#Plunder of the Sun

[ennaih]

Every Film I Watch In 2023:

80. Plunder Of The Sun (1953)

[spryfilm]

“Plunder of the Sun” (1953)

“Plunder of the Sun” (1953) Drama Running Time: 82 minutes Written by: Jonathan Latimer Directed by: John Farrow Featuring: Glenn Ford, Diana Lynn, Patricia Medina and Francis L. Sullivan Julie Barnes: “You stood me up because you think I’m a tramp.” Al Colby: “I don��t think you’re a tramp.” Julie Barnes: “Yes you do… cuz I am. I’m a tramp and everybody knows it; Julie the tramp. What’s a…

[telestoapologist]

ohhhh my god. i forgot eramis in a way turned eido against misraaks at some point in the story, and every once in awhile spider would take a little pick of him as well during ketchcrash. so it just. became this gif for a bunch of the missions

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Pirate Captain - Dubcon

Soft Dubcon A naive aristocrat's daughter, you're crossing the Atlantic in a heavily guarded ship. Pirates assume guns and guards mean treasure but when all they find is you, they decide to make the best of their luck.

A pirate ship is a floating kingdom, with laws far different than those on land. To rise through the ranks, a pirate needs to be ruthless.

And Yandere! Pirate Captain earned his place at the top.

Yandere! Captain who's deadly as a shark and twice as cunning. Who wears a stolen Navy coat and twists gold through his dreadlocks. Who keeps a cutlass on his hip for honest fights and a knife in his boot for dirty ones.

When he sees your ship, he accurately assume rich passengers and plenty of gold. But what he wasn't expecting was you.

Yandere! Captain who catches your hair when you try and run past him. Who tosses you against the wall on instinct, his hand a vice around your throat.

And you whimper.

Yandere! Captain who feels something inside him flipping end over end when he hears it.

He's heard the roar of the sea and the thunder of canons. He's heard the whisper of daggers cutting through silk and the soft sigh of bodies falling limp. He's heard whores who moan like cats in heat.

But he's never heard a sound like that.

Yandere! Captain who can tell from the cut of your clothes and the shine of your jewelry that you're the daughter of a noble. But you sure as hell don't act like a high and mighty lady. Instead, you look up at him through eyes brimming with tears.

And you beg him not to kill you, promise that your father will pay whatever he wants.

Yandere! Captain who loosens his grip on you, his voice almost gentle when he promises not to hurt you if you come along quietly.

And you do. Walking along in front of him with your eyes down, trying not to cry.

You've heard awful stories about pirates - they kill for pleasure, they plunder for greed. And the very presence of the Captain terrifies you.

Yandere! Captain who takes you to his ship and treats you like a gentleman, who offers you his hand when you step off the gangplank and stumble.

Yandere! Captain who orders his men to bring you supper. The sun is long set by that point and as the night comes, his eyes roam lower and lower. There's a hunger in him that all the food in the world can't satisfy.

Yandere! Captain who offers you wine with supper, who watches you drink without ever touching his own glass. You sway when you try to stand and he's quick to catch you, quick to tease you about having no head for drink.

Quick to touch you but slow to let go.

Yandere! Captain who coos at the limp way you hang onto him. You feel worse than dizzy. You feel hot and woozy and confused. You don't notice when his hands drop from your waist to your hips.

Yandere! Captain who guides you to his bed, his smile a bit too sharp to be comforting.

You feel there's something amiss. Something you don't quite understand. But then he kisses your neck and all remnants of sense dissolve on his tongue.

Yandere! Captain who loves the way you gasp at every little touch. Who nips your earlobe and asks,

"Have ye ever had a man, little birdie?"

Yandere! Captain who smiles even deeper when you shake your head. Who runs his hands up your thighs and lifts your skirt inch by slow, tantalising inch.

"Would ye like me te be ye first?"

You remember the flash of his cutlass when he boarded your ship. You remember the easy way he pinned you to the wall by your throat. You remember the stories of pirates and their endless hunger for flesh. Somewhere in your drugged mind, you realise there's only one answer he wants to hear.

"Yes Captain."

Yandere! Captain who plays with your garters while he kisses up your neck. Who tugs them loose so sickeningly slow.

Yandere! Captain who presses his nose against your hair and breathes you in.

"Do ye have any idea what it's like to be a man at sea, lass? Te go months without a woman's touch?"

Yandere! Captain who takes your hand and presses it against his crotch. You can feel the hard outline of his cock even through the material.

"Te feel only ye own salt scarred hands on ye cock?"

It's so unfamiliar, so frightening, that you can't help but try and pull away. He hisses and drags you back, forces you to feel him all the way from balls to tip.

He groans, his face still buried in your hair. His other hand traces its way down your back, catching on the strings of your corset and loosening them a little at a time.

Yandere! Captain who slowly pulls himself away from your hair and brushes his lips against your jawline. Who holds your jaw in his calloused paw and forces you to look into his eyes before he kisses you.

Yandere! Captain who has salt on his skin and on his lips when he kisses you. Who nips at your bottom lip and tugs on it when he pulls away.

You're so glassy eyed, so entranced by him that he can't help but indulge.

Yandere! Captain who shrugs off his coat and brings your hands to the collar of his shirt. Who commands you to undress him.

Your fingers shake just a little when you pull at the ties holding it closed. You move down and tug at the hem. Your fingernails scrape the skin above his belt and he pulls in a sharp breath.

When his shirt is off, he takes your hand and draws it down his chest. From his heart to the buckle of his belt. Every inch of him is hard earned muscle - built by the spill of sea and salt and blood.

Yandere! Captain who watches you through half lidded eyes, his jaw clenched tight.

"Come now lass, ye remember how a belt works, don't ya?"

You paw at him and the sound of the buckle coming undone makes your breath hitch.

Yandere! Captain who comes to stand infront of you, his crotch just below eye level. He rests a hand on you head, fingers playfully knotting in your hair. But when you take too long, he gives your hair a sharp tug.

You pull his pants past his hips and his cock springs out. It's almost as thick as your forearm and you stare at it, dazed and confused and terrified.

Yandere! Captain who sighs and grabs it with one hand. He nudges it against your lips and its only his grip on your hair that keeps you from pulling away.

"Trust me lass, it'll hurt less this way."

You look up at him. Even through the haze of alcohol, you can recognise that his patience is wearing thin. You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. You open your lips just enough to fit the tip.

Yandere! Captain who tastes like the salt of the sea and the salt of a man all at once. You lick his slit, shuddering at the taste.

Yandere! Captain who throws his head back and moans. Who pushes deeper inside you without warning and you close your mouth on instinct. Your teeth scrape his cock just a little but it makes him jerk out of you, hissing.

Yandere! Captain who pulls you back by your hair and slaps you hard across the face.

"No. Teeth. Got it?"

You nod, stunned and hurt. A naive part of you thought being intimate would keep him gentle. And it scares you to your core knowing the man about to fuck you is still just as capable of violence as he was before.

When he taps the tip against your lips again, you open wide and let him sink all the way down your throat. It takes everything in you not to gag or bite down on instinct.

Yandere! Captain who keeps going until his cock is a soaking, drool covered mess. Who growls at you in his brogue - what a good lass you are, tongue so warm and soft, takin' it like a bitch in heat.

Yandere! Captain who fucks your face until he's at the very edge, heat coiling in his balls. It takes everything in him to pull out, to not waste himself just in your mouth.

Yandere! Captain who pushes you down onto your back and slings your leg over his shoulder. Whose skin gleams in the lantern light, rich and dark as oil.

Yandere! Captain who leans down and kisses you. You pull away with a jerk and he follows you down, until you're trapped between the mattress and his lips. His tongue swipes at your teeth and the taste of him makes you light headed all over again. He tastes of rum and salt, he tastes of the Barbados coast in storm, he tastes like your ruin.

"Pretty lass, ye would tempt even a saint."

Yandere! Captain who sinks his cock into you oh so slowly. Who bottoms out and stays there, letting you adjust. Feeling you tremble around him and underneath him both. It's a rare thing to taste a virgin and he wants to savour every. little. bit.

"Poor sinner tha' I am, how could I resist ye?"

He grinds into you and you arch your back. Dig your nails into his skin and whimper that it hurts, that it burns.

Burns like sin, burns like lust and lechery.

Yandere! Captain who coos at you until you quiet. Who kisses away your tears oh so softly, oh so sweetly. Like he isn't the one causing them.

Yandere! Captain who has to grit his teeth to keep from ramming back into you. Who has to remind himself to savour this - you'll remember it for the rest of your life.

And when he does move, he goes gently. He fucks you like a lover (and doesn't that make it all the crueler? You don't love him. He has no right to touch you like he does).

Yandere! Captain who bottoms out again and again, pressing his lips against a different part of you every time.

Yandere! Captain who moves down your neck and across your collarbones, sucking and leaving lovebites behind. Marking his territory, staking his claim. When the sailors see you in the morning, they'll know exactly who you belong to.

Yandere! Captain who takes your nipple into your mouth and sucks at it, licks it with the hot edge of his tongue. And when you whine and say that feels so good, he bites down and tugs at it with his teeth.

Yandere! Captain who holds onto your waist with one hand and braces himself with the other, his palm digging into the sheets just above your head. Who tells you to take a deep breath and when you do, he shoves into you harder and faster than before.

Yandere! Captain who picks up the pace and gets sloppy with it, hands slipping over your skin like he can't catch a grip. Who feels his restraint teetering, who pants and growls like a mutt.

By the God of seven seas, you're tight. It doesn't take long for you come - you're a drugged up mess and he knows how to please a woman.

Yandere! Captain who fucks you through your orgasm, who keeps going even when you clench down on him. Who keeps fucking you even though you try and squirm away and complain that it's too much. It hurts too good.

When he comes, he does it deep inside you. It's reckless and some rational part of his mind reminds him to get you some contraceptive tea after this, but the rest of him is sunk in pleasure. In the animal need to fuck and claim and breed.

Yandere! Captain who pulls out of you oh so slowly. You're the first woman he's had in so damn long, and he's loathe to let you go. (He'll never let you go, he just doesn't know it yet).

Yandere! Captain who pushes two fingers into your cunt, feeling the way you close up and shudder around him. You've taken all you can handle and then some, poor little virgin.

Yandere! Captain who has blood on his cock and on his fingers. Blood staining his soul too, though you can't see it.

Yandere! Captain who looks you in the eye when he sucks the blood off his fingers and swallows it down.

"Now I've had all of ye, lass. The salt of ye tears, the copper of ye blood. Yer inside o' me, for always."

You're too woozy to understand why, but the way he says it frightens you. Makes your tears collect at your waterline and overflow down your temples. You have to try and muster your tongue before you finally manage to ask him if he's demanded a ransom yet.

Yandere! Captain who throws his head back and laughs.

"Oh, there's a price for ye life, little bird. But ye won't be paying it in cash."

You watch numbly as he puts his clothes and weapons back on. A captain's duties are never done - not even in the middle of the night.

Yandere! Captain who leans forward and kisses you one final time before pulling the blankets around you and blowing out the lantern. The door locks with a thud you feel echoing down your bones.

You touch your lips. You can taste your own cum and blood from his kiss.

Yandere! Captain who leaves you half naked on his bed with only the moon to comfort you. Cold and virginal and untouchable.

What a pity you couldn't stay so far out of reach.

[aceyalonso]

playing with ice - KIMI RAIKKONEN

pairing : kimi raikkonen x wife!reader kinktober day 11 - temperature play

summary : y/n knew that marrying the so-called "iceman" of formula 1 certainly has its hot and cold times, especially when it's kimi using ice cubes in the bedroom

warnings/notes : swearing, smut, temperature play (ice cubes he puts it somewhere where the sun doesn't shine), reader is sensitive in this, nipple play, fingering, oral (fem!receiving), slightly mean kimi (he has his moments guys), praise kink, restraints (handcuffs), slight dacryphilia, begging, overstimulation

word count : 3.1k

a/n : bwoah

main masterlist | kinktober masterlist

Kimi entered the bedroom, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he approached the bed where Y/n lay restrained by the handcuffs. The metal clinked softly as he set the bowl of ice cubes down on the nightstand.

"Are you ready?" Kimi asked with a smirk, his deep voice sending a shiver down Y/n's spine despite the warmth of the room.

Y/n swallowed hard, her heart racing with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. She tested the restraints, the cold metal biting into her wrists as she tugged at them futilely. "I... I think so," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

Kimi chuckled, the sound low and dark. He picked up an ice cube between his fingers, admiring how the light caught the crystal-clear surface. "Let's see how much you can take," he murmured, before slowly trailing the ice cube down Y/n's neck, leaving a glistening path on her skin.

Y/n gasped as the cold ice cube glided over her sensitive skin, goosebumps rising in its wake. Kimi continued his torturously slow descent, tracing the ice along her collarbone and down between her breasts.

"P-please..." Y/n whimpered, unsure if she was begging him to stop or to continue. Her body was already responding to his touch, nipples hardening into stiff peaks.

Kimi smirked at her reaction, clearly enjoying the power he held over her in that moment. He circled a nipple with the ice, watching in fascination as it puckered even tighter.

"You like that, don't you?" he rumbled, his voice a deep purr. "Your body is so honest, even if your mouth tries to lie."

He popped the ice cube into his mouth, sucking on it for a moment before leaning down to capture Y/n's lips in a searing kiss. The cold ice mingled with the heat of his tongue as he plundered her mouth, swallowing her moans.

Kimi broke the kiss, pausing for a moment, considering his next move. His gaze lingered on Y/n's pert nipples, still glistening from the trail of the ice cube. With a wicked grin, he selected another cube from the bowl.

Slowly, teasingly, he dragged the ice over one hardened peak, circling it until Y/n was squirming against her restraints. Her breath came in short, needy gasps, her body arching as much as the handcuffs would allow.

"Kimi, please..." she whined, unsure what exactly she was begging for. The cold sensation was maddening, sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to her core.

Chuckling darkly, Kimi leaned down and took the other nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. He suckled hard, grazing it with his teeth, before releasing it with a wet pop.

Y/n's chest heaved as Kimi released her nipple, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat of his mouth. Her skin was flushed, a rosy hue spreading across her breasts and down her stomach.

Kimi sat back, admiring his handiwork with a satisfied smirk. He reached for another ice cube, holding it up to the light. "I wonder," he mused, his voice low and thoughtful, "how long it would take for you to break."

He trailed the ice down Y/n's sternum, over her belly button, and lower still. Y/n's hips bucked involuntarily, seeking friction, but Kimi avoided her most sensitive areas with a maddening precision.

"You're so responsive," he purred, circling her navel with the ice. "I can practically feel how wet you are just from this."

To emphasize his point, he dipped a finger between her thighs, finding her slick and ready. Y/n let out a desperate whine, tugging at the handcuffs until her wrists ached.

Y/n's pleas grew more urgent as Kimi teased her mercilessly, the ice leaving a glistening trail on her heated skin. "Please, Kimi," she gasped out, her hips rolling shamelessly against his hand. "I need more, I need..."

Her words were cut off by a sharp slap to her sensitive core, the stinging pain blossoming into a throbbing ache. Y/n yelped, her body jolting against the restraints.

"Patience," Kimi growled, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs. "Begging won't get you what you want. In fact, it might just make me change my mind about letting you cum at all."

He punctuated his warning with another slap, this one harder than the last. Y/n cried out, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. The pain was exquisite, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through her.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, her voice trembling. "I'll be good, I promise. Just please, don't stop."

His eyes narrowed as he considered Y/n's desperate plea. He traced a finger along her jawline, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. "Maybe," he mused, his voice a low rumble, "if you can stay perfectly still, I'll consider letting you cum."

Y/n's breath hitched, her body trembling with the effort to hold herself motionless. Every fiber of her being ached to move, to seek more of Kimi's touch, but she knew the consequences of disobedience.

Kimi watched her struggle, a sadistic gleam in his eye. He reached for another ice cube, holding it just above her chest. "Don't move," he warned, his tone brooking no argument.

Slowly, torturously, he lowered the ice, letting it melt and drip onto Y/n's skin. The cold droplets trailed down her sternum, over her belly, and pooled in her navel. Y/n whimpered, her muscles quivering with the strain of keeping still.

Just as Y/n thought she might be able to maintain her composure, Kimi suddenly pressed the ice cube directly against her sensitive clit. The shock of the cold against her most intimate area caused Y/n to jolt violently, a strangled cry escaping her lips.

"Ah!" she gasped, her hips bucking reflexively. The movement was small, but it was enough.

