bit of anything that’d been left inside of you came out. Until it was nothing but coughing and spit. Your diaphragm then still heaving against your will.

That burning of stomach acid went up into your throat and nose, bringing reflexive tears to your eyes.

You were so much stronger than this.

You knew that. But it didn’t seem to matter here.

Every time you thought things were getting better, they always got so immediately worse just to show you.

Doflamingo had told you only last night that he loved you. 

And Tsuru had warned you that he would never mean it. But did she know it was still the very first time any man had ever said it to you? Did she know how you’d waited your entire life just to hear it?

You were crying again. What you wanted and what you were actually receiving still two entirely different things.

But if you were ever given enough time to fully regather yourself, if the hits would ever stop coming one after another, surely you wouldn’t have been this pathetic. You wouldn’t have been this sensitive.

But even in all of that mental noise, even through your own humiliating tears, you still heard the ringing of your marine snail.

And it took you so long to get back out of the bathroom, first crawling, then somehow walking again. Like a thing only half alive as you’d tried to steady your breathing. You were still numb from the medicine and weak from the continued lack of food. Even in all of that, this person patiently waited for you.

The rings continued over and over until your hand was finally on the receiver.

“…Hell…hello?” You tried to speak.

————————— 

There was no guarantee who at all may answer this number now. And as such, he had been steeled for the worst. The worst of course potentially being the disgusting bird himself.

But when that uneven sounding female voice responded instead, Sir Crocodile actually paused. Because this did not sound like the headstrong marine officer he’d meticulously researched in just these last few days since your face had first met the newspapers. No, not at all.

“Good morning.” He greeted anyway. Knowing about which time it should be in Dressrosa currently. “And who do I now have the pleasure of speaking with?” The warlord questioned, calm but firm.

“Captain (Y/N).” And there was at least an attempt to sound stronger then. You were trying to hide yourself behind that mask of your rank and station. “Who is this?” You asked.

But he could hear the involuntary waver which was still there. That slight thickness like there was congestion that couldn’t be so quickly cleared. At least not in enough time for you to answer the phone.

This was a woman who’d just been caught in the act of crying.

Sir Crocodile’s fingers tapped reflexively on his desk all the way in Alabasta, a frown deepening across his face.

Doflamingo never wasted a moment did he? 

Everything that man ever touched ended up shattering as weak as glass before all was said and done. Even diamond wouldn’t have stood a chance from being eventually worn down.

“Well, Ms. Marine…it’s interesting to finally put a voice to those pictures, and to the stories. You’ve got quite a list of achievements already in such a young career. I did have a look at your government record of course.”

A brat from the North Blue, the same sea as Doflamingo. First recruited by none other than that old crone who the freak still fancied so entirely. That decades long relationship between Doflamingo and Vice Admiral Tsuru being one which Crocodile didn’t want or need a full history on. 

Because it’d always been obvious. Doflamingo either wanted someone to mother him or someone to fuck him, sometimes interchangeably. The monster didn’t seem to know the difference anymore.

So of course you were from Tsuru’s stable. And never mind the additional baggage of that making you and the bird something more akin to siblings.

Since even if Doflamingo’s relationship with your superior was viewed in the least sexual framing possible, if Doflamingo really saw Tsuru as only a mother figure, that would still make you essentially his younger sister when that woman had raised you as well.

An incestuous fucker is what he really was. Because either way you were somewhat of a proxy for that old woman in Crocodile’s mind. But there was no limit for Doflamingo. And the demon probably got off on every single layer of that debauchery as well.

These ideas only turned Crocodile’s stomach even further. Just like everything about that man always had.

Yet he exhaled, cigar smoke flowing as he knew there was also a time limit here. He had no doubt that they’d be listening in to your calls and would be intervening shortly.

“Well, you aren’t very talkative are you?” He spoke again in absence of anything quick from you. “But there’s no point in dancing around for the sake of further formalities though. It sounds as if you’re having a fully miserable time already. And I do pity you. Truly. But first of all, did you receive the flowers I sent?” 

And there was a hesitation on that other end then. As if you didn’t know whether to demand his identity right away or to let him continue on in the hopes of him soon revealing his true intent. “The purple flowers?” You asked.

“Yes.” He answered smoothly. So at least the courier had gotten all the way to the castle. Doflamingo must be busy. The bird would have known those flowers on sight to intercept them.

They were Crocodile’s favorite.

“Adenium obesum is their real name. Yet more colloquially known as desert rose here in Alabasta. Though those in particular are a purple variant cultivated only by human hands. Far more potent and quite rare.”

Obviously you didn’t care about the flowers. And perhaps a little bit of backbone was trying to reform now. “Uh huh…yeah. Who are-“

But he cut you off easily. “They’re highly poisonous as well. Not the exterior of course. The poison is in the sap. Coat a weapon with it, and you’ll find it quite useful. The chemical in it disrupts the rhythm of the target’s heart. Even in the smallest quantities.”

A preferred coating for his hook actually.

The resulting silence hung for a moment before he set his cigar down, still holding it carefully between his fingers. He was genuinely curious in your next move.

And this entire time he knew you had been listening to that hint of superiority in his voice, that edge that came from a lifetime of illicit takeovers and equal violence. You already knew he was no ambassador, no gutless politician simply calling on behalf of the Nefertari’s.

That sailor’s tongue came out so suddenly though. Even if he could hear the pain still behind it. “I don’t have time for more fucking games, whoever you are. If you want to threaten me, then do it. Otherwise, fuck off. This is a marine line you’re blocking.”

And it was surprisingly amusing to him. He wondered what you really looked like as you finally bore a little of those fangs at him. The snails could only convey so much by way of expression. “My…is this the real you then? Aren’t you charming? I can only imagine the high brow conversations the two of you must have.”

He knew Doflamingo loved a good tongue lashing, in the right circumstances at least. That night from Scylla had been different though. Crocodile could practically hear that demon’s blood boiling over when they’d argued over the phone.

And was it really because of you? Did that delusional creature think you were something finally worth protecting?

When all Doflamingo was going to do was destroy you anyway. The futility in so much effort was laughable.

But again, it was back to business as Crocodile actually smirked, catching you with his words before you could hang up on him. 

“I don’t mean to be insulting, my dear. It’s just disheartening how much you misunderstand. Of course the poison isn’t a threat. It’s my gift to you. Use it now before they can break down the door. An honorable death at your own discretion. Before that monster can do it for you. Don’t give him the privilege.”

And whether by full intent or not, Crocodile’s voice did begin to change. He was letting you know that he knew. He knew exactly what this was and what you were enduring, because he had seen it all before you.

“It will get worse. He always gets worse. If it was only blood and bruises, I have no doubt that you’d last a good while. You’re combat trained. But it’s the mind, Ms. Marine. When that breaks, there’s no mend for that. No bandage or splint. You’ll wish for an exit as quick as this then. As painless as this. Simply break a branch and drink the sap. Or rub it into any wound I’m sure he’s already given you. No more, no less. Then you’ve won and he’s lost. You’ll suffer his particular brand of hell no longer.”

———————————

Baby 5 had let him know you were back to being a stubborn bitch and refusing to eat any breakfast. Though she hadn’t called you that. She was still naive enough to be hoping for a new friend really.

A potential relationship he’d expected and encouraged from the very first night of course. Because if you pitied her, she’d be another tool in his arsenal against you.

Currently though he was just irritated with you. You were going to be fully sick if you didn’t eat. What was left of those pills in your bloodstream should be hitting you with nausea, vertigo, and further weakness about now. 

You’d be dehydrated and light headed. He’d be pulling you off of the floor when he reentered your room most likely.

Though maybe this was a lesson you needed to learn. If he said to get up, if he said to eat, whatever he said for you to do, you were meant to do it.

He would go check on you after this call and deal out any correction in attitude as needed.

For the moment Doflamingo had been haggling with a newer client. Another king desperate for an additional arms shipment which would turn the tide in their island’s civil war. 

And the warlord knew when a customer was about to fold.

“I mean really, what’s the price of peace, your highness?” He’d been smirking so coldly. It was like music sometimes, hearing their resolve wither bit by bit on the other end of that snail. “Pay what I’m asking in full and I’ll cut two more days off the delivery time. Think what this war is costing you already. Every day, every hour as you lose more soldiers and more tax paying citizens. What happens when you don’t even have enough of them left to collect those heavenly tributes to Mariejois any longer?”

“Your current rate is still more than we can absorb. If the total principal could be lowered just a bit more, Joker, I believe we could find a way to make this lump payment.”

“But my ships can deliver more product to you as soon as early next week. In just that many days the tide could be turning permanently for you. Don’t you think that level of service is worth something?”

Almost. They were almost there. So Doflamingo wasn’t going to budge now. He knew when to keep the pressure on.

But with this final deal so tantalizingly close, that was the very same moment in which his office door had swung open. Surprising him as Pica’s broad frame came hurriedly through it. Though turning sideways to fit as he did.

Something was wrong.

He wouldn’t be interrupting if not. Pica was supposed to have gone into the city today with some of the others. 

But Doflamingo still didn’t want to put this call on hold. It’d taken weeks to get this customer’s back so fully to the wall. Including the effort of providing nearly free weapons to the war’s rebel leaders all the while. 

The rebels already would have been crushed if not. So Doflamingo had secretly backed them first, just long enough to create the opposing demand and get to the much deeper pockets of their king they were still trying to overthrow.

And those machinations were all about to bear fruit here.

Reluctantly, Doflamingo raised a hand at Pica. An instruction to remain silent even as the warlord’s own mind began filling with all matter of hypothetical problems his executive may be here to tell him.

He kept haggling with this other king all the while. But Doflamingo could see the urgency building in Pica’s eyes.

Yes, something was very wrong.

And his smirk was disappearing as he now felt forced to push for this sale’s closing faster than he knew he should.

“In all this back and forth, you’re just beginning to repeat yourself. I need that final agreement.” Doflamingo tried, unable to look away from Pica now. “Either I have our ships start loading tonight to head for your port or we cancel this shipment entirely. Nothing will be ready in time otherwise. Do we have a deal?”

“I…I believe I’ll need to consult the treasury again and get back to you in a few days if your price indeed remains firm. This amount would leave us too barren for all other needs.” 

Fuck. And that was the exact kind of delay that Doflamingo didn’t want. With Pica standing there trying to mouth something to him silently as well, distracting him simultaneously.

“I’ll take off five percent. That’s it. Consider it a one time discount.” Doflamingo was trying not to sound as irritated as he felt. Too harsh a hand would just scare this coward away.

“Eight percent.” That king still countered.

And godamn, how annoying. But even then, the account was still too good to walk away from. Doflamingo’s hand pulled into a fist anyway as the blood vessel in his forehead became visible.

He still could not understand what Pica was trying to say either.

“Fine. An eight percent discount if you pay immediately. Next shipment leaves tomorrow morning if the wire payment comes tonight.”

“Done. You’ll have your money before midnight, Joker.” And now the other sounded so confident all of the sudden, as if he’d actually bested the Heavenly Demon.

And that bit of new smugness made Doflamingo want nothing more than to put a burst of bullet string right between that king’s eyes.

“I better. And I have other calls to make.” Was all he said instead of putting the vermin back in his place. There wasn’t time.

“Yes, Joker. Thank-“

And Doflamingo hung up the snail hard, slamming the receiver before they could even finish that false cordiality. 

