#Sea Security Belt

[paulthepoke]

This Week in Prophecy: CBS & Red Heifers, Crocus Hall, Putin Re Elected, Sea Security Belt

This Week in Prophecy: CBS & Red Heifers, Crocus Hall, Putin Re Elected, Sea Security Belt

Numbers 19:5-6 And the heifer shall be burned in his sight. Its skin, its flesh, and its blood, with its dung, shall be burned. And the priest shall take cedarwood and hyssop and scarlet yarn, and throw them into the fire burning the heifer. Since when does CBS care about the Bible, specifically Numbers 19 and what it has to say about a red heifer? All credit to CBS and Chris Livesay, they…

[ice-devourer]

what damn entity is keeping me alive and why is it effective??? hello???

(ps. currently aight, just really weirded out abt how im still alive, guess im a cockroach like dazai T — T)

[humanpurposes]

August

Part 1: Possibilities and Peace Offerings

Your family has been invited to spend August at Dragonstone, where things get a little tense after an unfortunate first encounter with Aemond Targaryen, one he's determined to put right.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader // Modern AU

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

Warnings: 18+, nothing too bad here, eventual smut, slight enemies to lovers, mutual pining

Words: 7k

A/n: Summer romance is here!! hope you likeeee. This is going to be three parts in total.

The impending summer exists beyond time, beyond the rest of the world. Exams are over and you’ve already received a mark for your dissertation. The dorm room you called home for three years is packed up and returned to its prison-like appearance, just as it was when you were an eager and excitable fresher. Suddenly the world is an endless sea of possibilities and you’re standing on the water’s edge with nothing to lose.

You spend a few weeks with your friends, drinking in pub gardens and driving down to the rammed beaches along the coast near King’s Landing, but this summer of possibility takes an unexpected turn when your father receives an invitation to spend the month of August at Dragonstone, as a guest of Viserys Targaryen. Viserys and your father have been business partners for just under a decade, but to be welcomed into his inner circle, to the ancestral home of the Targaryen family, is another honour altogether. 

Your parents are beside themselves with excitement. You’re a little more sceptical but you won’t let them know it. So once your uni friends have gone back to their hometowns, you pack an array of swimsuits and summer dresses into a suitcase, and bundle into the backseat of your father’s car. 

The aircon is on full blast. You sip on the last of your water as an 80s playlist blares through your headphones to block out the conversation of investments, clients, lawsuits and legal fees from the front seats.

Dragonstone is three things; an island, a town, and a castle. You drive out of the city, red and grey buildings blurring into greenery and vast spaces of blue, the sky and the sea. A ferry takes you from the mainland to the island’s port. The song you were listening to fades away as you slip your headphones off your ears. The town is utterly charming, from the rows of fishing boats in the harbour to the cobbled streets and obscure little buildings, bookshops, bakeries and butchers. The sun shines brightly, heat pulses through the window even with the blast of cool air.

A few more miles and you reach a gatehouse, ancient stone walls smothered with ivy, guarded by two stone creatures with their jaws wide open— dragons with spikes and sharp teeth. The driveway is lined with thick trees and foliage. Suddenly you turn a corner and there it is, towers and turrets reaching up into the summer sky, hundreds of windows, more carvings of dragons looming proudly over where Blackwater Bay becomes the Narrow Sea. 

The man who greets you by the doors is not a Targaryen. He has dark hair, dark eyes, a crisp white shirt and a radio on his belt. Your father seems to know him already. He greets him as “Cole,” and introduces him to you and your mother.

Cole offers his hand to you. “Criston,” he insists, “I’m the head of Mr Targaryen’s security.”

Two identical butlers take your bags from the car while Criston shows you into the entrance hall. He comments on the antiques and the 14th century timbers, leading you through to the room he calls “the waiting chamber”. It has high ceilings, wood panelled walls, an enormous fireplace and aged but comfortable looking leather sofas at the edges of the room. You note the portraits on the walls, the more recent photographs on the mantle, but before you can get a proper look, someone announces their own arrival into the room.

Viserys Targaryen has his arms open, dressed far more casually than you’ve seen him at various galas and events, he even has a pair of aviators keeping his silver hair out of his face. He greets your father with a smile and a firm handshake, his eyes sharp but somewhat hollow. 

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” he says, moving onto your mother and then to you. “We’re having drinks on the patio, enjoying the sun. Why don’t you join us?” He chuckles and you don’t really understand why. You’re not sure how any of this works.

Viserys leads you through the house, stopping by the great hall and the library, pointing out details like Criston did. His home is devoted to family and every furnishing carries some sentimental value. The curtains and the sofas in the library are Arryn blue for his first wife, the shelves are laden with books that belonged to his grandfather. There are items here which have belonged to the Targaryens for generations and their house’s sigil is carved into the walls and wooden beams. 

At last you come to a hall with tall windows, glass chandeliers and marble floors. Viserys calls this “the west gallery”, a more modern addition to the castle, built in the 17th century. He opens a double glass door and you can already see the sprawling green gardens, the unnatural blue of a swimming pool somewhere in the distance. Before all that is the raised patio, an array of chairs and the people sitting in them.

You step into the heat of the garden, into cigarette smoke and the sounds of laughter, loud and seemingly rehearsed. Your father knows most of these people, other associates of Targ Corp, Corlys Velaryon and his wife Rhaenys Tagraryen, Jason Lannister and his wife Joanna, Lyonel Strong and his son Larys. Even Otto Hightower is lounging back in his chair, sunglasses over his eyes, a pale pink cocktail in a crystal glass. 

Your parents smile graciously, your mother clutching her handbag over her shoulder, your father wiping the sweat from his brow, trying to air out the damp patches in his shirt. They’ll want to make a good impression. Each person staying at Dragonstone this summer is another opportunity for your father.

You glance down at your denim shorts and your sandals— an outfit for comfort, not for networking.

Viserys directs the three of you to a cushioned wooden bench and you squeeze in beside your mother. Another butler appears and offers you all a drink. Your parents both ask for a gin and tonic. You’re thinking that you’d like to dunk yourself in the pool, so you ask for a large glass of water. 

“With ice and lemon, miss?”

“Yeah, please, if you have it?”

Your mother nudges you with her elbow and whispers in your ear. “This is Dragonstone, if you want it they probably have it.”

“If I asked for the Prince of Pentos’ phone number, do you think they’d bring it out on a silver tray?” You return with a grin.

The minutes drag by. Lyonel Strong asks your father about his law practice. Corlys Velaryon and Jason Lannister enter a heated discussion about yachts. Otto Hightower mentions the name “Daemon” and the other voices go quiet. You take large gulps of your water, occasionally sharing silent looks with your mother.

The heat is sweltering. You feel your head pulsing, your skin becoming damp and you worry you may end up as a puddle on the patio if you don’t find a reason to escape soon.

The glass doors open and two women enter the garden, one with auburn hair, dressed in a floral dress and high heels. The other, younger, blonde hair cut into a fashionably short fringe, barefoot, dressed in denim shorts and baggy t-shirt, goes straight to Otto. She doesn’t look at anyone else. She stands behind Otto and leans down to wrap her arms around his neck. This must be Alicent Hightower and her daughter.

Alicent makes her rounds elegantly. She’s familiar with all the people present, except for the three of you, the outsiders, piled onto a single piece of garden furniture. Her eyes are wide and brown, her lips full and fallen slightly even when she smiles. She asks about the journey from King’s Landing, if you’ve had a chance to explore the town.

She asks you a lot of questions too, what you do, where you studied, what your plans are for the Autumn. And once she’s found out what she wants from you, she starts telling you everything about her children, unprompted.

“Helaena’s starting a PhD in a few weeks, staying in King’s Landing– King’s college, of course, not KLU, seven heavens. We didn’t want her to be too far away from home,” she says, looking back at her daughter and her father. “Etymology. Well, she’s always had a thing for insects, I could never understand it, but it’s easier to let her follow her interests, she’s that sort of girl.

“Now Aegon is like that too, he likes a lot of things, would be nice if he could be interested in something that makes him money. Oh well, he’s into the arts, fancies himself a photographer, directed a few plays at university– Oldtown. He wrote a screenplay, you must remind me to show you, it’s really quite clever. It’s about injustice or something like that.

“Daeron is at Oldtown too, at Citadel Boys. He’s the only child I sent to board, I just felt he might be happy with a bit of space from all of us. He wants to go to Oldtown like his brothers. His father wants him to do economics, but he’s very good at history.

“Aemond did history, but then he trained in accountancy. He’s worked all over, Oldtown, Storm’s End, Harrenhal, but he’s looking to stay in King’s Landing now–”

“Mum, you’ll bore her to tears,” Helaena says and it’s only now you notice that she’s moved to stand in front of you. 

Alicent frowns.

You stifle a smile and raise your brows hopefully.

“Do you know where you’re sleeping yet?” Helaena asks, looking at her mother.

“I’ve put her in the moat room,” Alicent says. She turns back to you, “I’m sorry, darling, you’re probably tired, aren’t you? Helaena can show you your room.”

You kiss your mother's cheek and agree to reconvene for dinner in the evening.

“Sorry about mum, she just jumps at the chance to talk about her kids,” Helaena says as you walk back through the west gallery.

“It’s sort of cute,” you say, staring up at the gold detailing on the ceiling. “Very informative.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she says with a wicked smile.

When Helaena laughs she scrunches up her eyes and her nose. She sways her arms by her sides as she walks and trails her fingertips on the walls. Unlike Criston or Viserys, she doesn’t have little anecdotes about any of the vases or paintings on display. She’s a juxtaposition of her family’s ancestral home, airy and lighthearted, earthy and inexplicably real.

“Your parents are probably in the west wing,” she explains as you come to a winding stairwell. “That’s where everyone else will be too. The moat room is on the other side of the house.”

You nod along, stealing glances out the windows, at the gardens, and from higher up, you can see the sea.

“Don’t be too disheartened though,” Helaena says, “that means you’re with us.”

She shows you your room first. It sits at the very corner of the castle with windows to the north and the east. The moat in question isn’t a moat, it’s more of a well kept ditch. By the rest of the house you were half expecting the room to be medieval, but to your surprise it’s bright, carpeted, sans priceless antiques and heirlooms. A queen-sized bed waits for you piled with pillows. 

“I’m down the hall, and the boys are in the next corridor,” Helaena explains. “If you smell something suspicious, it’s Aegon.”

She helps you unpack your suitcase, admiring your swimsuits and looking through the small collection of books you’ve brought to pass the time.

She shows you her room which is further down the corridor. It’s much larger than yours, far more personal. She has worn patterned rugs over the wooden floors, dark blue wallpaper and accents of gold everywhere, the mirror over her vanity, the handles on the drawers and the wardrobe. You’re most intrigued by the framed taxidermies on the walls, butterflies with the most beautiful wings you’ve ever seen, moths, beetles, even a scorpion.

You’re a little relieved when you see a cat curled up on her bed, with a thick white coat, brown ears. 

“Dreamfyre,” Helaena says, scooping the cat up in her arms. “She’s named after the Valryian god of prophecy and wisdom.”

You hold your hand out for Dreamfyre to sniff. She considers you for a moment, and runs her head against your fingers. “So can she tell me my future?” you ask.

Helaena stares at you. “Don’t be ridiculous, she’s a cat. Why, hoping for something in particular?”

“I like to see where life takes me,” you say.

After exchanging phone numbers and scrolling through each other’s Spotify playlists, Helaena tells you that she thinks the two of you are going to be friends.

Dinner is surprisingly more pleasant, where you all eat around a table on the patio. Being outside is far more bearable once the sun starts to set and a breeze sweeps in from the sea. You’re served white fish, potato salad coated in herbs which Alicent says she grows herself, summer vegetables, grilled courgettes, red and yellow peppers, sweet and tangy tomatoes, washed down with white wine.

You sit beside Helaena, opposite two of her brothers, Aegon and Daeron. Daeron is far taller than his older brother but his face is clearly younger. His pale blond hair is slightly overgrown, his nose a little pink and his skin freckled from being in the sun. “Aemond managed to beat me at tennis today,” he says.

Aegon rolls his eyes, far more concerned with scratching the ears of a golden labrador perched on the floor beside him.

You look to Helaena for an explanation.

“Daeron’s looking to go pro. Aemond can’t stand that he’s not the best at something.”

There’s an empty space at the head of the table, between Aegon and Helaena. You’ve yet to see any other evidence that the elusive middle brother exists.

“There’s a tennis court here?” You ask.

“Towards the water garden, you should be able to see it from the moat room.” Helaena says. “You should have a look.”

Dessert is pistachio ice-cream, then everyone starts to disperse. Aegon grabs a bottle of wine and he and Daeron traipse over to a firepit at the edge of the patio, followed by the labrador. Your parents follow Viserys and the others into the house. Corlys and Rhaenys linger at the table, staring up at the sky and taking long drags from their cigarettes.

You trail Helaena to a neatly kept kitchen. Some of the staff pass through, into a far larger back room with metal surfaces, where the real cooking is done. Criston sits at the kitchen island on a stool, eating a pasta salad from a glass bowl. Helaena pats his head as she passes him. He doesn’t seem surprised by it, perhaps it’s a common occurrence.

“Feel free to grab anything you want, by the way. There’s all sorts of snacks and stuff, and if you want more of something give Criston a shout,” Helaena says, picking out bags of chocolate buttons and sour sweets from a cupboard.

“That’s kind,” you say, twisting your fingers over each other in front of you. “I’m quite tired, I think I might just have a shower and go to bed.”

“Darling, it’s summer, you can do whatever you want,” Helaena says. “See you at breakfast, yeah?” She pulls you into a quick hug and disappears out into the garden.

Not wanting to linger when Criston’s phone starts to ring, you decide to brave it and find your way back to your bedroom. Aegon and Daeron seem like fun, maybe too much fun for tonight, you just need to sleep off the fatigue from the sun.

This place is far too big for you to feel settled just yet. It amazes you how everyone can navigate the castle so easily, it’s like a maze. Eventually you find your way back to the entrance hall. You think you might know the way to the east wing from here, but when you see the sky beyond the windows, lilac and orange, dotted with grey clouds and the first few stars of the evening, you want to make the most of the dying light. Maybe you could head towards the water garden and find the tennis court.

Your sandals crunch against the gravel which stretches out into paths leading in three directions. The central one leads to the driveway and the gatehouse. To the left is the gardens past the edge of the moat, and to the right is an outlook and a downhill path which disappears from sight, which you assume leads down to the sea. You can hear the waves in the distance.

The sunlight is fading fast. You cross your arms over yourself, shivering and regretting the lack of a cardigan. You tell yourself you might warm up with a bit of a walk.

You take a few paces down the path towards the gardens– a dog’s bark has your heart leaping out of your chest. It’s deep and loud, coming from behind you. Your head darts around. An enormous dog has emerged from the downhill path and is bounding towards you, covering ground quickly.

You keep your feet planted on the ground, out of fear

The dog, a great dane, stops before you— it truly is huge, its head would come up to your torso if you were close enough, and you don’t really want to find out– barking viciously. Its teeth flash, flecks of saliva dripping from its mouth.

“Back off! Come, Vhagar!”

You look back along the path. A man in a black t-shirt and black shorts is walking quickly towards you and the dog. He grabs it by its collar and yanks it back, fastening it on a leash.

His eyes dart up— eye, you realise. The right side is a bright blue, the left is clouded, framed by a scar slicing down from his brow to his cheek.

“Who are you?” He asks like an accusation.

You hesitate, your heart still racing in panic.

You say your first name, then your family name, at that the man tuts and raises himself to full height, keeping the great dane on a short leash. “Right. What are you doing out here?”

“Just… looking around.”

“Just looking around someone else’s house?”

Gods now you’re really starting to panic. He’s glaring at you as if it’s your fault his dog just made a break for you.

He huffs irritably through his nose. “Look, Vhagar’s not always friendly and especially not around strangers. Be careful, yeah?” 

Vhagar now seems content enough sitting by her owner’s side, wagging her tail and panting with her tongue out. Her grey coat is covered in sand, especially her paws and her nose.

“If your dog’s not always friendly why wasn’t she on a leash?” 

His face hardens. Frowning suits his sharp features and the intensity of his eye. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this is my fucking house.”

That explains the blond hair, and you suppose now he has the same lanky look as Daeron and the same gauntness in his face as Aegon.

“Right, your dog could have just mauled me but thanks for the friendly reminder.” You turn towards the house and mutter loud enough for him to overhear, “prick.”

You can’t shake the frustration. Nothing takes the edge off, not the hot stream of water from the shower, the routine of your skincare or the feeling of sinking into an impossibly soft mattress. Dragonstone is perfect… and all you want to do is scream, just a little.

Breakfast is served in the morning room, next to the kitchen, according to the text you got from Helaena. You put a swimsuit on, a patterned one piece and pull on some shorts. Before you head downstairs you grab a pair of sunglasses, a bottle of suncream and a book, determined that your morning will be peaceful and idyllic.

People flitter into the morning room as they please. Helaena is still in her pyjamas, tucking into a bowl of yoghurt and fruit. Daeron comes in and starts eating toast off Alicent’s plate, having already run a casual 5k about the grounds.

The man from last night is hovering by a side table, placing sausages and bacon onto a small plate. He glances sideways at you as you enter. 

You keep your teeth pressed together as you reach for a plate and go for the platter of pastries, reaching for an almond croissant.

His elbow must be a few inches from yours. “Morning,” he mutters.

You were half expecting him to act like you don’t exist. “Morning,” you mumble back.

“Have you two already met?” Helaena asks loudly from the table.

“Briefly,” he says.

“And you didn’t actually tell me your name,” you say, adding some strawberries to your plate for good measure.

“The boy has no manners,” Daeron says in a mocking voice, earning him an exasperated chide from his mother. Helaena giggles to herself.

He faces you fully. “Aemond,” he says.

“Good for you,” you say, and go to take a seat beside Helaena.

“Tea or coffee?” she asks you, reaching towards the two silver pots in the middle of the table.

“Coffee, please.”

Helaena makes a shocked expression. “Blasphemy. I’m a tea girl.” 

As Helaena pours some coffee into a china cup, Aemond takes the free seat opposite you. Your heart races a little, infuriated at the sight of him, somewhat guilty that your time at Dragonstone has already soured and his entire family is there to see it.

You add just a dash of milk to your coffee. In the corner of your eye you see him watching you, fork hovering in front of his face. You muster the confidence to look up and he averts his eye.

After you’ve finished your breakfast you head out to the patio, down the stone steps and to the pool, settling on one of the lounge chairs. Helaena has gone back up to her room to change and bring you both down a towel.

You lather suncream on your limbs, face and neck, and open your book. This is a nice kind of heat, one that you’re more prepared for. You can almost feel it permeating your skin, breathing new life into your blood. 

You get a few moments of bliss until a silhouette appears beside you.

You raise your eyes from the page, over the edges of your sunglasses, staring ahead at the surface of the pool. You can smell a man’s aftershave, and you can tell he’s too tall to be Aegon.

Ice clinks against glass. He leans down to place something on the small table beside you. “Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

You don’t want to turn your head, that might be misinterpreted as you actually caring.

But then Aemond’s voice takes on a lighter tone and he says, “Are you reading Crime and Punishment?” 

You scrunch your brows in bewilderment as you look up at him.

His eye moves between your face and the book in your lap

“Yeah,” you say, shifting your legs and drawing your knees closer to your torso, “I’m finding it a bit boring to be honest.”

His lips are parted ever so slightly and you can see the tips of his teeth. “It’s one of my favourite books.”

“I think that might explain a lot,” you say.

The corner of his mouth flickers like he might smile. He holds it back. 

“What’s this?” You ask, looking down at the glass of iced coffee he’s placed on the table. 

“A peace offering,” Aemond says. “I really am sorry about yesterday evening. I just… panicked. Vhagar isn’t always good around people she doesn’t trust. She bit my nephew once actually.”

“Oh, not good.”

“It was years ago, and to be fair to her—” he doesn’t finish that sentence. He presses his lips together. “I just thought I should apologise to you.”

Even when apologising he sounds smug.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” you say.

He hums, it’s cryptic and it throws you off a little. He looks at you like he has a secret, like he’s managed to spot something that you haven’t. 

You feel aware of yourself and now you can’t breathe without doing it consciously. You feel beads of sweat forming at the back of your neck, the warmth of your own skin with your thighs pressed together, the pulse in your chest, the restless feeling in your stomach. You’re worried you might do something stupid, but how could you? You’re only sitting in a swimsuit and sunglasses, while Aemond is doing nothing to hide the fact that he’s looking at you– studying you with a hint of excitement in his eye.

And after about a minute of this he says, “enjoy your morning,” turning and strolling towards the patio. 

You clench your jaw, determined that you won’t look back at him, but you listen to his footsteps as they move away. 

With each line you read, you can only think of Aemond pouring over every word and making this book his bible. You imagine his hands holding the cover, his fingertip dragging over the page, his lips parted in concentration. It feels intrusive, it feels too involved. You couldn’t possibly put this book down now.

Aemond is an understated presence amongst his own family. He often lurks in the library or in a corner of the sitting room with a book. He wanders the gardens with his headphones on. He takes Vhagar down to the beach every evening and some nights you steal glances of them from a window at the front of the house. He gets these headaches, something to do with the scar over his eye, and when he does he likes to retreat to his room. When he is around for dinner he sits at the head of the table, opposite his father but miles away from him. He’s not a big talker but when he does have something to add to the conversation he commandeers it. Everyone stops to listen when he speaks.

You like watching him, the way he fiddles with anything within his reach, how he strokes his fingertips over his hands, the edge of his jaw. You look for his microexpressions, the twitches of his brow and the quirk of his lips when he finds something amusing, and how at the mentions of sensitive subjects or certain names, his eye widens. 

He smirks when he sees you looking, you don’t mind that he knows that you are.

You don’t want to seek him out, but you don’t try to avoid him either. He’s always somewhere in your periphery, his hand brushing against yours at the dinner table, the smell of his Marlboros wafting from the patio when you’re sitting by the pool which makes you wonder if he’s watching you. In the evenings after dinner, you and the Targaryen siblings hang around the firepit late into the night. Helaena and Daeron talk about constellations and roast marshmallows, Aegon plucks on a guitar, and you and Aemond fall into a game of pretending like you’re not looking at each other. 

Some nights you sit across from him, your view distorted by the heat and the flames. Other nights he dares to sit beside you, close enough that his leg will rest against yours. He keeps his voice soft until you’re leaning in closer to catch every word he says, this insufferable man who bings you a coffee every morning and asks you about the books you read.

One night Aemond is sat beside you. Helaena sings along to Aegon’s guitar, Daeron drums his fingers against his legs, gazing in wonder at his siblings because moments like this are a rarity for him.

“Do you forgive me yet?” Aemond asks, his arm draped along the back of the bench you sit on. Maybe he can read your mind because you’ve been silently begging for him to come closer… closer…

Your senses are hazy, the smoke of the fire, the scent of cigarettes and aftershave lingering on Aemond’s shirt, the glasses of wine you had with dinner, the clear, cold night air piercing the backs of your arms. He notices you shivering and slips his arm around your shoulders, slowly, so you have a chance to tell him to stop. His heat is white hot. Your chest feels hollow and weightless.

Everything about him is hypnotising, the curve of his mouth, his self-assuredness, the look in his eye that’s gentle and intense all at once.

Your body feels heavy; you should probably go to bed soon. “Do you care if I forgive you?”

He frowns, less disappointed, more intrigued and lifts his hand to brush your hair from your neck, fingertips grazing over your skin. Your body stiffens in his wake, like electricity coursing through your shoulders, down your spine.

“I’d hate to have it hanging over my head,” he mutters.

You turn your head and now your faces are inches apart. His nose twitches as he breathes, you notice.

His palm comes to rest on your bare thigh, below the hem of your shorts. In the corner of your eye you see heads of silver hair glancing across the firepit. Aegon chuckles. You’re content to let the distractions fade away. “Keep bringing me coffees and I’ll consider it.”

The next day you’re laying on your bed, enjoying the cool of the early evening against your damp skin and hair after a shower. How you can be so exhausted after a day of reading by the pool makes you despair a little. It’s the heat, it messes with your brain.