Kimi's eyes flashed with a mix of disappointment and dark amusement. He removed the ice cube, tossing it aside carelessly. "Too bad," he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Looks like you've lost your chance to cum tonight."

Y/n's heart sank, despair washing over her. She had been so close, so desperate for release. Now, it seemed, that opportunity was gone forever.

"Please, Kimi," she begged, tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to move. I'll do anything, just please let me cum."

Kimi stood up from the bed, looming over Y/n's restrained form. He reached for the key to the handcuffs, a wicked smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Just as Y/n thought he was about to release her, Kimi paused. He tapped a finger against his chin, pretending to consider her desperate pleas.

"You know," he mused, his voice dripping with false concern, "I might be willing to compromise. If you're really that desperate to cum, maybe we can work something out."

Y/n's heart leaped, a flicker of hope igniting in her chest. She nodded eagerly, willing to do almost anything at this point. "Yes," she breathed, her voice trembling with anticipation. "Anything, just please..."

Kimi's eyes glinted with a sadistic gleam as he considered Y/n's desperate pleas. He leaned down, his face mere inches from hers. "I have a proposition for you," he purred, his breath hot against her skin. "If you want to cum so badly, I'll put an ice cube inside your pussy. Just to see how much you can really take."

Y/n's eyes widened, a mix of shock and excitement coursing through her. The idea was both terrifying and thrilling, the thought of the cold ice against her most intimate parts sending a shiver down her spine.

"Do we have a deal?" Kimi asked, his voice a low rumble. "Put the ice inside, and I'll let you cum. Refuse, and you'll spend the rest of the night aching and unsatisfied."

Y/n swallowed hard, her mind racing with the possibilities. She knew it would be intense, perhaps even painful, but the promise of release was too tempting to resist.

Y/n nodded eagerly, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. "Yes," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll do it."

Kimi smiled, a genuine warmth spreading across his features. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, a rare display of affection. "Good girl," he murmured, before reaching for the key to the handcuffs.

The metal clinked as he unlocked the restraints, freeing Y/n from her bonds. She rubbed her wrists, the circulation returning to her numb fingers.

"Here," Kimi said, handing her a pillow. "I'm feeling sorry for you. You can hold onto this while I... experiment."

Y/n clutched the pillow to her chest, grateful for the small comfort. She watched as Kimi reached for the bowl of ice cubes, her breath catching in her throat as he selected a particularly large one.

Kimi knelt between Y/n's spread legs, the ice cube glinting in his hand. He looked up at her, his dark eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her shiver.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

Y/n swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the pillow. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her body was tense, every muscle coiled with anticipation.

Kimi's gaze dropped to her exposed sex, a wicked smile curving his lips. "Remember," he purred, "if you want to cum, you have to put the whole thing inside."

With that, he leaned forward, his breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. Y/n whimpered, her hips twitching involuntarily.

Slowly, teasingly, Kimi trailed the ice cube along her slit, the cold sensation sending jolts of pleasure-pain through her core. Y/n gasped, her head falling back against the pillow.

Y/n gasped as the ice made contact with her most intimate area, the cold sensation, unlike anything she had ever experienced before. "F-fucking cold," she stammered, her teeth chattering slightly.

Kimi chuckled, a dark and wicked sound. He continued his torturous ministrations, circling her entrance with the ice, teasing her with the promise of penetration.

"That's it," he coaxed, his voice a low rumble. "Just relax and let it happen."

Y/n tried to do as he said, but her body was tense, resisting the foreign intrusion. Kimi pressed a little harder, the ice beginning to slip inside her.

Y/n let out a strangled cry, her hips bucking involuntarily. The cold was intense, sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain rippling through her core.

"Kimi, please," she whimpered, unsure if she was begging him to stop or to continue. "I-I don't know if I can..."

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features. "You already said yes," he reminded her, his voice firm. "You can't back out now, especially when you're doing so well."

Y/n bit her lip, her body trembling with the effort to relax. She knew he was right, but the intensity of the sensation was overwhelming.

"Just breathe," Kimi coaxed, his free hand coming up to rub soothing circles on her thigh. "Focus on the pleasure, not the cold."

Y/n tried to do as he said, taking deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth. Slowly, gradually, she felt her body beginning to accept the intrusion.

Kimi watched her closely, gauging her reactions. When he was satisfied that she was ready, he began to push the ice cube deeper, his movements slow and deliberate.

Y/n let out a long, low moan as the cold filled her, stretching her in ways she had never experienced before. It was intense, almost too much, but beneath the discomfort was a growing sense of pleasure, building with each passing second.

Kimi's eyes darkened with lust as he watched Y/n squirm and moan, the ice cube buried deep inside her. "See, you can take it so well," he purred, his voice a low rumble. "Such a good girl for me."

With his free hand, he began to stroke her sensitive folds, his fingers gliding easily through the slickness of her arousal. Y/n gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily as he found her clit, circling the swollen nub with a maddening precision.

The combination of the cold ice and Kimi's skilled fingers was almost too much to bear. Y/n's head thrashed against the pillow, her body torn between the desire to escape the intensity and the need to chase the impending pleasure.

"Kimi, please," she whimpered, her voice high and needy. "I-I think I'm going to..."

Kimi grinned, a wicked glint in his eye. He pushed the ice cube as deep as it would go, the cold pressure against her inner walls sending Y/n over the edge.

As Y/n's orgasm crashed over her, Kimi continued to work his fingers, drawing out her pleasure. He could feel the ice cube melting inside her, the cold water mixing with her own arousal.

Her body shook and spasmed, her inner walls clenching around the ice and Kimi's fingers. She cried out, her voice raw and desperate, as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her.

"That's it," Kimi growled, his own arousal straining against the confines of his pants. "Cum for me, baby. Let go."

Y/n's nails dug into the pillow, her knuckles white with the force of her grip. She was lost in the sensation, her mind blanking out everything but the feeling of Kimi's touch and the cold, melting ice inside her.

As her orgasm began to subside, Kimi slowly withdrew his fingers, a satisfied smirk on his face. He watched as Y/n collapsed back against the bed, her chest heaving with exertion.

Kimi gazed down at Y/n, a mix of pride and affection in his eyes. "You did so well," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "You deserve to cum again."

With that, he lowered his head between her thighs, his warm breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. Y/n gasped, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her previous orgasm.

Kimi's tongue delved into her folds, lapping at the mixture of her arousal and the melted ice. The contrast of the cold and his warm mouth sent shivers down Y/n's spine, her hips bucking involuntarily against his face.

He worked her with a skillful precision, his tongue circling her clit before dipping inside her, teasing her with the promise of more. Y/n's hands flew to his hair, tangling in the dark strands as she pulled him closer.

"Kimi, yes," she moaned, her voice breathy and needy. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

He continued his assault on Y/n's sensitive flesh, his tongue delving deep and swirling around her most intimate parts. Y/n's body was on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

Tears streamed down her face, the intensity of the sensations overwhelming her. She was so sensitive, every touch, every lick sending shockwaves through her core.

"Kimi, it's so good," she sobbed, her voice broken and raw. "I can't take it, I'm going to... I'm going to..."

Her words dissolved into incoherent moans as Kimi redoubled his efforts, his hands gripping her thighs to hold her open. Y/n's legs trembled, her muscles tensing as she teetered on the brink of another orgasm.

Y/n's body convulsed, her back arching off the bed as another powerful orgasm ripped through her. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" she cried out, her voice a hoarse scream. "Kimi, I can't... I can't take anymore!"

But Kimi didn't relent, his tongue and lips working her through the intense waves of pleasure. Y/n's hands scrabbled at the sheets, her knuckles white as she gripped the fabric for dear life.

Her legs shook uncontrollably, the muscles tensing and releasing as she rode out the aftershocks. Kimi held her steady, his strong hands keeping her open and exposed to his relentless ministrations.

Y/n's sobs mingled with her moans, the sounds spilling from her lips in a desperate symphony. She was lost in the sensation, her mind blanking out everything but the feeling of Kimi's mouth on her pussy.

As Y/n's body shook and convulsed, her orgasm bordering on too intense, Kimi finally relented. He pulled back, his mouth leaving her sensitive flesh with a wet pop.

Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. Kimi cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streamed down her cheeks.

"Hey," Kimi murmured, his voice soft and soothing. "Stay with me, baby. I've got you."

Y/n blinked, her vision slowly clearing as she focused on Kimi's face. His dark eyes were filled with concern, his brow furrowed with worry.

She nodded weakly, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her intense orgasms. Kimi's hands were gentle as they stroked her hair, his touch a comforting anchor in the midst of the overwhelming sensations.

"I'm here," he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "I've got you, and I'm not going anywhere."

Kimi held Y/n close, his arms wrapping around her trembling form. He could feel her heart racing, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she struggled to calm herself.

"Shh, it's okay," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "Just breathe, nice and slow. In and out, nice and easy."

Y/n nodded, trying to follow his instructions. She focused on Kimi's voice, using it as a guide to regulate her breathing. Gradually, her breaths evened out, the tremors in her body subsiding to a slight shiver.

Kimi continued to hold her, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back. He pressed soft kisses to her temple, her cheek, her jaw, offering her comfort and reassurance.

As Y/n's breathing returned to normal, Kimi pulled back slightly, his dark eyes searching her face. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. "Was I too much?"

She shook her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "No, it felt good," she assured him, her voice still slightly breathless. "I just didn't anticipate how... stimulating it would be."

Kimi's expression softened, a hint of pride and satisfaction in his gaze. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "But next time, we'll take it a little slower. I don't want to overwhelm you."

Y/n nodded slowly, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. The intense orgasms, combined with the emotional rollercoaster of the evening, had left her feeling drained and sleepy.

He noticed her fatigue, his brow furrowing with concern. "You should rest," he said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You've been through a lot tonight."

She leaned into his touch, her eyelids fluttering closed. "Okay," she murmured, her voice heavy with sleep. "I think I need to sleep."

Kimi helped her sit up, supporting her as she leaned against the headboard. He pulled the covers over her, tucking her in with a gentle hand.

"Sleep well, my love," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'll clean you up while you sleep."

taglist

for all posts; @nepobbylver @wobblymug @xoscar03 @irishmanwhore @nitiii

kinktober masterlist; @cloud-55 @emryb @sie17136 @jaimeleannavanlloman @wosof1 @wholetmewritethat @glitterbitch1 @under-seasoned-pasta @sinners-98-world @lewishamiltonismybf

[wri0thesley]

thinking about jing yuan somnophilia. it's normally him who lets his eyes fall closed when he finds a warm patch of sunlight and a chance to slip away from his work, but when he comes home very early before lunch one day (no matters needing his attention) and finds that you've taken the decision to have a very long lie-in and you're currently spread out across his bed, still in your nightgown with one thigh up high and the chiffon skirts all rucked up around your hips showing him a tantalising glimpse at the curve of your ass and the secret between your thighs . . . how is he supposed to resist?

he pads towards you as quiet as a big cat, humming low in the back of his throat in appreciation of the sight. you're so pretty with the sun dappling your peaceful sleeping face, the gown you chose to sleep in diaphonous and leaving nothing to the imagination. perhaps he even softly gathers your wrists in his (your face twitches and you whine in your sleep, but you allow him to gently manoeuvre you onto your back) and slowly, carefully and not too tightly, ties the red ribbon in his hair around them so that you can't squirm too much whilst he has his fun.

and of course, he cannot help but play a little game with himself as he does it all. it's far more satisfying than a game of starchess; the only one who can be conquered and plundered here is you. but he tells himself he will see how long he can keep you asleep as his big hands curve over your thighs, spread your legs. as his calloused fingers oh-so-softly brush over your slit, coaxing slick forward from you with only the barest feather-light touches. slips one finger inside of you and wins you moaning again, shifting, your cheeks heating up - but though your lashes flicker prettily, your eyes do not open.

when he softly rubs his hard cock all over the lips of your sex, brushing your clit, letting his precome mingle with your own arousal, you whimper his name and cant your hips up and your thighs reflexively tighten about his hips . . . and he knows putting it in you would wake you up, so all he can do is helplessly fuck into your thighs and the valley between the soft plump lips of your labia.

for the first time, he finds himself wanting to lose, if only so he could sheathe himself fully inside of you and give you the fucking you deserve.

[seaslugfanclub]

Disneys Sleepiest Soldier

————————————————————————

The video essay on (Y/N)s phone becomes increasingly blurry as they take a slow bite of their sandwich, trying to keep their eyes open.

Holy shit, they were exhausted.

(Y/N) sat hunched over the break room table, their eyes feeling like lead sinkers and feet pulsing from walking miles around the park. (Y/N) had arrived to their shift already tired, construction work had been done throughout the evening below (Y/N)s apartment—so they didn’t get a lick of sleep the previous night.

And after being in the sun all day, up and walking around tending to both guest and entertainment, they felt like they were going to pass out.

Pausing the video essay, (Y/N) checked the time on their phone, their soul clenching when they saw that they had 5 hours remaining to their shift.

Finishing off their sandwich, they looked at the time again to see they had 20 more minutes left to their lunch break,

“I’ll just take a micro nap, 10 minutes tops…..no one will notice…” (Y/N) reasoned, setting a timer on their phone and resting their head in their arms, almost instantly falling asleep.

————————————————————————

Even though he technically didn’t have to eat or drink, Hades couldn’t resist having a secret martini around this time of day. He had all the ingredients prepped in his room; gin, glass, live worm, all he needed now were the olives that were kept in the employee break room fridge.

Appearing from a cloud of smoke right in front of the refrigerator, the Lord of the Dead retrieved the olives, about to vanish to his room when he noticed a slumped over form in the corner of his eye.

“Well, what do we have here?” Hades mused as he walked over to his favorite park attendant, who was passed out on the break room table.

He loomed above them for a few minutes just appreciating their sleeping form when he noticed how dark the rings under (Y/N)s eyes were, they also looked paler than he remembered.

Now (Y/N) could look like anything and Hades would still find them attractive (the old pervert) but even he hated to admit how corpse like they looked.

“Geez kid….they don’t make things easy for you do they? Poor schmuck.”

Sighing in resignation, Hades swished the olives in his had away with a wisp of smoke, pocketed (Y/N)s phone, and proceeded to lift their limp body into his arms, carrying them bridal style. Once he knew (Y/N) hadn’t waken up from being jostled, he teleporting out of the break room and into the Villains common area.

Being so used to living around dead people, the feeling of warm, living flesh against his cold body was a change that Hades didn’t know was so welcomed until now. It almost hurt to part from (Y/N) as he layed them down onto the sofa in the middle of the room. Hades stared at them for a moment longer, before turning around to leave the room. He needed a stronger drink…

————————————————————————

“Cripes—Silver!? Did you nab my blunderbuss again— oh..”

Hook trotted into the common area, hoping to find and berate Silver for his missing pistol, before cutting himself off when he spotted (Y/N)s sleeping form splayed out on the sofa.

It seems that their exhaustion overpowered Hooks shouting, (Y/N) not even stirring.

Hook slowly approached the couch, looking over His park attendants form with silent wonder. He had never seen (Y/N) asleep before, they were always up and running around the park, confident and energetic. Hook marveled in this rare vulnerability, (Y/N)s sleeping form reminded him of the old renaissance paintings he had plundered with his crew years ago. (Y/N)s face was absent of all emotion, their hair splayed around them—

Wait a minute….

Hook was brought out of his reverie when he noticed how awkward (Y/N)s head was resting against the arm of the sofa. How could his dear attendant sleep without proper pillow!?

“My poor poppet… I’ll set you straight right.”

Hook sped out of the lounge, only to return minutes later with a pillow from his own quarters. He didn’t mind the strange looks from the other villains who were stalking the halls, his only goal was to get back to the common area.

Making sure not to scrape (Y/N) with his hook, the old captain gently lifted (Y/N)s head to place his pillow underneath their neck.

Taking a step back he admired his work, (Y/N) looking much more comfortable lying against his down feathered pillow.

“Sleep well my dear~” he whispered has he stalked out of the room.

————————————————————————

Hans clenched and unclenched his fists, not liking the way his palms felt— being so unused to not wearing his gloves. He rarely takes them off, and of course the only time he does so he misplaced them. He tried to ask around to see if anyone had found his pair of cotton gloves, but like every other time in his life, Hans was ignored.

His last hope in his search was the lounge, praying to Mickey-fucking-Mouse that they had somehow made their way there.