“Goddamnit what, Pica!?” He barked in the outburst he’d been containing all the while, already standing. Whatever this was had just cost him significantly. Even small percentages were heavy hits when talking about contracts worth more than the yearly GDP of some smaller islands.

And Pica did look properly flustered. But that high pitched voice did not falter.

“Doffy! Trebol and the marine got into a fight! Trebol’s hurt! She locked herself in her bathroom and says she’ll only speak to you. With the rule of blood…we didn’t want to press further…we-”

“They did what?” Doflamingo hissed, not staying to hear anything else when he’d already darted around Pica and back through his office door as instinct took hold. 

His strings could pull him down the corridors far faster than anyone could have ever run. A terrible sneer contorting his face as he went right over the heads of any soul unfortunate to be in his way on his journey through the palace.

He was nearly sliding into your room moments after. The door had already been open as he’d landed, black shoes meeting the carpet while he’d had to use his strings to stop again.

“Doffy!” Diamante said in relief. 

And Doflamingo could immediately see the hints of disaster. Parts of furniture were broken, small items strewn in every direction. Mucus was all over, and a fresh trail of blood was leading to a crouched Trebol on the ground.

Trebol’s voice sounded worse than even usual as his head immediately lifted at the sound of his master’s name.

“Do..Doffy!” He almost gurgled.

And Doflamingo stared. Blood was stained down Trebol’s face, down his chest too as his executive’s eyes were wide at him. The black glasses were missing. 

“Sh..she broke m…my no..nose…”

His fucking nose. Yes, it was crooked. That was where all the blood had come from. Blood and mucus as Doflamingo felt his fists clenching to the point of being painful now.

His own blood pressure was continuing to climb, his heart pounding. So angry that it was now making his skull feel like it was splitting.

Just the purest form of rage consuming him as he would ask them only one word for now.

“Why?” Doflamingo growled, jaw muscles tightening as his fingers began to rise.

He did see that bathroom door closed. The one you were supposedly hiding behind as he began to attach his strings to it.

He was going to rip it from its goddamn frame.

“She must be colluding with Crocodile!” Diamante spat. “Trebol heard them on the phone and entered first to stop whatever it was they were plotting against you! He tried only to restrain her to wait for you, and this is what she did to him!”

Crocodile!? That name exploded through his mind.

Doflamingo’s own eyes widened behind his sunglasses, like he’d been kicked straight in the chest himself. Even as he felt as if his anger was absolutely going to choke him by this point.

As if he couldn’t breathe any longer while his strings tightened further against that bathroom door.

“Bring…me. The. Recording.”

That was the last full words he could manage to them before he yanked his arm back.

The bathroom door exploded outward, wooden pieces pulled and sliced, raining down like paper and pulp as Doflamingo strode forward into that new opening.

His lips were pulled fully back, his hand up like a claw, ready to destroy anything you could possibly throw at him.

You fucking bitch.

He’d brought you here. He’d trusted you.

And you were Crocodile’s!? Was it all a setup!? 

The shower was running. He could see the trail of mucus leading to that opaque sliding glass door. 

Your body had carried it in here. And his fist pulled back, armament coating then covering all the way past his forearm before he shattered that thick glass in one hit.

It broke over you, shards sparkling into your hair, falling down your naked body as he saw your shoulders tense even further.

You were huddled in the farthest corner of the shower, on the ground with your back to him. You were trembling again.

Like he’d seen too many times now.

Too many times to care any longer.

And Doflamingo had stepped into that continuous spray of water, fully clothed as his fingers tightened into your hair, glass and all as he yanked you away from the wall.

He lifted you by that hair momentarily, just before he threw you back down. Hard enough against the pedestal sink on the other side of the bathroom that he heard the gasp as the air was knocked from your lungs.

He saw one of your hands go to your ribs. You were on the floor looking up at him. There was still that residue of mucus on your thighs. And on your breasts despite the water. You were unable to speak when you couldn’t catch your breath.

And as his foot came down to pin you there on your back against the tile, only then was he finally able to see the purple something clutched in your other hand.

You’d had it the entire time. And you now protected it in your grip as if it were some kind of talisman.

Your last hope against him.

And he knew exactly what it was. Something he’d seen multiple times before. The scent of those flowers the reptile so adored still burned into his memories. Purple flowers on a dark mahogany desk, their vase rattling as Doflamingo had spread his legs wide back then and let a man fuck him raw. A man he’d wanted to own so badly. One with a terrible facial scar and slicked back black hair. 

The man that had decided they were no longer compatible. That they never had been. 

The man that hated him.

Doflamingo also now saw the open cuts on your same hand as you clutched Crocodile’s favorite flower. Your skin you’d split from beating Trebol’s face in when you likely didn’t even have the remaining energy for proper armament.

The end of the stem had already been rinsed clean in the shower. But if you crushed all the rest now within your hand, the remaining sap would gush out to enter your wounds. 

That was exactly what the look in your eyes told him now, that you knew this as you clutched that flower.

On your back on the bathroom floor where he’d pinned you, his parasite ability unable to find easy purchase on your spine that was now tight against that tile.

All you’d have to do was tighten your fist. It’d happen before he could do another thing. There was no antidote for this one.

“(Y/N).” And he said it as that new fear cut straight through his rage. His teeth still bared, but his palms now beginning to sweat. The tension in his body was faltering.

“Don’t.” His mouth tried.

Because he wouldn’t be able to handle it. He couldn’t even fathom it.

Not like this. Not this soon.

“Doffy…” His own name was so soft from your lips in return. As if you could feel that shift. The sudden hole in his defense and that pull within his chest again while he stared down at the mess of you. You and that matching pain within your own eyes.

“Let go of it.” He still ordered you. “You can’t do this…”

You can’t do it to me. Was what that fear really meant.

———————————

He’d come in here ready to punish you by any means necessary. For a moment you had felt that. His full rage at any hint of betrayal, his need to hurt you for your daring to ever harm his family.

But he was reacting only to what he saw. Not what really was or had been. You’d already told the mystery caller to fuck off. It didn’t matter who they later said it was.

You didn’t care.

You had already endured so much in your short life, survived too much to ever just kill yourself here and now simply because some stranger told you to. Someone that evidently hated Doflamingo and couldn’t give two shits about what really became of you.

They’d done this on purpose, hadn’t they? They’d known something like this would come of it.

But you’d still been on that call, trying to figure out any of that then when Trebol had first burst into the bedroom.

You really didn’t think Trebol had heard everything either. But you were arguing with the man on the phone as suddenly the Donquixote executive was calling you a traitorous whore and mucus was flying at your naked body.

So of course you’d lost your damn mind then. Because he’d touched you again. It’d been everywhere. And even as worn down as you’d felt, when that mucus was then squeezing around your chest and running in between your legs, you’d still found some kind of emergency supply of haki as you’d finally snapped.

You’d fought that bastard like a wild animal, your injured leg be damned. You’d felt his nose crack and you’d gotten a hold of at least one of those flowers from that stupid plant as you’d escaped.

You’d screeched at them that you would fucking kill yourself and they’d have to answer to Doflamingo for it. Diamante had come in and Pica too in all those dramatics before you’d locked yourself in the bathroom. You’d said you’d only speak to their master and they could royally go fuck themselves.

But you’d still known what Doflamingo would do, even as you’d crawled into the shower. Even as you’d still been trying to get Trebol’s residue off of your body when you could no longer stand.

And when the bathroom door had exploded outward only minutes later, you could hear how taut the strings were in the air. You could hear how hard Doflamingo was already breathing as the shower glass had shattered next and he’d yanked you out and upward by your hair.

He’d thrown you so violently, it’d still knocked the wind out of you. You couldn’t speak before you were on your back with a long black shoe crushing down onto your sternum.

But then he saw that flower.

And you got to witness his realization of what it meant even through all that rage. He’d hesitated. Even for just a single moment as you’d realized that was your only chance to survive this.

He’d commanded you to let the flower go.

And you had swallowed, knowing that you had already tried fighting him. In Mariejois, in Sabaody, and even within intimate moments when he became too rough.

Even if you had been at full strength in this moment again, that path of tit for tat would only reach the same end every time.

You would hit him, and he’d hit you back twice as hard. The two of you could brawl until the entire castle came down around you. It would accomplish nothing.

It would prove nothing.

That was why you knew you had to take a different path this time. You had to at least try.

“Doflamingo…” You said his name again. You knew he was still listening. Because he hadn’t moved.

He was afraid to move.

“Let me up…please…and I will. I’ll let it go.” You promised through the pain.

You could barely breath with his foot still on your chest. He was suffocating you slowly, and you knew what you had to do.

But it still seemed like forever. Forever with your life in the balance as his intent wavered back and forth.

And then something happened.

His foot was off of your chest. And air flooded your lungs as he crouched down to grab you by the arm instead.

Maybe it just wasn’t yet your time. Maybe the anger was too much for him to even think clearly. Whatever the reason, it was a godsend for you at last as he was now within your reach.

And you wouldn’t waste the chance.

Doflamingo’s focus had still been on your hand. His strings waiting to remove that flower the very moment he could. But his movement to crouch down was simultaneous to the moment you sat up and you made your lips hit his. Even before he could parasite string you as your spine had cleared the ground.

That effort had used the remainder of your speed. And that opening was only there because a kiss was the very last thing he’d expect to be given in a fight like this.

At least Trebol’s remnants weren’t on your face. You could only taste Doflamingo then as you put everything you had into this final play.

You knew you had to mean it. It couldn’t be just any kiss, it had to come from your goddamn soul.

That was all you could think of with your eyes closed. How you would kiss a man if you were actually in love. How you would show them what love felt like when given away by you like this.

You had to prove that you were not a traitor. That you never could be.

You heard the sound in his throat that had started as true surprise. Even as you opened your hand to let that flower fall unbroken from it.

You’d never kissed him like this before. You’d never kissed anyone like this before. You knew that you hadn’t. Because you’d never been this desperate, never this afraid or exposed. 

And his confusion was palpable. Both of you then sitting on the bathroom floor amongst the shattered glass as you did finally pull away again.

Just enough to lay your head against his open shirt instead as you felt him breathing unevenly through it.

———————————

And Doflamingo had sat there stunned, even as his strings did remove that desert rose as soon as you had released it. He’d pulled the flower away immediately and cocooned it safely in string. He’d have the whole plant burned and crushed to ashes when this was done.

But he didn’t know what to do with you now. He didn’t know what was the truth and what was the lie. 

His arm had gone around your back reflexively. His fingers over a spine he could still either break or hold closer to further protect you.

“Doffy…we have the recording ready.” Pica’s voice came from the bedroom.

And Doflamingo was grateful. He’d almost forgotten already that there was more evidence. He wouldn’t have to make a decision like this fully on feelings alone.

“Get up.” He told you, not able to look at you now though even as he removed his feather coat from his shoulders and offered it to you.

It’d drag the ground a ridiculous amount with your contrasting heights. But a filthy coat was the least of his problems now. 

He knew you wouldn’t come back out unless your body was covered. But had his men seen all of you already? He didn’t know the exact timeline things had occurred.

“Sit on the bed. We’re going to settle this here and now.” He growled, his grip back on your now feather covered wrist as he mostly dragged you from the bathroom. You with his coat fully wrapped around yourself before he released you onto the mattress.

You made a sound at the continued rough handling, but you said nothing else.

Your eyes were back on his executives. And theirs were on him as the snail Pica had brought into the bedroom now began to play.

Doflamingo moved back away from you and stood to listen. Intentionally equidistant from Trebol and yourself in that moment, waiting on that more objective testimony. 