The music through your headphones is interrupted by a notification.

Helaena Targaryen: Aemond said he’s off to walk the dogs if you want to join him.

You frown at the screen. Did he want Helaena to ask you? You specifically?

Surprisingly, you were getting on rather well with Aemond today, not enough for him to text you himself, or ask for your number for that matter. At the very least, things have been less hostile since your first encounter. You saw him at breakfast and he asked you how you were getting on with Crime and Punishment, if you had finally realised that it’s the best piece of literature put to the world (his words). You said you were not convinced, only because it was fun to argue about it with him. While you were sitting by the pool he came down in a pair of black trunks and no shirt, swam twenty laps in twenty minutes, then dried off in the lounge chair next to yours. Later, while Helaena was sitting with you, he appeared from the kitchen with two bowls of strawberries with the stems cut off. And then at lunch he sat between Aegon and Daeron, and hardly looked at you.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, painfully conscious that Helaena will be able to see that you’re typing.

Helaena Targaryen: I think it’s part of him ‘making amends’ with you.

Helaena Targaryen: He probably still feels bad about it.

Helaena Targaryen: Loser.

You smile to yourself and type out your reply: Yeah, why not. Where does he want me?

While Helaena starts to type you quickly pull on some shorts and a clean t-shirt. Your phone dings while you’re in front of the mirror, dabbing concealer under your eyes.

Helaena Targaryen: Front door. Five mins. Have fun :) 

It will probably take you five minutes to find your way down to the entrance hall anyway. You finish your face off with some blush on the apples of your cheeks and a thin amount of mascara on your lashes. There’s not much you can do about your wet hair, but other than that you’re mostly satisfied with yourself, so you pull on a pair of trainers, slip your phone into your back pocket and hurry through the corridors of Dragonstone.

He’s waiting for you in the entrance hall by the door, Vhagar, the great dane on one leash, Sunfyre, the golden labrador on another. He gives you a half smile as you approach them.

“Who am I walking?” you say.

“My girl stays with me,” he says, offering you Sunfyre’s leash, which you take, ruffling his ears.

“Vhagar is your girl then, is she?” you ask as Aemond leads you out the door and down the front steps, past the spot where she scared you half to death. The dogs are eager to storm ahead but Aemond keeps Vhagar on a tight lead, so you do the same.

“I suppose. We’ve had great danes forever, my father’s very fond of them. We got Vhagar when I was sixteen and well, we just like each other a lot I guess.” 

“What about Sunfyre?”

“He’s Aegon’s really, but mostly he stays at the Keep with mum and dad. Aegon doesn’t really stay in the same place long enough.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Yeah well, he does what he wants. This way,” Aemond says, nodding towards the downhill path to the beach. You’ve been down here with Helaena already, a winding gravel path lined with bushes and brambles down the cliff face. Vhagar plods along leisurely, Sunfyre can’t get down fast enough. When you stumble, Aemond steadies you, a large hand wrapped around your forearm. “He can run off now anyway,” he mutters, undoing the leash, and Sunfyre darts along the path in a golden flash.

Low in the sky, you see the sun dancing along the surface of the sea, waves rolling orange and blue into white foam as they meet the shore.

“What about you?”

Aemond looks at you with a brief look of bewilderment.

“Are you not doing what you want?”

He tries to conceal a frown, pouting his lips slightly. “Maybe I did for a bit, wound up working for Targ Corp, so I don’t see what difference any of it made.”

Once you reach the sand and Sunfyre is sniffing at some rocks along the base of the cliff, Aemond looks at you. “Are you alright if I take her off the leash?”

Vhagar looks pleadingly up at her owner, her tail thrumming against the ground.

“Yeah, of course,” you say.

“I just didn't know if you’d be comfortable after…”

“Oh,” you say, “thanks for considering it, but yes, it’s more than fine.”

Aemond grins as he undoes the clasp connecting the lead to Vhagar’s collar.

“What?” you ask.

“Does that mean you forgive me now?”

You fold your arms, your cheeks straining as you try to withhold the extent of your smile. “You do make a good coffee, I’ll give you that.”

Sunfyre and Vhagar entertain themselves, chasing each other, running to the edge of the water where the waves rush over the sand and retreat again. You and Aemond walk along the shore where the sand is damp and stable. Aemond says the tide will be coming in within the hour.

“So why work for Targ Corp if you don’t want to?” you ask him. 

Aemond contemplates this for a moment, making a low humming noise in his throat. “If I really didn’t want to, I wouldn't.”

“But if Aegon gets to do what he wants, why don’t you?”

He looks down at his shoes, white sneakers, and digs his hands into the pocket of his joggers. “I remember thinking when I finished my bachelor’s, there were lots of things I was good at.”

You make a teasing face.

“No, I just mean there’s lots of things I could have done. I thought about being a curator, or something, you know? I did my dissertation on that actually, how museums and exhibitions can distort the past as well as preserve it–” he interrupts himself with a short tut. “Sorry, I don’t need to bore you.”

Your eyes trail along the curve of his jaw and his chin in the fading light. The wind is gentle, whispering over the bare skin of your cheeks, your arms, your legs. The smell of sea salt lingers in your nose and on your tongue. “I’m not bored,” you say.

With a shy sort of smile he tells you more, how he used to spend hours in the museums in Oldtown, looking at exhibits on Dorne, Essos and Valyria, the papers he read, the cultural memory and the dissonance. “History and heritage, when you think about them, are inherently vague concepts,” he says, “because they’re all based on claims and narratives that are difficult to determine and if they are clear cut, they’re biased. So how do we find the truth? How do we know that what we’re claiming is the right story is actually accurate?” You find yourself watching the parts of him you usually do. He speaks with his hands, indicating and gesturing and moving them randomly when he’s trying to think of a word or explain himself. Occasionally he runs his fingers through his hair or rubs his chin. And his single eye is wide, looking up as he pieces together a thought, looking back to you so he knows you’re still listening. 

“But after all that, you went and trained to be an accountant?” you ask.

“You should have seen the look on my father’s face when I told him I wanted to do a masters in museum studies. So yeah, accounting it was.”

It makes you sad, but you don’t want to tell him that. The entire time you’ve been here you’ve never seen Aemond so animated, talking about something he seems to love.

“What about you? What are your big life plans?” he says.

“Anything but accounting.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I bet.”

“I’ll do a masters eventually, but I want to work for a little bit. I’ll start applying for jobs when I’m home.”

“In King’s Landing?”

“Yeah.” You look back up at the dark stone of the cliff, the layers and straight lines, the tops of the castle’s turrets just visible from the shore. “Yeah, yeah I think there’s so much pressure to find something to do. I mean, I was trying to focus on my dissertation and my exams, and I kept having these weird moments where I’d think, what’s the point? I don’t have a job ready to go. I don’t have a place on a masters course. I don’t have any plans to travel or volunteer at an orphanage in Meereen. It was like there was a timer going off in my brain and if I didn’t make something of my life before my exams were over, well it was all going to be a waste.” Now you’re the one moving your hands mindlessly, and you don’t know why but saying it all out loud makes you nervous. “Sometimes I feel like I’m running out of time.”

You look back at Aemond and realise you’ve stopped walking. Somewhere along the beach the dogs bark and splash in the shallowest part of the water. Aemond is watching you. He still has his hands in his pockets, his lips curled into a vague smile. “You have plenty of time, don’t worry,” he says. 

It suddenly strikes you what Alicent had mentioned, about him moving back to King’s Landing.

Without stepping away from him you take a mental note of him, your eyes glancing up and down. You want to remember his silhouette, his posture and how he stands, the way he angles his chin, the way he likes to hold his hands behind his back, the joggers and the shape of his torso though his t-shirt. You think you could recognise him at a brief glance, a single body in a crowded city. You think you’d find him.

Aemond meets your eye and raises his brow. 

You smile slightly to fein innocent interest. “We’ll be neighbours, we might see each other wandering around the city.”

But you realise you’ve made a mistake. His amusement starts to fade from his face, his shoulders stiffening. He turns and puts his middle finger and thumb in his mouth to whistle the dogs. They both freeze and bound back towards you. “Tide will be coming in soon,” he says to you.

He has Vhagar and Sunfyre on their leads again. By the time you come back to the path on the cliff the sky is a dull shade of dark blue. The castle looms in darkness and the light comes from within, golden through all of its windows.

“I’m sorry if I was a bit of a downer,” you say.

“You’re fine,” Aemond says. Your steps sound in perfect time along the gravel, up to the front steps. Vhagar and Sunfyre huff and pant, pulling on their leads and eager for a rest.

You reach the door and Aemond opens it. Down the hall one of the butlers is waiting to take the dogs.

“It’s just, I thought we were getting on.”

“We are,” Aemond mutters. “Do you think we are?”

It’s hard to tell with Aemond. He’s polite when he needs to be, easily irritated around his siblings. He’s so calm and composed, but you can see it in his eye when he’s thinking– you just don’t know what. But then there are moments like this, when you think you’ve scratched the surface, when his gaze lingers on you and his eye is soft but intent. When he brings you a coffee in the morning, when he tells you about his favourite book and the things he wishes he’d done with his life.

You’re standing in the entrance hall. Dragonstone is alive, filled with people and distant sounds. Beyond the ancient walls the wind picks up and the tide is coming in. If you took one step closer to Aemond, your navel would be pressed against his.

“I want us to get on,” you say.

“Me too.”

“And I thought we were getting somewhere.”

“Maybe we are,” he says. “I liked this, you’re a good listener.”

“I don’t get that a lot.”

“Do you not?”

“Well I suppose it helps if the person speaking has something interesting to say.”

“Oh,” he says with a little nod, “I thought you were going to say you just liked me that much.”

“That helps too.”

No taglist, follow @ficsbygee and turn on post notifs for updates <3

[cursecuelebre]

All About Knot Magic 🪢

Knot Magic is how simple as it sounds. Knot Magic is one of the techniques whilst using the air element, "catching the wind" as it was called. Most of what we know about knot magic comes from folk traditions and lore about fisherman and sailors catching winds for their sails and tying fisherman knots. If they need extra wind in their sail, they will untie the knot letting the wind escape these traditions are still prevalent today. Fisherman knots do not unravel and tighter under stress. There are many different ways of how to go about it, you can use rope, twine, thread, string, cord, anything that can be tied in a knot. Color correspondences can be important as well.

In Witchcraft it's very much part one's craft especially if one needs to be bit more secretive and discreet in their practice. Knot magic is much involved in folk magic and what's nice about folk magic is that it's practical and not much ritual needs to go into it. Here are some ways you can integrate it in your practice:

Needle work

Looming

Weaving

Knitting

Tying a knot around something that needs to be fixed.

A witch's ladder

Poppet Work

Braiding

Rosaries

Binding

Celtic Knots

So How Do You Do It?

Well, it's easy, you want to capture the spell in the knot and there isn't any wrong way of doing it. Say you want to put reserved energy into the knots so in case you're feeling fatigue or just low on energy and need of a boost. One way is that you take the first section of the twine and chant on what is it you're capturing into the knot I will say talking and chanting is required because it needs to be air flowing and whispering is completely fine as well it doesn't need to be long just say, "I place a piece of energy within this knot." as you begin tying the knot when you're about to tighten it blow as you tighten it. It’s optional but double knots can help secure the knot and energy into place as well say if your saying is a bit too long for a singular knot double knots can be really great for this scenario.

You can also chant while knotting the twine The Witches' Ladder is good for this as well as braiding, here is a simple folk charm to use to create a ladder it's mostly for charms of anything that one would like to achieve and gain. I recommend it for beginners so that you can get the idea and play around and see what you can make out of it

Acquirements:

Yarn or Twine

Nine Feathers or anything that can easily be knotted like Hag stones which are rocks with natural formed holes

Make sure the twine/yarn is long enough to hold all nine objects then as you knot the twine chant the following incantation.

'I tie this knot for my need of____.

The next I tie in the Devil's name.

The third to fix it by my will.

The fourth one to hold it fast and firm.

The fifth one to bind it evermore.

The sixth fastens the wish herein.

The seventh brings it nearer still

The eighth makes it almost true

The ninth completes the ladder by which

I climb and reach for____.'

Make sure that you speak slow and clear even when whispering it helps putting, your energy more effectively within the twine or yarn. Imagine as you tighten it that it will never break away like a sailor at sea fasten his sail for the oncoming storm knowing it will never giveaway. You can make just knots with the twine no need of items if you don't wish to I usually don't. You can anoint them in oil or herbal water to bless it. You can write your own incantations and use many other knots.

Use poetry or chanting for me I used the Havamal as Odin speaks that he knows numerous spells I made a belt of said numbered of spells into knots around his glass candle.

I wand dress my wands and staffs, to help preserve and restore energy but also to help grounding and give me a bit more energy in my workings, for this I combining knots and braiding

In regard to braiding, needle work, weaving, though like needle work will have knots at one end and the other it's very few. Whilst doing these activities you can chant, sing, speak, or pushing your energy into each stitch and loom and connector it's mediative and really great for trance work.

Deities Associated with Knot Magic

So this will include UPGS of deity correspondences but within reason and good links that I will describe.

Loki: his name might’ve derive from “knot” and his symbol/sigil is a six looped knot of a snake that is signifies his trickster nature. Now this is my own correlation I don’t know if there is historical evidence of Loki including in Knot magic. However it’s still a good correspondence and working with him. Visualization of knots and finding clever ways to undo them or tie them for mischievous ways. Not to mention he is often associated with spiders who are natural weavers so that can be a great correspondent.

The Norns - Wavers of Fate, they spin the fate of makind. They can help with healing, protection, manifestation, and altering fate.

Frigg- Associated with Weaving as a domesticated art and link to the Norns as she also knows all people’s fates. She is very wise even more so than All father her husband, talk about power couple. She can help protection, Motherhood, healing, wisdom, knowledge, patience.

Athena: Goddess of Craftsmanship especially weaving, one of her famous stories was she cursed a hubris weaver named Archane into a spider who weaves beautiful webs this story is how spiders came to be. Athena is associated with war, wisdom, knowledge, justice, craftsmanship, and strength.

Our Lady of Knots or Mary, the Untier of Knots: This is for people who work in Saint magic or incorporates saints in their practice. Our Lady of Knots is an aspect of Holy Mary. Which she is prayed for resolution of difficult situations in life such as family discord, violence, anger, parents and children conflict like misunderstandings, addictions, lack of peace, martial problems, separation of home or god, and unemployment.

Njord - Norse God of Fisherman, fisherman knots are again a very common occurrence in folklore. Fisherman knots do not unravel and tighter under stress. Praying to Njord to help strengthen such knots and put up as a talismans or offerings for him.

Rán: is a Norse Goddess of the sea who uses a net to capture drowned sailors and live within her hall. Fisherman nets if you ever see one is full of knots again I don’t know there is historical evidence of her within knot magic but she can help with capturing dangers in her net or help soften a blow or change that can be coming without your control.

Britomartis: Goddess of Traps and Nets, often associated with Artemis a huntress and a virgin goddess. Evoke her to help trapping dangers or maybe help you get out of a tricky situation.

Wind gods that can be evoke to let their winds and energy to trap within the knot. Those within the air element.

Odin: He is considered to be the God of Wind, as he was the one to give humans breathe.

Poseidon, Zeus, and Thor as storm gods: Now these gods can cause storms and strong winds especially Poseidon who can create hurricanes. But they can also help with withstand storms (literally and metaphorically).

Hermes: Like Loki he is a trickster god and possibly can help with knot magic as well but he is often associated with the air element.

Hekate: Goddess of Magic but she has elements within air as well, because of being a goddess of magic she can help with any type of intention of use of magic within reason of course.

[slytherinshua]

SEA BREEZE KISSES

genre. fluff. warnings. kissing. not proofread so sorry if there are mistakes specifically in tense cause i usually don't write in present tense rip. pairing. wonbin x fem!reader. wc. 757. request. no. a/n. it's taken me this long to write for wonbin which is low-key embarrassing BUT WE'RE HERE FINALLY ‼️ also watermelon by lucy is so perfect for this fic just saying <3

The fabric of the vintage denim feels rough under your fingertips— your thumbs tucked securely in the belt loops of your boyfriend’s jeans as you hold onto his waist tightly, making sure there was no chance you could fall as he pedals along the oceanside road. The wind from the coastal sea breeze sends the subtle notes of his cologne to your nose, and you relax your cheek onto his back, completely at ease.

You almost feel as if this moment couldn’t get any more perfect. You have absolutely everything you could ever ask for. Your boyfriend who you haven’t seen in almost 5 months, your favourite sundress perfectly tailored to show off your best features, the most perfect weather imaginable and the deserted beach just for the two of you. You wish everyday could be as serene as this.

Wonbin taps the brakes on the bicycle gently, slowing to a stop as he reaches the pathway down to the beach. You get off first, exchanging giddy laughter and a knowing look with him before you take off running to the shore. 

“Y/n!! It’s not fair! You got a head start!” His shouts reach your ears along with the relaxing sound of the lapping waves, but you don’t bother turning around to see him struggle to catch up to you. You know he’s faster than you anyway. Within a couple seconds, he collides with your body in a back hug as both your feet finally reach the shoreline. 

You both laugh, holding onto each other’s arms as if either one would float away if you weren’t stuck together the entire time. The water feels cool against your bare legs, but you quickly realize that the bottom centimetres of Wonbin’s jeans have gotten soaked.

“These are nice jeans, baby! Don’t ruin them.” You crouch down, not minding if the hem of your dress got a little wet. You carefully roll up the bottom of the pant legs until they hit a bit below his knees. “We’ll probably get completely soaked anyway but-”

Before you can even finish your sentence, a squeal escapes your lips as Wonbin lifts you up in his arms without warning. He laughs at you, his eyes forming small crescent moons as he spins you around before placing you back down on your feet. Your lips collide next, the sweet strawberry lip gloss you always wear transferring onto Wonbin’s lips. He doesn’t bother to wipe it off once he pulls away, but instead swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, tasting the sticky gloss.

“New flavour?” He laughs, his hands holding your waist close to him.

“It’s been 5 months. They don’t last forever.” You smile, running your hands through the long locks of his dark hair. It’s significantly longer than the last time you saw him. Before, you couldn’t think that you could ever love how Wonbin looks more, but now you see that you’re proven wrong, once again. The long wolf cut frames his face perfectly, and you quickly get addicted to the soft feeling of the strands between your fingers.

“You mean you were wearing your lip gloss without me there to kiss it off?” He teases, tilting his head to the side. You can only nod, playing along with the lighthearted mood.

“I won’t do it again, sir.” You fake salute in response which only makes Wonbin laugh louder and clutch onto your waist tighter. But his touch is always gentle, just like he is. He’s so full of love for you that it’s infectious, and you can practically feel your heart swelling in your chest.

“I love you.” You mumble once your boyfriend’s giggles died down a little. You want to save the moment in your memory forever. The way his lips curve up into the cutest of smiles and his hand squeezes your hip gently with love. The waves rushing over your ankles and the smell of fresh sea air only add to the moment. 

He whispers it back to you and captures your lips with his again— this kiss lasting longer than the first one. It’s filled with unmeasurable passion and uncountable promises, and even though it’s silent, you can tell exactly what he wants to convey to you through it. You respond in just the same way, pulling him closer to you and melting completely in the feeling of his soft lips on yours.

Wonbin proves to you, as he always does, that every moment can become just a little more perfect than it already is.

↳ riize taglist: @eternalgyu,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @weird-bookworm,, @haecien,, @seolboba,, @cyberpunksunwoo,, @cosmicwintr,, @chiiyuuvv,, @evalevaeva,, @lecheugo

[mingi-s-dimples]

In Tune with You - Hongsang

KINKTOBER DAY 2 - REQ. BY @hongjoongtime117

~"Rockstar Hongjoong and drummer Yeosang x fan fem reader; Please, whatever you do, make Hongjoong a biter lol"

pairing: rockstar!hongjoong x fan fem!reader x drummer!yeosang

genre: 18+, filth, NDA au, fan x singer au

summary: That NDA you've always heard about around at the shows finally finds it's way to you and.. you have the best night of your life with your two most favourite artists.

wc: 3.5k

warnings: NDA au (Non Disclosure Agreement), hongjoong is a biter, big dick!hongsang (obvi), double penetration (same hole upsi), swallowing, lots of cum, cum play, praise (good girl), pet names (love, sweetie), slightly sucking both at the same time, unprotected sex (wrap up irl!), completely consensual, for sure forgot something, unedited.

Author's Note: This was hot.. Lis knows but I'd be jumping around in my room while writing LMAO I'm so sorry it took that long... my love I hope you'll like it !

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The crowd roared, lights flashing in time with the heavy beats of the drum as the electric guitar wailed through the air. Your heart pounded in your chest, matching the rhythm of the music. You could barely hear your own thoughts over the deafening sound of the band, but you didn’t care. This was where you were meant to be—lost in the sea of fans, watching your favorite band tear up the stage.

And at the center of it all was Hongjoong, his fingers flying across the strings of his guitar, his voice gritty and powerful as he belted out the lyrics. He was the epitome of a rockstar, all confidence and swagger, his messy hair falling into his eyes as he played like his life depended on it. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, and judging by the screams of the fans around you, neither could they.

But your attention wasn’t solely on Hongjoong. Behind him, in the shadows of the stage, was Yeosang, the drummer. His quiet intensity was a perfect contrast to Hongjoong’s wild energy. With every beat of the drums, Yeosang commanded the stage in his own way, his muscles flexing as he played with an almost hypnotic focus. He didn’t need to be front and center to hold your attention; there was something magnetic about the way he seemed to pour himself into the music.

You had followed this band for years, attending every concert you could, always finding yourself drawn to these two. Hongjoong’s raw talent and Yeosang’s quiet allure had captivated you from the start. You had spent countless hours imagining what it would be like to meet them, to talk to them, to somehow get closer to the rockstars who had unknowingly taken up residence in your mind.

But that was just a fan’s fantasy. The reality was that they were untouchable, larger-than-life figures who existed on a stage, far removed from people like you. You had heard stories, though—rumors of fans getting to meet their idols, of secret parties, of NDAs being handed out to ensure that what happened in private stayed private. But those were just stories, right? A girl could dream, but she knew better than to expect anything more.

Or at least, that’s what I thought.

---

The concert ended in a blur of lights and sound, and you found yourself standing outside the venue, still buzzing with the energy of the performance. The streets were packed with fans, all of you high on the adrenaline of the show. ayou were about to head home, already replaying the concert in your mind, when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You turned to see a man dressed in all black, an earpiece in his ear and a no-nonsense expression on his face. He looked official, like he was part of the band’s security team or something. My heart skipped a beat as he handed me a small piece of paper.

“You’ve been selected for a private meet and greet with Hongjoong and Yeosang,” he said in a low voice, barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

Your eyes widened, and you stared at the paper in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

He nodded, his expression not changing. “If you’re interested, be at this address in one hour. But there’s one condition—you’ll need to sign a non-disclosure agreement. No phones, no pictures, no talking about what happens. Do you understand?”

You could barely breathe as you looked at the address scrawled on the paper. That's the NDA everyone has been talking about. This was insane. There was no way this was real, right? And yet, here you were, holding the proof in your hands.

You swallowed hard, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside. This was it. This was your chance. “I understand,” you managed to say, voice shaky with excitement.

“Good,” he said with a curt nod. “We’ll see you there.”

---

An hour later, you found yourself standing outside a nondescript apartment building, heart pounding with anticipation. You had never expected anything like this to happen, and now that it was, You weren't sure what to do with yourself. Hands were shaking as you buzzed the intercom, and when the door clicked open, You felt like you was stepping into a dream.

The apartment was sleek and modern, but it had a casual, lived-in feel that made it clear this was where Hongjoong and Yeosang actually spent their time. The low hum of music played in the background, and as you stepped inside, You were greeted by none other than Hongjoong himself.

“Hey,” he said with a grin, his voice as smooth and confident as ever. He looked different without the stage lights and the crowd—a little more relaxed, but no less magnetic. “Glad you could make it.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your cool. “I can’t believe this is happening,” you admitted, voice a little breathless.