Completely focused on finding his gloves, Hans entered the common area and immediately began rummaging around. He didn’t care if his trousers got dusty or his hair fussed up, he couldn’t bear the feeling of his hands making direct contact with everything.

“Kom igen… var är de?”

Hans’s frustration was finally overwhelming him, about to give up when he noticed a flash of white from underneath the couch.

“Aha! Oh, finally!!”

Hans kneeled to reach under the couch, finally grabbing his beloved gloves and wasted no time in slipping them back on his hands. Relief washing over him, Hans went to stand back up— only to be face to face with (Y/N)’s

He flinched back, stumbling to his feet. In his mad search for his gloves, he had completely overlooked the sleeping (Y/N).

He titled his head, confused on why 1: (Y/N) is passed out on the villains sofa when they’re in the middle of a shift, and 2: why their head is resting on a satin down pillow that probably costs more than their rent.

Hans was brought out of his thoughts when a noticed a shiver ran up (Y/N)s back, the park attendant squirming.

Huh, he never noticed how chilly the lounge was, probably because he was used to the cold, even the central AC being nothing but white noise to him. Looking at (Y/N) again, he felt a strange squirming in his stomach…

….eh, it’s probably pity.

Tugging on his gloves, he walked over to the common areas closet, where they kept all the cleaning supplies, lightbulbs, untouched board games, and blankets. Groping around until he found something that met his standards, Hans pulled out a knit throw blanket and walked back to the couch.

With a flick of his wrists, the blanket unfurled and fell onto (Y/N)s body, (Y/N) unconsciously burrowing their face into the knit wool. Hans was strangely reminded of the bakers in his castles kitchens, blanketing the tops pies with dough.

Shrugging off the memories, he gave (Y/N) a fleeting look before exiting the lounge, his fists clenching and unclenching.

————————————————————————

The overhead LED lights stung in Frollos eyes, making him wince and rub the bridge of his nose. He used to think Paris as a filthy city, but now what he wouldn’t give to be back in the 15th century.

Trudging down the hall, a pit of anxiety welled in the bottom of his chest, dreading having to go back out in the park and having to… eugh, interact with others.

His procession stopped as he passed the doorway of the common area, turning his head towards the sofa. Checking to make so no one else was near, Frollo approached the couch to look over (Y/N).

If it was anyone else, Frollo would’ve sneered and berated the person for their sloth. Such waste of time and insult to God.

And yet…

It was a rarity to see the park attendant so still, their resting body allowing Frollo to notice details he never saw before; The stray beauty mark on their cheek, a specific strand of hair the coiled around their face, cuts and scrapes that littered their hands…

Frollo huffed, allowing (Y/N) to continue their sleep, about to exit the room when he stopped.

Their (Y/N) laid, their form vulnerable and unprotected, resting amongst those with wicked tendencies. It would go against his “beliefs” to allow evil to take advantage of those unaware.

Reaching into his robe, he pulled out his personal Rosary, the old wooden beads clicking as they hind from his fingers. Delicately, Frollo hung his rosary from the edge of the couch, the cross resting right above (Y/N).

“Procul recedant somnia, Et noctium phantasmata; Hostemque nostrum comprime, Ne polluantur corpora.” Frollo muttered a prayer, signing the cross over (Y/N)s body.

Having so other excuse to stay, Frollo stalked out of the lounge

“dors bien et fais de beaux rêves..”

————————————————————————

Facilier was….well— he wasn’t sure what he was looking at.

(Y/N) sprawled out on the couch, head resting on a pillow that looked like it belonged in Big Daddy La Bouff’s mansion, worn knit blanket draped over their body, and a dingy rosary hanging above their head.

The shadow man stared down at (Y/N), his shadow trying to reach the couch, only to be shocked backwards. Probably the fault of the rosary.

“Ah forget it old sport— let the kid rest,” Facilier chastised his shadow.

The conman recalled seeing (Y/N) stumbling around the park earlier in the day, nodding off while standing. Poor sap must’ve surrendered to their bodies plea for rest.

Facilier’s been known to indulge in a nap once or twice, especially on the sticky summer days back in Orleans… but from personal experience, he always needed total darkness.

“I’ve got no idea how they can sleep with all this light… let’s do the poor Cher a solid. Shadow, cut the lights.”

With the command of his master, Faciliers shadow creeped towards the window on the neighboring wall, pulling down the blinds as Facilier walked over to the light switch, humming to himself.

“..pale moon's shining on the fields below…. The folks are singing songs, soft and loooowww~”

flicking off the overhead lights, the lounge was plunged in darkness.

“Much better, c’mon old sport—” Facilier beckoned his shadow, who gave (Y/N) a longing glance before return to his master.

“You needn't tell me, ‘cause I know… When it's sleepy time down south~”

————————————————————————

(Y/N) sighed in their sleep, nestling into the blanket and pillow. Although they were still fast asleep, far from waking up— they could feel the peace that washed over them. Something only achieved when you’ve reach maximum comfort after strenuous activity.

There were moments in their sleep when they were uncomfortable; neck aching, cold, bad dreams, and bright light stinging behind their eyes. But each time they almost roused from sleep, the problem was always solved, sending them deeper and deeper into the REM cycle.

So there (Y/N) rested, swamped in strange warmth and set to not wake for a long while.

————————————————————————

Can you tell that my love language is acts of service?

I just wanted to write something fluffy, (also I kinda want to write more Hans stuff, an obsession is growing…)

Anyway, enjoy!

[morbidology]

Long before European colonizers arrived in New Zealand, the native Māori people had a deeply rooted tradition of preserving the severed heads of the fallen. Known as mokomokai, these heads were meticulously prepared through a process that involved chopping them off, boiling, smoking, drying them in the sun, and dipping them in shark oil. These preserved heads were then displayed or paraded around as trophies, symbolizing both respect and remembrance for the deceased.

However, the arrival of the British in the 1840s brought significant disruption to this Māori tradition. The British colonizers, intrigued by the cultural artifacts of the Māori, began to pillage the mokomokai for themselves. One prominent figure in this cultural plundering was Major General Horatio Gordon Robley. Serving in the British Army during the New Zealand Land Wars in the 1860s, Robley developed a particular fascination with the Māori and their customs. He notoriously amassed a collection of at least 35 mokomokai, viewing them as exotic curiosities rather than sacred relics.

Robley’s collection, often displayed in his photographs, starkly contrasts the Māori’s reverence for mokomokai. To the Māori, these heads were more than mere trophies; they were treasured remnants of their ancestors, embodying a spiritual connection to their lineage and cultural heritage. The British, however, largely disregarded these cultural significances, treating the mokomokai as commodities. Many were sold to museums and private collectors worldwide, leading to a dispersal that the Māori community is still working to reverse today.

The desecration and commercialization of mokomokai by European colonizers reflect broader themes of cultural exploitation and the disregard for indigenous traditions. Efforts have been made in recent years to repatriate mokomokai to their rightful homes. Institutions and private collectors are increasingly recognizing the importance of returning these sacred items to the Māori, acknowledging the deep spiritual and cultural wounds caused by their removal.

[brewed-pangolin]

Consider lovely charming Soap trying to make an innocent reader swoon for him, all for the reader to unintentionally pull an uno reverse on him. Hes chatting their ear off, talking himself up. All of sudden the reader interrupts him and says that he has the prettiest eyes they've ever seen. Johnny starts to malfunction, he can't talk, his face is going red hot.

Usually he doesn't get so tripped up but it came from such a genuine place, he tongue tied. Instead of him being a cassanova like usual he's just staring at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes and pining for you.

Blue Eyed Casanova

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI Sexual Themes

Synopsis: Johnny Casanova pulls you in with his eyes, and you shake up his world with nothing but an unconscious whisper.

--

Look, you can't just throw Johnny's eyes out there and not expect me to go a little crazy. His baby blues fill my soul, okay.

I went back and forth on this for a while. Wanted to do a full fic but went for the drabble instead. Hope you like it.

Also including this with @glitterypirateduck SoapItUp Challenge. Used Prompt 29.

Happy Super Soap Sunday 🧼

You never thought you'd be so enthralled by a man while sitting at a coffee shop.

Hanging on every word, ears perking to the subtle nuances of his thick accent. Going all doey eyed as he reminisced about his younger years back home in Glasgow.

Eyes tracking his hands as accentuated his stories with gentle, undulating movements. Glancing every now and then at his luscious lips that just begged to be kissed.

You had to pull yourself back a few times. The urge to lunge over the table and lock him in an embrace, making your skin tingle and stomach churn with overwhelming eagerness.

But it was his eyes. Those gorgeous, cerulean orbs that sparkled like diamonds in the soft light of the morning sun. A blue that enchanted, pulled you into the maelstrom of his soul, and you were nothing but a wading vessel lost in his turbulent sea.

-

"You have such pretty eyes, Johnny," you whispered under your breath. Barely audible.

Johnny froze mid sentence. Hands raised, cupping the bulk of his account between his palms with his mouth agape and eyes twinkling in boyish bewilderment.

"W-what ya say?"

You smiled. Unashamed at being caught by your verbal plunder.

"I said, you've got the prettiest eyes I've ever seen."

Johnny closed the cavern of his gaping mouth with a dramatic gulp. Adam's apple undulating beneath the flesh of his neck as a rosey hue radiated over the circumference of his cheeks.

And those eyes glistened. Exploding waves of color like a supernova within the whites of deep space.

"Uh- me eyes? Ya- ya like me eyes?" He stuttered. That confident Casanova overtaken by childlike astonishment at the most beautiful words he'd ever heard.

"Yeah, Johnny. I do."

"Um, thanks. Got 'em from me mum. She's got th'most hypnotizin' stare I've ever seen. Y'know, the kind that..."

You couldn't help the curl to your mouth as he rambled on once more. The skiddish waiver on his tongue was all the confirmation you needed that your words had had the unconsciously planned impact.

You leaned over, just enough to cup his jaw in your hands to render him silent to your oncoming approachment.

"You talk too much," you purred, just before placing a tender kiss on his welcoming lips.

A subtle moan reverberated deep within his throat, making your eyes flutter closed as it vibrated against your mouth and echoed down the curve of your spine and into the hollow of your core.

The faintest gasp escaped your lips as you felt his tongue beg for entry into your mouth.

Granting him. Tasting him. Savoring the flavor of espresso and last night's whiskey on his breath as the calloused flesh of his palm cupped the supple curve of your jaw.

You wanted more. Needed more. Begged for the world to disappear and let his skilled hands work you over as his mouth greedily devoured your heart and soul.

The last remnant of your sanity made you pull away. A hushed whimper fell from your lips as your eyes cracked open to see the very flushed face of one breathless Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish.

"Steamin Jesus, lass. Was tha' your plan th'whole time? Makin me swoon all over ya, only fer you to get me all wrecked by them pretty words a'yers?"

"Maybe. Did it work?"

He nodded. Eyes swirling, bright blue darkening like an approaching storm.

"Aye. It did."

He leaned in to take your lips once more, yet you halted him. Pressing your fingers to his mouth while you pursed your lips with a knitted brow.

"Not here. Need somewhere more private."

"Why? Cannae I kiss ya out in public?"

A devious smile crept into your lips. Leaning in while simultaneously grabbing at your purse. Bringing your mouth to his ear to mutter the sweetest temptation and force a pleasured shrill down his spine.

"I don't want you to kiss me on my lips up here, Johnny. I want to see how pretty those eyes are gonna look between my thighs."

Drabbles Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @punishmepunisher @d3athtr4psworld @glitterypirateduck @shotmrmiller @ghosts-goldendoodle @astraluminaaa @writeforfandoms @obligatoryghoststare @homicidal-slvt @jynxmirage @queen-ilmaree @thetrashpossum @tacticalanxiety @simpingoverquestionablemen @mykneeshurt @kkaaaagt @haurasha @havoc973 @luismickydees @foxface013 @designateddeadend

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

Cursed Warlords AU Masterpost

This Masterpost is out of date! Go to the new one to continue reading ⬇️

New Cursed Warlords Masterpost

Shadowpeach x Female Reader AU

Sun Wukong and The Six Eared Macaque are mated warlords who rule Flower Fruit Mountain. They plunder and destroy anyone who stands in their way, and they don't care about the consequences. Until one day when suddenly, they lose their powers and get stuck in the form of cubs!

Having to find a way home to break the curse, they run into a monkey demoness who is trailing behind a mortal. Unfortunately, the demoness in question is a lone monkey demoness who doesn't know how to speak monkey. So they are stuck with the woman and the demoness as this strange woman travels.

This woman, who is clearly mortal held no fear towards them. Obviously, because they were mere cubs.

Cursed Warlords Art / Character Designs

Sun Wukong and The Six Eared Macaque - Sketches

Cursed Warlords Asks

#One - Several

#Two - Reader's knowledge on Lmk

#Three - Language

#Four - Language

#Five - Magic Understanding

#Six - Crushes

#Seven - Reader's Abilities and Hobbies

#Eight - How Reader saved Spirit

#Nine - Bathing + extra scene

#Ten - If someone flirts with Reader

#Eleven - Reader's world

#Twelve- Shadowpeach Arc Notes

#Thirteen - Concerns on Artifacts

#Fourteen - More on the Artifacts Debate and ideas

#Fifteen - Spirit's backstory

#Sixteen - Overheard Crushes!!

#Seventeen - 🔞 NSFW Headcannons

#Eighteen - Singing

#Nineteen - Macaque’s Ears

#Twenty - Are the cubs!?

#Twenty-one - Jttw Arcs Idea

#Twenty-Two - Mk

#Twenty-Three - Before and After the artifacts

#Twenty-Four - Reader's Name in the Book of The Dead

#Twenty-Five - Su, Chu Lin and Spirit's dad.

#Twenty-Six - Reader gets mad

#Twenty-Seven - Immortality

#Twenty-Eight - Lmk World bits and pieces

#Twenty-Nine - Time loops

#Thirty - Post courtnapped grooming

#Thirty-One - Monkey's Heights

#Thirty-Two - Big Spoon Cuddles

#Thirty-Three - Annoying Sister In Law

#Thirty-Four - Crumb Block (Didn't know what to call it)

#Thirty-Five - Wukong and Macaque Zoo

Cursed Arc

Meeting The Mortal

Peaches and Plums

Passing Out - End Credits of Chapter

Boat Ride

The Village

The Forest

Burns

Unofficial Chapters

Anger

Reader and Mk Talk

[khywren]

❛ pairing: Astarion/f!OC (Ysera) ❛ word count: 8.6k ┊ ❛ rating: 18+ MDNI ❛ tags/cw: angst, hurt/comfort, hurt no comfort, emotional sex, PIV sex, mentions of trauma and abuse, references to Astarion's past, blood, blood drinking

▸ preview: He had been purposely avoiding her before, vexed by his concern for her wellbeing, but it all seems so pointless now.

Why shouldn't he take as much as he wants – as much as he needs? He'd be stupid not to when she's offering herself so willingly. Sooner or later she'll tire of him, and what will he have then? Nothing but his pride and an empty stomach.

Her kind words hadn't saved him when he needed them most. They're nothing more than a distraction now, and a luxury he cannot afford to indulge if he wants to maintain his freedom.

--

OR: Sometimes all it takes is a little darkness to expose the light. AO3 ┊ masterlist

The shadow-cursed lands are easily the most depressing thing Astarion has seen in weeks. Descending into the Underdark had been awful enough (the bioluminescent mushrooms were, after all, a poor substitute for the warmth of the sun), but here, amidst the pervasive scents of death and decay, the darkness is nothing if not suffocating.

There's an unsettling weight to it, the way it bears down upon them all with an almost crushing force, as if it seeks to drag them down into some endless abyss.

Even when he had prowled the streets of the Lower City, he had found some refuge in the stars that dotted the night sky like so many glittering jewels, or the inviting glow of one of the city's many taverns and brothels.

It's hardly strange, then, part of him almost misses it. Here, where all traces of light have been snuffed out. Had he ever truly been content amongst the shadows, or was it just another of the many lies he had told himself over the years?

For this place is naught but shadow, the kind of creeping, carnivorous darkness that devours everything in its path. It's burrowed beneath his skin and made itself at home in his very bones, like an itch he can never hope to scratch. He would tear himself apart before ever hoping to purge it.

He hasn't felt like this since…

In the farthest recesses of his mind, he hears the scrape of stone-on-stone, recalling the hopelessness he'd felt when the last slivers of light he would see for an entire year refused to be sealed away with him.

Astarion shakes his head to rid himself of the memory.

A soft sigh leaves his lips as he swirls the wine in his glass, fingers wrapped around the delicate stem as he lifts it to his mouth and takes another sip. 