The new torment that was suddenly your voice and Sir Crocodile’s, as that conversation filled the room from the very beginning.

From the moment you’d first answered and their equipment began recording from downstairs.

———————————

You had to hear it all over. And it came across so painfully clear on that recording that you had been crying when you’d first answered the snail. 

Doflamingo’s head turned towards you right away at that, but you refused to look at him.

You got to hear the stranger talking over you on the phone next. More condescending and patronizing than even you had realized when it’d been happening in real time.

And then came the part where he’d told you to kill yourself. As if he was suddenly your only real friend, as if only he could understand the intensity of your suffering. He’d told you to end your own life before Doflamingo could do it for you. He promised you that was the only way this would ever end.

But you would bet all the beri in this castle that just after that was where Trebol had started to listen in. Because when the stranger began becoming frustrated with you, when you weren’t accepting this supposedly merciful escape he was offering you, he’d told you to poison Doflamingo instead. If you thought you were really so tough. Poison an evil man and do the whole world the favor then. 

Be the marine hero you were supposed to be.

Surely that is all Trebol had heard to come at you in the fury he had.

He may have already been making his way to your room, missing your emotional reaction which burst out from even that insinuation of assassination.

They’d said he was actually Sir Crocodile now. But even if you’d known that, your words wouldn’t have changed. 

You’d raged at that cruel voice, you’d called him a gutless, spineless, piece of utter shit. 

Yes, you were a marine. And you’d goddamn act like one. You might cut an enemy off at the knees if you had to. You might even hate them if they truly deserved it. But you’d do it to their face.

Not a knife to their back, or a poison in their favorite drink.

You would never do that.

And you told him as much. It wasn’t what he expected either. His true colors had just started to show. His temper flaring at your audacity, and what he called your self-righteous hypocrisy…but then even on the call Trebol’s voice could suddenly be heard as he’d forced his way in to interrupt you both.

Screaming at you for plotting against his master, for intending to kill Doflamingo as he’d come after you.

And your voice was breaking as you’d yelled at him in return. It barely even sounded like you at all. You knew that must have been when he’d gotten a real hold on you.

“Don’t you fucking touch me! Not ever again!”

And there were the sounds of more things crashing throughout the room, Trebol’s grunts and gasps as he struggled with you.

And then nothing as the line went dead.

You looked at no one as the recording stopped. 

You were silent.

They all were.

All you’d goddamn done was answer your own fucking phone when it had rang. Every cruel thing the man had said to you you’d rebuffed. You didn’t even know him. And then Trebol had been all over you anyway.

Diamante and Pica had heard his resulting calls for help over their mini snails and joined in. Diamante had stayed with Trebol while Pica had run to go get Doflamingo.

All the while you’d been crawling into the shower with that flower in your hand. An exit you didn’t want to ever take as you tried to remove Trebol from your body.

But you still would have used that poison on yourself if you’d had to. If Doflamingo had been too consumed to do anything but beat you to death. You knew he’d believe the three of them over one of you.

It could have been the end.

It still might be. 

Depending whether or not he now believed what he’d just heard. Or if he’d think it all still some grand scheme. And you an actress just playing a role to ensnare him. The kind of nightmare pirates might put one another through.

But you weren’t a pirate.

And your head lifted slightly as you saw new movement.

Their master was now back in front of you. Fingers under your chin as he lifted it further. So that your wary eyes were then looking up into those crimson lenses.

And his jaw was still tense, his smile non existent.

“We’ve done you a brutal disservice.” Those strange words came so solemnly from his mouth.

And then he let you go again. His head turned to look at his executives. He was standing at his full height.

You’d never seen those three look this nervous before. Not at their own master.

But his stillness was terrifying. You realized that as he didn’t even seem to be breathing while he considered them.

“From now on, no one touches her. She’s my responsibility alone. She answers to me alone.”

And they all bowed their heads immediately, they were on their fucking knees in front of him at that tone.

“Yes, Doffy.”

It was complete and utter submission. The only thing they must have known could sate him then.

And he still waited. Making them stay on their knees like that. 

It was a punishment, a warning in its own very clear way before he did finally inhale again.

And you saw when they visibly relaxed too as he did. Doflamingo had made his point and his hand just rose to begin generating strings again from his fingertips.

The same trick from Scylla as you saw a duplicate of him now taking shape from the floor up.

“I’m taking her back to my room.” He announced to them, still sounding cold but not as completely tense as before. “I’ll make the rest of my calls today through the string man in my office. Go to him if you need me. And get someone to come clean up this fucking mess.”

And as the real Doflamingo stopped talking, the clone started. Voice identical and somehow emitting from it.

“Go get your nose fixed too, Trebol.” It said, frowning. 

You saw that look of real relief form on Trebol’s bloody face then. As if his master was being so kind to him now. 

And maybe he was by Doflamingo standards. He was washing his hands of this. They were all free to go. The clone only told Diamante to take that plant and destroy it as well.

“You’re coming with me.” The real man said back above you though as you glanced up. He was picking you up again, right off of the bed and back into his arms, pink feathers and all with his coat still around you like a robe.

All while his clone moved independently, hands in its fake pockets then, leaving the room via the main door back to the palace hallways with the executives.

But you were being carried to that same hidden passage again which connected your two rooms. By the time he spoke to you again, he didn’t sound emotionless anymore. He sounded tired.

The others were gone. They couldn’t hear him.

“I’m sorry.” He said it so abruptly, you almost didn’t register it. Followed with, “And don’t ever get fucking used to me saying that.”

You stared up at him in astonishment as he moved you through that dark passageway.

Back to his chambers, back to his full protection.

And you felt his hands tighten on you slightly, once the passage was sealed and you were both alone within the king’s suite again. 

The curtains were all drawn shut, leaving it cooler and darker in here because of that. It felt like his den.

Like a sanctuary.

You were still in Doflamingo’s arms as his face pressed down against your neck and he leaned his back against the wall. He breathed you in. Hesitating as if he didn’t want to let you go, like he was delaying it in any way he could.

But eventually he’d lifted his head again to look down at you. 

“Move my glasses out of the way,” he told you then. Both of his arms already occupied in holding you to him.

A request that was easier said than done when you had to fish your hand out of the feathers that were still wrapped around you like an oversized blanket.

But you did eventually manage it. Gently reaching up to touch those somewhat famous frames. And when he didn’t resist, you lifted them all the way up to set them on top of his  head.

He stared at you for a long moment after, his good eye sharply focused, searching within your own eyes really.

Looking for something before he spoke again.

“You’re lucky I know him well enough to tell when he was being genuine. That really was your first introduction to one another…and he misjudged you completely.”

“I don’t roll over easily.” You said flatly.

“I know.” Was all he answered at first though.

And he leaned in to steal your lips briefly then, covering them with his own. But it was different. It was soft.

It felt like that very intentional kiss you’d given him earlier, or at least his best imitation of it.

And when he was done, he still left his face close as well, warm against yours. His next words were quieter, only for the privacy of this moment. 

“In that year you were with Kuzan…I tried to go after Crocodile. I tried with everything I had. I know people still talk about it. But they have no idea. It was…like a fucking war. But I wanted it. I wanted it so badly.”

And it was that stranger smile of his that followed. The one that looked painful. The one that nearly looked wounded. “But he cut me off all at once one day. He told me I was worthless…and he’s insisted on trying to remind me of that ever since.”

And the actual regret in Doflamingo’s tone was surprisingly real, as was the anger that rose to cover it. 

“But their losses become our victories. Don’t they?” He sneered. 

And you felt his fingertips, starting to hurt you again even through the coat. His grip becoming that severe. 

“None of them understand what they’ve created in bringing you and I fully together now.” He murmured against your skin. His lips still drawn back enough for you to feel his teeth. “We’ll outlast whatever their envy tries to throw at us next. As long as you stay loyal to me…then you have my protection. You have my love until the very end, woman.”

And it was another ultimatum without question. To the end…an end he could either cause tomorrow or twenty years from now.

Because it was up to him. No one else. Everything was still about him.

“I understand.” You said without argument though. Because he wasn’t asking anyway. He was telling you how this was going to be. 

He was promising this to you.

You would still resist. You both knew it. You would test the boundaries again and again, flapping your own wings against this shrinking cage soon enough.

But he still liked that too didn’t he? Because a little bird who said nothing, did nothing, and would only lay listless at the bottom of its enclosure at all times wouldn’t be worth having.

So you could thrash and fight, even bite him occasionally if he handled you too roughly. 

But you could never truly leave. You could never sing your song for another. You had to be his.

Only his.

———————————

    T⨂  BE 

CONTINUED

———————————

Thanks for reading!

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 13.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.3k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, graphic depictions of violence, death

story playlist

The tailwind brought them over the bay and the Gullet with ease, the gargantuan body of Vhagar looming over Driftmark as they passed over the island. 

Aemond looked at the churning seas below them, the mood of the tides changing like a coin flip. A few Velaryon ships were going to port in Dragonstone as they approached the ancient isle, no doubt rife with supplies and workers of importance to the pretender’s cause. 

“Dracarys, Vhagar,” he hummed low, his form prone to the saddle as his dragon unleashed molten fire from her maw, bathing the Velaryon ships in her cleansing flame. 

Sunfyre trilled from the clouds above, settling upon the craggy cliffs of the mainland that overlooked Dragonstone. Vhagar, once dispatching the remainder of the ships, followed. The older dragon settled in the soft grasses, smoke trailing from her nostrils. 

Aemond descended from his perch on her back, looking to his brother, who was staring over the water to the island. 

“Your predictions of the weather patterns were right,” Aegon said, gesturing to the unobstructed view of Dragonstone from their vantage point. There wasn’t a low hanging cloud, nor fog. The hulking bulwark of a keep was as visible to the two brothers as they were to it— moreso, visible to the denizens inside. “They should be able to see us loud and clear, I’d wager. I suppose all of your effort in being the scholarly worm paid off.” 

“They’ll have to look from two sides, however,” Aemond responded as he watched over the skyline as a fleet of ships came into view. “The signal of smoke from the Velaryon fleet burning is as good of an indication as any.” 

The ships flew the flag of the Triarchy, three sigils to represent the Three Daughters— the cities of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh. They crossed the narrow sea with a vengeance, wishing to give the Sea Snake a message in salt, sea, and blood. 

The alliance between the infamous Triarchy and the King didn’t come without a price— the Stepstones would be awarded to them after the war was finished, as well as a sizable amount of coin. 

The Stepstones were an easy give, as the blasted shore of rocks and stone were nothing more than a watery graveyard, fought over for too long. Its debated governance, or lack thereof, had haunted the council room before Aegon was even born. It seemed an easy enough decision to give the islands to someone who actually had the means and knowhow to manage it— in Aegon’s mind, at least. Aemond knew it would be an issue to deal with in the future.

The two brothers watched as the foreign fleet encircled the passage of water between Dragonstone and Driftmark, skirmishing close with some of the smaller Velaryon vessels. The proximity of the two opposing forces would make it difficult for any of Rhaenyra’s dragonriders to dispatch the Triarchy— not without severe losses to the supply and size of the Sea Snake’s brigade. 

It was a delicate balance now, the Triarchy cutting off supplies and passage to Dragonstone, while keeping Driftmark at heel. The former was effectively sealed off, dragon flight being the only way off of the island. 