Hongjoong chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Believe it. Come on, we’ve got drinks and stuff set up in the back. Yeosang’s waiting.”

You followed him through the apartment, heart racing with every step. When the two of you entered the living room, you saw Yeosang lounging on the couch, a drink in his hand. He looked up as you walked in, his expression calm and unreadable, but his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Make yourself comfortable.”

You sat down on the couch across from them, trying to wrap your head around what was happening. It felt surreal to be sitting here, in their apartment, after watching them perform just a few hours ago. You could barely think straight, and the tension in the room was palpable.

Hongjoong handed you a drink, and you took it gratefully, hoping it would calm your nerves. As you sipped it, you couldn’t help but not think about how the two were watching you—Hongjoong with that playful, teasing smile, and Yeosang with a quiet, almost predatory focus.

“We’ve seen you at a few of our shows,” Hongjoong said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’re always in the crowd, aren’t you?”

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Yeah, I’ve been a fan for a long time.”

Yeosang smirked, setting his drink down on the table. “We noticed.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like you were in way over your head. There was something electric in the air, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It was more than just the thrill of meeting them—it was the way they were both looking at you, the way the conversation felt charged with something unspoken.

Hongjoong leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “So, here’s the deal. You’re here because we like you, and we think you might be up for something��� fun. But before we go any further, you need to know that this is completely private. What happens here stays here. That’s why we’ve got the NDA.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sunk in. Fun? Your mind raced with possibilities, but you didn’t have time to dwell on them before Yeosang spoke up, his voice low and deliberate.

“If you’re not into it, you can walk out right now. No hard feelings.”

You looked between the two of them, pulse racing. The thrill of the unknown, the excitement of being here with them—it was all too much to resist. With a deep breath, you nodded.

“I’m in.”

"Great! Sign this, please." the older one said.

Right after you signed it, Hongjoong excitedly took it from your hands and threw it on the coffee table, then approached you slowly. You found yourself here now, standing between them, heart racing in your chest as the air seemed to thicken with unsaid words and unspoken feelings.

Hongjoong was the first to close the distance, his hand warm as it gently cupped your face. His touch was careful, as though he was afraid of moving too quickly, yet his dark eyes revealed an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His thumb grazed your cheek softly as he leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your neck in a delicate kiss. It wasn’t rushed, just slow and full of unspoken desire, leaving warmth in its wake.

“You’ve been on my mind since the moment I saw you,” Hongjoong whispered against your skin, his voice low and hushed, as if speaking louder would break the spell surrounding you three.

Yeosang’s hand, strong yet gentle, found your waist, pulling you closer to him from behind. His lips followed a similar path, ghosting over your shoulder, leaving soft kisses against your skin. The tenderness in his touch contrasted the fire burning beneath. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath as he kissed the curve of your shoulder, pausing only to murmur in a voice so smooth it sent a thrill through you.

“I felt something the second our eyes met,” Yeosang’s voice was soft, the warmth of his breath fanning over your skin as his fingers traced lazy circles along your side. “Like I’ve been waiting to find you…”

The heat of their bodies surrounded you, comforting yet charged with an undeniable attraction. Hongjoong’s lips moved slowly, planting kisses along the line of your jaw, his hand resting gently at the base of your neck as if grounding you. Yeosang’s touch was no less intimate, his fingers sliding upward to cradle your arm, steadying you as his kisses trailed upward from your shoulder toward your collarbone.

Despite the intensity in the air, there was no rush. Each kiss felt like a promise, every touch a gentle reminder of the attraction that had sparked so quickly, yet felt so inevitable. Your heart pounded in your chest, but the rhythm matched the quiet passion surrounding you. Their words, soft and sincere, left no room for doubt.

“We’re here now,” Hongjoong whispered, his lips brushing yours in the softest of touches, “and I’m not letting go.”

Yeosang’s arms wrapped around you a little tighter, his lips pausing for just a moment against your skin. “Neither am I.”

In that moment, with their touches, their words, and the connection you could feel so deeply, you knew this was something different, something real—no matter how fast it had come to be.

Yeosang was not as shy as you thought. His hands were now finding their way to your breasts, at which you got startled for a moment. He stopped.

"Hm? Why did you stop?" you softly said, confused.

"You flinched.. all okay with me all over you, sweetie?" he said, his breath warm and hitched in the nape of your neck.

"Y-yes! I just didn't expect it" you giggled.

"This is not even all he can do" Hongjoong said, to which you gulped at his words.

What did he mean by... "that's not even all that he can do"? Your mind was now running towards the dirtiest thoughts, imagining Yeosang in all kinds of situations, which made you softly close your legs to get friction between them, your core already dripping in your panties.

Hongjoong started kissing you. At first, he was going slowly and sensually, tasting every corner of your mouth. Then, his tongue started exploring your mouth, interlocking with yours and sloppy kisses could be heard from the two of you. He bit your lower lip once, then without warning his right hand travelled to your lower back and held you close. He broke the kiss for a moment and nodded to Yeosang, signaling something behind your back. The younger one did as told and unzipped your skirt, being now left only in your panties.

"You look so... beautiful, y/n." the younger one whispered against your neck.

Yeosang's hands rode up and down on your waist until his right hand found it's way to the front, going down to your panties and pulling them to the side. He leaned in and started kissing your shoulder, as he spread out your wet folds with two of his fingers. You whined softly but you became louder as soon as he slowly pushed inside both fingers, pumping them in and out, hitting all your sweet spots.

Hongjoong was also all over you. He was kissing your neck and chin, going to the collarbones and to your breasts. He left soft biting marks on your collarbone and breasts, to which he then started fondling with your now rosey and hard nipples.

You decided to do something about the situation. You loved it, of course... but you wanted to maybe.. rush things, a little. Yoou thought for a moment and arched your back, your plump ass pressing against Yeosang's impossibly thight pants.

"N-nah.. you little-" amd he turned you around, visibility annoyed at your move.

He lifted you up, without caring about Joong being left alone for a moment until he followed up. He dropped you on the bed.

"I see what you tryna do.." he took of his shirt.

"You wanna.." his belt followed up.

"Rush things, huh?" he got rid of whatever clothes he had on, being left with his cock out. Tho, as it sprung out of his briefs, you gulped.

"So...y/n. I assure you that you'll have a good... if not great, time with us." Hongjoong said, smiling, carresing your head.

"Yes, please!" you softly said.

"Good girl. Get up, on your knees, close to the edge." Yeosang whispered and pointed the edge he was talking about. You crawled there and kneeled patiently on it, waiting. Both men came in front of you, standing. Hongjoong was still fully dressed but soon got rid of everything, smirking at your eyes glistening with lust as soon as you saw both men bare in front of you. Their cocks twitched, with pre cum dripping off.

"What are you waiting for?" the younger one said and got closer to you.

Your hands instinctively rode up to their cocks, your left hand on Hongjoong and right one on Yeosang. You started pumping both, stroking their lengths simultaneously. Hongjoong was.. a little bit louder than Yeosang. The younger one was shy...but strict. That was the definition. Your hands stroke them up and down, from the base all the way up to the tip, the red, throbbing tips, which you squeezed every time you reached them. Every single squeeze made them squirm in your hand, searching friction, by softly thrusting. You started rapidly stroking them and decided to do something without warning for one of them. You moved closer to Hongjoong and kissed his tip, receiving a soft whine from him. Then you moved your lips on Yeosang's cock and sucked his tip softly. He flinched at your touch, his hand moving to your cheek, patting it softly.

"What if.. you suck us.. on turns?" Hongjoong muffled while his right hand guided his cock to your mouth.

You did as proposed and sat firmly on your knees. The men, right in front of you, looking contently. You took Hongjoong's cock in your mouth, while your right hand started rapidly pumping Yeosang's dick. You looked up, watching their reactions as you sucked Hongjoong off. Yeosang was pleased at the view, patiently waiting for his turn.

You switched between their cocks by slowly taking them both in your mouth, not completely, but only to have both their tips at the same time in your mouth. You pressed your tongue on their tips, sucking them simultaneously. Hongjoong was surprised at the view, seeing you trying to take both so good.

"Oh wow... what a good girl.. Never thought about this before.." he said, patting your head.

You opened your mouth and let their cocks fall out of your mouth right in your hands and then you took Yeosang's in your mouth, sucking him off, too. You did this a couple of times and switched between them until Hongjoong couldn't take it anymore.

"Wouldn't you wanna get me off, sweetie? C'mon, I know you can do it." he said and guided his cock again to your month. You started sucking him off but to your surprise and.. horror, he tangled his hand in your hair and made you look up. "Let's see how much you can take" he softly said and started thrusting your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. Your hand still on Yeosang's cock, you were not even focused on him. With the other hand you were holding onto Hongjoong's thigh. He thrusted deep down in your throat and stopped for a moment, making you gag. Your nose was touching his pelvis, that's how deep and lengthy he was. He thrusted you for a few more times and he got way, way sloppier.

"Just like this, babe. I'm so close.." he whined.

He took his cock out of your mouth and pumped it a few times before coming in your mouth, some drops of silky white liquid dripping on your chin. "Swallow." he signaled but... you had other plans. You nodded, swallowed half of his load and.. moved onto Yeosang, spitting some of Hongjoong's cum on his cock, lubing it up.

"Shit.. that was hot, " he whispered, almost not hearing his words. While you were now sucking Yeosang's dick, which was girthier than Hongjoong's, your left hand was stroking the older to make him hard again. It worked pretty fast, feeling pre cum dripping on your hand once again. Yeosang was already over the edge from your hand moments ago so it didn't take long until he came, right down your throat, making you gag on it. You swallowed everything, coughing softly when he pulled out. He leaned in and gave you a soft forhead kiss, "Such a good girl..." he said in a whiny voice.

"Now..." Yeosang said, more confident. He took you in his hands, lifted you up and kneeled on the bed, making you sit on his thighs. You could feel his cock pressing against your lower back. Hongjoong came in front of you and lined himself to you. Two of Hongjoong's fingers went right for your cunt, spreading your wet folds. He fingered you a couple of times, made sure you're completely wet and lubed up then nodded behind you... to Yeosang.

"Once again.. let's see how much you can take, my love" the man behind you said. He slowly guided himself to your hole and brought you closer to him, as you were sitting on his cock. He thrusted a few times.. hands holding onto the man that was kneeling in front of you. They had.. completely other plans.

"Baby so.. we thought about something." Hongjoong said, tapping Yeosang to stop fucking you for a moment.

"H-hm?" you mumbled, already pretty fucked out.

"What if.. we both fuck you?" he said.

"Y-yes... I think it would w-work" you whispered, already thinking about the moment.

Tho... they were thinking about a different type of.. double fucking. Yeosang thrusted again only once until he was halfway in, and then.. Hongjoong made his way in your cunt.. in the same hole. You moaned in pleasure and pain from being stretched out so fucking bad... but feeling their cocks rubbing against your thight walls was thrilling. Your hands rode up and down on Hongjoong's back, holding onto him for dear life. You left scratch marks on his back from your nails, getting soft whines out of him woth every trace of your finger.

"I'm s-so close!" Yeosang softly shouted, the power in his voice taking you aback.

"Me too...m-me too," the older one whispered, patting and carresing your lower back soflty, his hands slowly going down to your ass, squeezing it.

Yeosang whined a couple of times before finishing in you, right away being followed by Hongjoong which felt your cunt being filled up. He let out a string of muttered curses, still fucking you through his orgasm, Yeosang doing the same. You were overstimulated... maybe overfucked but you were so close, too...

"Let's help her, too..." the younger one whispered and you didn't even realised what he was talking about until both men started fucking you roughly, Yeosang's hand rubbing your clit rapidly, circling it with two of his fingers. It wasn't long until you came, white liquid already seeping from your cunt, dripping on both cocks that were filling you up.

Hongjoong slowed down and eventually pulled out... but Yeosang continued fucking you, overstimulating you becoming his goal. He pushed you on the bed, face pressed down on the mattress and started pounding you with every thrust. His pelvis slapping against your ass, you could only see Hongjoong lazily stroking off his length, seeing how it was hardening again. As Yeosang was fucking you, you felt how the knot in your belly was forming once again but when he hit your perfect spot... you realiaed it was an orgasm followed by squirting... all over the bed. Tears formed in your eyes and you almost dropped on the bed before Yeosang caught you, lifting you up and placing you on the side of the bed. He tied your hair up and stood next to Hongjoong, in front of you.

"Everything okay..? You look kinda tired." Hongjoong said, a little bit of concern could be distinguished from his words.

"Yeah.. were we.. too rough? Was I.. too rough?" Yeosang softlt muttered.

"I'm o-okay.. a little bit dizzy but nothing serious. What can I e-even say.. I fucking loved it.." you whispered.

"Oh, yeah? What about a 2nd round?" Hongjoong confidently said, his cock once again rock hard in his hand, his smirk tuening you the fuck on.

"Bet." you cockily said.

"Kneel on the bed, sweetie." Yeosang finally muffled, after being silent for a couple of moments.

You just realised that this night was gonna be a loooong one... but you enjoyed every minute of it.

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𝟏𝟕 | 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐥 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐰𝐨.)

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"He does not grab you by the collar or threaten you with his teeth and when you grasp his hand to steady yourself from an awkward step, he is the boy who makes magic for you in the dark."

slight cw panic sequence. (I) reader agonizes after yesterday's kiss and of course the ball is today. blue mages haunt you, red wing captains stalk you, the wrong prince finds your hiding place (II) bkg will not let you embarrass yourself alone. ballgowns, blue fire, champagne, pearls, a song from home, relief and peruro. dance my love, or die. 7.7k

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Captain Hawks has one job and you’ve made it so much more difficult than necessary. He’s had one job for fifteen years. Red feathers brick out southern wind from the hiding place he’s made above your window and he glares through gusts and goggles to watch you finally return to Prince Touya’s room. You crumple in a pile at the foot of the bed when the door clicks closed. You’re rotting. Sulking. The Alderan dragon everyone’s so worried about, you who his king assigned him to watch– you, the girl with wet eyes and hair full of hay.

You kissed your prince last night. He knows the feeling.

Hawks takes a sip of coffee and grips the barrel of his mug to keep ocean wind from throwing it off the roof. The king is right to worry about you. You have spent one week wandering palace grounds, greenhouses, pantries, walkways and stables and never once guarding your prince. Weird bird, are you the chicken or the egg? Did you stop guarding Katsuki because you’re the spy Enji thinks or because not even the red wing captain could follow you undetected? Because you know better than to keep close to your charge when something is stalking? Hawks winces in a particularly strong breeze. It’s the latter.

Two eyes burn suddenly from your gloom to the parapet fifty meters outside your window where the captain spills his coffee in a rush to stay out of sight. What he wouldn’t give to be warming a bed back in town but instead Hawks rolls his eyes, flat on his wings behind a gable wall. You rise and jerk your curtains closed, glare like black fire.

Princess Fuyumi runs clear through a ten foot portrait propped up in the hallway to be dusted. She’s cold, she’s sick of sending maids to find you and the ball is today. Master Aizawa is securing perimeters somewhere too far away to be helpful, Uraraka’s finalizing guest lists, and Bakugou is getting stitches because he’s good for nothing else. The princess shakes paint flecks from her hair. She rips canvas from her belt and throws the standing frame to the ground.

Kirishima has never dressed for a ball like this before because parties in Aldera usually require armor. What do you do at a Ball if not wrestle? Do Takobans dance Peruro? Sero and Kaminari assure him he doesn’t look silly in white. Todoroki sits outside beside the sea. Deku holds his hand tight to keep him from jumping in.

In the king’s rear guard, Shinsou nurses a broken finger. Enji derives gross entertainment from screaming at soldiers all dressed in blue and it smells like the king came home for this party. The queen cannot be found. Few people think to look for you. No one minds blue fire.

An already tedious afternoon dissolved when a boy crossed your path on turret stairs, your hiding place from prying eyes. You didn’t have the heart to bark when he stumbled through Excuse mes and My Ladys. The quiet wasn’t helping. You could trust Bakugou with his champion for a day but your prince’s hands still danced on your skin the longer you let thoughts linger.

The little footman continued, melting, as you raised your head from between your knees. He carried a box under his arm and waited for your permission to move in the tight stairwell, “From Princess Fuyumi.”

Inside the box under the arm of the boy on the spire stairs was a dress.

You spent last night between pickle barrels in the distillery and hid in the morning where you knew your prince wouldn’t think to find you, curled in the deepest sconce of the north wing watching staff fly past. Today is the ball. It’s why the princess ordered you a dress and it’s why you’re pulling gold lace through your fingers by candlelight. Aizawa’s training pit echos pretty like the sea when it’s empty and the uniform room has a mirror. It’s a dark little annex off the main ring without those Takoban windows Captain Hawks loves so much.

All week, you growl through the effort of fastening garters to a stocking. Another. All week he has followed you and all week you kept his attention off your prince. If Bakugou had just stayed away, if he’d just hated you properly. You lean back to inspect neatly laced boots– Alderan dancing knots– boots so delicate they couldn’t be made for actual dancing. What will he wear tonight? You force a hand through wild braids.

Soldiers can fight armed or barefisted, fire cannons and crossbows, deliver first aid, hunt, guard, salute. You would be the head of your kingdom’s army and so you must know one thousand more important things, like how to string a corset and when to use forks in a line on pretty tables. Silk the color of blood gathers all the heat of your chest and keeps it close. Does the heir of Aldera waltz Takoban? You take the buttons at the ends of your sleeves in your teeth to fasten them closed. What will he look like in their blue costumes dancing with their pretty ladies? Can you remember how to count rhythm in threes? Can you even look at him?

More important than a soldier, court mages, even more important than a champion, you are trained as Head of Royal Guards. You are poison tester, navigator, weaponmaster and seaman, you judge the safety of the room by the shoes of its hosts and you wear fine clothes at fine parties to accompany your masters like a trophy. A prized hunting dog. You will be beautiful for one night and you can no longer avoid your job; assassins love to hide at parties.

“Steady,” you whisper to the gods.

It’s been a few years but you know how to wear these clothes and you know how best to move, and you wince when the sheath of a dagger chills the skin under your ribcage where it hides. You sparkle unsettlingly in the gown and grunt through the effort of untucking stubborn skirts from hilts and scabbards. Wielding a candle to examine yourself more closely in the mirror, you judge the shapes impractical clothes make when they’re meant to fit only you. Pleats of red fall over themselves from your waist to your ankles and in your reflection a bit of fire stirs, because in a cold kingdom this gift was made of love.

You are blood red tonight from neck to heel. Gold tassels align themselves like military badges across your shoulders and the sleeves of the gown bleed to lace at your wrist where two green buttons wink. You can’t help staring. Jeanist’s dragontooth gleams on your breast.

This is an overstuffed week. Hedonistic, anxious like a blood clot heart attack. You are stalked, you are tested and attacked, you’ve pretended not to feel, you did half your best, you snacked instead of training and sat in pleasant company you love, why wouldn’t a ball punctuate this disaster? Something about preparing for war in the dark makes this bearable. Something about fastening a knife to your thigh keeps you from thinking about Bakugou Katsuki and the formalities waiting for you upstairs. Someone is watching you.

A man clears his throat outside the doorway, careful not to stand where you might see him but you are too focused to be caught by surprise. “What do you want?”

“Apologies, Captain.”

At that, air falls loose from your nostrils. Your lips don’t dare part to make a sound. Your self-important posture doesn’t have time to settle before red pleats freeze and the candle cracks like a knuckle in your palm because the horror of this hadn’t occurred to you. That voice will never leave.

“Y/n?” the flame mage murmurs again.

Why would Aldera want you back? Playing princess instead of posting sentinel. Knowing you’re spied upon and letting Bakugou find you, day after day, letting him help you house spiders, letting him spar, letting him smile, letting him sit beside you– you knew what was watching you– something worse than flying captains. It’s why this horrible place remains horrible and the cold like frost can never be shaken off the back of your neck. It’s why the queen hides in stables and why your blood runs black in the instant you understand yourself through your reflection.

Your two shoulders fly through the doorway first so that when the blue mage attacks your legs will be spared enough to carry you upstairs. You can outrun him, you can outrun anyone. You should have paid more attention to ball preparations this month instead of languishing in your prince’s backwards attention. You should have killed yourself to kill him before his body hit the water. Why wouldn’t an assassin slip through the cracks of your distraction? And why wouldn’t it be him? Unkillable.

The candles inside the changing room are doused and shattered so that you are the only possible flammable thing in this dusty arena and you pull the knife from your hip as you soar over the threshold.

It would have flown hard when you released it– might have even killed a ghost– if you hadn’t seized up as the figure came into view. White hair, tall with sunken eyes, only slightly shorter than his father. You right yourself to land on your new dancing boots, and their heels wail two lines through the sand at the edge of the arena.

Prince Natsuo doesn’t have the energy to be surprised by you. He is not fazed by your drawn weapon and doesn’t flinch in the dark, but he remembers your name, “Captain Y/n?”

Like a cat your eyes go wide and your knife clatters to the floor. Half-fresh braids fall over your shoulders in a deep and rigid bow. Your fists bunch the soft material at your hips and you consider dropping to your knees in the silence and dust of the sparring pit so far away from any party he should be attending. Your heart beats to a new fear, “Highness,” you stammer to the ground, “I–”

“Do you dance, Captain?”

You do, and you quirk an eyebrow at the floor. It’s becoming increasingly clear, for how threatening this country is, that its eldest princess actually took all the reason at birth. Swallowed it from the room with her first cry and left kings and countrymen to stumble on their words, for even when you are not threatening him at knifepoint there’s a dread just behind the prince’s every word. Your Alderan senses are dulling in this kingdom. Your ghost never sounded so nervous. “I’m sorry, sir,” you lift only your head from the stiff bow, “I don’t understand.”  

Prince Natsuo’s suit is blue trimmed silver. He is white trousers and shining bells, military honors, rope tassels, broad like his father, beautiful like his mother and dressed like a blue glass bottle. He’s never spoken to you and seems to have trouble even looking at you now, like a rabbit the dog runs past in a hunt.

You soften, “May I escort you to the party, sir? You’ve made a wrong turn,” rising fully as the prince gathers his thoughts and keeps well away from you– no. Less away from you and more just to himself. Like pouring a cup just full enough to tease the tension at the rim, Prince Natsuo is bursting with nothing to say.

All week you hid from spies and all week Alderans made it their job to find you, to be near you. Today you hide from just one man and suddenly every person in the cold kingdom knows exactly where you are. Winged captains weather the winds to watch you and squire boys can retrieve you from tall towers. Maids predict which hidden paths you’ll take from the kitchens to ask if you’ll need a bath– intercepting you without issue or sweat. Are you that predictable? Unsubtle? Obvious and lacking, or does horrible Takoba deserve a little more credit? Her skittish prince can track you down to the darkest corner of his castle like it's only natural to hide from festivities instead of attending them.

“Please excuse my being started.”

“It’s your job,” he musters just as you scoop up your blade and tip it back into its sheath amongst skirt folds. “Thank you– for your job.” He’s fidgeting, not murderous, and his voice no longer sounds like a monster. The prince scratches gently at a bauble on his chest as you peer through the dark, “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry, Bakugou’s heartbroken voice parrots. Don’t cry. He pleads with his hands on your cheeks. You can’t change what you’ve done. Bakugou Katsuki can haunt you til death, but you don’t get to hide from him.

“Your Royal Highness, it would be my pleasure to escort you upstairs.” You square yourself to the blue bottle prince, “Humble Y/n, apprentice to the Captain of Her Alderan Majesty’s Royal Guard. My apologies. You had to come all this way just for a proper introduction.” And extend your hand to him, a polite smile on your lips. To death then. You’ve survived worse than a party.

Natsuo does not take your hand. He pops something off of his chest, drops the something in your hand and straightens his suit jacket, content with or oblivious to the fact that his sister inherited all his good social reason. You eye him first and then study the metal on your palm that glints in dim moonlight– candlelight– and tense as the room’s circle of sconces suddenly blink to life one by one.