He needs a distraction.

His eyes drift lazily across the bar at the back of the Last Light Inn, searching for her as they always seem to these days.

Astarion's only salvation sits no more than fifteen feet away, but even her light has dimmed in this wretched place. It's evident in the way Ysera slumps her shoulders, the weary fatigue she conceals behind a put-together facade. Her tail hangs limply over the back of her barstool, as still and lifeless as his unbeating heart.

The rest of them might be fooled, but Astarion has worn enough masks to know when someone is playing a part. Watching her is like watching some unknown entity puppet her body, guiding her through the motions without any real respect for the craft. To say it unnerves him is an understatement; he'd find more life in a corpse.

As she takes yet another hearty drink of whatever she plundered from behind the counter, Ysera entertains the bard they met back in the grove with a strained smile and a hollow laugh that echoes harshly in his ears. Astarion remembers her name is Alfira, but only because Ysera had greeted her so fondly the moment they were reunited. There's nothing else remarkable enough about her to retain his interest for more than a fleeting moment.

One after another over the course of the evening, he has watched from afar as the tieflings that had survived the journey to Last Light have circled her like vultures, taking what they needed from her – reassurance, hope, a promise to ensure their safety. Alfira is but the latest scavenger, coming to collect the final scraps.

And Astarion is furious. At the tieflings, for being too weak to carry their own weight. At Ysera, for letting them use her without a second thought. And at himself, for being no better than any of them.

After all, had he not been the first one to take more from her than he was owed?

The stem of the wine glass cracks beneath his fingers, and Astarion pushes it aside before sliding gracefully from his seat. He hears Ysera echo the same empty promises she'd given the rest of the stragglers from the Grove, vowing to secure them safe passage to Baldur's Gate, as if any of them have any say in the matter. 

Alfira thanks Ysera profusely and excuses herself when she notices Astarion approaching. Lost in her thoughts, Ysera turns back to her drink, and Astarion watches her expression turn grim. She downs the rest of the alcohol in a single swallow, teetering on the barstool as she swipes another bottle and upends half its contents into her glass.

The subtle notes of vanilla, smoke, and cinnamon assault Astarion's senses as he draws nearer to her, but not before Ysera has gulped down most of what he assumes from the way she scrunches her nose and sticks out her tongue must be a rather strong batch of whiskey. Hardly his preferred drink, but it's done its job of getting her thoroughly drunk.

When she raises the glass to polish off the rest of it, she only manages to lift it halfway before Astarion intervenes and lays his hand over her wrist to restrain her. She whirls to face him, fire burning in her eyes as he pulls the drink from her hands.

“All right, darling,” he says gently, “that's quite enough of that. I'm not sure what you're hoping to find at the bottom of that glass, but I assure you it's not worth the headache.”

Ysera regards him with sullen fury, and her tail twitches irritability.

“Oh, don't spoil my fun.”

She lurches forwards to steal the drink back from him, but her movements are uncoordinated and slow, and Astarion lets out an amused chuckle as he holds the glass above her head while she swipes helplessly at it. When she finally gives up, he returns it to the counter behind her, well out of reach.

“This is what you consider fun?” he asks incredulously, raising a single brow. “Drowning yourself in cheap spirits? You look positively dreadful. ”

“Thank you for noticing.” Ysera huffs and folds her arms over her chest, and Astarion is quite certain from the look she fixes him with that she's imagining his perfectly arranged curls going up in flames. “Don't act like you're not just as miserable as the rest of us.”

For a moment Astarion hesitates, caught off guard by the truth in her words. But he decides in the end that it's just a lucky guess and shrugs his shoulders dismissively while brushing a stray bit of dirt off of his armor.

“Speak for yourself, my sweet; some of us are flourishing. In fact, I rather find myself quite at home here.”

Shadow, shadow, everything is shadow, he can't get out, there's no way out –

“Liar.” Her voice is slurred but rings in his mind with alarming clarity, ripping him from the memories that refuse to remain buried.

“You haven't come to my tent in days, and I know you're not feeding on anything out there because there is nothing.”

Ysera's temper flares, red-orange fire licking her palms before she clamps them shut to extinguish the flames. He can't decide if she's worried for him, hurt by his absence, or something else entirely.

“Listen, darling,” he starts, “you're hardly in any state to –”

“To what?” she shouts. “To stand by and watch you starve!?” Her body shakes with what might be a restrained sob, and something about the way she looks at him twists like a knife in his chest.

“You know I can't do that, Astarion! Let me help you.”

‘Please!’ His fists beat mercilessly on the stone, fingers scraped raw and bloody. ‘Someone help me!’ 

No one comes. 

The anger that's been simmering inside him erupts, and his eyes flash in warning. But she meets his ire with determination, either too drunk or too stupid to realize what she's done. The memories she's pulled to the surface, long since locked away.

Only then does he notice the staring. Half a dozen tieflings watch them with bated breath, eyes wide and curious. Even some of their companions have noticed the commotion.

Astarion schools his expression and twists his lips into a bitter smile.

“Fine.”

Ysera opens her mouth immediately, ready to refute his remarks, but she clearly wasn't expecting this.

“Wait… that's it?” she asks, narrowing her eyes as she peers up at him in disbelief. “Seriously? After all that, that's really all it took to convince you?”

Astarion responds with another shrug and a tilt of his head.

“Come now – do I really seem like the kind of person who would lie just to get out of an uncomfortable conversation?”

Ysera snorts audibly.

“Astarion, you are exactly that kind of person.”

A smirk flits across his face, silver brows arched as he leans in towards her. Ysera's back hits the counter as she retreats, and Astarion watches her nostrils flare as she breathes in his scent, caged beneath him with no intention of escaping. 

Her eyes travel to his lips, and there's little more than a hair's breadth between them when his hand closes around the handle of the glass behind her, and he withdraws suddenly from her personal space. 

She masks her disappointment well, but her eyes spark with a passion he hasn't seen in days.

Well, at least there's still some life left in her.

Astarion swirls the rest of the whiskey in her glass and swallows it. It tastes like ash in his mouth, but it's well worth the venomous look she throws his way. He sets the empty glass down beside her and saunters away with a flourish of his hand.

“I'll see you tonight, darling.” ————

The air here is stagnant as ever, but Astarion swears he feels a chill snake its way down his spine as he walks through their camp. There's enough distance between his tent and Ysera's for him to dwell on what she'd said to him earlier that afternoon, and no one around to stop his thoughts from wandering.

‘I know you're not feeding on anything out there because there is nothing.’

She's right, of course. The first night they’d arrived here, he'd snuck away from camp in the middle of the night and stumbled upon the body of a dead bear, lying peacefully on the side of the road as if in slumber. 

He'd sank his teeth eagerly into its fur, retching when its putrid blood had burned like acid in his throat. The same inky black ichor had oozed from every other creature he had come across, each less appetizing than the last.

By the third day, he was ravenous.

He'd slipped into Ysera's tent well after everyone had gone to sleep, but she'd looked so frail and cold beneath her blankets that the thought of drinking from her had physically repulsed him.

Each time he'd considered asking her again, the treacherous voices in his head had condemned him for his selfishness, filling him with an unfamiliar guilt that he still isn't quite sure what to do with.

Worse still, he feels plagued by that same guilt even now, even after she has all but demanded he come to her tent and feed from her.

Astarion hesitates for only a moment before he thrusts open the flap of Ysera's tent, startling her from where she sits in front of her mirror to brush out the tangles in her hair. It's gotten significantly longer in the month and a half since they've been traveling together, cascading over her shoulders in satiny pink waves as she turns to face him.

Her face falls when she sees his conflicted expression, but she scoots towards him anyway and invites him to sit with a sweep of her hand.

“I was starting to think you were going to stand me up again,” she murmurs quietly, twisting her hands in her lap.

Relying on instinct has gotten him this far; Astarion finds himself settling back into familiar routines, letting a seductive smile play across his lips as he kneels across from her. He cocks his head to the side and clicks his tongue, purposely dragging his gaze over every curve of her body.

“And waste another moment without enjoying that delicious blood of yours? That simply won't do.”

Her heart leaps in her chest, a blush staining her cheeks. It's almost too easy, her concern for him seemingly forgotten in an instant.

He wants to feel proud, confident that he can still get what he wants from her when he wants it.

But the only thing he feels when he looks at her now is shame. It sprouts like creeping, twisting vines, suffocating him from within.

She hasn't bothered to light any candles, and Astarion suddenly finds himself missing the way her golden eyes glimmer like warm amber in the firelight. Ysera crawls towards him and settles comfortably in his lap like she's always belonged there, and Astarion instinctively inhales her scent, swept up in the aroma of roses and springtime that make him yearn for the sun.

He hasn't had the time to remember what it feels like to be cold, but everywhere she touches him breathes new life into his frigid skin, caressing him like the kiss of a nascent flame. She sweeps her hair obediently over her shoulder to expose her throat to him and waits for his instruction.

When Astarion lifts his hands to grip her waist and thread his fingers through her unbound hair, he's trembling.

Not in anticipation, but with anger. 

Astarion holds her more tightly than he should, and Ysera's spine immediately straightens. The racing of her heart suggests that she is afraid, and yet she still does not refuse him. 

How many years had he suffered, trapped in an endless cycle of misery under Cazador's cruel thumb while the buzzards stripped him bare? How hard had he fought to claw back even a modicum of freedom, only to watch her willingly submit to the whims of complete strangers whose lives were ultimately insignificant? To him , when he's done nothing but take and take and take?

With every poor, worthless fool she helps, she makes a mockery of him.

His rage is a volatile thing, barely leashed behind the fangs he presses into her throat. A soft whimper escapes Ysera's lips, and she clutches at his shirt. Somewhere on the periphery of his mind, he realizes he's hurting her, but the rush of blood that pours into his mouth as he punctures her neck without warning washes the thought away on a current of red. Her pulse pounds in his ears, and with every swallow he can feel his own strength returning.

He had been purposely avoiding her before, vexed by his concern for her wellbeing, but it all seems so pointless now.

Why shouldn't he take as much as he wants – as much as he needs? He'd be stupid not to when she's offering herself so willingly. Sooner or later she'll tire of him, and what will he have then? Nothing but his pride and an empty stomach. 

Her kind words hadn't saved him when he needed them most. They're nothing more than a distraction now, and a luxury he cannot afford to indulge if he wants to maintain his freedom.

Ysera yields without protest when Astarion bears down upon her, pushing her roughly onto her bedroll. He pins her beneath him, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of her blood as if in a trance. When his fangs dig deeper, she lets out a strangled sob, and the sound of it wrenches him out of his stupor just in time to realize just how close he'd come to losing control of himself completely.

Astarion refuses to look at her when he tears himself away from her throat, pointedly avoiding the ghastly wound he's left behind. The air is thick with the smell of her blood, and the drops that run down his chin bloom red against the white fabric of her nightshirt.

His stomach tightens. All this time, he'd fooled himself into believing he was the one in control.

But no matter what he does, he can't escape the one simple truth that he is weak. The only question now is who gets to hold his leash: Cazador or Ysera?

“Astarion?”

Ysera's voice sounds so fragile, timid and uncertain as she calls out to him. He grimaces when her hand cups his cheek with more tenderness he deserves, compelling him to look at her. He knows what he'll see when he does: revulsion, fear, betrayal.

But when Astarion forces himself to meet her gaze, the look of concern writ across her face fractures something deep within his chest, and he gasps for breath he no longer needs. 

“What's wrong, Astarion? Are you alright?”

The softness of her expression cuts him like a knife, and he pulls himself away as if he's been burned. 

“I should go.”

“What? I don’t – Astarion, wait!”

He's halfway on his feet by the time she reaches for him, hands just brushing past the collar of his shirt. 

Don't look back.

This was a mistake.

You gods-damned fool.

Another sob bubbles in her throat, and he keeps his back to her, certain that looking at her now would ruin him. He doesn't want to know what she looks like, broken and abandoned not by some nameless foe, but by someone else she trusted not to hurt her.

But it's worse than that, because he is afraid to know.

“Please… don't go.”

Astarion clenches his fists and walks away.

Their camp is still quiet as Astarion stalks back to his tent. He's halfway there when he sees a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, turning to see Gale and Shadowheart engaged in a hushed conversation together.

They glance at him from across the campfire, and their expressions grow stern as they survey the state of him. It likely doesn't take them long to piece together what has happened. The hand Astarion wipes across his mouth comes away red, stained with the remnants of Ysera's blood he hadn't had the time to clean up before he left her tent.

Astarion deflects their silent accusations with a scowl, daring either of them to speak. But they say nothing, and Astarion turns up his nose in defiance before returning to his tent.

They don't understand. None of them do.

The moment he returns to the privacy of his tent, Astarion wastes no time peeling his clothes off and throwing them to the far corner. Her scent clings to him anyway, and even after he's cleaned the blood from his mouth, it's all he can think of. 

He pulls on a fresh pair of trousers and makes himself as comfortable as he can, settling into his bedroll. The same one Ysera had insisted he keep once she found out he was trancing on nothing more than an old wooden board.

What must she think of him now, he wonders?

Astarion sighs and closes his eyes. He half expects her to come after him, but with each passing minute, he realizes it's nothing more than wishful thinking.

When he finally slips into an uneasy trance, all he sees is her face, twisted in grief.

————

Isobel's moonshield glows bright white and ethereal as Astarion slips through it like a phantom, his skin prickling as he emerges on the other side of the barrier.

He had been told Ysera had come this way not long after they had returned from their preliminary visit to Moonrise Towers, though he doesn't quite understand why she would choose this of all places until he spots her.

She's sitting on the flat top of the rock that extends over the lakeshore, and Astarion watches as she grabs a loose stone from the spot next to her and throws it as hard as she can into the water. Her tail thumps against the ground, and he can overhear her muttering about the drow they'd met shortly after coming face to face with Ketheric Thorm himself.

She grabs another rock and hurtles it farther than the last. Astarion finds it all rather amusing, and anger certainly looks far better on her than sorrow.

He clears his throat as he approaches, and she makes a noise of surprise when she turns to face him, scarlet coloring her cheeks.

“Astarion! Uh… hi. How long have you been –?”

Astarion gestures to one of his pointed ears and smirks through his fangs. “Long enough.”

Ysera's already buried her face in her hands when he sits next to her, and she inhales sharply before letting out a frustrated groan.

“It’s just – I don't – I can't believe that woman!” she seethes. Her teeth are halfway bared behind her snarl, body bristling with magic. She fixes her gaze on Astarion, expression softening when her eyes rove over his face.

“I can't believe she thought she could speak to you like that.” A string of Infernal curses tumbles from her mouth, and Astarion watches as she opens her palm and ignites a brilliant ball of white-hot flame.

“I still think Gale should have let me incinerate her.”

He hasn't seen her this upset in weeks, and an unexpected thrill of pleasure courses through him at the fact that it's all on his behalf.

“And that, darling, is why we leave diplomacy to the wizard.”

Ysera pouts at him. “Oh, come on. You would have enjoyed it too, and you know it.”

Without Gale's interference, Astarion has no doubt that their encounter with the blood merchant would have gone awry. The look of terror on Araj’s face when Ysera had summoned her magic and threatened her had been extremely entertaining, and he hadn't been the only one to be disappointed when Gale had intervened.

“True,” he says wryly, "but I hardly think the great General Thorm would have appreciated us attacking one of his little minions.”

Ysera snorts and rolls her eyes.

“He might if he knew how much of a bitch she is.”

Astarion throws back his head and laughs. It's the best he's felt in days.

“What?” she mutters indignantly. “We'd have been doing him a favor! Whether or not he deserves it is irrelevant.”

This time, when Astarion fixes her with a mischievous grin, it's completely genuine. His influence on her is evident; even a month ago, she never would have suggested such a thing.

“Well, there's always next time. And if she should happen to find herself in the way of a blade –”

“– or a fireball,” Ysera interjects, tail swishing excitedly back and forth. Astarion simply nods in agreement.

“It would be such a shame, of course, but accidents do happen.”

They look at each other for a moment, and despite the familiar ease Astarion can sense returning between them, her face remains inscrutable.

“In all seriousness, though…” Ysera says after a moment, “I'm sorry about what she said.”

Astarion stares out across the water and dismisses her with a wave of his hand.

“Don't be. What's done is done.”

What hadn't surprised him was the way Araj had spoken to him, intent on using him to indulge her strange fantasies. It's nothing he isn't already used to, and instead of feeling angry, the only thing he'd felt was numb. 