This is where Aemond’s careful planning of the weather and their positioning across the cliffs came into play— it was a clear message, a threat. The giant mossy colored dragon, coupled with the distinctive golden dragon, were a side unmissed on the crags. 

The missive was unmistakable in its intention; ‘We are watching.’

“Although,” Aegon looked to the ancient stronghold, built upon a volcano that housed and borne fire-bellied beasts. “It would be easier if we just…” he slammed his hand into his other fist, making a crude explosion sound.

“You’re the one who stopped me from going down that route,” Aemond’s tone was flat, unamused by his brother’s antics. “We made our choice— we play the long game now.”

“Suddenly showing restraint now, Aemond? How unlike you,” his brother sneered. “You’d burn the entire continent if someone gave you passage to do so.” 

Aemond shoots Aegon a look, violet eye sharp like a dagger. His jaw clenched, followed by an acute sting of pain in his eye socket, the nerves within lighting like a mass of torches. A storm swirls inside of his head, words flowing from his mouth on their own. “It’s difficult…” he swallows, looking almost sheepish as he speaks, a look that doesn’t quite suit him. “It is difficult to show restraint. To quell myself.” It isn’t exactly what he wished to say— the vulnerability was too much.

He screamed to himself, the searing agony of his socket drilling it into him. She is a few moments away upon Vhagar and I cannot get her. I have the largest dragon in the world and I’m still powerless when it matters. Powerless, powerless. It was moments like these where he felt like a child with no dragon again, two-eyed and physically whole but grasping at any semblance of his heritage, of his bloodline. He was bereft of it except for name and likeness alone.

“We’ll get her back, brother. I promise you that– as your King. And… as your brother too, I suppose.” Aegon didn’t look at his younger sibling, he didn’t need to, he could feel the torment swirling within him. It was familiar to all of them.

—

“Undefended! You left the city undefended whilst you two traipsed to Dragonstone to… taunt Rhaenyra? Primp yourselves like benign peacocks?” Otto was as furious as his two grandsons had ever seen him, apples of his cheeks red with anger. “I expected this foolishness from you, Aegon, but not you Aemond. You’ve been taught better than this!” 

Aemond let his grandsire rant and rave, only cutting in when the older man stopped to regain his breath. “To clarify, the city wasn’t undefended. The queen was watching over upon Dreamfyre. I’m sure the smallfolk were pleased to see their queen among them, defending them so stalwartly.” 

“The smallfolk? What would they do if Rhaenyra and Daemon came upon their two dragons and took the city after slaughtering your sister? How do the smallfolk amount to dragons with lords atop them, Aemond?” 

Aemond closed his mouth, looking over at his skulking brother. Even though he wore the crown and held the power of the Kingdoms in his hands, he was still so easily torn down by a tongue lashing from his grandsire. Aegon was turned away, collapsed into himself as he bit at his already stubby nails. 

“Thank you for your insight, lord hand. I will see you at first light for the council meeting. I suspect we’ll have much to discuss in terms of next moves now that Dragonstone has been cut off.” the prince, in so many words, dismissed his grandsire.

Otto narrowed his gaze but said nothing, leaving the two brothers alone. 

Silence stretched between them until Aegon looked to his brother. “Do you think I’m foolish?” 

“Depends on the situation.”

“You see I am trying, don’t you? I am the fucking King and yet I am still treated like less than a lecher by him, by them.” 

Aemond began to loosen his riding gloves, finger by finger. “The plan was well executed, Aegon. I think you may find that there are many people grateful for their King’s valiance,” he said, glancing towards the open balcony that overlooked the sprawling city. 

Aegon considered him for a moment, locking eyes with his brother before his expression softened. “War isn’t only fought by lords. I’ve spent enough time in those streets to know. Once, when I was coming back from the Silk, I saw a mass of people tear a raper limb from limb. ‘Twas deep in Flea Bottom, no lords or guards or laws there, only the code and anger of those who live there,” he paused, “A dragon can kill thousands— but thousands can kill a dragon, too. Their unrest shouldn’t be underestimated.”

The prince looked at Aegon, blinking slowly. The king did have a unique perspective on the smallfolk, and mayhaps he cared more for them than the monarchs that came before him. It may prove to be useful in the future, if Aegon was ever given the breadth to make his own choices. Aemond thought his brother sloven and foolhardy at best— inept, brainless and sinful at worst— but the few days of his reign had changed his view ever so slightly. He was still lazy like a fat tom cat, and yet, a fat tom cat may still catch as many mice as any other cat. He just may have a different way of doing it. 

—

The lucidity was too much. It was too bright, she wanted to go back to sleep. 

Bright, too bright. Shera sobbed silently, tears falling across her cheeks without any toil. Stars and figments of candle flame danced before her eyes, igniting a phantom pain in her eye that she thought gone. Her suffering that stemmed from Driftmark didn’t manifest in nerve pain in her eye like Aemond’s, but rather pain in her throat and her seizing episodes. She just wished for darkness and Aemond. 

“P-pl… please let me go back… to the weirwood,” she mumbled. “He was waiting… for me…”

Her hand was in Jacaerys’, held together by a sash that bound them as husband and wife. It was colored with red and gray thread, the color of their two houses. 

Shera felt… exposed. Exposed and cold, like a terrible draft was whistling through her, using her bones like windchimes. 

The room was barren, save for Rhaenyra and the two newlyweds. It was dark, too, the only light dancing from candles and dragon heralded sconces. The brightness that tortured Shera was her nerves on fire, a deep throbbing pain coming from her scar. The man who had officiated had left, the only semblance of his presence being the words that continued to echo in Shera’s mind. 

The union of Jacaerys Velaryon and Shera Stark is now absolute, in every respect. They are wed in the eyes of the Old Gods and the new.

It felt like a curse— a curse she knew was coming, a curse she had been waiting for. Something she thought thwarted by giving into her heart’s throes with Aemond.

How silly of an idea to avoid fate.

Her stomach was in knots, or mayhaps not there at all. “Jacaerys,” Shera whispered, a familiar feeling of weightlessness catching up to her. “I’m going to fall,” she squeaked, “Please don’t let me fall.” her plea wasn’t out of want for comfort, but rather necessity.

The prince untied the sash and supported Shera with a hand on the small of her back. “Like this?” 

“My… my hip,” she continued. “It is where… where Moongeist holds himself.” she lamented to be touched any further, her skin on fire and writhing with each misplaced caress. But she would hate to fall, legs crumbling beneath her like a newborn fawn. She felt like a tortured child, her feelings all too large for such a small body to handle. Her mind went back to the basest of needs— she wanted Aemond, she wanted Helaena, she wanted Moongeist. 

Jacaerys adjusted his hold with a confused and slightly anguished look. “Mother,” he addressed Rhaenyra, who looked on in stoic concern. “She needs… she needs a cane, or… or something.” 

Rhaenyra’s face didn’t crease in traditional consternation, her features unmoved. There was only a twitch of her brow and the dilation of her pupils that gave away the inner turmoil. “Go fetch the maester. He will have something made up for her, surely. I will escort her to your chambers.” 

Your chambers. Your chambers. No, not hers. Jacaerys’ chambers. The realization and panic washed over her as unforgivingly as a riptide. Was she expected to consummate the marriage?

“N-no, please,” Shera blubbered as Jace helped her into the arms of his mother. “I want to go home, I want to go home.” 

There was a solemn hollowness in Rhaenyra’s voice as she helped Shera walk down the corridors. “You are home now, dearest,” her voice was fauxly soothing, “I know it is difficult. I wouldn’t have wanted this for you— not… not like this,” there was something inherently warm about her touch that broke through any outward reservation, her hand caressed Shera in a way that could only be described as maternal. “I will do everything in my power to see to your comfort. You’re safe now, Shera.” 

Her body and mind were at odds with one another. Her brain told her that this wasn’t right, it wasn’t— it was all a facade, it had to be. Her body, however, leaned into Rhaenyra’s hold, her gentleness stirring something long dormant inside of Shera. 

She never really had a mother, in truth. Her life was riddled with surrogate mothers like Alicent and whomever her father had assigned to take care of her when she was a babe. Alicent did her best, of course, but there was always a fine line separating Shera from her own borne children. The nursemaids and stewardesses alike at Winterfell never had a gentle touch or affectionate words— not like a real mother would. Out of Shera’s myriad of issues, the mother-shaped hole in her heart was the least of her worries, easily pushed and locked away like a bad memory. 

But times like these— times where Shera’s constitution of mind and body were being tested, broken past her already fragile limits, the hole turned into a chasm, swallowing up the earth beneath her feet and making any further pain unbearable. 

As Rhaenyra sat Shera down on the feather-filled bed, she pushed a stray auburn lock from her face. 

Shera grasped at her hand, holding it with both of hers. “P-please, don’t go,” she whispered, her voice broken and far-away. She hardly recognized it as her own, thinking it more alike to that of a young child. “P…please, I do not… I don’t wish to be alone… n-not yet.” 

“Jacaerys will return quickly, dearest, you won’t be alone for long,” Rhaenyra replied, letting the frightened woman hold her hand, head cocked in slight confusion.

“N-no, no,” she cried, squeezing tighter upon the queen’s hand— a plea, a cry of a child long gone, forgotten. “Please.”

Rhaenyra was quiet for long enough that Shera thought she might’ve left, even if she was still holding her hand. A soft breath left her nose as she shifted, sitting down next to her now good-daughter and wrapping both arms around her, taking her into an all-enveloping embrace. 

No more words were exchanged, only the sound of Shera’s wheezing breaths, shaking body wracked with sobs filled the room. 

Jacaerys did return to his chambers, with the cane in hand, but upon seeing his weeping wife and mother, he bowed his head out and didn’t return that night. 

Rhaenyra stayed with the poor girl all eve and into the early hours of the morning, shifting Shera into a lying position on the bed and covering her with a blanket. It gave her some despair to see her cry herself into exhaustion and eventual sleep. 

As the queen left the room, her mind was flooded with thoughts, swirling like tumultuous waves. 

Have I done the right thing? Am I righteous in my choice? 

She passed her son in the halls, Jacaerys bowing his head to her. “Is she… alright?” he asked, eyes dark as he already knew the answer.

“You know her better than I,” Rhaenyra looked back to the closed chamber doors. “Is that… her normal air?”

“No, it isn’t her usual demeanor. She is very… morose, of course, but this– what exactly are you letting Daemon give her to render her so?” his tone took a turn, almost accusatory in its nature. 

The queen was taken aback by the snap in his words– it was unlike him, always the dutiful and polite son. Courtiers walked by them in the hall, their gazes averted, but she knew they were staring, listening. She pulled Jacaerys into an alcove. “Daemon has been dealt with for making such rash decisions without my consent,” she hissed, “You must trust in me, Jacaerys— as your mother and your queen. This is just one of the many pieces moving on the board, moving towards my ascension, to my throne.” 

“Shera is just a pawn, then? A means to an end? And by marrying her to me, am I not the same?” Jace folded his arms over his chest, moving back from his mother. “Am I merely fodder for your fight against the usurpers? Usurpers, amongst whom is your dearest childhood friend? You and Daemon talk so openly of war, but you had cast the first stone with Shera’s… abduction!” 

“What would you have me do? Ask kindly for my birthright back? Chalk it up to a misunderstanding and give them pats upon their backs and a place at my court?” Rhaenyra scoffed. A thorn lodged in her heart at Jace’s implication of Alicent, a ghost who had haunted the queen’s very thoughts since she heard news of Aegon’s crowning. “My father was a great King in many ways, his reign one of peace— but he was blind with inaction. I will not stay my hand when the time comes to strike. I will have my throne, in fire and blood if I must.”