Of the fifty candles in the training room ring, the first five from the entrance miraculously catch bright warm fire. Six, then the seventh, one by one around the edge of the room. Natsuo rushes to pat out your panic, “Magic candles.”

“Magic candles,” you repeat, which makes much more sense than a drowned magician. You exist at the edge of complete catastrophe, always prepared to fight that man who was too bored to kill you, but magic candles make sense. When have you ever seen a servant in this cold place spend their time lighting candles?

“And a medal,” Natsuo continues. You follow his line of sight to the object in your hand. It’s silver. It fits right in the cleft of your palm. The inscription around the edge is in a language you don’t know but what is clearly the moon sits in the center. A comet streaks across it and together they make the emblem of the House of Todoroki. “The medal of honor.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s yours.”

“It certainly is not,” you say, the air sort of floating from you instead of being pushed out by your voice. Eleven, twelve candles, a quarter of the room is lit. The badge warms in your fingers but you no longer look at it and extend your hand back to the prince in a gown that already makes you too ridiculous to breathe. He shakes his head and you push your open palm a little farther like a plea.

“I’ve seen you. I heard about…my father’s arrival in your training exercise and I, I didn’t, I don’t think my sister’s champions would have been fast enough to stop him if you hadn’t. You kept my mother from the mad magician and I doubt anyone has thanked you and I, I just– my father wouldn’t allow honors on your gown and mine is more than I deserve.” He straightens his jacket again and continues to struggle with eye contact. Twenty-two, twenty-four, twenty-seven candles come alive in the cold arena and the ring of light reaches the pair of you at the far end. “It’s much less than you’re owed.”

Prince Natsuo bows to you deeply and turns so quickly that arena-sand clouds his feet. He does not accept your escort and he doesn’t turn around. He only strides across the room, thirty-three candles, and out the dark but open doors. It’s easy to imagine him judging his own performance just where you can’t see him; he exudes the nervous energy of someone who cringes when they turn your back to you. You’re smiling before you realize. Fourty.

It’s slightly warmer than you’ve felt all month, in clinging red skirts and candlelight. Aldera is always bustling so Takoba is loney in comparison, but maybe there is comfort where you have never looked before. Comfort in red gowns. Comfort in sweaters beside the sea, comfort in silver soldiers and a training room where you are not their commander. That thought is a shock and you clutch the comet in your hand at the edge of the room. Forty-five.

Aizawa’s training pit warms by candlelight under its glass ceiling. Oppressively tall and so much like drowning, the stars blink down at you from their thrones like dappled moonlight on waves. You fasten the comet pin to your bodice with eyes tilted to the sky. Your first night here the sky was the only one who knew you. You smooth your hands up your hips and rest both palms at your waist where Bakugou held you, bleeding, poisoned, his forehead slipping off your shoulders with sweat and the lurches of the horse. A ten minute ride from the edge of the forest to the city gates, it was only the sky watching such desperation. There was comfort in that, under the threat of death. Comfort in your loss of rank here, in anonymity.

Rescued from a crowd, rescued from punishment, rescued from the sea, from cliffs, from sickness, from solitude. Saved by magic, saved by strength, by yourself and by your prince, over and over again in this wet kingdom.

There is comfort in teaching strangers to fear you and you blink through the memory of your cherrywood halberd soaring through a dinner party. The loss of its weight at your back makes you ache and your ears start to itch as the rest of the night replays itself. Forty-seven. Bakugou pressed close between your legs at the lip of a table. His thumbs smoothing your cheeks over like parchment and his cheeks flashing red at a realization– at everything you now realize he was trying to say, to show you. You’re grateful for the privacy of the stars again so that no one can ask why you smile in an empty room.

Forty-eight. Dying for a person is so much worse than dying for a cause. You thought it might be the end when the blue flammed mage forced his hand around your mouth or when a garden screamed in ashes under his boot. When he– he took you by the shoulder and branded the shape of his palm to your flesh, when your arm was relieved of its socket– everything, all of it came so much easier than the moment your prince stepped forward to face him. Easier than Bakugou collapsing in a burning clearing, easier than counting the decline of his heartbeat through the clothes on your back, easier, so much easier than retching up seawater together on the sand.

Prince Bakugou is agonizing. Forty-nine, he’s upstairs, gilded, waiting for you.

You shake your head like unnecessary thoughts might come loose with the movement. For one night your worry can be in not staring after your charge– not tasting his lips when you wet yours at the edge of the party– and not in hallucinations of murderous mages. A comet and a dragontooth remind you of the weight of a heart. The last candle around the glowing arena beats to life beside the first and it is time for a ball.

You would have smoothed your skirts over the daggers hidden among them. You would have checked your hair again in the mirror and tested the fit of your boots with a few secret skips. You’d have imagined the warmth of Bakugou’s hands and his magic, to ease the ache of watching pretty blue ladies waiting to dance with the barbarous and beautiful prince. You would have attended and served quietly, you would have dreamed of home if the flame in that last pretty candle wasn’t flickering in a clear and lonely shade of blue.

Fifty.

“Find cover!” you hiss at the squire who collapses to the floor rather than get knocked down the stairs in your charge, “Douse the rugs!”

You call over your shoulder and hurdle the staircase railing rather than waste time sprinting to the bottom. If all of your training boiled down to a single skill, if there was only one chance, one thing you could be trusted to do in the blink of an eye it was arming yourself.

A shortsword shines in your fist as you sprint, its wall hooks worse for your wear after being ripped from the armory on your warpath. The scabbard is fastened sloppily to your left hip. Cruel images of half-scorched bodies, croaking victims that need both your hands to carry them to safety, your prince– they necessitate the holster which whips your thigh as you tear through a quiet castle. Quiet, so quiet, too quiet for a ball, idiot, you should have known. Every single light in the castle blinks to life in the very last lilacs of sunset, and every single one of them quivers with blue fire.

Seed-sized wall carvings flow through their forms, animated by your speed. Stone does not creak when you step over it, hardly any servants linger in empty hallways and the thought that one squire boy will be the firefighting force for the whole castle is horror compounded by horror. “Captain Hawks!” You bellow with the last bit of air between strides.

He’s watching you, he didn’t abandon his assignment for a party. You burst from servants’ paths onto the exact blue rugs you knew the stairs would lead to; your Alderan senses might be dulling but this castle is no longer a maze. Takoban cluelessness can take over all it wants. All it needs to do is get you to the ballroom in this stupid fucking dress. One by one, sconces yawn in innocent blues and burn so hot and so quickly that wax weeps to the floor.

A window in the line takes your pommel to its pane as you retch the sword’s hilt through the glass and shout, “Hawks!” louder, between flying shards, into the night, “Fire!”

Candles instead of your dress, a candle instead of your flesh. He could be anywhere, nearby, outside, straddling corpses, you don’t know the rules his magic follows and every step you take without bursting into flames is a second you can’t waste. Your prince will fight to the death, you cannot let him. Your prince will die for his friends, you can’t bear to lose a single one. Send me instead, you beg. Me, wait for me.

You soar down two flights of twisted stairs and lurch at a tight corner before colliding with a laundryman and his blue candlestick. “Run,” you seeth without stopping, vaulting over both the man and portrait strewn across the floor beside him, ripped at the center and trailing flecks of paint. The last turn is towards the right leg of the grand staircase, entryway and ballroom dead in your sights. Red wings don’t appear and so you hook your hips, and your gown with it, over the lip of the banister.

Hardly a breath escapes the closed ballroom doors. Why are there always too few guards here? What ball makes no noise? What kind of monster could kill a room of people without making a sound? There are clicks, you panic as the banister ends and dismount the slide into a sprint. There is the bone chilling image of the blue mage clicking over corpses with the heels of his tall black boots– the body of your prince lying charred and bloodless before he could even let loose a spark.

Your dancing boots make the loudest sound in the entire palace as you run your legs harder, to carry you farther, until finally your hands are flat on the ballroom doors and your biceps scream under orders. The elven silver budges only slightly. There should be footmen outside to let guests in and the anxiety of their absence gives you an unnatural strength, enough to force one gilded door open a crack and slip into the destruction with your weapon raised.

Find him, find him, find Bakugou first, soft sunny hair and pomegranate eyes, the boy who barks laughter, he who wields the magic of old gods, your heart, find your prince, get him home.

Silver foot bolts shriek over marble as you force your way inside. You are a cacophony always. You are blood splattered across the edge of the dancefloor when you burst into the party.

“Highness!” You shout into the blue before realizing the silence of the ballroom doesn’t come from death. One thousand pearls startle immediately at the beast and her raised sword. Gowns of lace, suits of glass, feathers, freckles, masks and tiny shoes, bells, fans, crystal flutes of pink champagne, and not a single person speaking over a hush. Two hundred eyes watch the Alderan dog prepare to fire again into a party.

Balls in Aldera breathe life to the city. Any comfort you felt for Takoba dies with your entrance. Waiters roll between guests with trays of cake and wine, and the winter floral decorations must have cost a fortune for petals to be sewed and draped and weeping from the walls because this certainly was meant to be a ball. Your fingers ache for the weight of your halberd for the first time since you lost it in the sea.

There is no mage when your heckles fall. No mage when your shoulders droop and your sword with it, not when you search the ballroom for your Alderan sun, not a single shock of white hair taunting from the windows. Every candle in every abra, every chandelier, sconce, cup, spike, or lamp, is a melancholy flickering blue above the sea of silent guests.

Your weapon falls slack. You exhale as the swordpoint chips the floor.

The queen sits on her throne beyond leagues of distracted dancers and servers and bards, with her hands folded and her husband beside her tense, hunched, and licked by fire where you startled him out of his seat. The great ballroom window blinks with its audience of stars. Just outside and over the cliffs, the maws of the sea applaud.

You jolt, as do the guests closest to you, at the sound of metal crush but it is only Uraraka in her uniform, catching the tray of a server who panicked at the sight of you. Shinsou’s hair isn’t hard to pick out from his post beside a waitstaff door and he thins his lips instead of speaking. No one speaks. There is no laughter, there is a single violin playing from a fifteen piece band– did you scare the trumpets too?– weeping a waltz for the dancers who crane away from their partners to watch what you might do. Their every gown is white, blue, green– silver like sea foam. Their hair obeys them and folds into smooth shapes at the tops of their heads so that their noble throats can be struck sick by the air of a room above the sea. You are the only foul red thing here.

The flame of worry collapses in your chest along with your heart. Quietly, blue fire watches back without laying a finger on anyone.

Oh.

“Y/n?”

There you are.

The ring of dancers at the center of the room curl around in their timid waltz, revealing new faces from the back of the crowd. Kirishima in a fit white suit, too focused on not crushing his Takoban partner to even realize you’ve arrived and then Mina, full of worry with her hands in Fuyumi’s and both perfectly placed in the seaside painting with their layered dresses of white. She makes to break away from the current, to rescue you, but her prince beats her to it.

The prince of Aldera climbs trees in the summer to reach the best apples. He likes to bathe at night. He is slightly shorter than his mother in her favorite boots and it bothers him, but never enough to say anything. His fingertips sparked when he kissed you.

He is cloaked in red. An abandoned partner jingles angrily as he drifts through the tides and calling your name is the easiest thing in the world, “Y/n.” He glows. You have hidden from this all day, and tonight his war cape arcs sanguine circles around him. 

The Sun approaches, he glides to you like picking up a stray is part of this dance. He takes up your swordhand in his, weapon clattering to the polished floor and with a magic-heavy hand at your waist the scabbard belt falls away. Hair pushed straight back and two red earrings dangling, Bakugou rolls his eyes, “It’s a dogshit party,” and a few pieces of hair fall over a stitched gash on his cheek, “but I doubt a swordfight will fix it.”

You don’t understand and you don’t try to speak through volley after volley of embarrassment. 

“Won’t,” he rumbles, “won’t let you look crazy alone.” Prince Bakugou Katsuki steadies his palm just behind your waist and draws you onto the dancefloor, hand in hand. He is more than beautiful. Polished boots, white suit and golden embroidery– each button in his vest is flanked by a small Alderan sun. Dragons prowl along the hem. His red cape you thought lost, rocks you with homesick.

“Highness,” he steps to a rhythm in fours, heel toe, toe, toe heel forward into the fold of your dress to guide you back into the stream of dancers. “I didn’t– I–” Your feet barely make the proper shapes to keep up for your Alderan heart is a grease fire not a hearth. Bakugou holds his head high to the side with the posture of a king. His pupils occupy their lowest corners so he never need take his eyes off of you.

You, his war criminal.

“Sir,” you manage and wince when you dare a peek past his shoulders towards onlookers.

He is embers, “I have a surprise.” He does not grab you by the collar or threaten you with his teeth and when you grasp his hand to steady yourself from an awkward step, he is the boy who makes magic for you in the dark. Bakugou Katsuki’s ears are scarlet even as he stares ahead, sweat pearls between your fingers and he sweeps you close, albeit awfully tight, through the steps of a Takoban dance. His face catches light from the candles above and the shadow of his pale lashes sweeps over both cheeks. 

A corded thigh slips between yours and back again to the tune of one sad string. The rhythm doubles for four steps and calms again. You could dance the continent around for all the etiquette training you’ve endured but something about the lack of ghosts here, something about your heart beating out of time with the song, about red eyes and a clenched jaw, the hand fingering notches on the small of your back like it might a cello– you are suddenly on the catwalks again with your lips smiling into his, you are holding back tears, you are clicking teeth and stumbled steps and hands cupping cheeks, and your heart bleeds all over the dancefloor. Your voice cracks, “I’m so sorry,” and it is the loudest thing in the room.

“The candles are blue at the queen’s request,” he rumbles, sacrificing posture to watch you properly, to correct you. “That must…I, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have let them.” Bakugou raises his right shoulder in invitation for your hand to rest there but your fingers lift from his arm as he turns you both, and settle on that small new wound at his cheek. You breathe deeply as your chests slot together, no fight in sight. Your relief almost comes in tears.

Party guests do not stop staring, especially now that the foreign royal has spirited his beast to the dancefloor. At a distance, familiar faces train gazes your way. Little doctor Shuzenji and Aizawa beside her nursing a pink champagne flute, both ribboned in their bests. Uraraka offers you a tight lip at the edge of the dancefloor. Fuyumi boxsteps in line nearby, the lonely violin picks up pace, hand in hand with her youngest brother and attempts to lean in to whisper to you before Bakugou cages them both out with his shoulders.

He clears his throat, “Captain,” the second-loudest thing in the room, “will you dance with me?”

It’s not your best, admittedly, but the thought your four-step is poor enough your partner needs to clarify does lighten the mood, and you nod. Half your focus is sacrificed to keeping calm in such a full room and the other half is completely at his mercy.

“Peruro?” Bakugou raises those flaxen eyebrows, his lips led by yours. The dance peruro. Destructive and certain to give the Takoban King an aneurysm. Something like comfort slips in. Your eyes widen suddenly and your prince with you. What does he see? you wonder. You nod again.

The waltz will reach its climax soon and Bakugou leads you through a perfect Takoban rhythm until the second he dips forward to whisper, through your hair and over the silence of this cursed party, “Mind your ears, dragonne.”

You shudder immediately at the name, hand in hand, chest to his. Something in your perfect center bursts in white flame and you throw your eyes down to your skirts.

“Dance!” Bakugou’s voice cracks like a whip of thunder above the soggy party and he lifts his chin over your head. The vibration of every syllable rumbles from his ribs to yours and his growl is smoke on water, “or die.”

The next second a horn howls one crescendoed note and every hair not squeezed into your silk dress, prickles. You jerk your gaze back up to Bakugou, unsure what expression you might be making, “How?”

But your prince is still grinning wide so you must be too. “Bribed em,” he leans close and as one confused violin trails off, another trumpet joins the fray. Dancers look around distractedly and onlookers whisper, louder, slightly louder, to be heard over the addition of percussion to the building swell of tuning instruments. A pair of cymbals crash like earthquake, a waitress topples over.

Shinsou shakes his head in the corner of the room and rubs his face, fondly entertained. The king is out of his seat again. Suddenly a fifteen piece band is making the sound of home. The band vibrates under an arc of camellias and the small woman seated at the front pulls a flute from her suit jacket. The herding call of her shepherd’s pipe gathers the cacophony and just as quickly as the group disrupted the peace, they hush behind seventeen beautiful whispers of the pipe, clear and bright as stars. It is the quiet start of Mitsuki’s favorite drinking song. Fear of crowds melts from you like bedtime stories.

faire of the fields

the girl who plays for me

dance and i will watch you

dance and i will join,

you who

teaches beasts to love

send us all to war

She draws the final note long and low, violins become fiddles, trumpets repeat the tune, a drummer growls, two pipes build, and the flute cheers back atop a flirty melody of three before the brilliant song erupts. Bakugou clasps your hand tight and throws you from his grip so that you might twirl and glow under his arm but the rules of peruro dictate a little more focus than that.

The closest dancers to you shriek when Mina barrels through them and pulls you out of his hold. She squeals with two gloved hands on your waist, “Miss firelight!” Her dress envelopes yours and the spinning doesn’t stop until you’ve tripped a man at the edge of the dancefloor and very nearly toppled over yourselves.

Over the curve of her shoulder you snort, shocked by your own glee, as Takobans try to adjust their waltz to the Alderan rhythm and inevitably four-step themselves into a fervor. Kirishima towers over your prince and barks with laughter trying to get the man to spin under his arm. Shinsou is no longer brooding at his post. He is hand in hand with Kanminari, flecked all over with petitfour cream, who has led him into the fray.

“Lady Mina!” you bellow and take up her hand in yours. You fasten your waists together and both of you fly into the tide. When was the last time you put the blue mage’s voice away? How long has it been since you last danced Peruro? Singing while stepping, laughing, diving for bystanders and squealing when drunk guests toppled over themselves to be the one to lift you into the air. You steal your partners in peruro, and fight to keep them. It keeps the room from feeling small, from crushing you. When you are thrown whoever catches you gets the next dance and the songs never end.

Euphoria threatens to spill over the fire Katsuki started in your heart. Flame mages are far from your mind under blue candlelight.

The queen does not move, but she might be smiling. Fuyumi yelps when her champion scoops her up from behind and places her on her shoulder. Even the youngest Todoroki and his freckled champion tut about together to the rhythm. You hope no one tries to steal the blue prince; he might not survive it; and make eye contact with Natsuo while you completely butcher Mina’s three step dips. He stands at the base of his parents’ thrones, unmoving, but pink with excitement.

Takobans, even servants, lingering at the edge of the crowd cannot outswim the rip current. They belong to a quietly stubborn nation who will attempt their delicate hop skips even to the bleat of an Alderan horn. Only cowards leave a dancefloor and it is the first respectable tradition you’ve seen here.

In a flash of red across the room, your prince takes up two stiff women in each arm and you almost spit in laughter as they go purple under the instruction of the barbarian prince. The polished floor vibrates. It’s too loud to think, a mix of happiness and screams of indignation as pretty lords and ladies are pulled into the fray by those countrymen only slightly drunker than they.

Peruro is a game and so when Sero Hanta and his cheeks tattooed with lipstick kisses, plucks you from your partner, Mina can hardly complain. The flutist roars her approval and her fiddlers breathe life into the happy song behind her. Trumpets pluck, bleat, and howl complex harmonies that prove you’re Alderan from the sheer intoxication of the sound.

Sero’s long arms wrap behind you and you’re off your feet before you can speak. “Return of the Red Captain!” His grip on your sides is more ticklish than hell and you giggle and squirm as you fall into a dip. His palms hit something hard, the dagger concealed in your gown, “Are you armed?” He chuckles and tugs you up and close, back to chest.

“Me? Never.” You peek over your shoulder, both laughing, and he peels you from him so tight you spin away three times fully and far enough away from him that Kirishima poaches you without difficulty.

His Alderan fire rolls off the warm parts of him in waves of pine smoke and happiness. How many yards of fabric it must have taken for Takoba to stitch his suit– the cost– you can’t imagine. He hoists you onto his shoulder before you can think a moment longer.

Your red pleats swell in the air and settle with your hips on his broad shoulder. The hidden sheath under your bodice taps his ear. “Are you armed?!” He hollers and spins once to make you squeal and grip tight to his hair. Princess Fuyumi covers her mouth to hide laughter and you beam at each other from your shoulder seats, over the sea of Takoban heads. The champion shrugs you into his arms and back onto your feet. The new heels of your dancing boots click like bells every step you take.

Eijirou is a wonderful dancer, and difficult to burgle. He throws his hands above his head and the pair of you clap, kick one leg out and turn, eyes always locked and teeth shining. With your next kick, your hip checks a short man attempting to dance Takoban and knocks him into another pair. Eijirou’s next clap, behind his back, startles a woman so badly she covers her ears and the whole room reeks of home. Drown in it Takoba, dance or die.

Your friends are safe. There’s nothing to fear from shitty parties and you spare a thought for the servants you must have traumatized on your rampage down here. Wers and mers, the window you broke– Kirishima’s hands are at your waist because you are distracted, you are searching, and before you can brace yourself he has thrown you clear into the air.

No matter how much you hate it here, the ballroom is beautiful and Natsuo might be a wonderful king. His decorations shine in the queen’s candlelight. Early winter flowers are strung by the thousands to garnish balustrades and window frames, they erupt from iridescent vases and hang in an arch over the howling band. Bundles of pearls dot every corner and swallow the moonlight. Silver shells and whistles, inlaid cuffs, white wigs, Takoba is most beautiful by moonlight. There’s no sun here. Did you ever think you’d hate him? That you’d miss him? Where is he? Your prince likes plums best because they’re sour and he blows on dandelions when no one’s watching and he works construction with his men when the city needs repair and he hates how dry paper feels on his fingers. The daggers at your hip cool in your descent.

“Red suits you, dragonne!” Bakugou roars and you land square in his arms to the coo of a shepherd's pipe. You blink and his, him, he– he stares. He is terrible at piano and walks with his head down after rain to keep from stepping on worms. He mends his own clothes because his father taught him how to sew. “You,” he attempts to speak, “Captain, you,” but the high of the dance dissolves from him even as the music swells because you stare and bring your fingers to the wound on his cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” you breathe. He does not find his words in the space between your faces. Your prince goes pink. Enough of the room is dancing now that you need to read lips to truly hear anything but he understands your every thought without effort as he lets you down. There’s a hand on your back to keep you close. I’m afraid. It hurts to be so close to you. He presses his forehead to yours.

“Y/n, ’m sorry.” You fight yourself not to fight the closeness. It’s rotten work. Your gown matches his suit perfectly and pressed together you spin in the chaos and climax of a beautiful song.

The prince rolls figure-eights against your forehead with his own. Two much less focused dancers jostle your duet and Bakugou sweeps a foot forward to trip the leader before lifting you over the pile of men and returning to the dance. You glow red in his arms above him, halo of the moon.

A tall man shifts between rushing servants on the catwalks. Your prince beams below you, king of the sun. It's a pretty party. It is perfectly loud. A polearm is readied on a scarred arm in the dark and no one minds blue fire.

The flutist picks up speed, spurred on by the tambourine, and each note from each instrument cuts itself off to make time for the next. Every place you touch one another aches. If it would just stay like this forever, dancing, knowing without speaking, you could kill any enemy. The sky would learn to kneel, if only you could keep the adoration of winespilt eyes.

A series of gasps, a yelp, and Kirishima’s sweet laughter punctuate the thought. Bakugou was meant to wear fine clothes like these. Sparks like fairy lights twinkle where sweat beads on his jaw and you would have given nine lives to kiss him one more time. He will be a good king too. There is a scream.

Your hand on his shoulder bunches the fabric of his cape, and you lurch forward to lock your other hand around his back. Your foot is dead behind his before he can blink and with a surge of momentum from the dance, the last swell of fiddle, a prayer for old gods, luck from the sea and something like love, you knock the prince over your shoulder and onto the ground into the thickest thrall of dancers.

He laughs the whole way down and holds you where he can to keep from knocking your heads together. The sound is molten gold. You would sin to hear it always.