That Ysera would be against the idea was another given, but it was the ferocity with which she had defended him once he’d expressed his disinterest that he had found the most intriguing. 

Especially considering what had occurred between them only two nights prior to their visit to Moonrise. 

He still doesn't understand her, or why she insists on being so kind to him. Somewhere, some part of him that he thought long dead stirs to life, the part of him that dares to hope that maybe she might actually care for him.

The same way he's been too scared to admit he cares for her. The people he cares about don't survive for very long. She deserves better than that.

He's never really had someone to care for before – someone he could truly call his own. Everything he had had been ripped away from him the night Cazador turned him. Little by little, she had worked her way into his cold, dead heart, so quietly that he hadn't even noticed it until it was already too late.

“That doesn't mean I have to like it,” she's saying now, looking at him with more of that righteous indignation. “I promise I'll never ask you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, no matter what we're offered in return.”

A weight lifts from his shoulders. There's freedom in her words, the closest he's felt to it since waking up on that beach so many days ago. He reaches for it tentatively, as if it will slip through his fingers if he isn't very, very careful.

“Thank you.” 

He lets Ysera lay her hand over his, and together they listen to the waves break against the shore in silence. If they survive this, he vows to himself that he will confess everything to her, before he leaves. He'd thought it would be better to slip away quietly, to pretend like nothing had ever happened between them, but as she leans against his shoulder and strokes the back of his hand with a fondness she reserves only for him, he knows that he can't go through with it.

The best he can do for her now is try to convince her to stand up for herself so this doesn't happen again. Him. The tieflings. All of it.

“You'd do well to heed your own advice, you know.”

Ysera lifts her head from Astarion’s shoulder and looks at him in confusion.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Astarion huffs a dry laugh, and she furrows her brow.

“Only that I haven't seen you smile once since we came to this place,” he says simply.

“I mean… yeah, just look at it. Do you blame me?” she counters, throwing her arms wide. She must expect Astarion to commiserate with her, but he only looks at her sternly.

“I'm talking about the tieflings, darling,” he says sourly. “You don't owe them even half as much as you've given them.”

“I…” Ysera bites her lip and looks away to avoid meeting his gaze. “It's fine.”

“Is it?” he presses.

She draws her legs close to her chest and wraps her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. For a moment Astarion thinks she won't respond, but she sounds so small when she finally tells him:

“My whole life, all I've ever done is hurt people. My parents are dead because of me.” She traces a hand over the jagged scars that mar her face, and Astarion remembers the sordid tale of how she got them.

“So is the man who gave me this.”

Dead by her own hands, after he'd carved into her face as a punishment for hurting him.

“And you too.” Astarion glances down at his chest, eyes following the path of the mark she'd left seared into his armor the last time her temper had flared, hot as the forge in the Underdark.

“I just…” Ysera sighs and hugs herself tightly, eyes downcast. “I just want to help people, if I can. I don't see anything wrong with that.”

At last, he thinks he understands. In her desperation to feel wanted, to convince herself she isn't just a mistake, she's destroying herself in the process. He sees his own self-loathing mirrored back at him like some vile, twisted shadow, always there, always whispering in his ear that no matter what he does, nothing will change.

“You'd sacrifice your own happiness for people who are more than willing to take advantage of that kindness,” Astarion observes dryly. “Doesn't seem like a fair trade to me.”

He knows she can't refute the truth. The seconds turn into minutes; and there's something deeply sad about the way she smiles as she finally turns to look at him again.

“And what about you?” she asks quietly. “Is that what you're doing, Astarion? Taking advantage of me?”

————

The next evening, Astarion finds himself outside Ysera's tent once again. He tells himself it's the hunger that has brought him to her proverbial doorstep, because it's more convenient to lie than it is to admit he feels the need to set things right between them.

That still doesn't make him any less anxious as he slips quietly into her tent. He finds her tucked under a pile of blankets, thumbing through one of the terribly written romance novels she's picked up from one merchant or another. When she hears him enter, she looks up at him and sets her book aside without a second thought.

Astarion has come to her tent enough times now that they have long since established a routine, and even though his visits have been infrequent as of late, she still seems more than eager to accommodate him.

Neither of them speak about what happened the last time he paid her a nighttime visit.

He leaves his boots by the entrance and makes himself comfortable amidst the pile of blankets she's used to line the floor of her tent.

“Back so soon, Astarion?”

“What can I say? I've missed you, darling.”

The truth slips through his lips like water through a sieve, even though he hides it behind a well-placed smirk.

Ysera combs her hands through her hair, tying it back and out of the way. Astarion's eyes follow the shape of her jaw before reluctantly settling on the bite marks on her throat. They've healed since their previous encounter, but it doesn't stop the memory of her, bloodstained and trembling, from resurfacing in his mind like a festering wound.

Yet when she crawls out from beneath her blankets and into his lap again, she does so without hesitation. There is no trace of fear in her golden eyes, and although her smile is hollow, she holds his face in her hands with a gentleness that cannot be anything but sincere.

Blazing heat follows the path of her fingers beneath his chin. Under her direction, Astarion lifts his head to meet her gaze. There is an emptiness there now, a cold detachment made all the more haunting in the flickering light within her tent that casts her face in shadows. The tenderness of her hands as they sink into his hair sends a chill down his spine, and despite himself he leans into her touch.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, you know,” she says, twirling a stray lock of his hair around her finger. He hums thoughtfully in response.

“Do you want to know what I really want, Astarion?”

The shadow-cursed lands have stolen something from each of them, but they have taken the most from Ysera. Gone is all her reckless optimism and carefree laughter, her last and only defense against the darkness that dwells within her own mind. The woman in his lap may wear her face and speak with her voice, but it isn't her.

Astarion swallows thickly and nods.

“I want to think about something other than this place, or these worms in our heads,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Or why can't I sleep without these godsdamned nightmares.”

The dam breaks, and her body shudders with a quiet sob as she presses his face against her neck in a silent plea.

“You're the only one who’s ever made it all disappear,” she whimpers. “Help me forget, Astarion.”

He knows it is an impossible request. He's been trying to forget for two hundred years, long enough to know the weight of what she's asking of him. But he presses his fangs into her flesh like a balm all the same, soothing her as she sags against him and rakes her nails across his scalp.

He cannot make her forget, but he can distract her. He owes her at least that much. And for the first time in a long time, when he sinks his fangs into her neck and lets his hands slip beneath her nightgown, everything feels right.

Astarion’s hands drink in her warmth with the same eagerness he swallows her blood, roving over her curves and dragging his nails against her bare skin. She shudders at the contact and moans softly, pressing his face even more firmly into the curve of her neck.

“Astarion…”

When Ysera accidentally brushes her hand over the shell of his ear, Astarion groans into her throat, grabbing her by the hips and positioning her over the growing bulge in his pants to let her feel the hardening outline of his cock as he rocks his hips against her. She responds beautifully, grinding down against him the moment he pulls away. His tongue swirls around the puncture wounds on her neck, coaxing more delicious sounds from her before he pauses to admire his handiwork.

When he unlatches from her and sits back on his calves, a trickle of wine-dark blood spills over her collarbones, staining her skin with crimson as it disappears beneath her nightgown. Astarion’s fingers glide smoothly up her torso, yanking the garment down as her breasts spill into his hands. Her hips jerk forward again as he brushes over her nipples, pinching the taut buds between his thumbs and forefingers.

Ysera sighs softly when he presses his nose against her chest, and she tastes just as heavenly as he remembers as he runs the flat of his tongue across her flushed skin, following the trail of her blood. The marks on her neck entice him to drink more, but instead he nips a teasing path along her throat and across her jaw, breath fanning out against her ear as he drops his voice to a pleasing growl.

“You've told me all about what you want – now tell me what you need .”

“I–”

Her breath hitches as Astarion’s fangs press into her skin, and her hands fumble blindly for his laces.

“I need you,” she whines. “I need this .”

A laugh rumbles low in his throat, and Astarion rewards her with another nip. “Very good. You need my cock, darling? It's all yours.”

As Ysera works at his laces with trembling hands, Astarion braces himself for the familiar sense of dread that has been his constant companion during their nights together. But her touch is gentle, almost reverent, as she frees him from his trousers, and he finds that he doesn't hate the feeling of her hands on him perhaps as much as he should.

But Astarion smothers the thought as he catches a glimpse of her eyes, smouldering like golden embers beneath her lashes. 

At last, she's come back to him.

With one hand braced against her back, Astarion steadies Ysera as she lifts her hips, maintaining eye contact with her as she watches him expectantly. He pulls aside her underwear, exposing her quivering cunt as he lines his cock up with her entrance. 

“Are you ready for me?” he asks.

“Yes,” she answers.

Astarion understands the language of pain – what it means to finally feel something after feeling nothing for so long. He can see it now in her eyes, pleading for something she doesn't quite know how to ask for.

So with a quick snap of his hips, Astarion sheathes himself inside her in a single, harsh thrust. At the same time, his fangs pierce her neck again, blood running thick and warm down his throat. Ysera cries out and whimpers his name, but the way she throws her arms around his shoulders and clings to him tells him everything he needs to know.

Ysera rolls her hips each time he drives his cock inside her, letting him bottom out with each thrust. She's tight, pulsing around his cock as he works her open, and even though it must hurt she begs for more, more, more . 

Kneading her breasts in his hands, Astarion encourages her to keep moving, whispering words of praise into her ear when he's taken his fill of her blood.

“That's it. Good girl. Focus on me.”

Sparks ignite between them when their eyes meet, and even through her half-lidded gaze he can feel the intensity with which she watches him, devoting herself to memorizing every detail of his face, the way he holds her, and the fullness of his cock, warmed by her body and her blood as he maintains a steady pace inside her.

“More,” she sobs, bucking her hips and throwing her head back on a broken moan. “Please, Astarion…”

As much as he finds he enjoys the intimacy of having her in his lap, it makes things unnecessarily complicated. He misses the warmth of her body and the scent of her skin the moment he lays her back against the blankets, reaching for the nightgown bunched around her torso and pulling it over her head. Ysera waits patiently for him to reach for her underwear next, smooth fingers hooking beneath the waistband before he slides them down her legs and tosses them into the darkness.

She looks up at him, pupils blown, swallowing as Astarion gently spreads her legs and seats himself between her knees. Slicking his hand over his cock, he takes in the sight of her, pleased by the gentle curve of her mouth and the way her heart flutters beneath her ribs. He slides his length through her slick folds, gathering her arousal.

“Wait.”

Astarion pauses, confusion coloring his expression as he wonders what's gone wrong.

“I…”

Even in the darkness, he can see the flush that stains her cheeks, plush lips parted as she pants softly.

“I want to see you too.”

She smiles sheepishly when he rolls his eyes, and he huffs dramatically before grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. The rest of his clothes join hers in the same half-forgotten pile, and Astarion quickly returns to his place between her legs.

“Better, darling?”

“Uh-huh.”

It's difficult for him not to preen beneath her attention as he eyes travel over the sculpted planes of his chest and shoulders, but Ysera anchors her gaze instead on his face, studying him as though it's the first time she's seen it. 

He wonders what she sees when she looks at him, what she's searching for with those brilliant golden eyes. Ysera's breath hitches when he enters her again, hands on her waist as he seats himself fully inside her. He pulls almost completely out of her and pauses, waiting for her to whine in frustration before he slams home again. He does it again, snapping his hips forward with enough force that it nearly lifts her off the blankets.

The sound of her languid moans sounds like a symphony as he sets a feverish pace, grunting through gritted teeth as he fucks her hard and deep. Hands tucked beneath her knees, he gives her everything she'd asked for, taking pride in every whimper and moan that tumbles from her mouth.

“What are you thinking about now?” he asks. The lewd sound of their bodies moving together fills the silence between them while Ysera struggles to find an answer to his question, and she barely gets out a single word before her eyes slam shut and she buries her fists in the blankets.

“You.” 

He hits a particularly sensitive spot inside her and she cries out in pleasure, gasping for breath. “You, Astarion. Always you, always, always…”

The admission pleases him more than he cares to admit. He's seen the way some of the others look at her, and with every thrust of his hips he makes sure there will never be room for anyone but him.

The thought of her sharing this kind of intimacy with anyone but him is nearly enough to drive him mad. Her secrets, her hopes, her fears, all of them are his and his alone.

But what, then, does that make her?

Yours.

His mind rejects the obvious answer.

It's strange, he realizes, that even as his mind wanders, it remains fixated on her. He wants to remember the way she looks beneath him, trying so hard to keep her eyes focused on his face. He wants to remember the feel of her in his hands, the way she moans and whimpers only for him.

He wants to remember, because for the first time in so many years, he finally feels like more of a man than a monster.

Astarion adjusts his position and leans over her, and Ysera takes the invitation to gather his hands in her own. Their fingers lace together and she squeezes tightly. He can feel her magic brimming just beneath her palms, undulating in time with the steady drumming of her heart. Her eyes shine with the ferocity of a supernova, a dying star scattered into the cosmos.

He feels the tether on her power snap taut, and her body trembles with the effort it takes to restrain it. Ysera's throat constricts with a sharp gasp as Astarion drives his hips forward again and again, coaxing her closer and closer to the sweet oblivion he knows she needs with each delicious thrust.

The air crackles with magic when Astarion pins Ysera's arms above her head, lightning dancing between her outstretched fingers. She arches her back and writhes each time he thrusts into her, his pace unfaltering as he banishes any lingering doubts from her mind.

Her fingers flex and she looks away, a frightened animal in flight. Astarion grabs her chin between his fingers and tilts her head towards him to capture her mouth in a tender kiss. His tongue slides across the seam of her lips and she yields to him without hesitation. He greedily devours every delightful little sound she makes for him, kissing her in just the right way he knows will produce the exact response he wants from her.

“Don't run from me,” he says softly. It's more of a request than a demand, but she complies all the same. 

Her gaze returns to his face, albeit reluctantly, and Astarion doesn't know what comes over him when he smooths his thumb across her cheek and cradles her head in his hand. “I’ve got you.” 

The gentleness of his own voice surprises even himself.

Ysera has always been afraid of herself, but never of him. He can't understand why. He's hurt her. He can't be certain he won't do it again, before everything is over. Whatever monster dwells within her must be truly terrible if it would convince her to seek solace in someone like him, no matter how much he's come to crave her affection.

She clings to him like so many others before her, legs lifting to encircle his back to keep him close, tail coiling tightly around his leg. An instinct to beg for more of the only thing he has to offer her. 

But what he can't dismiss as instinct is the way she looks at him, bright and warm as the first rays of the sun as dawn breaks over the horizon. Mere inches separate them, and Astarion can feel her breath fanning out over his lips with each sigh and gasp she makes beneath him.

“Astarion…”

His name sounds like honey on her tongue. Despite himself, Astarion recoils from the longing in her voice, his expression impassive despite the terror that takes hold within him and encircles his unbeating heart like a fist.

He remembers so few of his victims, but there is one he will never be able to forget. The man he had refused to condemn, the one and only time he had rebelled against his master’s orders. He had looked at Astarion the same way Ysera does now, had spoken his name with the same yearning that it had doomed him to a year of starvation and suffering.

No , he wants to scream, don't say it.

This isn't what he wanted.

But it's no use. He watches, helpless, as her mouth falls open and her hand raises to brush a stray curl behind his ear.

“Astarion, I lo –”

He crushes his mouth against hers, swallowing her confession with a desperation he hopes she will mistake for affection.

Astarion understands love the way a scholar understands facts and figures – from a distance and with cold indifference. He's grown adept at mimicking its trademarks, the mannerisms of genuine devotion, to be used as a means to an end but never to be indulged in.

Because allowing himself to hope for anything more would be to invite his destruction.

And yet, as Ysera kisses him back and murmurs the words against his lips again and again, Astarion can't stop himself from reveling in how good they sound. If he must be weak, let it be for something worthwhile.

I love you, Astarion. I love you. I love you.

He doesn't respond, his mind a whirlwind of contradictions. If it bothers her, Ysera doesn't let him see it. Instead, she winds her arms behind his back, touch featherlight as she traces the scars carved into his flesh. With each pass of her fingers, she erases the pain he'd been made to feel when he'd received them, if only for a fleeting moment.

Astarion doubts she's even aware of what she's done to him, that each time she touches him with such gentleness it makes him want to abandon centuries of habit and believe that they might actually have a future together. Tonight was supposed to be about her, but in everything she does, somehow she still prioritizes him.

“Ysera.”