Indignation flashed in Jacaerys’ deep brown eyes— but like a storm, it dissipated into calm waters and clear skies. “You’re right, mother,” he murmured, bowing his head. “Your grace.” 

— 

Shera finally felt well enough to walk by herself. Although, her legs felt cold and wobbly without Moongeist. It was midday, the skies clear around the island. The sun was even shining, warming her skin just a touch.

The maester upon Dragonstone had prepared a walking cane for her— an instrument hewn from dark gnarled cherrywood. The exterior was a deep brown, whilst the inside was a deep, bloody red. She had worn small grooves on the top of the handle with her nails, exposing the inner layer of cherry, the color staining her fingertips sanguine. 

Rhaenyra had instructed Shera’s handmaidens to dress her in a more Valyrian-style wardrobe to ‘help her adjust’. She felt like an impostor wearing the garments, usually tailored in red, black and gold, coupled with intricately braided hairstyles, fashioned to her head with a dragon pin. A small veil was afforded to her after much pleading, one that only concealed her eyes and left her nose and mouth barren. Her choker was replaced by looping golden chains, imbued with rubies. 

Shera’s nails laid in the indents of her cane as she arrived into the dining hall. The Queen apparently likened to having her family lunch with her at least once a week— a tradition that became more sparse when the war began. 

She slunk into the hall as quietly as possible, the scattered sounds of Viserys and Aegon playing, as well as Lucerys and Joffrey conversing animatedly about swords and dragons, muffled the noise of her cane hitting the stone floor. She settled into her seat next to Jace, who looked irritated, a mood that befell him more often than not as of late, as he tried to serve in his mother’s war council, but was met with blockage after blockage from the other courtiers— something that Shera didn’t hear the end of for at least a fortnight. 

Despite the newly wed couple’s proximity to one another, Shera sleeping next to Jacaerys each night, they weren’t intimate in any way. They had come to an understanding, knowing their souls were each entwined with another’s. They didn’t need to muddy the waters any further with meaningless sex. 

That being said, they did confide in one another to some extent. Or rather, Jacaerys would vent his frustrations of the day, of the bickering of the council, of Daemon’s recklessness, of his own mother’s discounting of his skill— and Shera would listen intently. 

“Wife,” Jace murmured, clasping a hand over Shera’s as she took her seat. His jaw was clenched, bone grinding against bone. “Thank the Gods you’ve come.” 

“Has something… happened?” she whispered, glancing around the table. The children were unphased— but the older ones had an air of ice around them. Baela had both hands on the table, head angled downward as she bore holes through a wall. Rhaena was despondent, looking down at her hands. 

Daemon, however, was lazed. He leaned back in his chair, inspecting a singular grape as if he had no care in the world. “Shera,” he said, not meeting her gaze. Rather, he addressed her with such informality that it made her cringe. “A Valyrian vision you look to be. Mayhaps we should send her into the Dragonmont to bond with a dragon, since she now looks so much the part.” 

“A sheep changes wool rather easily,” she began picking at some fruit on her plate, stabbing her fork into a juicy piece of cantaloupe. 

“Ah, yes. Our wolf in sheep’s clothing, is it? Or mayhaps, a wolf in dragon’s clothing, better yet,” he squeezed the grape until it burst between his fingers.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra cut in, hand up to stop him from saying anything further. “How are you doing this morn, Shera?” 

“I’m… well,” Shera kept her eyes down at her plate, wishing to shrink into nothingness. 

“Enjoy the fruit while it lasts,” Baela piped up. “They’re blockading the island.” 

What? Blockading? Her mind raced with the possibilities, but she stayed quiet. 

“I’m sure we can go without such frivolous things like fruit,” Jace scoffed, pushing his plate away. 

“Fruit, grain, most meat, silks,” Daemon drawled. “I don’t understand why we don’t stop the situation.” 

“Do we wish to go toe-to-toe with Vhagar? Sunfyre can be easily dispatched by Syrax, but do you believe Caraxes can survive her?” Rhaenyra snapped, placing down her cutlery on the table. 

“That hoary old bitch is cumbersome,” he continued, dismissing any shred of Rhaenyra’s concern as if it were nothing. 

Vhagar. Sunfyre. Something bubbled in Shera’s chest at the mention of the two dragons, who were undoubtedly with their riders. She continued to stare down at her hands, trying to contain a smile, biting her lip until it bled. 

“Cumbersome she may be, but her jaws could snap any of our dragons with ease. Mayhaps Caraxes and Meleys may pose a threat to her but…” the queen’s voice trailed off, her fingers drumming on the table. 

“… there’s been no news from grandmother, nor Driftmark, your grace,” Baela sighed. “The ships appear to be… dispatching any ravens attempting to cross the Gullet.” 

“We will just have to wait, then. They cannot fare forever against Corlys’ fleet. Jacaerys, any word from the Greyjoys?” 

Jacaerys shook his head. “Our letters have gone unanswered.” 

“Lord Greyjoy is just a boy of sixteen, Rhaenyra, no older than Lucerys. Untested in the matter of war, unblooded. We must seize Harrenhal and raise a land army.” Daemon stared at his wife, brow furrowed in agitation. “I will go with or without your leave. I have no need for passage.” 

There was a long stretch of silence, the chatter of the children stopped— it was as if the whole of the table held its breath. 

“We will speak upon it later, Daemon.” Rhaenyra finally said, the bags under her eyes more prominent than usual. She opened her mouth to speak once more, but was overcome with a strangled sigh. “Gods,” she whispered, clutching her stomach. It was almost easy to forget that she was in her last days of pregnancy, belly round with child, all whilst the war was being waged just outside. She writhed slightly, face pinched.

“Mother?” Joffrey spoke, his voice small and scared. 

The entirety of the table erupted as handmaidens, maesters and nursemaids alike were summoned, gathering around the queen as her labors began. 

Shera stayed sitting, watching as Daemon glanced over the situation before leaving the room, no doubt off to skulk. 

Soon enough, the room was empty. She blocked out the cacophony of agonized screams echoing from the corridors as she stood up to leave. A small pool of blood was beginning to dry in Rhaenyra’s seat. A chill passed through Shera then as she turned to the window, leaning against the sill. 

A green dragonfly rested upon the trellis of growing vines on the wall of the keep, the leaves withered and crusted in salt. 

Hordes of boats were littered in the sea, arcing around the island like a noose. Glancing to the cliffs, she sees a glint of gold off in the distance, coupled with a hulking mountain that almost reminds her of… 

No, it couldn’t be. 

It isn’t.

She wouldn’t let herself look again, she knew it would only end in disappointment.

As she went to walk away, something pulled her back. She clung to the window, peering out as if in hiding. 

Her hopes were true as the golden vision of Sunfyre came into view, the sun shining off his pale yellow and pink scales. Next to the gorgeous beast laid a stirring mass— the Queen of all dragons. Vhagar. 

Shera’s heart raced, thumping against her ribcage like a caged bird. Aemond— Aemond and Aegon had come to save her, they had! She vowed to never let herself be separated from Aemond again, never to let them be apart. Surely Aegon would dissolve her marriage to Jacaerys and let them marry, wouldn’t he? Oh, of course he would. 

The giddiness she felt was elating, her swimming pain and sorrow temporarily abated. She watched as Sunfyre took to the skies, Vhagar behind in a slower pace. They’re coming to get me now, they are! 

The dragons climbed in altitude and drifted off from the bay— in the opposite direction of Dragonstone. They were flying away from Shera. She stood still for what felt like an eternity, not breathing. That can’t be right.

Any semblance of happiness was crushed instantaneously, her feverish pulse stopping for a beat. They were leaving. They were leaving without her. They weren’t coming to get her. 

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 7)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

GIF: Originally posted by @kimdokjas

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Nudity. Kissing. Language. AFAB + AMAB penetrative sex. Unprotected sex.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Hello there! What a long time this chapter has been in the making. There was an entire week where I had limited time and an even more limited internet connection but I promise I haven't abandoned this story. On a less grovelling note, how good is Dead Boy Detectives? Let me know in the comments what your favourite moment was in the show if you've seen it. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

There's sunlight on your face. It filters past your closed eyelids, rousing you unforgivingly from the tranquil dreamscape you had been wandering through.

You frown, a disgruntled yet pitiful noise issuing from the back of your throat.

Did you get in that late last night that you forgot to close your curtains?

It had been a nostalgic dream - a long and winding path that tracked the edge of a cliff that you walked in sturdy brown boots. An aquamarine sea to your right and a multicoloured floral field to your left, the salt and petal scents of both welcomed with each inhale. The bracing air had ruffled the looser sections of your clothes and threaded through your splayed fingers.

Every detail was exactly as it had been in your childhood summer holidays to the coast. Warmth and adventure and fun. Which is precisely why you are reluctant to leave.

You've passed the threshold into waking however and no amount of stubbornness can aid you. To ease your passage, you use the heels of both hands to cover your eyes from the obnoxious light.

The movement shifts the air around you, alerting you to another strange thing: the absence of your pyjamas. You hardly ever slept naked, and definitely not in the winter months. Come to think of it, these were not your sheets either. They felt far too sleek against your bare skin to be your trusty cotton ones…

You freeze.

Whose bed were you in?

Your mind is flailing like someone unable to swim who has fallen into a body of water as you try to remember, adrenal glands preparing you for potential danger with a hefty bloodstream-bound jolt, carried effectively by a stampeding heart rate.

Your eyelids snap open as muscles lock.

More disarray enters the mix when you find the source of the sunshine.

There's a sky above you awash with vibrant pinks and oranges. A couple of clouds drift in front of the burning orb, alleviating the intensity of the sunrise enough that you don't have to squint for long.

How was it possible that you were both outside and lying on a bed? Where the fuck were you?

The recollections finally break through the surface of your memory lake when you see him.

Morpheus.

The King of Dreams and Nightmares. Your soulmate.

Your body relaxes and the rising tension disperses.

His position has changed from the one he had taken before you fell asleep; he now sits beside you, studying you with those gorgeous universe-containing eyes. It's a much less predatory stare than the others previously directed towards you but the power within him is still palpable.

The beauty he possesses is overwhelming too; just like how it did with the night sky and aurora behind him, this sunrise is making him breath-taking. The rosy light is accentuating every inch of skin on show, from the angular features of his face to the toned bare chest that expands and contracts with controlled breaths.

"Good morning my soulmate," he says, his deep voice even huskier from not being used overnight.

"Hi," you reply timidly, gaze forced down by the weight of his.

He doesn't seem to like this shyness for he reaches out, tracing two fingertips in circles above your sternum, right over your soul. You're surprised when there is no pain, in fact, you shiver enjoyably from the simple touch.

You wish the same absence of pain could be said for the lower half of your body.

With much muscular discomfort, you roll onto your side and push yourself to sitting. The majority of it is set deep in your legs, right at the top where your femur bones meet your hip sockets, and radiating through your hamstrings. There are also internal twinges left over from fingering and penetration. The collective tenderness is understandable given all that transpired last night. All the pleasure that had flowed between you, those configurations that your body had never been put into before. Ones you dearly hoped to be put in again soon.

"How long have you been watching me?" You ask teasingly.

"Since you began to sleep."

Your smile falters, worry mounting at the inference that you had kept him awake. Had you been snoring? Twitching? Sleep talking?