He is still laughing, howling, bursting with joy when he hits the ground and you with him in your perfect dance peruro. He doesn’t notice the whine of dropped instruments or revulsion of the crowd because he cannot look away from you. On his back, on the floor, beneath you, Prince Bakugou lifts his arm to cup your face and freezes in the new and sudden silence.

The impact of the spear shattered a chunk of floor beside your prince’s heart where it landed. Missed, you grin feebly. He’s okay. He is perfect and wide-eyed and beautiful, and the blade of your cherrywood halberd shines with blood from its home through your chest.

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[dejwrld]

⤷‧₊˚ ʚ₊˚‧ ✿ ꒱ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈 / the story of how the ushijima's rekindled an old flame that kick-started their love story.

┊ •° ੈ ⋆° ┊ warning readers discretion is advised — female reader, her/she pronouns, black reader (with descriptors), influencer!reader, profanity, alcohol usage, intoxication (both reader and ushijima), flashback in italics, mentions of making out, mentions of fingering, tendou makes an appearance, i just around using ushijima & wakatoshi a lot, it's late but we here, mdni

╰┈➤ song for this part: we might even be falling in love (interlude) by victoria monet

masterlist

Wakatoshi’s fingers lingered on your lower back as the crowd cheered for the excitement of the wedding that was just a couple of days away. His lips grazed upon the shell of your ear at the flash of the photographer’s camera. This felt so unreal, you were about to get married in a couple of days to the love of your life. You felt this feeling of warmth rush over your body with each second of Wakatoshi’s fingertips tracing alongside the lining of your dress. 

“Who would have thought?” His words whisper in your ears with a grin. “Wouldn’t think I would be about to marry the cute girl who I help carry coffee to her internship building.” 

You bite back a smile before you turn to wrap your arms around his neck. Your high heels give you enough height so you won’t have to stand on your tippy toes. The diamond ring on your finger twinkles under the restaurant light before you place a quick peck on his lip.

“Yeah, just some years ago we rekindled in Paris,” You said.

His lips were against your ear once more, “Ah, I remember Paris like it was yesterday. But I could have sworn you told me, what happened in Paris stays-“

His words and your pending embarrassment of remembering the events in Paris made your cheeks heat up. Your eyes trail to your fiancé while he’s getting dragged by his teammates away from you. His chestnut-colored eyes never leave you while a foolish grin spreads on his face before he disappears into the celebratory dinner crowd. Even if he was swallowed up by a sea of people, you still could see him in the crowd with a huge grin as he gloated about being a married man in a couple of days.

Paris. 

What a memory that was.

Your first fashion week as an influencer and blogger had just wrapped up leaving you to explore Paris. You wanted to celebrate the huge opportunities that were graced upon you. Landing a brand deal with a well-known and successful black luxury brand was something huge for you. It felt like a dream if you were going to be honest with yourself. So, you had to celebrate until your last day in Paris. You shopped a lot. Went out clubbing with some other influencers that were here also. Now you stand outside this chocolate shop gazing at the huge chocolate fountain that was in front of the display window that looks like it’s been cleaned countless times during the day.

You went to snap a picture of it for your social media accounts, but a figure inside the store caught your attention. His large frame was hunched over the counter as he was talking to another man with a red buzz-cut hairstyle. Even though the sign on the door was turned to closed, he was inside as if he had special privileges. He wore some light khaki-colored slacks, a black polo that was tucked in and secured with a belt, a beige wool overcoat, and a pair of white Alexander McQueen shoes. His dark olive-brown hair wasn’t messy in the sense that it looked like he just rolled out of bed, but more of him constantly running his fingers through it. He looked familiar. 

When the red-haired guy noticed you staring, you immediately fled. Although, the aesthetically pleasing chocolate fountain would be wonderful for your Paris photo dump for your socials—nothing is more embarrassing than being caught staring at a possible stranger through a window like a creep. You thought you were walking fast enough to put distance between yourself and the shop, but when you felt someone grab a hold of your elbow—the feeling of despair engulfed you so quickly. Until you saw who grabbed you. 

The man who you were staring at. That sense of familiarity wasn’t nothing because you knew him. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

“I knew you looked familiar.” Your voice came out like a whisper as if you didn’t believe he was standing in front of you.

It’s been years since the last time you saw him. You remembered how kind he was when you two first met. Helping you carry baked goods and coffee orders in your internship building. Then two weeks later from that interaction, you saw him again at a farmer’s market in California. Then after that, the next time you saw him was when he was a part of Japan’s volleyball Olympics team. You didn’t want to admit that you thought about him a lot. Who wouldn’t? He was an attractive and genuine guy. The volleyball part was just an extra point. 

“Last time we saw each other, I remember specifically you talked my father’s head off over-”

“Marketing.” You finished his sentence, the distant memory of you practically forcing him to be the third wheel with his day with his father made you cringe. “I’m sorry about that by the way. Thinking back on it, it was extremely intrusive.” 

“Eh, it’s fine. My father still talks about you up to this day, you know? Quote on quote said I should date a girl like you. I can see why he would say that.” His eyes scan over your face to your body and now even though you are covered in a sweater dress—you feel bare. 

The heat that spread from your fingertips to your cheeks made you want to fan yourself. “It’s good to see you again, Ushijima.”

“Wakatoshi..” He corrects. 

Your lips curve into a smile of warmth before speaking again, “Wakatoshi.” 

You liked how that felt, and you can tell that he enjoyed you saying it. The tip of his ears was as red as your purse that was hanging on your shoulder. Soon that deep crimson color imparts across his cheeks. He looks down at his shoes in embarrassment before attempting to speak through the fact that he is blushing in front of you.

“Are you free tonight? Meeting my friend and his co-workers at this bar not too far away from here.” Wakatoshi questions. 

“Yes, I’m just enjoying the last couple of days here before I head back.”

“And when is that?”

“Two days.”

“Great.” was the only thing that left his mouth before he grabbed your hand and walked through the crowd of people towards the bar.

Here you two sat in a bar full of people and that feeling of it only being you two returned. Thighs briefly brushed against each other while you were in a booth together, practically ignoring the environment around each other. Even though the two of you could only send wide grins toward each other, you still felt this strange feeling of comfort wiggle up your spine. Even growing comfortable to lean back further in your seat into Ushijima’s arm that was resting on the back of the booth seat.

“Okay, you have half a million followers. How can I build my following?” Tendou slides his phone across the table to show you his Instagram account.

You glance at his phone briefly. He had a pretty decent following for a chocolatier. From your conversations with him, while you were here with him and Ushijima, he had a bright and energetic personality that you were sure would win people over. You scrolled through his photos of different chocolate he’s made and even some fun photo dumps. His likes on his photos were extremely stable considering the platform’s strange algorithm. Quite obvious it was actual people liking his photos and not bots. 

“You have a decent following and interesting stuff on your page. Have you tried recording a day in your life video?” You asked. “I think it would be cool for people to see the life of a chocolatier.” You shrug your shoulders and slide your phone to him.

“I never thought to do that,” Tendou snatches up his phone to glance through his Instagram again. Soon a young woman caught his attention and he abruptly excused himself, uttering how he had to use his French to good use. 

“So, how’s your social media looking?” You questioned before your eyes looked up at Ushijima. “Do you even have any social media pages? You look like a very reserved guy..” Your words trail off realizing that maybe this was a bit intrusive that came off.

“Not a social media person, but my manager insists I make an Instagram account to connect with fans.” He pulls his phone out, unlocking it swiftly to show you his page.

He had more followers than you and verified. But he had only two photos on his page. One was dated back to a year when he first signed to the Schweiden Alders and the other was with his dad, who you assumed was in California. 

“You only have two pictures. Why? If you mind me asking.” 

“I just don’t see the point of having millions of people to be able to see important details of my life every day. That’s how people begin to construct their own opinions about you even though they merely only see what you post on the internet.” He sips from his beer bottle. 

You hummed at his answer, letting it debrief in your head. You never thought about it that way considering your career choice. Granted, you don’t share a lot about your personal life—but you were a very public person. Over a half million people knew you were in Paris at the moment, but for Ushijima, no one knew he was here unless they were Tendou, his close friends, and maybe some volleyball fans. 

“But your job must be quite interesting though. You have half a million people wanting details on your outfits and such.” He tries to lighten the atmosphere because he can tell that his words are causing you to think deeply.

“I’m grateful for that since they do help a girl eat, but I see why you’re so private. You’re like an all-star volleyball player. I’m sure social media could throw your game off.”

“It does, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Sports journalists are much harsher, you know.” His fingers traced alongside the rim of his beer bottle.

“How’s your parents?” You asked. “I’m sure your dad is loving the Cali weather,” You add. 

“They’re good. We can officially be in a room together without any back and forth. Think they do it just for me though,” his shoulders shrug and you manage to take note of how broad his shoulders are. 

Maybe you were gawking at his appearance. The last time you saw him, he had height on him. Maybe he grew a bit taller over the years. You definitely can tell whatever workout plan he had made him gain more muscle too. 

“That’s good to hear. I’m sure they’re super proud to see how far you have come.” You cheesed at him and he finished the last bit of his beer before the two of you were interrupted. 

These two young men stood with a huge smile on their faces. Faces as red as the red Sharpie one of them held in their hand. You knew they weren’t there for you, so you only laughed as Ushijima waited for them to spit out what they wanted. 

“We’re huge fans. Can we get some pictures and an autograph?” One asked. 

Ushijima looked at you with an apologetic look that you simply giggled at before letting him talk to his fans. In the meantime, you watch as he talks to the two guys as if he knew them for years. A huge smile on his face and his eyes twinkling like the night stars, seeing him like this felt nice. It brought comfort to you in a sense. During the time of them talking, a waitress placed shots down on the table that the fans brought. In return, you volunteered to take the picture of the trio and watch as Ushijima scribbled his autograph on a spare napkin on the table you two sat at. 

“We’re sorry for interrupting your date. Thanks for the picture and autograph.” One of the guys says before leaving—not giving either you or Ushijima time to correct him that this wasn’t a date. 

You went to make a joke about it, but your phone interrupted that. You quickly down the shot in front of you and make your escape out of the booth. 

“I have to take this call.” You seem to yell over the loud music playing in the bar. You went to stand up to take the phone call outside, but you felt Ushijima tug you back.

“Let me go with you,” You felt his hand grab yours instantly as he slid from outside the booth.

“I’m not going to get lost, you know?” You glance back at him briefly before leading him out of the bar. 

The two walked right by Tendou who was talking with a co-worker and as soon as he saw you two walking towards the door, his bright red eyebrows raised in curiosity. Most likely thinking you two were calling it a night after the extensive round of shots Ushijima fan brought him after he autographed a napkin for him. 

You thought it was strange for someone from one of the brands you work for to call you so late at night. Especially when you had spoken to them earlier—correction, you even did your part of the deal and finally posted the product review they were hounding you for. You listened to the agent talk about how they wanted you to post a review on their newest lipstick line that was being released in two weeks. But as they were throwing out their demands through your tipsy hiccups, they weren’t mentioning anything about increasing your pay.

You were a bit intoxicated and on the phone, with someone from a company you were a brand ambassador for. The night Paris wind brushed against your smooth brown legs under your sweater dress and you thought your body was going to shiver, but the closeness of Ushijima was like a personal heater. His eyes stared down at you with lust and charm while you were listening to the person on the other end. 

They do say some wines can be classified as an aphrodisiac. Perhaps it was the alcohol because you wanted him. You yearned for him just as much as you did years ago when you first met him. The heat that pooled in between your thighs crept up on you when you noticed Ushijima’s eyes scan over your lip gloss-covered lips. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

You couldn’t quite remember if you said yes. But you remembered your timid nods as you leaned to meet him halfway to close the gap between you two. You remembered ending the phone call without a care (and was sure you wouldn’t hear the last of it during your next Zoom meeting). And you remembered how Wakatoshi's lips felt. Soft, smooth, and plushable. He was a stern kisser, it went well with his personality. You could feel his fingertips on the back of your neck locking you in place for him to deepen the kiss. His tongue traced alongside your full lips aching to taste all the alcohol that stained your tongue. His knee breaks apart from your thighs as soon as your lips gasp apart to let him in. Your fingers interlock in his brown hair tugging him closer and your left thigh lifts just a bit for his free hand to grab upon.

Was it cliche to say you’ve never been kissed like this before? The way your lips moved with each other, you would have thought that the two of you had done this before. Perhaps in another life, you two were former lovers. That would explain the chemistry you two bounced off each other within the night and right now under the bright moon that gave you little light in the space you were camped out. 

During the heated makeout session, you could feel his fingerings up the dress you wore and your body instantly heated up. It was Wakatoshi doing this to you, of course, your body would feel like it was running a fever. But the idea of doing this here in an alley as drunken strangers walk by turned you on. Yes, it was scandalous if someone snapped a picture. There goes your brand deals and maybe a decrease in followers, but this was Wakatoshi. You would do anything to feel his expensive fingers rub against your clit. 

After the alleyway interaction, he spent the remaining two days with you. Even though he technically was supposed to leave the next morning—he extended your fairytale of making you feel like the most important woman in the world. Embracing those last forty-eight hours with you as if it were his last specks of air escaping his lungs. 

You remembered his last words before you were boarding your plane. A foolish grin on your glowing face and fingers intertwined with his like a love-sick character from a romance novel. 

“Is it odd to say I want us to work?” He admits. “And we only just rekindled two days ago.” 

“Then I’ll see you at your game next week.” 

“Really?”

“Let’s make this work, Wakatoshi.”

⤷‧₊˚ cuties that wanted to be tagged | @salaciousdoll @honeybleed @mitsuyasfavorite @saltypuffin1040 @torusbitch @lotustv @superslutny @kokonoiscoconut @queendijaaaa @jamaicanqueenaa @liyawritesss @tojiscumdumpster @threezzyo @markleedreams @tenshithetinysuccubby @ryukenzz @strawhatsav @shyartnerd564 @renestudio @theebussyqueensblog

[fanaticsnail]

You Kissed the Clown? Part 15 (CONCLUSION)

It's over. It's finished: the one-shot that turned into a 15 part mini-series. I have enjoyed this journey so much with you all. Thank you for taking the time to read my work and give me pointers on navigating Tumblr formatting. It's been fun.

Part 14 here, Masterlist here.

Word Count: 4,671

Damp clothes clutched to every crevasse of your body as you lay on the warm sand beneath the rising sun. You continued to laugh at yourself as you caught your breath upon the shore; the waves lapping at your toes as the tide continued to fall away into the sea.

You hoisted yourself up onto your elbows, gazing into the retreating form of Nezumi’s mouse-like figure head as it continued to vanish into the open ocean. A sigh escaped your lips as you checked over your completely soaked clothes and begun to feel overwhelmed with the coastal breeze against the weight of the material.

“Clearly, I didn’t think this through very well,” you thought to yourself, chastising your actions as the consequences now cling against your skin and weigh you down, “where did I put my satchel? Which tree was it again?”

You rose to a sitting position before attempting to bring yourself to your feet, under the weighted material. Brushing your damp hair from your face, you rose to your feet and began to search for the tree you placed your equipment from the Going Merry against as you rigged the explosive on Nezumi’s ship. The material of your skirts slapped against your thighs and calves, beginning to fall slightly at your hips under the weight; your tinkering tool-belt only offering a small amount of support to keep it upright against your waist.

Huffing out a breath again at your prior actions, you hoisted the bottom of the skirt into your hands; picking up a sprint on the dampened sands below your feet. As your feet staggered against the forever moving grit of the beach, you stumbled a little as you continued on towards the tree you left your equipment against.

The tree swayed within the breeze as your bag lay secure and waiting for your return. You sighed in relief and began to shed the many damp layers from your body, remaining in your undergarments, and draping them against one of the horizontal branches protruding from the tree. Squinting your eyes, you looked towards the yellow, rising sun and nodded your head at the indication of the time.

You huffed out a breath to collect yourself while bracing your arms against your chest to warm your ribs, whispering to yourself; “where did I put that talc rock again?”

You heard a loud explosion as if a large building had been toppled inland, your eyes widening at the reverberations. Your gaze drifted back to the road leading towards the town where you sprinted down after docking the Going Merry.

“I hope they’re alright,” you uttered in a small voice, allowing your thoughts to trail off into what would’ve happened should you had remained with your crew. Continuing to trail your arms over your torso, you began to contemplate whether it would be a wise choice to redress yourself over your semi-damp clothes or allow them to dry naturally in the breeze.

Given the indication of the explosion inland, you began to sift through your bag for something loose and appropriate; unaware of the approaching presence behind you.

-

“Where are you, Baby?” Buggy murmured franticly to himself from the small pillar of sand as he reached the coast; the peer off to the left. As his eyes met with the ship docked against it, his eyes bulged at the sight. He clutched his chest to catch his breath up with the rest of him, overexerting his body in its sprint from Arlong Park to the coastline.

“Marines,” he hissed in shock, maneuvering his gaze around the dunes in search for any indication you were alive and close by. From the corner of his eye, he spots a small flutter of material draped against a tree. “Your skirt?”, he thought to himself, his body propelled forward by his will; not allowing him to fully catch his breath against the trees surrounding him.

“Don’t be dead. Please, don’t be dead,” he repeated in his mind over and over again. The look from the swordsman and the expression on the cook’s face had no indication on why you had separated from them, leaving him with very little to work with in his constant state of overthought.

Heavy footsteps trailed against the sand, the weight shifting the coarse substance beneath his feet, prompting him to stumble clumsily over in his stride. Using his hands, knees and feet to drive him forward, limbs continually succumbing under the unstable sand from the dunes below, he spies your body rising from a hunched position; a towel clutched in your grasp.

“There she is. There’s my girl,” he cooed in his mind; reminiscent of the time he finally confessed his affections for you with Cabaji. Cheeks flushed from exhaustion, he became overwhelmed with relief as he raked his eyes over your body in search of affliction or injury. He then realised how exposed you were, eyes bulging for the second time in the span of five minutes.

-

You began to dab at your face with the plush towel you found within your satchel, sighing as the sand managed to be rid from your body since locating and using the talc-powder you made for Buggy a few days prior. You wrung your hair out over your right shoulder and watched the droplets fall onto the sand as you felt something warm falling over your shoulders. Flinching at the unknown presence, you began to panic and shrug at the material; only to find two strong arms circle around your shoulders and hold you against a warm torso.

“Easy, sweets,” a voice whispered against your left ear as you felt lips kiss your upper helix, “just trying to get you warm.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, your voice managing to whisper a soft; “Buggy?”

“Here in the flesh,” he chuckled against your wet hair, moving his lips against your hairline, “with all my parts accounted for.”

You turned around in his arms to face him, gaze trailing from his mustard-coloured cravat hanging loosely from his throat; noting no lines indicating a prior severance of his head from atop his shoulders. Your eyes trailed up to meet with the blue-green hues you had come to adore, laying half-lidded behind his large, red nose.

He placed his gloved hands atop your shoulders as he bore his gaze down against your own irises. Reaching his left hand up to your hair, he flicked the damp ends away from your face and righthand side of your neck to trail down the back of his camel-coloured jacket, away from your face.

“How long do we have?” he asked, flittering his gaze between your two eyes and triangulating his gaze down to meet with your parted lips, “I just want to hold you one last time before you go.”

You furrowed your brows and shook your head slightly; “Buggy-.”

“-I just want you-,” he cut you off, bringing his gloved right hand to smooth over the back of your redrying hair, “-for as long as I can before you go back to them.”

“Buggy-,” you said a little more firmly, hoping to break him away from his intrusive thoughts and dialogue to inform him of your choice. You were met with no such hope of explanation before he stooped his neck low to meet your face.

Without allowing you to complete your sentence, your lips were met with the red-tint of the clown you so adored, noting his eyes immediately closed upon impact with a subtle glisten of a whispering tear at the corner of his eyes as he held you in his arms.

His kiss was soft, loving: gentle. All of those things you were not anticipating as he laid his desires out to you a few days prior. You began slowly closing your eyes and relaxing in his arms, lacing your hands around his waist; dragging slightly from his ribs before they settled around his back. You felt his breath hitch as he melted into your touch, a soft whimper escaping his lips as you held him against yourself. Pressing open mouthed kisses against his lips, you began to sooth him by rubbing soft circles against his lower back with your hands in reassurance.

“Please,” he whispered against your lips as he trailed his gloved hand over your hair to rest on either side of your cheeks, “please stay with me.” He whimpered a small noise from between his lips as his grasps and kisses became desperate; trying to pull you against him with more force to brace his body with yours: “I can’t live without you.”

His voice was muffled against your lips, but you felt his sob all the same. You began to giggle at his words against his mouth, noting he stiffened against you at your reaction. He broke from your lips and bore a frown at you, his eyes glaring deeply into your own at your reaction.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he whispered, trailing his right hand down to grasp your chin, pulling your gaze up to meet his, “I’m not going for comedy right now, honey.”

Although his ferocity was laced with subtle sarcasm, you couldn’t help but find his words humorous, another giggle erupting from within your chest and halting in your mouth. Your eyes softened, a broad smile appearing upon your freshly red-tinted lips under the earlier ministrations.

“Buggy-,” you began, unlacing your right, bandage-wrapped hand from his waist and bringing the semi-damp material up to rest on his cheek, “-I’m not going with the Straw-Hat crew. I’m going with you.”

You traced his stubble-adorned cheek with your hand, noting the way his expression moved from sorrowful, to enraged to settling on complete shock. Silence fell between the two of you, the genius jester’s jaw falling slack as he failed to grasp the threshold-concept of your confession within his mind. He dropped his hands from your chin and cheek to fall again to your shoulders as his eyes glazed over, bulging slightly at the sockets as he processed the words you had spoken. You took this moment to study him; his eyes having a small trail of fallen tears against his painted cheeks, partially dried in the sea air.

“W-what?” he stuttered out, his eyes then darting back from their overthinking lapse and falling back to your own. You giggled and brought your left hand up to his right cheek and soothed them with gentle movements to not disturb his paint, the navy stubble prickling the skin against your palms.

“You, Buggy,” you uttered, brushing your nose lightly against his own, affectionately; “I chose you.”

His eyes continued to flitter between yours as he attempted to pass through the threshold of understanding the words you were speaking, as if the concept and words coming from your lips were completely foreign to him. “Y-you what-?” he stuttered again, searching your eyes for any hint of dishonestly; to which he found none.

“-If you’ll have me, of course,” you giggled, pressing a small, chaste kiss against his lips before adding “I’m not sure what use a tinkerer would be in something as eccentric as a-.”

Your words were halted as the Clown-Captain laced his hands below your arms and hoisted you upwards, his lips once again finding your own as he spun you within the air, circling you as he laughed against your lips in pure joy. Lacing your own hands around his neck, you allowed yourself to be twirled within his arms. The smile he held against your lips was contagious, prompting a large smile to catch against your own lips.

The taste of the sea, the feel of his arms effortlessly lifting your body as he twirled you completely overwhelmed your heart as you experienced the bittersweet union with him, dampened only by the sorrow of removing yourself from the Straw-Hat crew. The sorrow was short lived as he brought his lips away from your own and triumphantly declared: “You chose me!” with a roar of infectious laughter following.

As he placed you down, he immediately cowered as a large, booming explosion resounded throughout the ocean. Your eyes both sprung to the sea to meet with a large, tan cloud; littered with golden glitter and a slightly red-hue. The profile of the Straw-Hat’s Jolly Roger thrust against the tan smoke, an indication of your prior loyalty within the skull-like reverberation of colour: a straw hat littering the top with gold glitter cascading down into the smoke.

“What the fuck was that?” Buggy uttered in shock, looking from the shroud back to meet with your semi-dressed body.

“Going out with a bang, sweetheart,” you teased him, pulling him into you by his cravat, “a fitting conclusion to end my prior loyalty.”

You again teased him with a small peck-like caress against his lips, breaking away only to reassure him: “my loyalty and my heart now belong to you.” You stroked his cheek once again, bringing his gaze back to settle on your own, reassuring him with a simple; “only you.”

He inhaled a sharp breath, sitting high in his chest as he was overwhelmed by a sense of pride at your declaration, choosing to relax into your touch with his eyes closed before unceremoniously dropping to the ground on his knees in front of you.