He tests the feel of her name in his mouth, spoken with the same devotion she's given him. Her entire body shudders in response, and Astarion finds that he rather likes it. The need to please her becomes an all-consuming thought in his mind and he lowers his head, taking the peak of her breast into his mouth as he continues to roll his hips into hers at a pace that brings them both immense satisfaction.

Ysera lets out a keening whine when Astarion pinches her nipple between his teeth and flicks it with his tongue, mirroring the gesture on her other breast with his hand. The hands on his back instinctively tighten, nails pressed into his skin.

“I wonder if I could make you come for me like this,” he groans, voice low. “Would you like that, Ysera?”

She murmurs something immediately that sounds like “yes”, but Astarion considers his options. She'd probably agree to anything he said now, if she thinks it would bring her the relief she seeks. And he can give her so much better than that.

“Perhaps some other time,” he says, chuckling when she whines in protest and writhes beneath him.

One hand slips beneath her, cupping the base of her tail while the other drags a torturously slow path down her stomach towards the place their bodies are joined. Ysera sucks in a breath, trembling in anticipation. She lets it out on a strangled shout when Astarion circles her clit with his thumb; at the same time he caresses the underside of her tail, sending tremors of pleasure throughout her body. 

Her eyes fly open, hazy with arousal. “Again,” she pleads, canting her hips to press herself against the hand on her clit.

A single fang gleams behind Astarion’s lips.

“I thought so,” he purrs. He alternates his strokes, teasing both her tail and her clit between every thrust of his cock inside her. Her cunt tightens around him and he bites back a moan, watching her fall to pieces in his hands. 

“Astarion. Astarion. ” She says his name like a mantra, clinging desperately to him as he guides her to the edge, keeping her just on the precipice. He knows her body well, enough to build her pleasure to a roaring crescendo, and only once she begs for release one final time does he finally give it to her. With one last pass of his hands and thrust of his cock, Ysera finally lets go, gnashing her teeth and arching her back off the blankets as she shatters beneath him. Her chest heaves as she gasps for breath, riding the cresting wave of her orgasm as Astarion increases the pace of his thrusts and follows her quickly over the edge.

His hand comes away from her cunt slick with her arousal, and Ysera watches him slowly lick his fingers clean, enraptured by the sight of it. Astarion pulls out of her with a sigh, fixing his hair and bushing away the curls that have fallen over his eyes.

Ysera glances between Astarion and the entrance of her tent; he can tell that she's afraid he will leave. On any other night he would collect his clothes and go, but he can't bear the thought of abandoning her again, not after everything that has occurred between them.

He feels her relax the moment he takes the liberty of laying down beside her, and although his back is turned he can still hear the way her heart skips a beat as she sighs in relief. She settles in beside him, and they slip into a comfortable silence.

Is this what it would be like if they were together? Enjoying one another's company without obligation or expectations? The emptiness he feels now has nothing to do with what just transpired between them and everything to do with the fact that she isn't still in his arms, sharing her warmth with him.

Astarion feels her hand hovering over him, hears her reconsider before rolling over onto her other side and drawing the blankets up to her chin. They lay together in the darkness, but the silence soon becomes suffocating.

Astarion’s mind races, a thousand different thoughts waging war within him. Guilt wraps its way around his heart like strangling vines, each pricking thorn gnawing away at his already fractured composure. He moves before his brain has time to remind him it's a bad idea, rolling over to face her.

Ysera makes a muffled noise of surprise when Astarion slips his arm over her torso, tucking her tightly against his chest. He holds her close enough to calm the tempest raging inside him, indulging more than he should by burying his nose into the nape of her neck and inhaling the scent of her. 

She deserves to know the truth. And tomorrow, he will tell her everything. But for now, he grants himself this small mercy, entertaining the fantasy that this could be forever, that he could be the one to bring back her smile. Because when she finally lets him go – and she will, once she learns of his deception – at least he won't have to wonder what it might have been like to be hers.

————

Astarion has been awake for hours by the time he sees Ysera emerge from her tent, hair disheveled as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. He'd been loathe to extract himself from her arms earlier that morning, but the longer he let it carry on the harder he knew it would have been to go through with what needs to be done.

Ysera smiles softly at him as Gale passes a plate of food into her hands, and she brushes Shadowheart off as the cleric fusses over the fresh bite marks on her neck. Shadowheart skewers him with an accusatory scowl, but her temper cools when she notices the soberness of his expression. Whatever she thinks happened between them, she doesn't press any further.

When breakfast is finished and the plates have been cleared away, Astarion grabs Ysera's attention and leads her away from the others.

He doesn't want an audience – not for this.

She follows him quietly to the edge of camp, and they come to a stop just before the barrier of the moonshield. She seems to pick up on his stiff posture, and her reaction to his expression when he finally turns to face her seems to confirm her worst fears.

“Do you have a moment?” he asks. “I… I think we need to talk.”

[grimesgirll]

“c’mon, you can do better than that.”

“you think so?”

troy nods, moving nick’s nimble fingers aside to lean down and engulf your nipple in his mouth. you exhale shallowly in response, every muscle twinging as he runs his tongue along your sensitive bud.

“yeah, she loves this,” the ranch leader’s son muses, making a point to gently graze your nub with his teeth.

you whimper with delight. tremors and tingles of electricity hit you like a shock as the mouth on your chest just continues licking and sucking while a new sensation takes over between your legs. nick’s prodding touch tickles it’s way from your thighs to the top of your clit within seconds and suddenly you’re not sure how quiet you can stay.

“you’re right, she does,” nick agrees. “don’t you, pretty girl?” he traces a line from your lip to your chin as if his hand wasn’t attached to your clit.

“mhmm.” you agree as well, albeit through a series of muffled moans. nick picks up the pace and introduces your newly sopping cunt to a fat finger. the pleasure of that new stretch has you gasping.

you hadn’t been expecting to find both troy and nick down in the armory when you traipsed down here for some quick gun cleaning. what should’ve been a quick chore before your shift on perimeter watch turned into an opportunistic trap. not a single firearm had been cleaned since you stepped foot in the basement. instead, you’d been assailed by lips and teeth. lovers threatening to leave the door unlocked, instead focusing on the pleasure points they could plunder.

nick was the one to run up the stairs and lock the door - not that you’d seen it, too busy wrapped up by troy in a bear hug. you couldn’t resist being engulfed in his arms for a second. not at night, not when he sneaks up behind you when you’re on watch, not when he’s trying to distract you from your chores, and most certainly not now. it’s the same reason as to why you remain in his arms and don’t march up the stairs and off to your shift.

a challenging choice that would’ve been but even more challenging is trying to keep cool beneath the tongues of the men tearing you apart.

a tear threatens your waterline from all of the overstimulation; it trails down your cheek as it puffs out with each uneasy breath you take. “troy,” you’re whispering aimlessly into the mop of blonde hair atop you.

“what’s that, baby?”

“pretty sure my shift on the perimeter starts in ten minu-,”

“pretty sure all you need to worry about,” troy smirks at you, adding, “pretty girl, is cumming all over nick’s tongue.”

you nearly fall apart at his words.

the blonde devil raises an eyebrow. “hmm? you wanna let nick lick you stupid?” his smirk reappears. “or do you want to be on time for your perimeter shift?”

“that’s-,” you shudder at the feeling of the alphabet being traced onto your vulva. “-that’s not a fair question.”

“it’s just a question,” nick says from between your legs.

you lift your head to make eye contact with him but suddenly your face is being cupped and a pair of familiar lips draw you back into his center of gravity.

knowing nick will be there when you’re released from your romantic restraints, you lean into troy, trying to disregard the nearly searing orgasm burning at your core. your long haired lover licks painfully wicked stripes up your center. none of your bucking or squirming deters them; your california boy’s strong, sinewy arms - courtesy of all of the ranch duties he’d tended to in the texas sun - pin you down to hold you in place just in time for your core to collapse and for you to exclaim his name into troy’s mouth.

crushed between the men, your orgasm has you shuddering and your torso aflame with pleasure. nick licks you through your high and grips your hips to pull them closer to your face until troy’s freed your lips. the chapped things land on your neck as nick spreads your legs even wider. a finger pumps into you.

“wanna get filled up, good girl?” nick asks and comes closer to steal a kiss before you can reply. “you were so pretty coming. i know you’re gonna feel good on my cock.”

“she wants it. right, pretty girl?”

troy’s on the shell of your ear now. he’s nearly in your ear - the world’s most attractive brainworm.

you’re not surprised or even sensible enough in the moment to hesitate when you nod your head. you don’t think twice when they’re suddenly pulling their pants down and kissing more hungrily at your desert tanned skin.

they can pull you into any position they want, pull you from patrol, just so long as they keep their hands on you. one touch is all it takes and you’re putty in their hands.

fuck patrol, you’d rather get fucked.

[madkiska]

watching the entirety of jrwi: riptide again. here's some important things from the first few episodes that I feel we forgot (<110 mentions too though)

Jay

Had night terrors similar to those of Kubakinta's curse in episode 5, and they eventually start returning even after Loffinlot's curse is lifted ○ All of them were about her family and/or the navy ○ I simply think people leave her out of the nightmare stuff and she deserves it. Hurt her more, please (he said, lovingly)

was actually very upset at having to use her medal to get a Loffinlot rebellion to shut up ○ This could be because she didn't want them to guess she was a spy, but I choose to believe it's because she felt guilty

"If you're gonna be sailing with someone, you should have a good relationship with them. [nervous chuckle]." She says, while asking him for information about the Black Rose Pirates (ep. 10)

Said "thank god they didn't find me" after a nightmare about the navy attacking. Even when she was supposedly a spy, who one day would have to return to the navy ○ Very unclear if she was scared of her dad, or if it's because she was a secret spy so the navy would've just killed her

Rewatching, she was suspiciously into the plundering and gold and stuff. Like that was real sus. It doesn't fit her current character much

The only one among them who's gambled before

Chip

The entire thing literally starts off with Bizly holding a lit match

Called Gillion "Gill" and Jay "Sureshot" from an early stage

Was SO much more of a bastard. Lied to Gill constantly, didn't care about anything but the money, etc.

Had aggressive hand tremors alongside Jay's night terrors ○ Gill cures it with lay on hands

When he gets drunk married, they talk extensively about how he'd be released when he's dead. Welp.

They did actually break up and it was fine and they were still friends. They parted on good terms

Is really fucking good at chess ○ Beat Earl twice and Jay once. Jay had a point of exhaustion after a nightmare but Earl had no excuse ○ Lost to Gillion though, but only cause of prophetic screwup ○ This kid is smarter than he lets on, y'all

Was the first one to have a backstory dump while Jay is asking him about the Black Rose Pirates, yet still we know jack shit about his life before them other than "orphan"

Gill

Charlie has referred to Gillion with 'they' many times. I can pull receipts.

When describing Gill, Charlie said: "He's more.. elven, if you had to make a comparison. 'Cause I don't wanna be a fish guy". Oh, honey.

Smote a bald person by using his hair as a whip (ep. 4)

Was given anxiety and self-doubt alongside jay's night terrors and chip's tremors ○ "What do you want?" "I want the feeling of satisfaction I've been chasing my whole life." ○ This was episode FIVE.

First mention of the prophecy and how Gillion wasn't their ideal student is ep. 7, after he divine smites + prophetic screwups and deals like 60 damage to some beetles ○ Chip spends the next 30 seconds in gay awe

He refers to the crescent moon Niklaus tattoo as "my zodiac" (probably a bit) ○ It's not a lil basic white girl moon this thing is the entire size of his forearm

Gill had never heard about the Black Sea - it's unclear if the Undersea just don't know, or if that's just how sheltered he was (ep. 10)

Biz: "What would Gillion do. If he just had no goal - was just sitting there." "Gillion always has a goal." "Would his goal ever be to just.. Sit there?" "Absolutely not." ○ Later, Chip expresses that he doesn't know what Gillion likes. What he would want out of winning a bet. Gillion doesn't have an answer

Other

Apple, in a couple of early battles, acted like Gill's familiar (see: ep. 7)

They also pecked at his Niklaus tramp stamp and looked all confused at the idea of eating seeds

The specific crescent of the moon in the Niklaus tattoo is known as a symbol of "corruption" (ep. 9) and its antonym is the sun, for "life", similar to the yin and yang ○ Interesting to consider after what the tree said in 110 <_<

Pretzel has a masters degree in couple's therapy (ep. 10)

The Albatross/Millennium Chipper was described as the colour of rosewood or mahogany

Captain Lizzie's first introduction was a wanted poster, and Chip wanted to turn her in for the prize, then decided to try learn from her instead

Chip/Bizly called Old Man Earl "Erol" for a loooong time ○ Maybe it's an accent thing but I have an uncle called Erol and so this stands out to me

[lola-writes]

One-Eye & the Dreamer

(Aemond's POV)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x O.C Aylana Velaryon

Word Count: 2,2k

Themes & Warnings: slow burn, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers, violence, blood, targcest, sexual themes, tension, drama, angst, fix-it of sorts, eventual smut, sexual inexperience, forbidden love, high valyrian, dance of dragons, POV first person

Summary: Aylana Velaryon foresees Aemond Targaryen's fate and assigns herself to alter it.

Written from Aemond's POV.

More chapters

Gravity had nothing on us, my dear. 

You can’t untie red strings of fate. 

This is how it feels to fall in love with the atmosphere. 

The world surrendered to a symphony of wind.  Turbulence thundered in my ears and whipped my hair untamed as I ascended the skies. Rising higher and higher, the clouds enveloped me in a blinding haze, and the elements of the earth below decreased into a mosaic. I conquered the celestial at such speed that I felt like Aegon reborn. 

Vhagar was an extension of myself, her undulating muscles beneath my straddling body felt as if connected to my own, forcing our masses through the heavens with an effortlessness. I commanded her higher still, and she heeded my command. We defied gravity in a dance of grace and power.

As we approached the stratosphere where air ran thin, I straightened in my saddle, and my mighty Vhagar leveled out, conforming to every delicate change in my movements. The world below became an inverted dreamscape as we sailed the vague interstice that marked the transition between sky and oblivion - the clouds beneath were the unconquered sky, and the indigo above was the ocean, and I was flying upside down. 

Together, Vhagar and I, were limitless.

The memory of when I first claimed her was so potent it eclipsed everything else, real or imagined. It was like walking penniless and finding a mountain of gold at your feet. What was one to do with such power? A power so raw and exhilarating, it consumed. Suddenly, I had no fear. Suddenly, I was not alone…

I leaned into Vhagar’s warmth and she folded her wings against me. We plummeted back down towards the earth, a thrilling drop that sent a jolt of pure ecstasy through my veins. My stomach lurched, and beneath me, Vhagar’s thorax vibrated – a deep, primal roar that resonated through my very bones. In that moment, I mirrored her, a guttural exclaim of pure, unadultered joy escaping my lips.

Never had freedom tasted so sweet.

The force of our descent sliced through the nebulous clouds like a knife through cotton, and as we emerged, the Narrow Sea gaped wide, glittering beneath the noontide sun like a crystal embellished blue silk. I leveled out again and watched Vhagar’s twin loom out of the water. 

In the distance, the seven huge drum-towers, proud sentinels of pale red stone, rose out of the sea on their stony summits, and the tolling bells welcomed me back home. An unfamiliar fleet of ships coasted down Black Water Rush like wooden beads along a blue mesh - an unremarkable observation, as nobles from every corner of the realm had been descending upon King’s Landing for the wedding. They had all come through the gates by horse and carriage, none by sea. 

Traders perhaps? Coming just in time to fortify our stores for the upcoming plunder. 

So many fucking mouths to feed. I had seen them endlessly pour through the castle gates in a river of gold, silver, and polished steel – their banners displaying the sigil of house Lannister, Baratheon, Tully, and I could’ve sworn I saw a direwolf banner among them. Would the Starks truly find a Targaryen wedding of such importance that they would bother dragging themselves out of their frozen pits? It was to be a grand affair, to be sure. A celebration with tourneys, hunts, feasts, and dancing, to last for at least a fortnight.

If I had it my way, I would escape and race the wind on Vhagar. But mother’s orders were a bittersweet curse. We were to be on our best behavior, a euphemism for me babysitting my nuisance of a brother, to ensure he does not imbibe every wine cask in the keep, and to hearten my sweet sister who always grew gauche in social gatherings. 

One could hardly fathom I was the youngest.

But the chief of my worries was Aegon. He already had an inclination of getting unreasonable drunk on a plain day. I shuddered to think of the lengths he might go to in tribute to his own nuptials.