You reach for his left hand that rests atop the dark sheets. "You must be exhausted."

That same duo of fingertips brush tantalisingly across your bottom lip. "Your concern is touching, dearest, but I do not require sleep."

"Oh." Your lungs deflate with a whoosh. "I guess that makes sense. People must need dreams all the time."

"Precisely," he praises, his tone smooth and seductive as he cups your face in his hand. "And there are many other ways in which I can find respite and rejuvenation."

He pounces on you then, claiming your mouth with a deep kiss. You go boneless when his tongue slips past the boundary of your pouted lips, enveloping you in his intoxicating warmth.

Morpheus kisses you until you are completely pliant; becoming putty in his talented hands. And when he pulls back, his attention goes straight to your eyes. He looks back and forth between each one like he is checking for something, as if the kiss was his way of dosing you up and he is confirming if it has kicked in.

Your mind certainly feels high enough for it to be true. You stare back at him, his irises become darker and darker the longer you look, until you can see your face reflected in the black-mirror eyes.

You seem different. Not just consumed with lust either. There's something else. A confidence. One more formidable than the type you make use of in your everyday life. It lurks beneath your flushed skin, enlivened by his presence.

Instinct takes over as you slip your arms around him and pull him in for a slow and sensual kiss. From crown to nape your fingers glide through his glossy locks, left even more messy from the activities of last night, and then take a path down his back.

His muscles are steel cables under your palms, conducting heat to pass from his body to yours. You breathe heavily from it as images of your prior shared intimacy flash by like a slideshow, turning you on even further.

Lips part company and Morpheus' mouth is suddenly sucking on your earlobe, pressing on your throat.

You are caught between a whimper and a moan.

"Louder," he commands, the rumbling timbre next to your ear making you obey noisily without conscious thought.

"Good. Again."

He nips at the skin over your jugular and your moan further increases in decibels.

"Such sweet noises," he comments between the open mouthed kisses he is stamping along your collarbones. "All because of how I touch you."

His hands find your breasts next, securing one in each. A firm massage has your back arching to lean further into the cradle of his fingers.

He lets go and leans in to hover over your left breast, his breath unexpectedly cool against your skin. His attention flicks up to your flushed face, to the bottom lip caught between your teeth. You want to further explore this kind of play. Hinting at your desires, you edge closer.

Morpheus' smirk is fiendish and there's such promise in those black eyes yet you want to make sure he follows through.

"Please."

"As you wish, my soulmate."

A drawn out groan warps your vocal cords once he seals his lips over the nipple and lightly takes the other between a thumb and forefinger. More of this too, you decide while he lavishes you with mind bending attentions - rhythmically suckling and pinching until your body is covered in a sheen of sweat and you can barely hold yourself upright. After, Morpheus gathers you into his arms and you delight in his luscious scent as your breathing normalises.

"So that makes you feel rested?" You ask softly.

He strokes over your soul again. "Indeed. It was exceptionally restorative, although I would like more, if you are willing."

The glint in his eyes, a quality becoming all too familiar since your official introduction, swiftly undoes the work you had done to calm your breaths. You consider the tempting notion of sharing more intimacy with him, but cannot ignore the self-care that you missed when you let yourself fall asleep in his hold directly after finishing yesterday.

"I think I need to have a shower before we do anything more. Would you care to join me?"

His pink lips quirk with a semblance of a smile. "I believe it would be counterproductive for me to accompany you, given your goal."

"Suit yourself." You plant a playful kiss on his cheek and throw back the covers with a flourish. Your assured, bouncing movements are soon halted however for you are unaware of where to go next. You peek back over your shoulder.

"Umm, where's the bathroom?"

Morpheus inclines his head towards a door that definitely did not exist a second ago.

"Just through there. I trust you will find everything that you require."

He's not wrong. The well-proportioned ensuite is furnished with everything you could possibly want for cleaning and grooming.

The colour palette of the adjoining chamber extends to touch this room too; predominantly black, with accents of pale stone for smaller details like the mirror frame and the soap dish. The stand out feature is the floor. A black marble with flecks of silver that twinkle like stars under the moody lighting. It's as if you are walking on a night sky.

Firstly, you wash your face first to remove the glowy makeup you had put on especially for the award event, then slide the ruby ring off your finger and leave it on the glossy porcelain of the sink before stepping into the shower cubicle.

You are considerate of the time spent under the water, motivated by the thought of Morpheus sitting naked on the bed not 20 feet away.

You're not ashamed to admit that you are impatient to have him inside of you again. To see that passion and darkness ignited within him. Be consensually dominated and consumed by him. And perhaps try out some other forms of stimulation on him. You decide you will ask more about his desires when you're done in here.

As you dry off using a white, fluffy towel, the rubbing and bending helps to alleviate some of the stiffness - something you know will serve you well when you are back on the bed.

You swap the towel for a bath robe and move to stand in front of the mirror. Using the reflective glass, you brush your teeth and apply some products from the assortment lined up neatly in the wall mounted cupboard.

Cleanliness restored and mood soaring, you open the door to return to your soulmate.

He's sitting on the bed like you had anticipated, however he is no longer naked. Quite the opposite in fact. All of his skin is covered except for his head and hands.

Morpheus stands as soon as he sees you, the manoeuvre showing off the flowing nature of the floor-length coat he has donned. You've never seen a coat quite like it; the sentiment reinforced even further by the constellations that appear to shimmer within its lining. He looks so ethereal and poised in it. Kingly.

Leaning into the formality even further, he clasps his hands in front of his torso and then proceeds to speak.

"I'm afraid that something has arisen that requires my attention. I will have to leave for a while."

"That's alright. Give me two minutes and I'll get dressed and come with you."

You begin to remove the bath robe as you walk towards him, undoing the tie with a quick tug. A shake of his head stops you from shedding the garment entirely.

"That won't be necessary." His hands sneak around your waist to pull you closer. "Your body will still be acclimating to the soul bond. You should rest. Rehydrate. Eat."

He gestures to a cloche covered plate and lidded jug atop a newly conjured bedside table.

Honestly, even though the proverbial wind has been knocked out of your sails, you cannot hold on to that disappointment for very long. The consideration he is showing is very endearing and it's hardly surprising given the dutiful aftercare he provided for you last night.

"Okay. I'll stay here."

He kisses you then, possessively gripping the base of your skull so he can get his fill for the time being.

"I will not be long," he whispers.

He leaves you standing at the foot of the bed.

You go to the bedside table. The metal of the cloche humorously warps your image like the mirrors of a funhouse as you lift it from its position. A platter made of the same material supports a bowl of natural yoghurt topped with tropical fruits and a plate of toast slices slathered with creamy honey.

You don't feel a particular urge to consume either yet decide to do so regardless. It has been a long time since you had last eaten. As you take a bite of the golden bread, you think of all the events that have happened to get you here in this room. The intense encounter that had taken you and Morpheus from strangers to soulmates in a matter of hours.

The forces that had been pushing you towards him - nagging sensations, like a series of itches you couldn't quite reach, making you go outside for a cigarette.

How you had met the beings who had orchestrated the whole thing; the resolve bestowed by their counsel smoothing away your doubts.

His determination to unlock whatever had been dormant within you; in the moment you had been certain that your soul was going to be obliterated, revealed instead to be a rearrangement. Just thinking of it is enough of a push to do as he suggested and rest. You had been through a lot.

After downing a large glass of orange juice decanted from the squat jug, you remove your bath robe. Shadows fall over the bed to block out the mid-morning sun when you tuck yourself back under the covers.

The scent of your soulmate is imbued within the sumptuous fabric, making it all too easy to fall into light sleep, even inspiring a dream while there.

A wet dream.

It's unbearable when you wake. You want Morpheus to come back right away. You want to touch him, to let him touch you. With a frustrated groan, you kick off the covers and redress in the robe, turning your attention to tidying up the pile of your clothes to distract from the horniness. You fold the items neatly and put them in the drawers of the bedside table. The box of cigarettes and lighter, you stash under the coat.

It's no use, not in the long term; you are irreversibly riled up, heat stirring agonisingly between your legs so when you hear Morpheus opening the door you pretty much run across the room to him.

You can see from the lust in his eyes that he is as affected as you.

"I saw your dream, my soulmate," he says intensely as he draws you into his personal space. "You have quite the imagination."

Your cheeks burn with equal parts lust and embarrassment.

His body heat is just as feverish - the ferocity of it permeating through your bath robe makes the fabric feel much thinner than it actually is.

He leans to whisper by your ear. "Would you like to make it a reality?"

Your knees go weak, at the question and the ghost-like touches of his words against the shell of your ear.

"Yes. Morpheus, please."

He captures your lips with a bruising kiss, simultaneously baring your body and his own using a mix of confident movements and form shaping.

You secure your hands on his shoulders in readiness, only breaking the kiss so you can jump into his arms. He then spins you around so your ass meets the polished wood of the door.

Broken groans echo around the chamber as Morpheus makes the dream fully come to life, filling you with a fluid thrust.

His eyes are circles of night sky while he waits for you to adjust, redistributing your weight ever so slightly so he can press his palm over your soul.

It remains there until you both reach climax.

-----------------------

Morpheus cleans you like he did before and then you recline side by side on the bed.

"Do you feel happy?" He asks with sudden seriousness while stroking the skin made taut by the spasming muscles of your thighs.

You would have thought it been obvious from the size of the giddy grin on your face yet you play along anyway. "Yes."

"And safe?"

"Of course, Morpheus." You reassuringly interlink your fingers with his, adding, "You could just cheat, you know?"

His chin tilts up, lips pouting. "I could, however I prefer to hear you confirm it out loud."

You laugh.

Saccharine. That is how this moment feels with the post-orgasm tingles and the endearing nature of his statement. He is utterly perfect for you.

You brush a probing fingertip over his soul.

"I still can't feel your emotions."

It is his turn to squeeze your hand comfortingly. "It's been less than a day."

You nod, casting away the despondent thought entirely by asking a subject changing question.

"What would you like to do now?"

He answers immediately, "I would like to stay right here."

You consider this, your focus shifting away from his face, up over his shoulder to the exit.

"What if someone needs you, comes looking for you? There are people out there, right?"

You're fishing for details, blatantly so, but you cannot deny that you are intrigued by the kingdom beyond the door that you had just so energetically fucked against.

Morpheus shifts to block your line of sight, possessively cupping your face in one of his dexterous hands.

"No one can find us here. We will not be interrupted, and I can sense when something is amiss."

-----------------------------

Days pass in a similar fashion. You wake under an invigorating sunrise with your soulmate's blown-iris gaze fixed on your face. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, generating shudders of arousal, in turn propelling you to excuse yourself to the bathroom. You wash and brush your teeth and go back to Morpheus. He fucks you until you can barely move and then leaves you for a few hours while you, in his words: 'rest'.

With your appetite still stunted you cajole yourself into eating and drinking, and wait for Morpheus to return, whereupon you fuck again.

It's a honeymoon phase you reason initially, but when the pattern shows signs of sustaining, when it reaches a week without leaving his chambers you decide to take action.

You had stopped asking if you could accompany him on his mysterious errands after the third rebuttal; perhaps a mistake on your part. And with the emotional connection between you still a no-show from your end, there is no other way of finding out why your partner keeps saying no.

You ask for a slower session. One that won't render you completely exhausted and aching, and therefore physically able to go with him. Not that you disclose this as a reason. You don't need to give any; Morpheus obliges, all too willing to please you.