Placing his gloved hands around the backs of your thighs, he laced his bare arms within the large, camel-coloured cloak he had draped upon your shoulders; you felt the soft touch of his arm hair brush against your legs at this action. He pulled his face in to rest against your stomach and breathed in against your bare skin.

“Marry me,” he uttered into your stomach, pressing feather-light kisses against your skin as he smoothed his gloved hands against the back of your thighs. You laughed, bringing your left hand down to his chin to bring his gaze to look up at you. His eyes were wide and full of adoration as he gazed lovingly at you.

“Ask me properly one day when we’re not surrounded by death and destruction and fully safe,” you teetered off your laughter into a soft giggle, using your index finger to affectionately tap his red nose, “and I’ll think about it.”

“I mean it” he said, stuttering and falling over his words, “I really do, baby.”

He rose to his feet, removing his hands from your thighs and trailing his way up to lace his glove-clad hands within your own; “I want you to rule at my side as queen when I claim the One-Piece, ruling as King of the Pirates.”

You shook your head with a small smile, reminiscing in your mind about your prior oath to serve under Luffy as king, vowing to create a piece for him and him alone as ruler. You unlaced your left hand from his and caressed his cheek, prompting him to press a chaste kiss against your palm.

“Marry me,” he uttered against your left palm, “let me truly make you mine.” He removed his left hand from your right and circled it around your waist, beneath his great tanned cloak that he so thoughtfully lay upon your shoulders.

“Buggy,” you sighed, teetering a soft giggle at the end of his name, “can I at least get dressed first before you proposition me? I’m a tad bare, love.”

“Bare, clothed, completely naked,” he groaned as he pulled you flush against his torso, “I don’t care so long as you tell me you’re mine-.” His breath hitched in his throat at this declaration, as his eyes grew wide with inspiration; “-and I’ll be yours. Truly, completely, yours. All of me.”

He pulled away from your embrace, prompting you to furrow your brows at him. His foot leapt from its position against his calf as it lay down at you unclothed feet – severed from his body. It was then followed by the other foot, then his calves, knees and thighs joining alongside them laying down before you.

“All of me, baby,” he uttered before he completely fell apart and lay himself at your feet. You chuckled at his action and shook your head, reaching your arms down to reclaim his decapitated head from the pile of askew body parts.

“Oh, Buggy,” you chastised him, lifting his head from the pile to meet with your face, “pull yourself together, love.” He furrowed his brows at you before his body leapt to life once more, all of the pieces pulling together below him to form the completed body of the clown you had come to adore.

“You have my heart,” he said, bringing his hands to clutch at his chest; removing a portion of his torso and presenting it to you. You shrieked, noting the piece that became untethered from him to be the beating organ located between his lungs, behind his ribcage.

“Buggy! You put that back in your body right now!” you ordered him, a smile breaking onto your face at his foolishness as you chastised him

“But it belongs to you!” he whined, “please hold onto it for me and keep it safe-.”

You immediately shook your head and placed the object within your fingertips into his chest to be received within his cavity. He immediately reached out his gloved hands to grasp your wrists as you placed the organ within his chest once again.

“And if you fall into sea water?” you asked him, bringing your eyes back up to meet with his, noting his eyes were littered with sorrow, “what then? You can’t live without that organ in your chest.”

He thought on it for a moment, a whisper of clarity eclipsed his mind as he released your hands from his grasp. He reached down into his lefthand side and removed another internal organ and placed it into your hands close to his chest.

“What is this?” you asked him, furrowing your brows and looking slightly uneasy at another body part being thrust upon you. He chuckled and looked down at the small organ.

“My appendix,” he uttered, “something I can survive without if I call into the ocean, but equally a part of me as my heart is.”

“Buggy,” you warned him after inhaling a deep breath, “I want all of you. All of you. With everything as intact as you are now.” You reached the organ down into his lefthand side and allowed his stomach to detach slightly to reclaim the object.

“Is that a yes?” he whispered, keeping his eyes fixed on your hands, watching as they soothed over the skin beneath his waistcoat.

“A yes to what, love?” you asked him, bringing your own gaze from the flesh on his side up to look into his eyes.

“Marry me,” he again demanded, bringing his gaze up to your own, his lips parted a little as he shakily inhaled and exhaled his breath, “I’ve got it bad, sweetheart. You have no idea.” You shook your head at him before trailing in to nuzzle your nose against his own.

“Again,” you reiterated, “ask me properly one day and I’ll truly think about it.”

He growled a little, playfully and with a smile, as he brought your left hand up to his cheek again and nipped his teeth at your palm.

“Fine,” he relinquished his line of questioning in a low tone, “but when I ask you properly, I expect a serious answer.”

“And you shall have it, my love,” you smiled at him, reaching your lips up to press a small kiss against his cheek, “now I have a question for you.”

“Name it, my queen, and I shall bring the world on its knees before you,” he growled, eyes narrowing in both seriousness and complete playfulness.

“That’s not necessary right now, love,” you chuckled at him warmly. You looked about the peer, noting only the large marine ship be docked against it; the Going Merry on the other side of the Conomi Islands, “what is; is a way off this island.”

“You know,” Buggy broke from his intense gaze held against you and began scratching his chin in thought, “that’s a good point. Any ideas?”

You laughed whole heartedly before flinging yourself into the arms of your love, seeking his lips out with your own and claiming them as yours for a long, drawn out kiss. He chuckled against your lips, trailing his gloved hands over your body; accidentally removing his large coat from your shoulders in the process. He clutched you against himself as he groaned against your lips, your hands pulling at the flesh beneath his waistcoat, taking his hips within them and pulling them into your own body.

Finding a way off Conomi Island was secondary to your needs right now, and what you needed was your Captain, cradled against you and whimpering into your lips as you held him within your arms.

-

Walking over to the wall, Buggy withdrew a large sheet of parchment paper that lay pinned against it and moved to take a seat against a solitary dining table; chuckling sinisterly as he read over the words.

“30,000,000?” he uttered in between giggles before all humour fled from his face as he shook the paper straight and growled darkly, “I’ll kill the little shit myself.”

“If you don’t, I will,” a woman with dark hair spoke from the other side of the room, raising her tankard upwards as to solidify her words spoken. Buggy turned, an unnerving smile finding itself upon his face in response.

“You will,” you commanded the two other occupants in the small tavern, raising your chin up into the air as you held two goblets of wine within your index and middle fingers, “do no such thing.”

You made your way over to the side table where Buggy was sitting at, placing the parchment down on the table in front of you. Placing the wine down on the table in front of him before raising one of the goblets to your lips and claimed the paper within your fingertips.

“You don’t owe him any more loyalty, my queen,” your beloved captain sighed, allowing a softness to befall over his eyes while his tone remained harsh. Your gaze softened as you looked at the ‘Wanted’ poster of your former captain, brushing over the figure of his smiling face with fondness.

“That may be true, my love,” you smiled at him, returning your gaze to him reaching your freshly healed right hand up to his cheek and caressing it after releasing the wanted poster from your grasp, “but he remains my friend and I will cherish him always.”

Buggy growled against your palm, placing a chaste kiss against it before reaching his gloved left hand up to grasp your right and maneuvered your knuckles to lay before his freshly painted lips.

“The things I do, or don’t do, for you, sweetheart,” he whispered his warm breath against your knuckles, pressing a long kiss against them before trailing his lips upwards over your wrist and atop your forearm, littering the skin with small kisses along the way. Your eyes became half-lidded as you watched his lips trail upwards your arm with passion and vigour. The only cause for pause of this affection being the other occupant of the small tavern.

“And what’s stopping me from killing him, sweetheart?” the woman asked in a jesting tone, an eyebrow arched at your public actions. You softened your eyes as you broke them away from your love, gazing into her dark irises and moved to speak; only to have your words halt as Buggy spoke for you.

“Bribery,” you uttered playfully, continuing your gaze to remain unmoving from Buggy’s as he gazed hungrily into your own eyes, “anything you desire-.”

“-Careful,” Buggy playfully warned; speaking over your charm, breaking away from littering your arm with kisses to address the dark-haired woman, “This one goes in lips first.”

You snapped your eyes into a grimace scowling at him, watching how his eyes glinted a charming playfulness behind them.

“For fucks sake, not you too,” you groaned, attempting to withdraw your hand from within his grasp only to have it firmly remain within his clutches; chuckling as he placed more kisses against your skin to satiate your fury.

“Yes, me too,” he chuckled at you in teasing, picking up his wine and draining the contents within with haste, “now drink up, we set sail in ten.”

“Where to, Captain?” you asked him, raising the goblet to your lips and taking a small sip, smirking while maintaining eye contact.

“We’ve got a crew, we’ve got a ship,” he listed, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he continued to watch you slowly drink the contents of your goblet, “wherever the wind, and gold, takes us.”

You finished the contents within your goblet and placed the object down against the tabletop, reclaiming the wanted poster from the surface and folded it up, placing it in your tinkerers bag. Your captain stood before you, reaching his gloved left hand down to reach for your own to aid you to your feet.

“Where are you taking that?” he murmured to you, nodding down to the ‘Wanted’ poster in your satchel.

“I’ll be writing to my brother to settle an account,” you nodded your head, smiling at your Captain as you spoke, “he’ll need to know who will be coming to him.”

Buggy thought on this for a moment before speaking, “why don’t we go there? To your brother, I mean.”

“Why would you want to do that?” you asked him, furrowing your brows in curiosity with a small smile propping up your lips.

“I want to meet them all, baby,” he cooed at you, “the fourteen, your Dad; everyone.”

You shook your head at him before adding; “that sounds wonderful, my love. They’re going to adore you. Maybe you could bring your show into town? Put on a performance, charge a bit at the gate?”

He sighed in complete adoration; “and this is why I love you.”

You laughed at him as he brought your cheek up to his lips and placed a warm, wet kiss against it while grasping your chin to keep you steady.

“Is that all?” you giggled.

“That,” he uttered against your ear, “and I am dying to know what sounds will be so absolutely illicit, my crew would need to seek exorcism to rid their souls from the memories and images conjured to them every time they close their eyes.”

A warm tinge rose to your cheeks at this comment, starting at your chest and climbing its way up to your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

“I also,” he continued, kissing your cheek once more before releasing you from his grasp, “want you to see your former crew again. Catch up for old times sake; especially the swordsman: Cabaji permitting.”

The warmth of his prior words calmed themselves to rest in a pink, love-struck tinge across your cheeks as you smiled at his intentions.

“And that,” you whispered to him, stroking his cheek fondly, “is why I chose you.”

He sighed into your hand before shaking himself free and looking to the other occupant in the tavern.

“You coming, Alvida?” he asked her over his shoulder, “we set sail immediately.”

“Aye, Captain,” she smirked, placing down her schooner atop the table once she drained it, “although I fear I’ll regret that choice.”

You chuckled lightly at her comment, lacing your right arm with Buggy’s left and allowing him to lead you on to set sail on his ship toward the familiar coast of your home; from there, who knows? Adventure awaits, and you’re more than happy to tinker alongside your captain to create objects of fantastical nature with precious metals, shimmering stones and intricate cog pieces: a gift to present as prize to the king of the pirates once they claimed the One-Piece.

Your King: Buggy D. Clown; with you ruling with your heart as Queen by his side.

The End

Tag List:

@thesadvampire @a-phan-of-youtube @multifandombtch @plan3t-plut0 @tiredemomama @tfamidoingwithmylife @bimboshaggy @plan3t-plut0 @vixnicknacks @tesha-i-guess@glitteryblizzardsalad @hellbaby237 @shuujin @nevaeh-jasso @hellbaby237 @gingernut1314 @sl00tty-v @redpool @lostfirefly @knightsfavoriteprincess @valen-yamyam16 @potatodaddy @luckyprincesswasteland @str4wberrydreams @misadventures0fdes @sordidmusings

(thank you for investing so much to be added to the tag list. It's been wonderful writing for both myself and you all)

[officialdaydreamer00]

Just me thinking abt how every dorm could probably give you something fo match with their dorm (cough cough, they want to convince you to go with them unlike the other dorms—)

Heartslabyul gives you a checkered heart clip to wear on whatever you want

SavanaClaw gives a colorful necklace (similar to the one on Leona’s neck and Ruggie’s shirt)

Octavinelle gives a shell keychain to you

Scarabia gives you gold colored bracelets

Pomefiore gives a crown pin to pin on your uniform

Ignihyde gives you a watch with their color scheme

And Diasomnia gives you briar rose earrings

All of them just matching those items with you while also competing for your favored dorm

honestly i think it'd be like

because you received something from all seven dorms, you decided to spend each day of the week for each of the dorms.

on monday, you'd go with your heartslabyul friends. you opted to pin the clip on your blazer collar and kept it secured there for the rest of the day. riddle nodded to you, and he took it upon himself to fix your outfit if he ever deemed it 'unkempt'. no, it's not an excuse for him to be closer to you, obviously it's because your collar is a little crooked and you didn't notice that.

tuesday was with savanaclaw. you turned the colourful bead necklace into a bracelet, wrapping it around your non-dominant wrist. leona that fucking cat (affectionately) was smug as hell when he saw you with the necklace (now turned makeshift bracelet) he personally gave you.

octavinelle was wednesday. you didn't usually bring ramshackle's key in your pockets, so the keychain was attached to the side of your belt. floyd took great pleasure in picking you up and carrying you to places, "'cause lil' shrimpy will get lost in the sea of minnows without this big ol' eel!" or something along the line. jade only follow behind you two with a chuckle.

thursday quickly came by. kalim encouraged you to wear scarabia's gold bracelets that he gave you. how could you deny him, when he was asking you with such a bright smile on his face? he was dragging you around campus by the way, jamil walked behind the both of you and sighed like a tired disappointed parent he was lmao.

friday rolled by. pomefiore dorm leader vil himself handed you the crown pin. he also asked you to accompany him on a leisure stroll with rook and epel, and at the end of the day, he even bent down to give your forehead a lil smooch. his lipstick might be smudged, but your confused flustered face was entertaining enough for him to ignore it. be grateful for that potato.

idia had ortho pull you to an unused classroom on saturday, only to hand you a watch in ignihyde's colour scheme, dorm logo and all. idia himself might not want to go outside, so it's either ortho who dragged you around campus, or you all holed up in idia's room to play video games or binge anime.

diasomnia held you hostage (/lh) on sunday. well, malleus already gifted you the earrings on your late night rendezvous right after you came back from ignihyde. he invited you to the dorm the next morning, and kinda just keep you there for the rest of the day. lilia had the time of his life jumpscaring you the moment you got pass the gates, though.

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reblogs are appreciated!

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Prisoner of War (Imprisoning War)

Despite the chaos of the battle, something distinct caught Ganondorf’s attention. In a sea of red hair and brown skin paired with leather and steel, in a sea of armor and white banners, there was light gold, like the pale yellow chrysanthemums Orik had gifted to Hemisi.

Orik. Link.

Link was here.

Damn that child. He’d told him to stay away. He knew the boy hadn’t listened, but to have the audacity to fight where Ganondorf himself was…

Well, he had to admit the boy had far more gumption to him than he’d realized. It was no wonder Hemisi had fallen for him.

Ganondorf caught the attention of his commander. “Bring Link to me. Alive.”

XXX

It had been no small feat.

Link was a menace on the battlefield. The boy had gotten far better with that blasted sword, swinging it with ease, dodging and weaving around the Gerudo and monster attacks. He clearly still favored getting in close and personal, often tripping up his enemies so they’d lose their footing before he dove in for a finishing blow. There was no hesitation to it, either – the young fighter was no stranger to killing at this point.

Nevertheless, he went down when Ganondorf cut off the reinforcements that were around him, leaving him to be overwhelmed.

With their Hero captured, the enemy forces had to fall back. It seemed Link was enough of a powerhouse that they couldn’t win the fight without him – at least their general thought so.

Ganondorf waited in his tent, adrenaline fresh in his system, slowly taking his armor off as the guards dragged the boy to him. He heard their approach easily; Link was moaning, clearly hurt, and it made the Gerudo king tense up instinctively.

When they entered the tent, the women tossed the boy on the ground, and he let out a cry of pain. Ganondorf watched him a moment, eyes flicking up to his soldiers, and he dismissed them. Link shriveled into himself a little, though he didn’t seem to move his right leg, which looked misshapen.

Broken, most likely.

A part of the king felt vindicated. This is what happens when you don’t listen, he wanted to growl. But the way Link squeezed his eyes shut, tears mixing with sweat, face stained with blood and dirt…

Ganondorf sighed, kneeling down in front of him. “I told you to stay out of this, boy.”

Link grunted, breaths sharp and unsteady.

Ganondorf supposed there was little need to drive the point home. He’d said what he needed to. The lack of apology or acknowledgement was irritating, but understandable given the boy’s state.

The boy’s state. He remembered seeing the teenager laughing, throwing powders that matched every hue of light into the air during the Festival of Colors. He remembered seeing the boy smiling as he taught Hemisi traditional Sheikah dances and songs. He remembered the young man’s keen eyes glowing with wonder as he’d listened to him tell stories. He remembered the child’s desperate look for comfort, his fear and trust when he’d been so ill he could hardly breathe. He remembered the warmth in his heart when he’d taught the boy how to shave, how those expressive red eyes watched his every move, reminding him so much of Merovar’s younger years that it almost hurt.

And here now, he saw a warrior, bloodied and bruised and broken and in pain.

Ganondorf bit his tongue. Then he sighed, gently picking the boy up and laying him on the cot nearby. Link hissed in pain, jerking his entire body as his broken leg was jostled. The Gerudo didn’t bother to apologize for hurting the boy, still irate, but there was little point in arguing with the softer side that was screaming he clean the child up.

What would he do with him? He wondered as he slowly stripped the boy of his armor, removing first his belt and scarf, then his boot off his uninjured leg. He should have the boy taken back to Lagema, where he could be kept safe and out of the way. Hemisi would no doubt be thrilled.

Hemisi. He definitely wasn’t going to tell her about this until the boy was secured in the Gerudo capital. The last thing he needed was for her to get distracted. Though, perhaps she’d be even more motivated to ferociously defend the desert knowing she was protecting him as well as everyone else, rather than fighting against him. Who knew. The teenage drama that had been unfolding between the pair because of this conflict was an entirely different matter that Ganondorf did not have patience for at the moment.

Perhaps it was best Hemisi didn’t know for a good while. She would remain at her station on the edge of Hyrule territory, safe from the main conflict.

But if he wasn’t saving this boy for his daughter’s sake, then… what was he doing??

You know damn well that you’ve gotten attached too, his mind taunted him as he sighed heavily. He reached carefully for Link’s other boot, shushing him as he winced and moaned while he removed it.

Link lay trembling on the cot now, looking far too broken and beaten down for the Gerudo king’s liking. He pulled away the dark mask the boy wore, showing his young face, showing the tear tracks and the way he bit his tongue to stop himself from screaming and showing weakness.

He told himself he’d clean the boy up once he’d stripped off some more layers, reaching for his gloves next. Link needed a bath and a potion (a part of him wanted the boy to stay injured, as a lesson and a means to ensuring he didn’t escape, while another part of him screamed to heal him now, to stop his moans and cries and soothe his tears).

The right glove came off easily. The left—

Link hissed, pulling his hand away. Ganondorf gently reached for it again. “Let me look, child.”

Link glared in return, breaths coming in shaky heaves.

The Gerudo king huffed. “Of my three children, you were the gentlest and sweetest. Strange that you went to war first.”

“You started it!” Link snapped before wincing as he tried to sit up.

“I do remember your temper,” Ganondorf remarked, gently pushing him back down. “I warned you not to get involved, Link. I had you captured to protect you, and you still don’t think I’ll help you? Let me see your hand.”

“You betrayed—” Link cut himself off, lips trembling.

“Betrayed who?” Ganondorf asked, mildly annoyed. “You?”

There was silence for a long time, neither man breaking eye contact. Then Link muttered, tiredly, brokenly, “You’d said you cared. That you…”

The boy swallowed his words, doubling down on an attempt to be stoic and strong.

I put my entire operation at risk for you, idiotic child, he almost snapped, but Ganondorf didn’t voice it. He had no reason to justify himself to this boy. Instead, he said, “The Triforce is mine, Link.”

“It belongs to—”

“A foolish king!” Ganondorf interrupted. “Who throws his power away at anyone who grovels enough! Such a man is unworthy of divine power!”

“Ozen isn’t king anymore!” Link argued, sitting up again, breath growing erratic as he fought through the pain to make his point. “Zelda is the rightful ruler of Hyrule, and she’s a far better leader than you ever will be! She doesn’t put her people in peril for her own selfish desires! You ingratiated yourself to everyone so you could steal the Triforce, you never cared!”

Anger surged through him, and Ganondorf channeled it quickly, backhanding the defiant teenager. The force of the blow nearly sent the boy careening off the cot, but Link recovered quickly, glaring at him as if he hadn’t felt it despite how his lip bled.

They were getting nowhere. This boy wouldn’t listen! Ganondorf should just kill him and be done with it!

“Did your time with us mean so little to you?” he said in a low voice, surprising himself at the regret panging in his chest all of a sudden. Where had that come from? “Did Hemisi mean so little to you?”

Link’s anger melted in an instant, eyes widening, hurt evident. For a moment, Ganondorf saw the sweet, placating child he’d known, the fierce warrior fading into the background. “I… it… sh-she… she meant everything to me.”

That was a lie and he knew it. But the tears in the boy’s eyes were genuine, and Ganondorf hated how it was working on him.

“Yet you fight her people, her father,” he snapped in return.

Link’s tears vanished, replaced with a rage he hadn’t seen in the boy. “Did you expect me to lay down and let you try to destroy my country?”

“I expected loyalty if you truly loved her,” Ganondorf rebuked, voice darkening.

“You expect groveling,” Link hissed. “You expect slavery. My loyalty isn’t blind, I’m not the idiot you think I am!”

This was going nowhere and he knew it. His own temper was rising, and Link was working himself up so much his face was actually draining of color like he was about to pass out.

Idiot child, he berated the boy in his mind. And he berated himself – why had he thought it was a good idea to capture him?

It was honestly pointless denying that he’d grown attached to the boy. But it was equally pointless to see this ending well. Link was too far gone… wasn’t he?

He’d spared that boy when Link had found the Master Sword. Of all the times—if Ganondorf were to have ever killed him, it would have been then. It wasn’t as if the Gerudo king hadn’t been surprised, perhaps even horrified at the sight of it – a sword of destiny, imbued with divine power to defeat darkness, etched into the fabric of destiny and history as a beacon of hope for Hyrule against its enemies… and it was in the hands of a child Ganondorf had grown to love.

Link. It was supposed to be an anomaly. That name wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Destiny wasn’t supposed to meddle with his family.

Ganondorf gritted his teeth. Din’s warning echoed in the back of his mind, and he grew angrier for it. How dare she try to torment him like this? She, who had given him a second chance at life, who had placed him in this land after he’d nearly died at the hands of the sages, who had listened to his plea when she’d offered him an alternative, only for her to tear his family apart?

He felt his eyes widen a little at the thought of it. Since when had he started viewing Link as family, anyway? He’d known from the beginning, even from the night before the assault, that the boy would not join their fight.

Link fell back on to the pillow of the cot, whimpering a little at the sudden movement as he lost his strength. He tried to save face, scrunching his face and refusing to look the king in the eye. Ganondorf sighed, taking a step back to give them both some space.

He supposed he had presumed Link would join them when it was done. Because there wasn’t supposed to be a war. Not like this. It was supposed to be swift, decisive, quick and clean. The original plan was to take the Triforce and immediately take Hyrule with it. That would have simplified things. Ganondorf didn’t mind getting his hands dirty, and a war wasn’t going to stop him, but if it had gone the way it was supposed to, he’d already be ruling all the lands, his wife at his side, and his children would be happy.

Besides… now that war had broken out and he was seeing Link as a fierce warrior, he felt… even more admiration for the kid. The sweet Sheikah who was always so shy and quiet and acquiescing, who held a little mischief to his eye whenever Hemisi pulled him into silliness, who was always respectful, who had enough grit to prove to a culture of warriors that he could hold his own in a fight at twelve years old… he was really coming into his own. Ganondorf had to respect the boy’s determination, had to smile at how the little glimpses he’d gotten of the iron will the boy held were finally shining through. The Gerudo king had always loved a challenge, and the boy was certainly both presenting himself as one and rising up to meet the one he was facing.