Unease filled my gut.

But it wasn’t the vigil of my siblings that rendered me apprehensive.

As I drew close enough that I could make out the banners, I realized that these were no ordinary trading ships. In fact, these weren’t traders at all. I tugged at the reins and Vhagar gathered air beneath her leather and sprung up high, casting her mighty shadow atop the vessels. 

Memories consumed me like a bad aftertaste. The sigil-emblazoned sails draped across the masts below needed no introduction. The seahorse and the three-headed black dragon caught the wind. 

It could only mean one thing…

The thought got knocked right out of me as a bone-jarring impact to Vhagar’s thorax threw me off my saddle. Her earsplitting roar resounded across the blackwater, as I tumbled down her back. Instinctively, I snagged my wrist through a loop in her saddle ropes, dangling precariously until she steadied herself. I hauled myself back up, heart hammering in my chest, adrenaline pouring into my bloodstream. I scouted the skies for an attacker in a glassy bewilderment, growing acrimoniously aware of my disability. But the firmament was still and empty. 

What in the Seven Hells?

Another blow. It knocked me aslant, and I felt fury consuming me like poison. Gritting my teeth, I gripped the saddle horn and twisted the reins twice ‘round my forearm, and perceived every muscle of Vhagar’s back contracting beneath me, waiting to charge. 

Who would dare challenge me?

A flicker of movement caught my eye. A shape, shrouded beneath Vhagar’s wing membranes, was soaring alongside us. And when I turned to look, my eye met a stranger, masked and cloaked, stalking us on a dragon as black and swift as a raven. But the beast was miniscule in relation, just the age to breathe fire, and yet had nearly forced me to meet the gods. 

Humiliation morphed into a blinding rage that seethed through my veins and marred my vision with a red mist. “Ossēnagon, Vhagar!” Kill. I growled, and steered her toward the trespasser. But the figure crouched down in their saddle, and their dragon dove towards the city. 

Fucking craven.

We went after them. Their descent was swift and inaudible, while mine was slow and thunderous like a moving mountain. The pale orange rooftops of King’s Landing, bleached from the summer’s scorching sun, spread out like a vast rust beneath our darkening shadows. I pursued them to the Hill of Rhaenys, where we landed opposite each other outside the crypts of the dragonpit. 

Dismounting, I started towards them, each step a measured threat. The steel of my dagger sang its lethal warning as I drew it from my scabbard. But the stranger stood their ground, defiance flickering in their shadowed form. My anger, already a simmering cauldron, boiled over. I closed the distance between up, a growl ripping from my throat, raw and primal.

“You!” The word barely a breath before my blade bit their throat. A desperate struggle ensued, but my palm collared the nape of their neck, locking them to the steel. A Kingsguard’s alarming exclaims sounded in the distance, but the words faded underwater. 

“The Stranger requests an audience.” The contiguity drowned my voice into a whisper. I took pleasure in that I towered over them, and felt their hot, humid breath against me, hitching beneath the sharp edge.

“My prince!” Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, came running towards us. His voice, booming like thunder, always sufficed in snapping the whole court to attention. But it wasn’t his timber which stirred me this time. “Let her go!” 

His words carried me out of my raging inferno.

Her?

I blinked through my apprehension and scavenged the stranger’s frame with my eye, as if I’d awoken from a dream and seen them for the first time. A tug, a rustle, and their hood fell back and settled around their shoulders. 

A wave of ice ran down my spine. 

It was like seeing a ghost. The protagonist of all my nightmares coming alive, ready to haunt me. 

Aylana Velaryon.

Her eyes, the color of sunlit amber flicked with gold, held mine with an unsettling intensity. She seemed to see right through me, demanding answers I could not provide. Then, a knowing smile played on her lips.

“Skoros iksos pirta, kepus?” What’s wrong, uncle? A sardonic edge laced her voice. “Gaomagon ao daor gīmigon issa?” Do you not remember me?

The words hit me like a physical blow. I swallowed, stunned by her High Valyrian.

For a moment, I believe I stood petrified, unable to tear my gaze from her, unable to utter a word.

A torrent of questions, accusations, apologies – years of unspoken turmoil – churned within me. But now, with her life literally in my hands, the words deserted me. My tongue, usually an agile weapon, felt like lead. This was the person who had haunted my every waking and sleeping thought for years, and all I could manage was a stunned silence. Perhaps my countenance spoke volumes where my voice failed.

She echoed the girl I remembered, but time had woven its changes. I had to take it all in. Her voice, saccharine and laced with a hint of mockery, was a stark contrast to the playful child I held in memory. Her once youthful features had sharpened, cheekbones higher, lips fuller. Then, my gaze, fell upon the one jarring element – a crimson scar that snaked across her left eyebrow, expressing a raw pink sheen beneath a shell of transparent skin. Years had passed, yet the wound looked fresh.

The accident.

My jaw tightened as venom seethed through my veins.

I could still see her crumpled, lifeless form in the dirt, her skull cracked open, every time I closed my eye.

And I was holding the bloody rock.

Shame coiled in my gut like a suffocating weight. I could not bear to look at her.

“Some things never change,” she said facetiously. “Don’t you agree, uncle?”

Shit.

I was still holding my knife to her throat. I recoiled with such force that the effort pushed her back as well. A bright seam of red welled up at the lip where my blade had kissed her and painted the length of her neck like dark fruit. 

I reviled myself. I had tried to kill her. Again. 

But she just smiled, a dimple flashing in her cheek. As if we were still kids and she had made a humorous jest.

I realized I had been holding my breath when a gasp escaped my lips and air rushed back into my lungs. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy.

“Aylana.” I spoke her name derisively without intending to, as I sheathed the knife at my waist where my gaze lingered a moment, dreading to meet hers. 

My stomach turned. I never used to call her that. It sounded so formal and distant on my tongue, just like ‘uncle’ on hers. But that’s what we were to each other now - our friendship no more than a distant memory. I no longer assumed myself worthy of her alias. I had lost that privilege. Just as I had lost my friend. 

The weight of the past pressed down on me, suffocating.

Agitation infiltrated my mind and my whole disposition must have come off as reticent and hostile. I watched her pull her gloves off finger by finger and release the clasp of her cloak. There was an attitude in her movements and a poise in her posture. Beneath she was dressed in sable flying leathers that clung tightly to her body. 

I averted my gaze. 

Frustration clawed at my chest, and whatever other feeling it was that made my mouth dry and my palms clammy. 

“You look well, nuncle,” she said. 

My eye met hers and I noted them briefly flicker across my eyepatch. Her scrutiny made the leather singe my skin with awareness. Growing diffident, I looked away. 

“Hmmph,” I said, my favorite expression of disdain. 

I knew what she was implying. That if I had only listened to her that night, instead of acting like an arrogant scoundrel, I wouldn’t be looking like a eunuch with one eye at present.

And she was right in mocking me. If her insults were the currency for my betrayal, I would gladly become a spendthrift.

My breathing shallowed as I gazed at the damage I’d caused. I had to get out of there. 

“I hope we did not frighten you earlier,” she said, interrupting my escape. “I only thought I might test the mettle of the largest dragon in the world. She truly is remarkable. A fair exchange, to be sure.” 

I turned to look at her, and I didn’t know what I must’ve looked like, because the playful smile that had been dancing between her lips our entire encounter, vanished. There it is, I thought. The realization. The Aemond you knew is gone. This is the monster you forged.

“Ser Harrold,” I said. “Escort the princess to the Red Keep. And make sure she does not test the mettle of anyone else in the city.”

“Certainly, my prince,” said Ser Harrold, the Lord Commander who was the very first person to see my face after the loss of my eye. This fact made him remarkably significant somehow.

I mounted Vhagar and took to the sky, watching Aylana and Nymax blur into mere specks on a canvas. 

This would be a celebration I was sure to remember…

More chapters

[starkenobi]

The White Wolf | Bucky Barnes x reader

masterlist — warnings: fantasy; romance; werewolf!bucky; pirate!reader; prince!bucky; stark!reader; soulmates.

Summary: She's one of the greatest pirates of her time, bringing chaos throughout the human kingdoms... Until an unfortunate event changes her life completely. And the white wolf makes sure to be definitive.

The salty breeze of a typical hot day, the clear blue sky mixing with the deep blue ocean as they meet on the horizon, the sun at its peak illuminating and guiding the way. A moment of calm that Y/N wouldn't trade for anything, the feeling of belonging that only the sea could provide her.

Of course, things weren't always easy, the life she chose constantly provided an adrenaline rush, the need to fight to conquer what she wanted. Gaining fame early on, she rarely needed to worry about surviving. Not when the supernatural was on the same side, being the biggest client for her services. Dealing with other humans was one of the least of her concerns and for the Phantom crew.

There was some truth to the rumors circulating on land. Y/N Stark had renounced the golden spoon in which she was born, preferring to take possession of a ship and embrace the title of pirate. With her money, power and influence, she became one of the worst nightmares of the entire kingdom, making sure to leave her mark of chaos while plundering the rulers and their court. The pirates of Phantom enjoyed destroying the royal plans, getting in the way, especially when the royalty pursued the supernatural.

To further fuel the rumors, a new commander - from the royal guard of the largest kingdom to declare war on Y/N - was chosen for the mission to arrest the pirate. Tony Stark, her twin.

This should have been the sign that she should be more careful and prepare for the time when she'd have to face her brother. However, Y/N still had a fondness for him and memories of their youth were her weak point. But, certainly, no one expected that the always fair commander Tony Stark would attack during a storm, with no intention of taking the Phantom crew members to prison or alive, especially his own twin. 'You are a disgrace' were the only words the male Stark said before shooting the pirate he once called sister. The commander's cold, emotionless face was the last thing Y/N saw before she was swallowed by the dark waters of the sea.

"Man overboard! Attention, starboard!"

What should have been a calm routine patrol, with all the peace agreements between the four empires, quickly became a day of uncertainties. Under the watchful eyes of Captain Natasha, the crew members quickly moved to save whoever was overboard, placing the body on the deck. A woman. Natasha frowned, watching Clint - her faithful second-in-command - approach to see if the woman was dead or not.

"What is it, Clint?" The redhead arched an eyebrow, taking a few steps closer when she noticed the paleness on her companion's face. "Is she still alive?"

"Yes, she’ll need care for dehydration, maybe she was at sea for a couple of days..." Clint swallowed hard, raising the arm he was holding and showing the unconscious woman's wrist "She has the mark, Tasha."

The big white wolf appeared on the deserted beach, its paws leaving a trail in the sand. However, what caught Y/N's attention the most were its teeth bared in threat. James Buchanan Barnes was angry and didn't seem to want to talk. The pirate rolled her eyes, soaked from head to toe and exhausted from the effort she had made to get there. She couldn't believe that the so-called prince of the beautiful lupine kingdom was so temperamental.

Sure, Y/N stole a small boat and tried to leave, but, in her defense, she had unfinished business to resolve outside of that island of wolves. It wouldn't be a mark she had since birth, which the wolves say is the symbol of a soulmate, that’d make her lower her head and accept orders. Y/N was a pirate, the greatest pirate at that time, it was her obligation to maintain her status and avenge her crew.

“No, that’s absurd!” The pirate grumbled in disbelief as she felt Bucky grab her clothes and drag her across the sand. “Bad boy!”

However, the pirate's complaints were ignored no matter how much she screamed and struggled, the wolf being much stronger than the human. Crossing her arms, Y/N stopped screaming but continued to complain, determined to maintain her dissatisfaction even as she began to be dragged through the soft grass that led towards the castle. Bucky only released her when they were close enough to the prince's two best friends, Steve and Sam, who were waiting for them with a huge smile on their faces.

“Of course you’d find this all amusing.” Y/N rolled her eyes, hating how easily the two helped her up from the ground. Breaking away from them, the pirate tried to maintain what little dignity she had left, trying to clean her clothes from the salt water, sand and grass in vain. “I can’t believe I’m a prisoner in this place.”

A growl interrupted her chatter, Y/N didn’t need to look up to know who it was. “So being my soulmate is the same thing as being a prisoner, Stark?”

The pirate's ears turned red, quickly turning on her heels to face Bucky, she exclaimed in a high-pitched tone. "That's not what I meant!"

The prince rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore it, taking one of her hands and walking in silence. The two friends fell behind when they realized that Bucky had followed the path to the secret garden, knowing that the couple needed privacy at the moment.

It wasn't the first time Y/N had tried to leave, with a series of failed attempts, all of them looking like the clear act of a lost person. And that was what the pirate could be classified as, it was never easy to suddenly recover part of one's memory. When she was taken to the hospital wing, she remained in a coma for weeks, causing a commotion even when she was unconscious. Because, as if it wasn't enough that the prince's soulmate was a pirate, she was also human.

But it didn't matter to Bucky, who made visits late at night in the hope that she’d wake up and finally meet him. The news of who the unconscious woman was arrived like a meteor, or rather, it arrived through a messenger from the aquatic people who - with a certain delay - warned about the great pirate who chose to protect the magical world from others of her own kind. Bucky felt his chest fill with pride, knowing that his soulmate was a good person despite so many atrocities collected under her belt.

However, Y/N woke up with no memories, amnesia even stealing her name. Each day was a new discovery, of what she liked, what she knew, what she couldn't stand. Bucky was always by her side, the days turned into weeks, which turned into months, the two of them naturally drew closer like magnets. Almost eight months had passed when Bucky was abruptly woken from his sleep, Y/N tossing and crying in the middle of a nightmare, the memories returning like a terrible storm.

From then on, the pirate had changed drastically, somewhat confused because of her personality from when she had no memory clashing with the past. She seemed to fight against the feelings she had developed for Bucky, in a stupid attempt to return to the pirate life and get revenge on her own brother. But, at the same time, Y/N seemed not to want to complete such a thought, always leaving clues about her escape plans.

“You need to leave the past in the past, sweetheart.” The wolf finally broke the silence, both of them sitting on a bench that overlooked the beach in the distance. “I already told you, I don’t want to keep you here, we can organize for you to continue your mission to help the supernatural… But in the right way.”

“Do you think humans will leave it behind too when they find out I’m alive?” She replied, but without aggression, staring at the horizon with a certain sadness.

Bucky sighed, resting his forehead on her shoulder, squeezing their still intertwined hands lightly. "We are connected, they will respect you. Even if I have to make them kneel again."

Y/N didn't answer, she knew the prince would fulfill any promise he made, he’d use the power he had in his hands without thinking twice. And that was what Y/N feared, she didn't want Bucky risking himself and putting the island in danger because of her. She needed to make a definitive choice.

The famous pirate Stark was truly dead. Two years later, Y/N lived happily as the wife of Prince James Barnes, proudly bearing the mark of her soulmate on her arm. Secretly working with Natasha, Clint and Steve to continue the mission of protecting the supernatural, the magical kingdoms united to also fight against human laws - with the help and knowledge of Y/N. Things were going well, they were gradually gaining more security and strength, conquering space in human territory. Of course, far from the big cities it was still extremely difficult, but everyone had hope that everything would improve.

Everything was going well, until Y/N made a mistake.

“So you’re alive!” the great commander Tony Stark growled in disbelief, the revolver in his hand pointed at the ex-pirate, who refused to pick up her own weapon. “I should have known you were behind all this.”

“Tony, please, I have nothing to do with this mess.” Y/N muttered, raising her hands slightly in a sign of surrender. Her eyes calculated a possible escape, but she was once again cornered by her brother. “I’m not that woman you killed anymore.”

Tony laughed mockingly, without any humor, and without saying anything, pulled the trigger, hitting one of Y/N’s arms. She let out a grunt of pain and surprise, her body crashing against the railing of the huge bench. “Do you want me to believe that you didn’t kill these people? You didn’t plan on stealing important files and scriptures for personal gain? Wasn't it enough to have stolen everything from our family?”

“Damn it, Anthony! I was in a secret meeting with these people, until a traitor from the current human government attacked us!” Y/N said, feeling sadness mix with pain, her eyes unfocusing for a moment.

“Once a traitor, always a traitor.” Tony spat the words, ignoring what she was trying to say.

“Shit, can’t you see that this was an ambush to create a war between humans and the supernatural?”

Y/N screamed. Tony aimed the revolver again, but what neither of them expected was an aggressive growl to break the moment and a huge white wolf to appear, jumping on Tony without thinking twice.

The royal commander swore, trying to defend himself from the attack with his own fists. In the midst of the fight, the man managed to retrieve the revolver despite the wolf’s bites and scratches. Y/N, who had frozen in shock, moved without realizing it, throwing herself to protect the wolf from the new shot.