His zealousness makes you feel guilty for your quasi-deception but something really is afoot. You cannot ignore it any longer.

The sex is euphoric. Beautiful. He brings you to the edge of tears with his gentleness, drawing several orgasms from you. There's even enough time for you to stimulate him with your hands and mouth - something you had been longing to do since the first night.

After, your question waits in the wings as you cuddle. His demeanour is a twin of yours, relaxed and satiated. The way his blue eyes stare at you, it's pure adoration you see in them. Surely he cannot deny you this time.

An hour elapses and then Morpheus stands, clothes appearing on his lithe frame. He announces his intentions.

"There are duties that I must attend to."

You sit up and say with a smile, "Please can I come with you this time?"

"No."

His terse reply is so far removed from the blissful look that had been written all over his perfect features seconds prior that your stomach drops along with your smile.

"Why not?" Your voice is unexpectedly small.

He zones in on this vocal change. "You seem troubled, Y/N."

If you were to be totally transparent, you would tell him that this scenario was starting to bear many of the signs of an abduction. It takes you a good thirty seconds to summon the courage to reply; not wanting to offend nor sadden your soulmate.

You huff out a nervous laugh. "I can't help feeling a little kidnapped."

His eyebrows narrow a fraction. "I did tell you that I would bring you to the Dreaming."

"Okay, how about I re-phrase that. I feel kind of trapped here."

"Are these chambers not to your liking?"

That burgeoning sense of nausea is starting to run deeper. He is deflecting. Expertly so.

You point at the door. "What I don't like is that there is a whole world out there and you seem determined to keep me from it."

The temperature in the room dips as the ceiling-sky sun is blocked out by a conglomerate of greying clouds.

"It is not safe for you outside this room," he says with a controlled cadence.

"I don't believe that. I know for a fact that you are one of the most powerful beings in the universe. What is the real reason you don't want me to accompany you?"

"Because it is not your place to do so."

You blink in shock.

The sweetness of the recent lovemaking is long gone, a bitter taste taking its place. You attempt to translate the subtext of that last statement: Not your place?

Is it because you are human? Does he think you are lesser than him?

You need to hear it from his lips.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He swallows, a fist clenching and unclenching at his side.

"I need to leave."

He's moving towards the door with quick strides. You're out of the bed, throwing on the bath robe as you desperately try to find a way to keep him talking.

"What if I had refused to go with you that night?"

No sooner are the words out your mouth, does the sky above you turn black. Morpheus spins around, eyes equally as dark as he coolly states, "Then you would have suffered."

He stands squarely in front of the door.

"You felt a semblance of it. The instant I touched your skin with mine. Even if you had protested, I would have brought you here regardless. It was imperative that I complete the ritual, and it had to be done in the Dreaming where my power is at its most potent."

Potent power indeed, for there are pulsing shadows leading away from his boot clad feet despite the absence of a sun to cast them. Never before have you been so aware of his preternatural identity. He's Eldritch personified; you suppress the flicker of fear it kindles.

"Your soul would have kept screaming, driving you to insanity. I protected you. Just as I am trying to protect you now by locking you in here."

The repellent taste of bile spews into your dry mouth. He said locked in.

You try a last ditch attempt to appeal to the softer nature that you know is within him, reaching for his hand.

"I just want to help people. Help you, your kingdom, your dreamers. The Fates said I would."

"Is that what they told you?" He says derisively, a dark smile stretching his lips as silver flashes in those nightmarish eyes. "I am disgusted that they gave you such a fantasy."

It would have taken an army's worth of self-control to not shrink away from him with that display. You drop his hand.

In that moment, as he blocks you from getting to the door of your cage, it occurs to you that despite the physical proximity, that this is furthest you have felt from him since he took your hand on that rain covered street.

It's as if a crevasse has opened up between you, leaving you standing on either side. So far apart. The risk of falling into the frozen chasm making it too frightening for you to try and reach him. Not that he would let you.

You know it as soon as he says his next sentence, his tone as flat as the emotion in his eyes.

"You should rest. I will return later."

---------------------------

Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines

"Cause they watch us in sleep. And the language that we speak. And the secrets that we keep to ourselves in our dreams, in our dreams."

[brayneworms]

cold as ice, baby | hinata hajime

kinktober day one: fingering

word count. 2.9k

content. MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI, trans!hinata, gender neutral reader, fingering, established but new relationship, kissing, no real power dynamics but hinata likes being in control, biting, reader doesn't get touched but it's implied at the end

♪ freak - lana del rey.

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

Some days, Hajime's self-loathing is no joke.

It feels like the heat in Jabberwock intensifies it sometimes. Sort of... bastes it. Like it's cooking in its own filthy greasy residue and making him feel all oily and gross and hot. So, so hot. Under that stupid sun he cooks, and he sweats, and he feels like they can all smell it on him.

Probably not though. He showers every day, and nobody gets close enough to try.

It makes him feel a little sick, is all. How much he wants you sometimes. He feels gross, barely a step above Hanamura or maybe worse. He feels like he should go to jail sometimes for the way he ogles you. It's a hot island, so sometimes you have so much skin out, shoulders and legs, gleaming from sunblock lotion, slightly tacky from the whitish paste. Or the sea salt in your hair, or the chapstick you'd loaned from Saionji on your lips, apple and cinnamon. Or the swimsuits. Hajime's mouth goes dry.

He does not want to think about you in swimwear. Because then he's not going to stop thinking about you in swimwear, and it'll lead somewhere bad, which is the whole fucking issue, really.

You're so new, the both of you. He's liked you for ages, but you've only been official for a month or so. He can't just pounce on you like a starving lion. Even though he wants to. Even though he really, really wants to.

He watches you sit cross-legged with Tanaka to feed his hamsters, or get a piggyback from Owari with her strong hands on your thighs, or sit down and braid Ibuki's hair into loving little plaits, your fingers skating over the pale skin of her neck and scalp.

And it does something to him. He imagines your hands, smoothing down the tawny skin of his arms, his waist, encircling his ankles, gripping his throat, buried in his hair. He looks at your fingers and imagines them balling up the stupid standard-issue bedsheets underneath you. He sees you stretch out your legs and sees them bent in half, over his shoulders, around his waist like a vice, your pretty eyes clenched shut, your pretty mouth hung open.

Heat pools in the pit of his stomach.

Avoiding you and taking a lot of cold—unforgivingly cold—showers makes for a good temporary solution, but oh look, hasn't he just shot himself in the foot and scored a home goal with it? Because it just means you come knocking on his cabin door looking for answers.

At night.

When everyone's asleep, and you're alone, and he's only wearing his boxers because of this stupid perpetual heat.

"Have I done something wrong?" you ask, your voice all small and hurt, and Hajime wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

"No! Nonono," he blurts out in a panic, and he steps aside to let you in like a moron, like the idiot he so clearly is. It's not the first time you've been in his cabin, obviously, but it's night and you look all soft and vulnerable and he thinks you're freshly showered because he can smell the coconut bodywash you like to use.

But then reality breaks through because you look—honestly hurt, crossing your arms and shifting your weight from foot to foot, avoiding his eye, and then Hajime mostly just feels like a huge piece of shit.

"I'm sorry," he sighs, and pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes in a gesture of weariness. "It's—it really isn't anything you, uh, did. It's me. I'm just... weird."

"Weird about what?" you press, stepping forward. "C'mon, you can tell me. Whatever it is, we can just... talk it out."

You're so sweet. "It's—uh, honestly, it's just kinda really embarrassing. And stupid. And... weird. And I really don't wanna weird you out, or like, make you think I'm... something I'm not, 'cause I'm not, like, the thing that you're gonna think I am but I just—"

"Hajime." Your hands on his shoulders, clamping down. The warm soft skin dimples between your fingers. Hajime's voice dies in his throat. He stares on, cheeks cherry-red, entirely too hot, sweat collecting unpleasantly on the nape of his neck. "I can guarantee nothing you tell me is going to freak me out, or whatever it is you're scared of. And I can see it's clearly... weighing down on you."

You're so nice. Weighing down on you is such a nice choice of words. In reality he probably looks constipated from stress.

"It's just—" His tongue flicks out nervously to wet his lips, and your eyes absently flit down to track the movement, oh fuck, "It's just..." Bad idea bad idea bad idea. "I kind of... I don't want to come on too strong and... scare you off."

Your brow knits; he thinks he sees some sort of understanding fall into place behind your eyes, but it's kind of distant. "Come on too strong how?"

His blush spreads from his cheeks to the tip of his ears, down his neck. "I... ahaha..." The nervous breathless stupid laugh he gives makes him want to strangle himself. "Y-you know. When I'm around you, I..." He swallows hard. "It—I can't help but think about... stuff I shouldn't."

He sees the moment it clicks into place for you; the slight widening of your eyes, the parting of your lips. "A-ah."

Mortification floods him like a tsunami. "Sorry! Fuck, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never should've—" He's burning alive, he's actually baking like one of Hanamaru's luxury strips of meat that he slowcooks in the oven for hours on end so the whole hotel building ends up stinking of fucking, chicken and stock and rosemary all day—

"Hajime, hey." Your hands squeeze on his shoulders. "Just—breathe for a sec, please, you're freaking me out but not for the reasons you think you are."

Hajime gulps, eyes you nervously, and takes in a few desperate pulls of air. He feels small, like he's actively shrinking.

"First of all. It's not... like, weird, you know, to f-feel that kind of stuff in general," you say, incredibly haltingly like it's very awkward for you. "But it's even less weird when you're actually, you know, in a relationship, and I—I don't want you to feel weird about this, that's all, or about telling me when you're—you know. Because I'd be down. I mean, to help. Assuming that's what you want, I mean."

Hajime stares at you. His brain abruptly throws up its hands, bluescreens, and goes for a smoke break.

"Wha—wha?" he says intelligently. You smile fondly, the kind of smile that reminds Hajime why he fell in love with you in the first place.

"Do you want me to help you out?" you repeat, very clearly, and Hajime buries his face in his hands. Heat shoots through him like liquid lightning, illuminating every pore of his body. He can feel it gather between his legs.

"You don't have to," he mutters, heart thumping against his ribcage.

"Hajime," you say pleasantly. "D'you think you're the only one who's had to hold themselves back?"

It's pure, unadulterated shock that makes him lift his face out his hands to gawp at you, but the moment he does you cup his face with both of your hands and kiss him. He wonders if you can feel the heat of his burning skin on your palms, whether you care, and then your tongue is in his mouth and he stops wondering anything at all. He groans softly against your lips, and finally his useless hands move and he's grabbing, curling a fistful of your shirt in one hand and cupping the back of your neck with the other. He feels like he's been depriving himself of you for so long, and for fucking what? You feel incredible.

He walks you backwards until your knees his the frame of his bed and you're unseated with an undignified yelp. You bounce on the mattress, peering up at him. Hajime swallows hard. "Is this... okay? We don't have to—anything you want, God, anything—"

You put two hands on his waist, just above the waistline of his boxers, and Hajime stammers to a halt. He gazes at you, wide-eyed, brilliantly red. You press your lips to the skin just under his navel and his stomach sort of convulses at the sensitivity, and you keep going, down the trail of hair that disappears behind the waistband of his underwear, kissing over the fabric until you get to—

Hajime jolts and swears. His hands clench reflexively into fists at his side. "Lay down," he bursts out, and then flushes deeper. "Uh... please. If you want to. I—"

You giggle and pry your hands off him, leaving him feeling colder than ever. Hajime watches, mouth dry as you drape yourself lazily over his bed. Your sleep short ride up your thighs, the collar of your shirt dips down, and all the skin is making his head dizzy. He clambers over you a little clumsily, hitting your knee with his with a thud that makes you wince.