Either way, he had to figure out what to do with the boy now. He’d mull it over more as he finished cleaning him up. The fewer words they said to each other, the better. He knelt down carefully, putting a hand over the boy’s chest to quietly let him know he was there.

Link’s eyes barely opened, sluggish and exhausted. Ganondorf gently pulled the hair tie out of the knots that had formed around clots in his hair, letting it fall down into the mess that it was. The boy feebly moved at the touch, sniffling. He was too tired to put up a fight anymore, as the king suspected he might be. The vulnerability that was laid bare as a result made Ganondorf’s heart ache far more than it had any right to.

“Oh, Link,” he sighed.

At the sound of his name, Link’s eyes opened entirely now, tracing around confusedly at the ceiling before settling on the king. The blood from where he’d hit him earlier had started to clot, leaving a trail of red syrupy crust from his lip to his ear. Ganondorf’s gut churned a little at the sight of it, and he was strangely on edge.

He’s not family yet, he reminded himself. He’s still fighting for the enemy.

This conflicting loyalty was growing tiring and irritating, but he still needed to follow through with the original plan. He was a man of action, not indecisive debate based on sentimentality. Looking the teenager over, he saw where he’d left off, one fingerless leather glove remaining on Link’s left hand. The boy had pulled away when he’d touched it, so it was likely hurt.

Ganondorf took the boy’s hand in his own. Whatever injury Link had, he could—

The glove slipped off Link’s trembling fingers easily, revealing a sacred mark.

The blessing of Farore was etched on his skin, like the remnants of a kiss from the goddess herself.

Ganondorf stared.

What?!

All this time, he’d been looking for the other pieces of the Triforce. All this time, he’d been waging war with little idea how he would actually obtain his goal.

And it was hidden in his child.

The goddesses truly did love to torment him, didn’t they? Or was this some sort of sign that he should bring the boy into the fold and protect him?

But Link knew. He knew what this signified, because he was trying to hide it, because the boy still tried to pull his hand away, succeeded in doing so as Ganondorf’s grip went slack.

He felt his temper rise to the forefront, and he rose with it. “You have one of the pieces?”

Link tucked his left hand into his armpit as if it could hide the evidence, eyes halfheartedly glaring behind a very thinly veiled fear.

He was afraid of him. Of course he was afraid of him. Ganondorf was his enemy.

Link had chosen that path! Ganondorf had warned him at their last confrontation, despite the obvious signs that he should kill the boy! He’d told him to stay out of the fight! And now, after ignoring such an order, he willingly kept the Triforce of Courage away from him! It was clear the boy’s loyalty was to the crown, as Ganondorf had always known it would be, and nothing would change that. He wasn’t going to swear his fealty to Hemisi or Ganondorf. He never would!

To think he was so close to achieving everything that he wanted…

Ganondorf swallowed, swallowed his temper and tried one last time.

“Give it to me,” he said as calmly as he could, reaching his hand out.

Link’s fear evaporated, replaced only with determination, eyes hardening.

Ganondorf’s patience snapped, and he threw his hand down, ramming it into the child’s broken leg. “GIVE IT TO ME!”

Link screamed. It tore into Ganondorf’s mind, shredding the red haze that clouded his vision, but his heart raced and his desire for power thrummed just as loudly.

He wasn’t giving up his plans for a boy who wasn’t even family, who purposefully chose to not join his family. He refused. He gripped the warrior’s broken leg more firmly and, with his other hand, reached for his left wrist. Link couldn’t fight him, completely overrun with agony, but despite the sacred relic staring at him and mocking him, he couldn’t access it.

“Give up the Triforce of Courage or perish!” Ganondorf threatened.

Link gasped for air before seeming to get a hold of himself. He watched Ganondorf a moment, giving the king a moment of hope, before the boy spat at him, eyes vicious.

Ganondorf grabbed the brat by the throat, raising him into the air, snarling with fury. Link struggled, left leg trying to kick, tears freely falling as he clutched desperately at the man’s grip around his neck.

Tears. Tears.

He’s crying. You’re killing him.

He was a traitor!!

He’s a child!

He was standing between Ganondorf and victory!

Hemisi won’t forgive you for killing him.

Hemisi had to learn how to handle the cruelty of the world. This boy was a traitor to her as well as him.

You love him too.

Ganondorf’s grip tightened. Link’s struggling grew weaker.

The Gerudo king let out a shaky exhale, letting his fingers relax a little, other hand reaching up to grip the boy’s tunic instead as he finally released his throat. Link rasped, a wretched, unhealthy sound, and Ganondorf felt his stomach churn, remembering when the boy had sand fever and he’d cared for him.

Look what you did.

He deserved it! The boy was an enemy!

Ganondorf grit his teeth, letting magic surge through his arm. It hardened, crystallizing around the child, leaving Link floating in an amber prison within seconds. The boy tried to cling to consciousness, hands desperately pressed against his cage, exhaustion evident, emotions raw. He leaned his head against the amber, and Ganondorf’s hand hovered over his forehead, touching cool, magical stone instead of soft, bloody skin.

He needed to calm down. He couldn’t kill Link. If nothing else, it could make the Triforce of Courage disappear entirely.

The boy’s screams still echoed in his head, despite the silence from him now. He doubted Link could make a sound through his damaged throat. His breaths came in high pitched gasps, alarming some part of his mind that told him his breathing could get worse.

Ganondorf shook his head. He couldn’t stay in here. He walked away, leaving Link’s fate to the goddess who cursed him with her grace. If the boy was still alive when he returned, cooler heads would prevail. Perhaps Ganondorf would clean him up and heal him then.

Perhaps.

XXX

Impa barely listened as the officers around her bickered.

Their loss was catastrophic in nearly every way. The majority of their battles up to this point had been skirmishes, aside from siege on the Wastelands and the Battle of Hyrule Field. It had been a back and forth between the warring factions, monster camps taking military bases, Hyrule soldiers tracking down Gerudo pockets. But this…

To attack the lands of the Mountains and Forests of peace, the seat of power for the sages and the land of the forgotten temple where the Master Sword had been rediscovered, was to attack the soul of Hyrule. Ganondorf had been very precise in this battle, and he’d brought all his power and soldiers with him. The Sage of Lightning had been killed, and—

Orik.

The chief of the Sheikah felt her heart clench at the thought of her youngest brethren in war. She’d tried, as best she could, to look after the young man ever since he’d passed his trials – he was the youngest ever to do so, and it made her worry, despite knowing that he’d earned the right and had no need to be coddled. Nevertheless, as his chief, he was her responsibility as much as anyone else.

Link had stepped up in every way possible, and had even been chosen by the goddesses to truly deserve the Hylian name his mother had given him. He’d helped Impa fight for Zelda during the coup to overthrow King Ozen. He was one of Hyrule’s best soldiers.

And now, he’d been captured.

The Hyrulian army was in a frenzy. They’d lost a sage and the Hero. They’d lost their sacred grounds, watching the sacrilege of Gerudo banners lay claim to the land after their leader had desecrated their most sacred relic.

And Link held a piece of it.

Impa’s heart thrummed in her chest. Ganondorf will kill him to claim it. If he hasn’t already.

She couldn’t just sit on this. They couldn’t limp away and lick their wounds and prepare for an entirely new battle. They had to act quickly.

But the officers were too busy panicking, bickering. She listened halfheartedly, mind buzzing and clouded at the same time, before she bit her tongue to help her focus. Their soldiers were still trying to recover, having retreated to the fortress near the Lost Woods. She’d sent word to the capital to ensure that Castle Town was fortified, as Ganondorf’s forces were closer than ever to try another assault.

They couldn’t sit on this failure. They had to retaliate.

But they needed more soldiers for a full-frontal assault. Her Sheikah warriors had been nearly cut in half due to the coup – there were still many who were injured and some who were imprisoned and had yet declared their loyalty to Zelda over Ozen. General Enos’ army had been fairly depleted form this fight. House Serenne could perhaps loan their personal militia as this was their territory, foolishly given to them by the former king. While Serenne looked out for its own agendas, this was a matter of survival. Impa vaguely heard the general speak as much, claiming to send word to them. It could take a day or two to get a response and organize a counterattack.

Impa finally interjected the inane babbling in the war tent. “We don’t have time. We don’t have time for any of this. We need to attack their camp now.”

“And how exactly do you propose we do that?” the general asked, frustrated. “We hardly have the men.”

Impa bit her lip. “Retaking the land is the ultimate goal, but it shouldn’t be our priority right now. Link holds both the Master Sword and the Triforce of Courage. Our focus should be on getting him back before they can kill him or extricate him.”

The other officers murmured worriedly, an anxious energy filling the air.

“I can gather my people to infiltrate the camp,” Impa continued. “But we’ll need a distraction.”

The general’s brow lowered heavily over his eyes. “You’re suggesting we use my troops as bait.”

Impa met his gaze, face stony. What other options did they have? There was no time to gather a larger force. “I am. But we just need to rescue the Hero. With that as our objective, we can retreat as soon as we have him.”

Hopefully too many won’t die, she implied.

General Enos sighed heavily. “Gather your forces, then. We will attack at dusk. The cover of nightfall should help. I will send someone to contact House Serenne for reinforcements in the larger assault. In the meantime, we’ll wait for word from Queen Zelda.”

Impa nodded, leaving the tent. Hang in there, Link. We’re coming.

XXX

Ganondorf had to admit, he’d definitely been finding reasons to avoid the tent. However, they were valid reasons. He had to ensure that they held this territory – he’d attacked Hyrule’s most sacred land in the hopes that it would reveal the location of the other two Triforce pieces, and it had certainly done that. But now he had to hold this land, both to potentially find the Triforce of Wisdom and to rub it into Hyrule’s face. Such a victory was hugely impactful, and it could break the enemy’s spirit entirely, especially given that its new ruler was so young and inexperienced.

But after twenty-four hours of taking tally of the casualties, making plans to fortify their stronghold, and looking at maps to see where they should investigate and attack next, he could no longer avoid visiting the makeshift prison cell he’d created.

He’d given himself time to calm down, at least, and the distractions had helped. He still wasn’t happy with Link – the boy was actively in defiance of him, refusing to give him the Triforce of Courage. He wondered if killing him would extract it, or if it would simply make it move to another location. He couldn’t risk losing the sacred relic, and…

He wasn’t ready to go that far yet. Not… not yet.

He still had to clean the boy up and heal him. Mostly. He would send him back to Lagema where Hyrule’s forces couldn’t reach him, where the boy had no chance of escaping. And perhaps he’d eventually come to his senses, but Ganondorf wasn’t really holding out hope. It was foolish to assume such a thing would happen, even if his heart ached for it.

A pity, really.

The Gerudo king’s walk back to the tent was interrupted, however, when there was a cry from one of the sentries. “Enemies spotted to the south!”

Ganondorf immediately changed directions, moving towards the guard’s post to see what she was talking about. It was a fairly large group, seemingly the remainder of the army they’d encountered yesterday. He hadn’t expected a counterattack so quickly, not after they’d retreated as they had.

“Send the beasts,” he ordered. The monsters could handle the first wave – his women were recovering as well. This would thin the enemy’s numbers first.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He had a bad feeling about this.

On the other end of the Gerudo camp, ten Sheikah snuck in through the shadows, quickly killing the guards in the area. Impa motioned silently, ordering her brethren to fan out, and they spread across the camp while the majority of its inhabitants lined the southern border.

Impa moved towards the center of the camp, figuring Link would be somewhere well guarded, but saw no structures that might indicate a prison of sorts. When she found the largest tent in a cluster, she peeked inside and gasped.

Link was there, floating in an amber magical crystal prison. His head was drooping, brow slightly furrowed in pain, shadows across his face even in the glowing light. His green tunic was stained with blood and dirt, right leg bent the wrong way, brown trousers darker than they should be, saturated with blood and heaven only knew what else. His hair was matted, colored like an artist’s palette where light gold and crimson mixed together, patches of blood clot and dirt holding clumps of hair hostage.

Goddesses.

Impa rushed forward, tracing her hands along the smooth crystal, wondering how in the world she was supposed to release him. She pulled out a knife first, whispering his name desperately as she slammed against his prison. The knife was getting her nowhere, though, and she knew she’d have to use magic to break through. Link didn’t budge, limp in midair.

Thankfully, all Sheikah knew magic, and she focused hers to her hands, pressing her palms to the amber. Although her magic was hardly ever used for brute force, she could connect it enough with the magic encasing him that it started to crack. She heard some noise outside and overhead, and she whirled around as the crystal continued to fracture, armed and ready for a fight. When no one entered the tent, she listened closer and realized it was beginning to rain.

Good. That would help cover their escape. It would make sending off the signal difficult, though.

When Impa returned her attention to the amber in the center, it was falling to pieces, chunks of crystal dissipating into the air, until she could reach in and grab the young warrior. The prison faded immediately as soon as she pulled him to her, and his full weight bore down on her. Impa drew him close, trying to support the dead weight by bringing his center of gravity to hers, but she still stumbled as she held him to her chest.

“Link,” she whispered, strained and desperate and scared for him.

The teenager groaned in reply, hissing when his right leg scraped against the ground. Impa knelt down, lowering them both to the earth so she could rearrange him a little, slinging an arm over her shoulders. He flinched and almost cried out until she slammed her palm over his mouth to muffle the sound.

“I’m getting you out of here,” she told him softly, gently, as reassuringly as she could, heart breaking for the kid. She braced herself and stood once more. Link, addled as he was, tried to put some weight on his good leg, and she was grateful for it. “You must stay quiet. Understood?”

Across camp, Ganondorf picked up his pace as he listened to battle break out in the open field. Rain started to pelt against him before it became a steady downpour, decreasing visibility. This attack was so abrupt, and it didn’t seem like they had the numbers for an assault like this. It was either utter desperation, or…

He had to move quickly.

When he reached his tent, he got as far as opening the flap to enter when he saw the empty space in the center. His heart felt it stopped a moment, cold ice filling his veins, and he snarled, drawing his swords and prowling the surrounding area as he alerted his troops. They couldn’t have gotten far.

A few rows of tents away, Impa dragged Link as best she could, her grunts of exertion covered by the torrential rain. Link had tried his best to assist, but he was mostly dead weight hanging off her. He was spending all his energy gritting his teeth and trying not to make a sound as his broken leg was scuffed along the earth and stones. Impa just needed to get somewhere they could pause and she could concentrate long enough to get them out of there. Then she could worry about sending the signal to everyone.

Ganondorf’s voice echoed across the way, disappearing in a peal of thunder. Impa froze nonetheless, swearing she heard something, heart skipping a beat. Her breath quickened, and she tried to move faster.

The Gerudo king rounded another corner, and the opposing combatants froze as their eyes met.

“Link, hold on to me,” Impa ordered breathlessly, standing her ground. Ganondorf charged, a snarl on his lips, blades at the ready. The young Sheikah moved feebly, and she repeated, more frantically, “Link, hold on to me!”

She felt him put enough weight on her with a trembling grip that she could release him and focus her energy and magic. Ganondorf was ten paces away and closing, hunger and rage in his eyes, and he moved in to strike.

Her body warmed despite the frigid rain and her adrenaline. Link moved abruptly, throwing her off for a second, and Ganondorf flinched a moment as a kunai sliced his cheek open. It didn’t quite stop his attack, but it did make him stutter a moment, surprised and confused and realizing—

Link glared at him, balefulness painted in every aspect of his face, hand still thrust outward from the toss that could have taken out an eye if he’d aimed better. The shock of the move didn’t last long, and Ganondorf was on them in an instant, massive swords held over his head as if to crush them.

Impa finally had enough energy summoned, and she and Link vanished in a heartbeat as the Gerudo’s blades sank into the earth.

His battle cry echoed in the air, absorbed in the rain like water to a sponge. Ganondorf didn’t move for a long while, and the downpour was deafening.

XXX

It was honestly a near miracle that everything had worked out as it had.

Once the signal from the Sheikah chief had been fired into the air, the remainder of her task force and the Hyrulian army retreated before being reinforced by House Serenne’s militia. Queen Zelda herself also sent more troops from Castle Town, leaving the capital’s defenses unnervingly thin, but that changed when the Hero was escorted back there to recover.

Zelda found herself wandering one of the many castle halls that had been converted into a hospital area, trying to help out as best she could. She didn’t have the time she did when she was a princess, but she still tried to assist the overworked healers. She hated to hear the moans of the dying and injured, but she’d started to grow accustomed to it.

When she didn’t see the Hero anywhere, though, she started searching other areas for him.

She eventually found him sitting on a cut down tree at the edge of the city, its base large enough to fit three Hylians. He stared off at the sunset, his back to her, posture slumped, hair a disheveled mess. She could see the tears in his clothing, and she grew worried as she moved faster to reach him.

“Link,” Zelda called gently, walking into his periphery. He didn’t bother acknowledging her at first, and so she hesitantly sat beside him. “You shouldn’t be out here. They said you were hurt pretty badly. Let me take you back to the castle, okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replied quietly, glancing down at his hands. “I drank a potion. They patched me up on the way to the capital, anyway.”

To emphasize his point, he played with the empty bottle in his hands, and then gave her a halfhearted smile. His face was still bloody, exhaustion etched into every corner of his being, emphasized by the lines under his eyes. Zelda had never seen him in such a state, and it frankly left her so unsettled that for a moment, she didn’t know what to say.

“You still need to rest,” she tried to insist, not entirely used to him ignoring her.

Link said nothing for a long time, the air around them stilling. Then he said, softly, “I’m sorry you had to fight your father for the throne.”

Zelda blinked, a little caught off guard, wondering why this was being brought up. Was he going to mention how she’d cried that night?

Wait. She… she remembered seeing him with the Gerudo delegation often before the war.

“Not that he didn’t deserve it,” Link continued with a dark huff of a laugh. “He was a terrible king and a terrible man. But… I’m sorry you had to overthrow him, to…”

Her friend swallowed, face hardening, glaring into the sunset, its light reflecting fire in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated before putting the bottle down between them and patting her on the shoulder. He rose, walking to the western end of camp, his silhouette cutting into the dusk’s light, shadow growing ever longer. Zelda watched him go uncertainly, heart aching at her own confrontation and what she was beginning to assume must have happened when he’d been captured.

Link moved in silence, ignoring the world around him, until he reached the basins of water where he could wash his face. Some sanitary supplies were nearby, and he wordlessly rinsed the blood and dirt away. He paused when he grabbed a shaving foam, staring at it and the razor beside it.

The area was deserted. The Hero stood alone in the center, eyes fixed on the shaving supplies. And then he burst into tears, burying his face in his left hand, Farore’s blessing dully shining through the blood that dripped off his knuckles.

[itsjusthockey]

Nights Like These - Jack Hughes

Summer Series Open Now

And another one...enjoy

Send in your requests, I'm super excited

w.c: 1,266

“We’ll be ready in a minute,” you hear Jack yell from the bedroom as you frantically apply a thick layer of mascara. “(Y/N) is just taking forever.”

You can hear his smirk through the last part, and you’re really hoping that he can see you flick him off through the doorway.

“Sorry, I was informed we were going out thirty seconds ago.” You throw on some deodorant as Jack walks into the bathroom shirtless.

“Don’t be annoyed at me,” he moves behind you in the mirror, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I was planning on having an eventful night in. You’re the one who said you’d love to accompany my brothers to the bar.”

You roll your eyes because he’s right, but who could blame you? When Quinn had said it’d been a while since you’d had a drink together, you’d practically run up the stairs to get ready. It isn’t very often that the Hughes brothers express love, and that was Quinn’s way of telling you he’s missed you dearly.

“I know. I’m sorry I wrecked your evening plans; one of these nights, we’ll be alone.”

A smile tugs on Jack's face, and he plants a quick kiss on your shoulder and smacks your ass as he leaves the bathroom, presumably to find some clothing.

A few minutes later, with a final touch of lipgloss and some sprits of perfume, you deem yourself ready to face the Michigan Summer crowd. You step out of the bathroom, and Jack catches your attention and does a little spin.

“This fine?” He gestures to his outfit.

You nod, throwing on your sneakers and grabbing one of Jack's sweatshirts for later. Soon, the two of you make your way downstairs, where Quinn and Luke are sitting on the couch watching something.

Quinn is the first to notice your presence, and his eyes widen in mock surprise. "About time. I’m surprised Jack actually managed to find someone who takes longer than him to get ready.

You scoff at the comment. “Well, Q, not all of us can be as naturally adorable as you are.”

Quinn rolls his eyes at your response, and the banter continues as you all head out to your favorite summer bar. When you get there, it’s pretty busy, but the night is still young. You manage to find a booth in a cozy corner, the perfect vantage point to observe the bar's vibrant energy.

“Everyone wants the usual?” Quinn asks, pulling out his card.

A chorus of yeses is heard, and he makes his way away from the table toward the bar. A few minutes later, he returns, drinks in hand, and you dive into everything you all have missed about each other's lives.

Less than half an hour later, the night takes a busy turn. The decently lively bar has become ridiculously crowded, and you’re overlooking the crowd wondering how the hell you’re going to make it to the bar.

“We need refills,” you shake your empty glass, eyeing the crowd. “but I’m not sure if we can wade through the masses.”

You scoot up a little bit to get a better vantage point, and once you do, you see a small opening in the sea of people leading to the bar.

“I see a path. It’s go time.”

You’re quick to slide out of the booth, Jack following behind. As you navigate through the crowded bar, carefully maneuvering between people, Jack's hand remains securely in your belt loop, ensuring he doesn't lose sight of you. Finally reaching the bar, your favorite waitress spots you and approaches with a warm smile.

“Another round?" she asks, her voice barely audible over the music and the noise.

You nod eagerly, handing her Jack's shiny black card; you playfully remark, "I love paying with your card. Makes me feel not poor."

Jack chuckles, leaning in to give you a quick peck on your pout. "You're not poor. You're just in college. Besides, what's mine is yours."

You playfully jab his ribs in response, savoring the feeling of being with him. The pretty waitress swiftly returns with your drinks, and after signing the bill and leaving a generous tip, you lead Jack back toward your cozy corner booth.

As you return to the table with the freshly replenished drinks, the wild energy of the bar surrounds you once again. The music seems to have gotten louder, and the crowd has grown even more lively. You finally settle back into your booth, Jack's arm wrapped securely around your shoulder, when you suddenly realize you must pee.

You lean towards your boyfriend's ear, “Let me free. I have to pee.”

He drops his arm, but before you can fully move, he interjects.

“I’ll come with.”

You nod, tell the others where you’re off to, and return to navigating through the crowded bar. When you reach the bathrooms, you almost groan when you see the line for the women’s stretches far beyond what you anticipated.

“Fuck, I have to pee so bad.” You complain.

You sigh again, accepting defeat, and get in the line, watching as your boyfriend steps into the men’s bathroom and reappears in front of you a second later.

“Go.”

He nods his head toward the men’s bathroom, standing protectively in front of the door, creating a barrier between you and anyone else. You shoot him a grateful smile and a quick peck on the cheek before slipping inside the bathroom.

You’re done a minute later, and you emerge from the bathroom feeling better than ever. As you exit, you find Jack waiting patiently, a small grin on his face.

“Mission accomplished?" he asks, offering you his arm.

“Mission accomplished," you confirm, linking your arm with his.

Together, you make your way back to the table where Quinn and Luke are both talking about something related to hockey. You’re the first to notice that the night has taken its toll, and everyone is starting to wind down.

After a minute of sitting, you all decide it's time to call it a night, having had your fill of laughter and drinks. The bar has become even more crowded, and the air is thick with a mix of music and voices, and you’re honestly sick of people. So, you bid farewell to the vibrant atmosphere, weaving your way through the crowd, and step out into the cool night.

Arm in arm, you and Jack make your way to the car, the others trailing behind. The drive home is filled with comfortable silence and the soft hum of the radio. As you arrive home, Jack parks the car, and you make your way inside, hand in hand.