A howl of pure despair and then Y/N saw nothing but darkness.

The sky blended with the blue of the ocean, the salty breeze caressing her face and messing up her hair, the sun illuminating and leaving a certain glow on everything it touched, the scent of the flowers that took over the entire garden. A smile took over Y/N’s lips, closing her eyes to enjoy that moment of plenitude. Of peace. The feeling of being on solid ground was soothing, the sea became just a second home.

“For a moment I thought you had run away.” Bucky’s voice sounded beside her, making Y/N open her eyes to look at her beloved.

Y/N smiled knowingly, sighing when the wolf pulled her body into a tight hug. “That’d be ridiculous, James, you have that wolf radar that would locate me in an instant.”

“Right.” Placing a kiss on his wife’s neck, Bucky took a deep breath before murmuring. “Your brother woke up.”

“How is he?”

Bucky shrugged. “So far he has accepted that he’s no longer fully human.”

Y/N wanted to cry in relief, but she only allowed herself to turn around and kiss him on the lips. “Thank you for saving him.”

The truth is that Bucky, at first, never imagined that one day he would save Tony, not after the way he met him and the second attempt to kill his own sister. However, it was impossible to deny his beloved's request, especially when she woke up in tears begging to give Tony a chance and that it had all been just a communication error. Well, besides the fact that Steve had taken an interest in the human. Something about soulmates too.

That night of the ambush, Bucky didn't attack the commander to kill him, he wanted to capture him to get answers. It was months of turmoil until Y/N recovered, but any family fight they had to resolve was interrupted by a war between humans and the supernatural.

Unfortunately, Y/N decided that she’d settle the war with her own hands before it really started, something about pirate honor - even though she hadn't been one for years. Bucky thought he would lose her forever. Until Tony showed up almost dead with a Y/N in a similar state, the Stark brothers went together to fix the mess they claimed to have caused. Everyone disagreed, but something the Starks had in common was stubbornness. The result was the fall of the human royalty and the Stark brothers receiving the bite to survive their injuries.

“Anything for you, my moon.” Bucky smiled mischievously, making Y/N roll her eyes despite her blushing face.

“Bad dog as always.” Y/N retorted to hide how much her beloved’s words affected her.

With a growl of false irritation, the wolf pulled her in for another kiss, full of affection and whispered against Y/N’s lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, my sun.”

The two remained there, enjoying each other’s presence, and Y/N for a moment felt grateful for all the choices she had made, even the wrong ones. Because everything led her to James.

comments, likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated! thank you for reading and supporting my writing 💜

note: english isn’t my first language, and i don't mind if you call me inbox or dm to point out errors or typos. but please be kind!

[midnight-mourning]

Ahem- noticed on discord ya mentioned you're short two days... Mayhaps I can throw out a suggestion hehe >:3 (if there's still space <3)

Call it a bit silly, but I feel like a Pirate AU would be such an interesting story besides also just loving em. It's Christmas/close to Christmas of all days, and they should be able to celebrate, even if they live on a ship! (And plunder but semantics.) It can be in any scenario really so here's a handful for you to play around with! (Choose whatever you want lol)

Y/n and the crew making a makeshift celebration on ship with whatever they have on hand without telling the DCA captain for a surprise (gone wrong? Gone right?). Going to a port and finding a town mid celebration, everyone joining the festivities (and mayhaps some issues arise). The struggles of getting a gift to a successful captain who could buy anything they want. Stopping by a nearby island to set up their own special celebration away from trouble.

The possibilities are endless on the open seas hehe!

Holidays on the Open Seas

❄️❄️Midnight's DCA December Day 32: Bonus Story❄️❄️

ahhh Lucky. Lucky, Lucky, Lucky. Your brain is massive, and you have also awoken a buried hyperfixation of mine, I do not regret the person I've become for this, i went for a bit of tension to make the fluff that much sweeter

anywho~

enjoy this bonus story all! Starting out the new year strong ^-^

Prompt: See Above

Word Count: 2747

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You take a deep breath, inhaling the salty sweet air as you stand on the main deck, leaning against the railing. From here, you can just make out the port of Providence, getting only closer and closer as you sail. This would be your last stop in the colonies before heading south for the remainder of winter. You enjoyed the cold weather personally, but it was no good for sailing, or pirating, for that matter.

The crew is in good spirits as they prepare for docking, chatting amongst themselves excitedly about what they'll do once they get ashore again. You were only staying for a few days or so, but it would be enough for your purposes, it'd been your idea to stop after sailing over from Africa after all.

You see, your intention was to use this chance in order to get you captain, well, captains a gift for the upcoming holidays. Despite likely being on open water when the day of would arrive, you still wanted to get them something and celebrate. Problem was, you were struggling to come up with ideas. How do you get something for someone who could quite literally buy, cheat, or steal anything they could ever desire?

It was tough, and you were certainly stumped, so you were hoping that while pursuing the streets of Providence you'd find the perfect gifts for them.

Speaking of your captain, you glance up to where he stands near the helm, and unusually solemn look across his sunny features.

Over the past few days he'd been uncharacteristically avoidant, to you specifically. Which wouldn't be an issue if you weren't his quartermaster, making direct communication between the two of you incredibly important. That was ignoring the fact that you were good friends outside of your positions. And of course, your long-withstanding crush on both Captain Sun & Captain Moon. Having never acted on your feelings due to your own responsibilities to your ship and the crew.

Sun's gaze meets your own and your heart races from being caught in the act. Still, he gives you a small grin of acknowledgement, but it doesn’t quite match up with his usual cheeriness. It worries you, as much as Moon's now short, blunt, conversations he has with you. A stark contrast to your usual nightly discussions.

You turn back out to sea with a sigh, maybe they're just concerned about the length of your stay, or of the authorities being less than welcoming or the likes.

You force yourself to stop worrying about it for the time being, especially when to your and the crew's delight, Providence is mid-celebration for Christmas. The streets are lined with decorations, festival crowds fill every corner—making it that much easier to blend in—and music lofts through the air. Everyone is in merry spirits, and the festive energy rubs off on each of you. Even Sun cracks a smile at the sight, though, he's still not talking to you, to your disappointment.

"You're readin' too much it into it, mon ami." Monty tells you as you peruse the streets together. "He's probably just concerned until we make it back south."

Of your options, he was surprisingly the best one ask when came to searching for gifts. Freddy or Chica may accidentally snitch, while Roxy would probably end up trying to talk you into a gift that would be better for her than it would be your captains.

You sigh, stopping for a moment to peek inside a store. "Yeah, so am I, but if that's the case we should be talking more, not less. It, hurts. But maybe that's just my heart talking."

"That heart of yours is gonna be the death of me, honnement." Monty scoffs as you once again choose to move to another store. "Just tell them already, ouais? There is no reason to believe they do not feel the same."

You rest your hand on the glass pane of this shop's window. Inside rests several displays of stunning jewelry, which ironically, would be ill-suited for your captains. Still, you can't help but admire the pieces, in particular a necklace featuring a sun & moon charm, dotted with tiny emeralds and sapphires. A shame you only have enough money to buy something for the two of them, and it's too open of a place to snatch it up for yourself.

You sigh, shaking your head. "With how the past few days are going, I'm not so sure."

Despite your lack of luck finding a gift, you do your best to enjoy and partake in the festivities. You join in the gaiety, drinking and dancing away your troubles. It's a lovely time. That is, until it's interrupted.

You see, you weren't foolish. A bit tipsy, yes, but still aware of your surroundings. And in your surroundings was  a certain captain, glare on you all throughout the day as you had fun with your crew and the townies.

It comes to a head when day shifts to night, and mid-dance with an—admittedly—handsome stranger, you're separated by a firm hand on your shoulder.

Utterly confused, you trace the hand back to its owner, seeing a scowling Captain Moon.

Before you can protest he speaks, words gritted out and low. "I think that's enough for tonight, don't you, Nightingale?"

"I, suppose?" You're a bit in shock, honestly.

Moon nods, dragging you away from your dance partner. "Good. Glad we're in agreement."

You stumble along beside him for a moment, starting to come to your senses and anger boiling up in place of your confusion.

"Hey, what exactly is the issue? I don't understand—woah! Put me down!"

Moon adjusts his grip on your legs and back, carrying you bridal style back to the inn you were staying at for the night. "No. You're stumbling and stuttering your words."

"I, because I'm flustered and you're throwing me around like a ragdoll, that's why!" You beat your fists against his chest. "You know, I'm getting real tired of how you two have been acting the past few days. We're supposed to be in this together!" Your tone turns soft, wounded, vulnerable. "At least, I thought we were."

Nothing but the sound of Moon's footsteps against the cobblestone street. Glancing up, you see he's still got that same frown on his face but his eyes seem, conflicted.

When you get to the inn and he shifts to Sun, his counterpart keeps that same expression, ignoring your questions as he passes by the room you were going to be sharing with Roxy and Chica. When you head upstairs, it clicks he's taking you to the nicer room they'd rented for themselves.

He drops you on the bed unceremoniously, then heads for the nearby chair and collapses in it. Seeming intent to get straight to resting without further discussion.

You realize it's exactly that when he mumbles. "Goodnight, Bluebird. Get some rest. We're leaving at sun up."

Sun closes his eyes, and you're left staring at him with utter confusion (and partially concealed frustration) in the glow of a dying fire. When you realize that he's actually gone to bed you huff, and make a fuss over kicking off and tossing your boots in his general direction, followed by your remaining outer clothes. Which, you also toss his way. Sun's  brow furrows slightly at the noise, but otherwise ignores you.

You toss over in the bed, it's creaks under your weight, and after a bit of extra tossing and turning, you wind up falling asleep. Somehow.

The next morning, Sun keeps his word, and you're leaving town at the crack of dawn to the displeasure of every crew member, including yourself.

Now, you're not just upset, but angry with the two. You're still going to find them the perfect gifts for the upcoming holiday, but now you're mad about it.

So, what's a quartermaster to do when it's the holidays and their captains' are being difficult? Why, hammer down on the festivities and make them get their acts together, of course.

Before you'd left town, you'd gotten a few of your crew together and sent them out to gather supplies, using whatever means they chose; legal or otherwise. Then, when you got out to sea, you reviewed what materials you had and began plotting.

You'd  be in the open ocean when Christmas finally came, not likely to arrive in the Caribbean for at least several weeks. Therefore, any and all celebrations would have to happen on the ship. And you were going to make them count.

The crew knew the plan, and they followed your lead when it came to preparations. Everyone knew their place, now it was just a waiting game.

In the meantime, tensions rose further between you and the captains. After that night they'd tried for an apology, but you were still angry, and busy with planning that you initially blew them off. Which you'd argue was fair after how they'd been ignoring you. Now you'd catch them staring, remorse worn heavy on their features. Still, you kept your distance, mainly so you wouldn't let anything slip about your surprise. You did stay cordial though, you had a job to do still, after all.

As for your gifts, you'd struck up an idea one night and when you realized you had the supplies for it, got to work. It wasn't easy, you weren't a woodcarver, but you tried. Made a mess of your hands though, from how many times you'd nicked yourself in the process.

You almost got caught one night, walking through the ship's belly back to your room, after getting patched up by Chica. Again.

You're passing by a dark corner when a hand suddenly snatches your wrist. You gasp whipping to look at the culprit and seeing red eyes staring at you from the dark.

Your surprise turns to irritation. "Something wrong, captain?"

"What have you been up to?" Moon's words are sharp.

You keep your cool, chin tilting up. "I don't know what you're referring to."

"Don't play coy, Star. Not with this." He steps forward, Sun's rays popping out as he does. "What's happened to your hands, Sunshine?"

You notice how the grip on your wrist is less a grip and more a gentle hold, his thumb soothing over were one of the bandages wraps around the back of your hand.

It causes two things to happen, your face heats up, and you have the urge to snatch your hand back, feeling they have no right to be so soft with you. "That's not your business."

"You're our—our quartermaster, of course it is." Sun shakes his head, frowning. "Why do you have to be so difficult?"

You scoff. "Me? I'm not the one that's been—" You cut yourself off, turning away. "Forget it. Goodnight, Captain. I'll see you tomorrow. Have a nice rest of your evening. Or Christmas Eve, I should say."

You pull away then, leaving him alone in the hall. Had you looked back, you would have seen how his hand was still outstretched, face filled with longing and regret.

You work late into the night to finish your gifts, and rise early in the morning to enact your plan. With the help of the crew, you decorate the entire ship inside and out with the decorations you'd gotten back in town. They'd even managed to snag a Tree, propping it up by the main mast, it's beautiful, but Providence is a sea side  town, meaning they—likely—stole it out of someone's home. Oh well.

By the time the Captains wake up, the entire ship is filled with holiday activities from the main deck down to the mess, where Chica works on making a the perfect holiday dinner. Again, you didn't give them that much to spend, so you can only assume some poor family—or families rather—is missing out this morning.

Sun's eyes are wide as he steps out onto the deck, looking around with an awe that you've missed.

Taking a deep breath, you step toward him as he looks to you, tinge of a confused grin on his face. "What's all this now?"

"It's Christmas, Captain." You shrug. "You think we weren't going to celebrate?"

He looks around again, eyes stopping on the tree with a laugh. "I suppose I did."

"You were mistaken, then." You hold out your gift to him, ducking your head. "Now, take this before I change my mind." Or get too embarrassed, you think to yourself.

You can hear the shock in Sun's voice. "I, for me?"

"Both of you, actually. But their a set so it's just easier for you to open both. I  hope Moon won't be too upset by that."

Sun takes the gifts and you step back, face starting to burn now as you wait. "He can deal with it. Thank you." He looks down at the gift, then back to you, smile soft. "It means a lot."

"Yeah, yeah just open it already and end my suffering. My hands need closure."

A second of recognition in his gaze. Then, with careful precision, Sun opens your gifts. Inside the cloth are two small wooden figurines, carved painstakingly by you. A bluebird, and a nightingale, one for each captain, respectively.

"I thought you two could use a reminder of who's in charge around here. So now you have something to keep that'll maybe make you think of me." You look down to the deck, fiddling with your hands. "I guess it's a little silly, since it's not like I'm going anywhere anytime soon but you two are horrible to try and shop for and—"

Your ramble is cut off by a tight hug. Sun shifts his hold to wrap around your waist, head resting against your neck.

"Thank you, love. They're wonderful."

Before you can say anything he pulls back, and with his free hand grips your chin, leaning down to kiss you. He stops after a moment, eyes half-lidded as his thumb rubs against your cheek.

The crew all around you starts cheering. Whopping and hollering as you duck your head and march up to the helm, hand held tightly in Sun's as you drag him with you.

"You don't hear a thing, got it?" You point your finger at the helmsman, who nods quickly before turning forward again.

Sun's chuckling turns your attention back to him.

"If I'd known you'd be flustered I would have done that somewhere more private. My sincerest of apologies."

You scoff. "I'm more than flustered, I'm furious. Who are you calling me 'love' after how you've been acting?"

"You're not wrong." He ducks his head, now his turn to be embarrassed. "I owe you an explanation. We both do."

You cross your arms, leaning against the railing.

Sun sighs. "We care about you, I care about you. A lot, Bluebird. A dangerous amount, to be frank. And we both came to that realization quite recently, despite feeling this way for some time. And it, scared me, scared us both. If something were to happen to you, because of us, because of what we do." Sun shakes his head. "I could never forgive myself."

Your sternness softens. He continues. "We shouldn't have pushed you away, should have tried to explain. I suppose we thought that avoiding you meant these feelings would go away. It was a foolish endeavor, I see that now." He laughs softly. "And when we saw you, without us, with someone else back at the festival, it made us realize that we don't want to lose you, don't want to let you go. Even though we know the risks that come with that."

"Sun—"

He shakes his head. "But, if nothing else, I'm sorry. As is Moon."

You stare at him a moment, taking it all in. Then, you sigh, and open your arms. "You are foolish, the two of you. But your my fools, so come here."

Sun all but leaps into your arms, wrapping his own around you to pick you up into a spin. You laugh, arms going around his neck as you kiss him once more.

This time, you ignore the heckling of your crew down before, instead enjoying this moment for what it is. You'll worry about being teased for the rest of your days later. For now, you have a captain to kiss.

Two captains, if you have anything to say about it

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Thank you for the lovely request @luckyyyduckyyy!!! As you can see i had a lot of fun with it, decided to have a combo of ideas bc they were all SO good, hope that it flowed properly despite that ^-^

Thanks for reading!

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