"Sorry!" he panicks, hands fluttering nervously over your leg. "Sorry, did that—that was an accident, I—"

"It's okay, it's okay," you laugh, the back of your hand covering your mouth. "Jeez, Hajime. Relax a little maybe."

His flush must be crawling down his chest at this point. "Yeah. Maybe." He glances around. "Kind of hard."

"Is it?" you ask with a pointed glance at his boxers. He groans, but the levity is extremely welcome, makes him feel less anxious. Reminds him it's just you, and you would never seriously laugh at him. Reminds him that he's safe.

"Is it okay if I'm—I mean." He wipes his clammy palms surreptitiously over his thighs. "I feel better when I'm more... in control. Y'know?"

You smile up at him. "That's fine with me. Are you going to boss me around now?"

Hajime laughs feebly, glancing away. He thinks it's a reasonable pretense that the idea doesn't make him ten times wetter.

He kneels between your legs and kisses you. You're so soft, skin warm and pliant and fresh from the shower. He can't hold back a moan when your tongue slips against his, and when your hand slides over his waist again, the pinky finger of your hand grazing the band of his underwear, he finally plucks up the courage to grab your wrist and drag it.

He lets out a choked sound into your mouth as your pliant hand slides between his legs. Pulling back from the kiss, panting hotly against your mouth. "Okay?" he asks hoarsely. "Please, oh my god, I need... only if you want, only if you want to..."

Your hand twitches to life inside the tight grip of his fist, and you skim your fingers over the wet spot of the fabric of his underwear.

Hajime shudders, dropping his head into the crook of your shoulder. "Ah... oh, fuck..." His shaking hand drops your wrist, reprimanding himself fiercely for maybe grabbing you too hard, but you didn't say anything, but he shouldn't just grab you and lead you like you're cattle, he opens his mouth to apologise when you cup his cunt through his boxers and he loses the ability to do anything at all. Anything other than moan into your skin, starting to get salty from the heat and the proximity, and he goes delirious with the idea that he's ruining you a little. Like you've just showered, you'd scrubbed your body all over with lovely scented soap and he's going to undo it methodically, deliberately, and you're going to let him, when it's all over you're going to smell like sweat and him and you'll have to clean all over again.

It's an intoxicating thought, the idea that someone as soft as you would let someone like him mess you up.

Your hand slips under the waistband of his underwear, follows the trail of hair down and finding him soft and hot and dripping wet. Hajime curses as your fingers skate almost curiously over his clit, his folds.

"Oh shit," you curse, mumbling almost more to yourself. "Y-you're so wet."

He makes a high, embarrassed noise in the back of his throat, eyes clenched shut, and his hips rock up into your hand in a gesture that feels inherently needy.

Despite his grossly obvious urgency, you take the time to bring your fingers back to your mouth and press them inside. Hajime watches, slack-jawed, pupils blown. When you take your fingers out, they're gleaming wet, and you grin at him. "You taste amazing."

Hajime is assaulted with all new images; your head between his legs, his hand on the top of your hair or tangled in your hair. Your tongue, soft and skilled against him, dripping spit and cum onto the carpet, and he has to stuff his knuckles in his mouth to stop himself moaning out loud. Sweat drips off his forehead and lands on your chest.

"Y/n," he croaks. "I'm gonna lose my mind."

You smile almost shyly, as if you didn't just have your fingers in your mouth right in front of him. "O-okay. Okay. Just, um... okay, I got it."

Hajime swallows hard. "Y-you're still sure?"

"I'm so sure," you tell him earnestly. And with that your hand glides down, over his collarbones, the twin scars arching beneath his breastbone, down his tense stomach and under his boxers again. This time, your fingers move with purpose. They roll over his clit and down the centre of his folds, parting them, dipping inside just slightly before coming back up. He feels a shivering mix of pain and pleasure as two of your fingers circle his clit, an indication that he's almost too sensitive; he feels like he's on fire, like forks of lightning are emanating from the vertice between his legs, and he lets out choked, high noises against your throat.

Mindlessly, it seems, his hips roll against your head, seeking something more. You take the initiative to prod with one finger, dipping lower from the other before teasing at his entrance. His thighs shake and part slightly for you, and you slip inside without another word.

The breach feels like breathing for the first time; he's so wet and so sensitive that you slide inside with barely a hint of pain, easing in up to the first knuckle.

"Ohhh god," he groans, feeling mindless, feeling weightless. "Ohgodohgodohgod..."

"What should I—"

"More," he nearly begs. "I want you inside."

The word should be embarrassing, but they just aren't. Not in front of you. You get your finger in slowly, inch by inch until your knuckles press up against him and he's clenching the sheets with his free hands.

He almost convulses when your finger curls up like it's searching for something; it presses against a spongey spot inside him and he whines from somewhere deep in his chest, and he hears you swear to yourself as you start moving in and out.

"Nngh, oh—hah..."

Oh he's gonna die. Your fingers are inside him. He's gonna fuckin' die—

One turns to two turns to three, your thumb rolling constant circles over his clit, sometimes catching so sensitively that he has to bite back whimpers. There's the stretch and the burn but even that is okay, feels good after a few moments. He feels distantly really bad that he's not touching you, but he will after, fucking hell he will after, whatever you want him to, he'd kiss the fuckin' ground you walk on for making him feel so good right now. All too soon he feels the familiar tightening in his stomach like a band.

"H-hey," he gasps out. "I think I—I'm c-close, so..."

"O-oh," you say, sounding equally breathless. "It's okay."

Your fingers push up into him, curling almost viciously into that spot inside him just as your other hand taps his jaw and guides his face to yours for a kiss. It's barely more than panting against each other's lips as your thumb presses down hard on his clit.

"Fuck, fuck," he cries. "Fuck, you're so fuckin'—so perfect—'m cumming, shit—"

He sobs out as he cums, alight from the inside out, shaking like he's just been hit by lightning. The pressure is so much that he needs an outlet, his finges pressing bruising marks into your hip and thigh, and he turns his head and bites down almost feverishly on your collarbone.

You tap his arm with a yelp, fingers jerking inside him as he starts to come down. He can feel his release dripping down his inner thighs and he lifts his head groggily.

"Shit," he mumbles eloquently, staring at the teeth mark on your skin. He didn't break skin, thank fuck, but he still feels mortified. "Sorry. Oh my god, sorry. That was—that was a total accident, I..."

"Ah, it—it's okay." You swallow hard. "Was that..."

Hajime shakes his head dazedly. "Amazing," he croaks. "Y-you're amazing." He gets the werewithal to roll off you with his shaking limbs so his weight isn't pushing into you anymore.

You let out a long, slow breath. "Was pretty amazing for me too."

Hajime glances at you with a trickle of amusememt. "Not yet it wasn't."

Your brow scrunches in confusion—but realisation dawns when you feel his hand slide up your thigh. In his eyes is a question, one that you nod hastily to. Hajime grins weakly.

"Good," he breathes. "As soon as I get my breath back, it's your turn." And it sounds like the sweetest thing ever when he adds, a moment later with a twist of that characteristic cockiness that leaps out at the most inopportune of moments: "I can't wait to see how pretty you're gonna look when I make you cum."

[skele-bunny]

Thinking about Dewey

CW: Self-image issues (but this is a fluff post!)

Before his elemental transition, Dew had really dark hair that seemed to be blue. White freckles across his cheeks and shoulders bioluminescence that went down his stomach and curved to dips and down his legs. Dew's eyes always had this shimmer that mimicked bubbles, always glossy and a pastel turquoise on blueish-gray skin.

His tail was thick and his scent was so lovely and calming. Dew smelled like sea salt with coconut, with gentle vetiver. His voice was so luring, gentle with the softest echo. He was just so, so beautiful. Constantly turning heads and center of his pack. His little fangs always poking out over his lip when he smiled.

After his transition, he felt dead. Heterochromia with now a blood red eye, his bubbles now gone in the blue, eye bags so dark and heavy. His hair was this burnt, bleached blonde but right at the root you could see the smallest hint of his black hair. His freckles no longer white and now a strange ginger. Even his skin had lightened to a pale grey. His tail was thinned out, his delta tail now forked in spikes, but still desperately trying to stay in its original form. Even his ears have lost its flare.

He felt ugly. He felt disgusting. Covered in burns, his gills even cauterized on his ribs.

Dew hated himself, hated mirrors, hated anything that held his reflection.

Aether and Mountain were his rocks through all of it, just clinging to them as he's sandwiched, sobbing uncontrollably and clawing at himself. He hates what's been done to him. Hates that it hurts to even try to sing. They desperately want to show how beautiful he still is, that no matter what he looks like, they still love him.

Aether just starts leaving little sticky notes around the empty den, especially on mirrors and reflective counter tops.

"I like your smile :)" / "Good morning, cutie!" / "You look adorable. Date night?" / "I love who you are." / "Every time I look at you, I fall in love again." / "Don't let your thoughts take over. Come see me if you feel it winning."

Mountain starts his own, too, leaving flowers at Dew's door and when he needs help with self-care, Mountain carefully combing through his hair and braiding it - settling flowers in each overlap. Kissing over his scars and redoing every bandage with such a gentle touch.

He's not a very vocal person like Aether, but still has his own way to reassure. Holding Dew when he needs cuddles, just simply admiring everything about him. Thumb going over his freckles with just pure admiration.

"You look like the sun... So beautiful..."

Staring into his eyes and kissing at his nose, going over the ridges on Dew's ear and now pointed tail. "You remind me of roses. These are your thorns... And you're the beautiful bud."

It takes Dewdrop a LONG while to get used to his appearance, even still having some rough days and needing to cover himself completely -- but Aether and Mountain make it just a bit better. And that's all that matters to them, just as long as Dew knows how loved and beautiful he is. As long as it helps their firefly be able to glance at himself better than before 🩷

[nutnoce]

“These Were Salt Marshes Before” (2024)

11in x 14in acrylic on recycled canvas

“These Were Salt Marshes Before” was submitted and accepted by the SAA for the 18th Inspired by the PEM show! The reception went really well. I gained a lot of insight speaking with various artists about their pieces and how 'Our Time on Earth' inspired them.

In the case of this piece, it is inspired by the instant sense of calm 'Our Time on Earth' presents as one enters the exhibit. It’s The first instruction for the exhbit is to stop and breath. As I did so, I imagined a time when the place I stood was a coastal wetland. An type of ecosystem which once thrived along the East Coast of North America, rich in biodiversity and crucial for the region's ecological balance. However, centuries of urbanization and industrialization have devastated these wetlands, with many drained, filled, or paved over for development. Pollution from urban runoff and industry has further harmed remaining habitats. Only fragments of wetlands remain, threatened by sea-level rise, erosion, and ongoing development. Despite these challenges, recognizing the importance of wetlands as barriers against extreme weather and climate change, as well as their role in carbon storage, offers hope for their preservation. Protecting and restoring coastal wetlands not only safeguards biodiversity but also aids in mitigating climate change by sequestering carbon dioxide, contributing to global efforts to reduce greenhouse gas emissions. Despite this train of thought I was not plunged into the usual dread over the future of our planet. It speaks to to power of these exhibits (and to media as well) that can address the biggest issue on the planet but still have radical, thoughtful, careful hope.