Once you step through the door, Jack is quick to snake his arm around your waist.

“How about we ditch these losers and head upstairs.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you nod in agreement. You both make your way to the bedroom and have a quick shower, much to Jack's dismay and soon you’re slipping under the bed's covers.

Once you’re in, Jack pulls you into him, and you settle yourself into his warm embrace. You stay that way for a while, and pretty soon, you realize you’re losing the battle to the sleep demons.

Jack, of course, has already lost and is already knocked out. You smile at his serene state, knowing he always sleeps better when you’re with him. You gently peck his nose, watching as it scrunches up a bit, and settle deeper into his hold. It’s been a long day, and now, you’ll sleep.

[beefboyandbabygirl]

Shiver Me Timbers! (18+)

pairing: pirate captain!seungcheol x siren!reader

genre: fantasy au, smut, pure smut with a fair amount of plot imo (MNDI pls), a little angst at the end

description: as seungcheol's ship drags up the shore, you watch from afar, eyes on the prize

warnings: PIRATE DIRTY TALK HELP, SLIGHT DUBCON bc hes u know a little under her spell, unrealistic ass transformation from fish 2 person, desperation, big dumb whiny cheol, bottom!cheol, kinda switch!reader, teasing, tiddie play, tiddie sucking, fairly graphic character death (drowning), seungcheol fucks yn like a ragdoll hihi, hes still bottom here tho, yn just has her tiddies OUT #progressive #2023

quotes from my proofreader: "I WAS WET!!", "he is soooo silly and sexy"

wordcount: 3.0k

“Anchor comin’ down!” 

“Aye!” 

There’s a mighty splash when the rusty anchor collides with the surface of the water. The chain clinks as it plummets, until it’s kicking up a storm on the sandy seafloor and the ship is safely secured. The Barbaric Seventeen is rocking like a mother rocks her young, gently swinging from the onslaught of waves from the North. 

“Another safe map-navigation performed by the great Woozi!” Seungcheol speaks from where he’s perched on the head of the ship, one knee bent to sit his foot atop the wooden railing. He’s half bathed in sunlight, hot from the scorching sun over the endless sea. The shipmates clap and cheer, the odd clunk joining the cacophony from the members with missing hands. “Now go!” he commands, “Go find me my treasure, boys! It shan’t be much of a challenge for ye’s anyway!” 

“Ye’s not comin’, Captain?” Mingyu calls from where the lot of them are crowding the planked deck, eyes squinted to stare at his silhouette in the sun. Seungcheol’s hat rustles as he shakes his head. “Naye, brother Mingyu. Today I will guard the Barbaric Seventeen,” he answers and pats the wooden railing like a dog.

The crewmates bugger off, one large group padding along the coast with their hooks and their scars and their swords in their belts. 

“Don’t be tempted by pretty ladies out here, brother Jun!” Seokmin advises, gloomily. “There be sirens in these waters!” 

“Don’t scare the kid, brother Seokmin,” Wonwoo snaps, standing on the other side of Jun, who looks at the two of them, lost and a little scared. “Sirens aren’t real.” 

“Tell that to Jeremy!” Seokmin retorts, “RIP.” And then their voices are fading into the distance.

Seungcheol hardly notices their conversation, as he’s placed himself on a gathering of finely-churned sand, squinting into the sun-lit sea from the shadow of his Captain’s hat. His jacket, much too warm for the every beating rays above, has been discarded beside him, and now his chest peeks through a thin, muddied white shirt. Forever enchanted by the gentle breathing, the rise and fall of the sea, he’s quick to see you. 

At first it’s simply a diamond-glisten under the surface of the water - Seungcheol knew the shine of gems, knew the way they reflected and captured the light - he half-sits up, biceps flexing as he peers in. Then, he catches the movement of something long and blue and scaly. The coasting water kisses his bare feet. 

You’re smiling in the water, long, flowing hair like seaweed in the ever-turning tides. You’d spotted the ship miles back, and had followed discreetly under it. Now there’s a man alone on the shore, and you’re splashing your tail teasingly above the surface of the water, soft, rhythmic taps, beckoning him closer. Then you open your mouth and begin to sing.

Seungcheol’s stumbling to his knees, crawling on the sand. There’s a beautiful, intoxicating hum coming from the seafloor and he must, he must hear it for himself. Crawling until the water is reaching his chest, you finally strike. 

Your head bursts from the water, splashing salty liquid onto the man, who’s gaping at the soft tunes from your ruby lips. You’re pushing your sopping hair back, eyes falling on him, sitting back on his knees now. You giggle, humming gently, when you lean into him. His eyes catch a diamond around your neck - the one he’d seen under the sloping water.

You’re the most beautiful woman - woman? - he’s even seen, and your chest is bare and glistening wet in the sunlight, and your cheeks are red and eyes sly. You’re leaning into him, hand brushing over his sculpted chest, poorly hidden from the soaked shirt, and you smell like the sea - you smell like home. 

“Hi there,” you giggle, biting your lip at him. He’s so befuddled by you, he lets out a strangled moan at just the sight of you, before he’s recollecting himself.

“Hi,” he breathes, awestruck. He’s almost cute, you think, hip jutting into the wet sand beneath you. His eyes - unfortunately - sway downwards to your tail, and his eyebrows are furrowing. Wait a minute, he thinks, was this not what Seokmin was just talking about? “What are ye’s?” he asks, because something in his body is oozing fear, filling him like water cascades into a drowning man, and the spell is broken. 

For an instant. 

You see it immediately, the way the adoration leaves his eyes, and something reminiscent of disgust overtakes him at your fishy parts. Thinking fast, you grab his bigger hand in your own and press it to your chest. “Oh,” he breathes, flushing, and he’s looking at your chest, and the way it expands when you heave a breath to sing for him. 

A song flows from your lungs and dances in circles around Seungcheol’s head. He can’t even remember what he was thinking about before, just feels his dick harden in his pants. Dazed and confused, the only thing grounding him is his hand, frozen on your chest and covered by your own. You smile, because he’s opening up to you like the shell of a clam.

“I’m a mermaid, silly. Don’t you want to touch me?” you whisper teasingly, emphasizing by shaking your chest and letting your tits jiggle right in front of him. He whimpers and nods, and you eye the hard-on in his lap, big and stretching the fabric of the pants to their limit. You look around, eyes catching the rock-quarry at the end of the beach, but seeing no one nearby. Then, you clumsily stretch yourself from your heavy, heavy tail, hand fondling him through the fabric. “You gotta pull me up,” you command, voice strained from the movement, and humid breath hitting his lips. He’s hissing and bucking into your hand, unable to comprehend your request.

“What?” he whines, panting and looking at your lips. Your tail is heavy as an anchor when on land, and the position is killing your back, so squeeze his chin between your fingers and grit your teeth at him. “Pull me onto land.” 

He’s nodding dumbly and without even an ounce of effort, he grabs you by your waist and pushes the two of you onto dry sand. You’re immediately covered in a salve of small sand particles and moaning, really moaning, because this man is so big and strong, but so dumb, he had no trouble lifting you all the way onto land. 

As soon as you’re out of the water, the diamond around your neck is glowing, turning hot against your collarbones, and Seungcheol is groaning, squeezing his eyes shut and holding a hand to shield himself from its intensity. 

It stops, he sees the back of his eyelids darken and peeks open one eye, unable to help the little gasp that escapes him. You’re lying on your stomach in front of him and your tail is gone, replaced with soft human legs. Without a thought, he reaches over to touch the skin of your slippery wet new legs. You giggled at his dumbfounded expression, when his hand glides up from your thigh and squeezes your ass. 

“You like it?” you chirp, and he chuckles breathlessly. “Aye.” 

You push at him, crawling into his lap, all naked and soft and ready for him, hands on his chest, soothing the muscles. “That’s why we needed to be on land, silly.” You smile at him, sitting completely still in his lap, where your pussy is pressed into his crotch, and you’re nonchalantly, he feels foolish for being so beet-faced and nervous. “Well?” you begin, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “take off your clothes, dumbo!” 

At your whim, he’s scrambling underneath you, shirt practically ripping, as he tears it off. His chest is so, so pretty - pale and defined and expanding into your hands. You watch him struggle with a fond smile, as you sit completely still on his crotch, even when he’s pulling his pants off. Your weight makes it damn near impossible to shimmy off. He doesn’t dare tell you to move though. Seungcheol feels like the luckiest man in the world, because your pussy is leaking onto his pants. Miraculously, he escapes the garments, and he looks up at you with a proud grin, as if he’d passed some sort of test.

“You did so well,” you coo, hand caressing his cheek and eyes shining in adoration when he nuzzles into your hand. Then your gaze drops. His cock is fucking huge and fucking red and pouring precum from the tip, oozing like blood from wound. “Let me reward you,” you whisper, satisfied when he whines and nods.

You press your thighs into his, hard, so he’s spreading his legs, a sprawled out starfish on a quarry-rock. You see his stomach tense at that, and he’s groaning. “Please, please, please.” 

“Y/n. Grab my boobs.”

His hands find your tits immediately at your request, thumbs pressing into the areolas.

“Please, please, please, Y/n!” he’s yelling because it’s torture, and he’s throwing his head back to call out to God. But you’re the mightiest being present, and you push yourself up to teasingly run his cock through your folds, over and over, humming to the melody of your sticky pussy kissing his cock. “Please,” he cries. 

“I don’t know,” you hum, rubbing yourself carelessly against his achingly hard cock. “I kind of like just this? Don’t you like this?” 

“In, in, in!” he’s sobbing, arms flexing where they’re stretched out to hold your soft mounds, clinging to them for dear life. “Oh,” your voice is laced with fake sympathy, “Oh, you want in?” 

“Please,” he gasps. You shrug in compliance, “Okay.” 

Finally you pause your grinding, stopping his cock at once when you feel it, the sticky head of it creating tension at your slit. You sink down. Then you stop. The head of his cock is nuzzled in your warmth  and you’re flexing your thighs to keep yourself on top of him. 

“No, no, no!” he cries, bucking his hips upwards and shaking from the frustration, when your hand pushes his abdomen down. You pout: “I thought this was what you wanted? Are you not in?” 

Usually, you can get away with fucking around with men in this manner, but it seems this time you’ve thoroughly miscalculated: In what felt like a split second, Seungcheol sits upright and removes his hands from your chest, anchoring them on your hips and bouncing you.

He’s pushing you down on his cock, and this time you’re the one crying out, utterly taken aback when, with seemingly no effort at all, he lifts your entire body weight and slams you down again. 

He’s grunting and panting, completely enchanted by your body and your pretty moans. He grunts at the way your perfect pussy chokes his cock. You’re no better. You’ve lost all control of the situation, slipping into a cockdrunk haze and crying out again and again at the way his tip kisses your cervix. 

“Beautiful, such a pretty girl, aye? Squeezin’ me cock so tight,” he grunts, and all you can do is cry, burying your head in the crook of his neck and kissing it feebly. “Mhm, ye better treat me nice next time? Hmm?” His voice is deep and baritone against the shell of your ear. 

Your clit is like the x’ed out treasure on one of Seungcheol’s maps, when he snakes his hand down your soft body to rub it in messy circles. “Prettiest moans me ever heard. Say me name, sweetcheeks, say Seungcheol,” he commands and you can only comply, orgasm fizzing in your stomach at his constant onslaught. 

“Seungcheol, Seungcheol, Seungcheol!” you chant as you cum, cunt squeezing his cock like you were trying to kill him. The image of your scrunched up, blissed out face and your pussy creaming on his shaft, has he himself cumming inside you, painting your walls with cum, white like seafoam. He’s rutting into you for a few last pumps, and crying into the valley of your breasts. Despite the sun burning into the skin of your back, you’re certain you see stars. 

You’re breathing each other in, foreheads pressed together as you recover and smelling the stench of salt and vigor. Seungcheol is still enchanted by you, your beauty, your voice, and he’s trying to capture your lips in a kiss, when you snap your head, almost startled, and peering out to a quarry of rocks at the end of the beach. Seungcheol is still feigning for your lips, thumbs rubbing circles in your waist, when he asks you: “Are ye okay? Ye hear sumthin?” 

“No,” you breathed, hesitantly ripping your eyes from the rock. You smile at him, and he leans in and you let him, but only for a peck. You’re pulling away, even when he chases your lips and whines. You giggle, suddenly slipping his dick out of you and laughing even harder when he bends over from the sensitivity. 

“Come back, Y/n,” he cries softly and you’re falling standing up in the sand, just in front of the water, beautiful and stark naked and glowing in the sun. “You come to me,” you tease, but without hesitation Seungcheol scrambles to his feet to follow after you. He stops when he’s standing right in front of you again, eyes big and soulful and full of so much love for you. “I’m here,” he announces in a whisper.

“Come with me into the sea, Seungcheol,” you pout and bite your lip at him. “I can’t be here.” 

“But-” 

“No! It’s not safe up here. I have to go back in the water,” you make big eyes and run a hand up his big, muscular arm. “But you can come with.. My necklace can turn you into a mermaid, too..”

“Really?” he whispers, grabbing your hands and squeezing tight, simply overjoyed. He’s too dazed from his orgasm to realize what you’re asking him to leave behind. All he wants is you. You intertwine your fingers with his. 

“Yeah,” you take a step back into the white foaming water, and once again your necklace begins glowing, so intense that Seungcheol once more has to close his eyes. 

When they open again you’re lying in the water, still mostly out of it, and your bottom half is gone, replaced by the glittering scaly tail he saw before. You were so plump, so pretty, the way your tits bunched up in the sand.

“Help me, Seungcheol, push me into the water again,” you request weakly, arms flexing as you try to unstuck yourself from the sand that grabs at your heavy tail. “When will you turn me into a mermaid?” he asks innocently, leaning down to help drag you, still stark naked and pale body glowing in the sun. “Just- just when I’m back in the water,” you mewl, strained.

When you stop feeling the seafloor drag against your sensitive tail, you tug Seungcheol to you harshly. He falls next to you, panicked. “H-Hey!” 

He’s only gone under the surface for a moment, before he bops his head over the water, black hair sticking to his forehead. Spitting out the salty liquid, pouting. “That was mean,” he complains, treading in the shallow water. You giggle, thriving in the cool slick of the sea, having missed the way the water hugs you, how it caresses and kisses and loves. That was why you needed to pay it back. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” you pout. “C’mere. Let me make it up to you.”

Seungcheol paddles himself into you and you hold him into your chest, his nose and eyelashes prodding softly at your skin. You sigh when he begins licking at the smooth skin, hands pawing your waist. 

“It’s such a shame,” you frown, looking at how pretty he is, as his plump, pink lips mouth at your nipple, lashes long and pretty over his downturned eyes. He hums questioningly, not stopping his ministrations on your chest. One moment you’re gently pulling the wetted dark locks behind his ear; the next you’re fastening your arms around him, and kicking your tail.

You’re underwater. Seungcheol flinches at the initial movement, then begins thrashing in your arms, when he registers that you’re underwater. You’re ignoring how painful, how strong his hands are when he punches and wriggles in your hold, only swimming deeper, deeper, deeper. The sunlight above, fragmented from the waves surface of the water becomes sparser. 

He’s even paler in the dark. You see him perfectly clear, tugging and kicking. Maybe there’s even a small hope in his chest - a hope, that this is just a little joke, and that just a moment from now, you’ll grab him by the hand and pull him back to the surface. That moment doesn’t come. Everytime he tries to push himself up, your hand is there to keep him down. 

It feels like forever, and it’s more painful than any other time you’ve done it. He’s humming groans from the lack of air and when he finally gives out to gasp for air, he chokes out the most haunting noise you’ve ever heard, bubbles trailing up from his newly-dead corpse. Finally he’s still against your chest. You pull him away with a deep frown and see his face, fully relaxed now and drained of color. You hold onto him by his shoulders, hoping to memorize his face, hoping to remember him. 

Then you’re releasing him and he floats downwards, hair dragging upwards, almost as if reaching for you. 

He’s just another rock in the sand, you try to tell yourself, as his body is cast away to the deepest, darkest quarters of the ocean. But it doesn’t feel that way. As you swim away, humming your siren song and reverberating in the dark, bottomless depths, you can’t help but feel that this time, your victim was not just a sandcorn; he was a bright, shining pearl. 

[justporo]

Swashbuckling (Shipless)

Staeve and Astarion are captains of hostile pirate crews - one infamous and well feared, the other... rather chaotic but not any less passionate. When Staeve and his crew are in dire need of a new ship, he takes it upon himself to steal one and comes face to face with his nemesis Astarion once more. And no one can know that they not only have a history with crossing their swords - but also something more...

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: I... listen... I hadn't planned to write a pirate AU this week, but here we are. I brought an idea up on @velnnas server and then dear Tange pushed me to go ahead and actually write it - so I sat down and wrote this in like eight hours. Some others from this wonderful community threw in some more points and inspo (e.g. the ship name Absolute). So, @velnna, this is once more for you, thank you for being such an inspiration with your wonderful character (and letting me drag him out to sea)! And thanks also to the wonderful community on discord!

Pairing: Astarion/Staeve (You, male reader) Warnings: some violence, some mutual pining, bit of past traume (if you squint) Wordcount: 5,5k

Song: Jack Sparrow - Klaus Badelt

~~~

Your crew really had need for a new ship. Not only had the old one gotten way too small for your thankfully ever growing group - but it also stank, was just generally old - oh, and it had sunk recently.

Luckily, you had been very close to the biggest port on the coast when that had happened. And somehow all of you had made it the dinghy - even the crew’s loyal dog, Scratch.

Now you had nothing but the clothes on your back - which also kinda stank and were just generally really old: the floppy but comfy leather boots (albeit very wet), leather pants accessorised with multiple belts and the strip of red cloth tied firmly around your hips. And then of course your trusty sabre and dagger carelessly sheathed on some of those belts and your - as usual - wide open and very dirty linen shirt that always worked wonders whenever you were in trouble or just desperately bartering with someone. And it had at least guaranteed you a few nights in one of the taverns after you’d sufficiently charmed the barmaid - which, looking like a bunch of wet dogs, had really been a feat to be proud of.

Oh, and not to forget: you at least still had your ancient tricorne with you - how would anyone know you were a pirate without the proper headgear?

But that, unfortunately, was all you still had to your name. At least that hadn’t sunk with the ship too. It still pained you though that you couldn’t even rightfully call yourself a captain anymore.

But at least if you were shipless and in desperate need of a new vessel, being in a big port was the best thing to happen to you, right? You had a free pick out of everything anchored here.

Of course you had no money, but you were pirates after all. You wouldn’t have intended to pay for it even on a better day. Piracy must be good for something after all.

The last couple of days you and your crew had somehow pulled through while you had taken the time to reorganise and garner some information about the current ships anchoring here. Or to put it plainly: find a time, a place and a target to steal a ship and be on your merry way again.

And now finally, the time had come to set your plan in motion.

It was deep in the night, security at the port was rather light around this time - fools - and the moon was your only real witness as you snuck inconspicuously around the docks towards your target: the Absolute.

A smaller but fine ship. Of course nowhere comparable to the big, flamboyant navy or even other pirate’s ships. Not as excessively decorated with gold covered carvings or intricately crafted lanterns upon it and no dozens of canons to be manned.

But from what you had figured out your pick was to be quick, reliant and most of all: intact. And that already had made you more excited than you would have cared to admit.

You were alone now as you made your way along the final dock towards your target, your crew waiting somewhere outside the city already. And that might have sounded like a really bad idea - and maybe it was. But it was much easier to get away with stealing a ship if you were alone.

And that was yet another advantage of the Absolute: at that size it was fairly manageable alone, at least for a while. Of course your crew had protested, but you had been the reason they’d ended up sinking in the first place. So you felt it was your responsibility to get yourself and everyone else out of this and back on the open sea again. And of course your plan was reckless and stupid and there was a fair chance you’d be caught and thrown into a cell. But what else was new?

You found your target and immediately went to undo all the ropes holding it ashore. When only the anchor held the ship in place you found the spot closest to the net hanging down the side of the ship. You took a few steps back, as far as the dock would allow. You closed your eyes for a moment and lifted your head towards the sky.

This was probably going to end badly. But now you were deep into it anyway.

“Alright, Staeve, time to make a captain out of you again”, you muttered to yourself and then took a running leap to jump and grab hold of the net.

You crashed so hard against the side of the boat that you almost knocked yourself out, but at least you managed to grab hold of some rope. Strands of your long hair were suddenly falling into your face as your trusty tricorn almost fell off but you managed to grab it in time and push it down your head again.

You quickly climbed up and jumped over the railing as silently as possible. Light security didn’t mean there wasn’t any security at all. But it seemed you were in the clear, so you looked around what was supposed to be your new home for you and your crew.

Taking in everything on the deck you quickly found where you could hoist the anchor.

After having dealt with that the ship was already swaying much more on the light waves. You only had to set some sails and start steering it out of the port. This was a walk in the park!

Immediately a voice inside you screamed at you that that usually meant you were moments away from absolute disaster. But for now there was no disaster in sight, right?

With a lot more confidence now you swaggered over to the steering wheel, wanting to prepare your course before the opened sails would immediately drag the ship into another anchored vessel and make it crash. You had barely recovered from one sunken ship, you would not risk another.

You grabbed hold of the steering wheel from the back as it came into your reach, dragged and… nothing happened. You tried again - still nothing.

With a frown you walked around the big wooden wheel. Nothing looked wrong with it, so you grabbed two opposite ends once more and desperately tried to turn. The wheel wouldn’t budge an inch.

Just a tiny bit of panic started to rise within you. Your inner voice snapped at your sarcastically for dismissing it. Your plan couldn’t fail just because you were too weak to turn a godsdamned steering wheel, could it? Furrowing your brows you looked around the damned thing. And after a few long moments of staring at it in confusion and helplessness finally found a small brass contraption beneath it with a small keyhole that seemed to hold everything in place.

“You gotta be kidding me, they’re putting locks on these things now?”, you scream-whispered to yourself and dragged your hat over your face for a moment. “Piracy will die out if that is how things are developing.”

You really needed a good drink if you’d actually manage to pull this off. A big one too. Maybe several even. Hopefully they had stored some liquor somewhere on this thing.

But first you had to find the key

Taking a wild guess, you figured the captain’s cabin would be your best bet. So trying to regain some of your former confidence you turned around and took the few steps over to the dark wooden door that would lead you there.

You laid your hand on the door handle and just for a tiny moment hesitated. All in all, this was all still very easy; too easy almost for your liking. Your inner critic confirmed once more that things were probably about to go sideways.

But then you just shrugged and threw open the door. Expecting complete darkness inside, you were thrown off by the warm, golden light that greeted you. Candles and lanterns were lit throughout the room. Your brows immediately furrowed.

And much more than by the lights you were completely shocked by the man sitting there in the captain’s spot in front of the navigator’s desk in a tall chair turned towards the door. Legs clad in shiny black boots were lazily draped over one of the armrests. He was finely dressed in a red and gold satin doublet with intricate stitching and black leather pants. Of course a rapier was also dangling from his hip and the tip nearly touched the ground.

But he had not gone for a hat. In fact, he never had. It would only have ruined his perfect, luscious white curls as he had always insisted. And he didn’t need one in the first place to have anyone know that he was the most infamous, feared and most dangerous pirate captain on this part of the coast.

Instead as his final accessory he was wearing that smirk you knew and still remembered so damn well, one side of his mouth curled up arrogantly while his red eyes perpetually seemed to tease you. It was that smirk you kept dreaming about when you were honest with yourself. But it was also what you were loathing with a burning passion.

It had made you do things before. Things you were either not proud of or just outright tried to forget. And you couldn’t use that right now.

“Hello Staeve, my darling!”, the man said in a tone dripping with sinful promise and playful threat.

You had been expected.

“Astarion”, you simply managed while your hand immediately wandered towards your sheathed sabre.

Several big rings on Astarion’s long, elegant fingers clinked against the metal chalice as he drank from it. Probably red wine from what you knew about him.

He took his sweet time to respond to you, slowly and languidly letting one of his legs swing back and forth. Obviously, one of you was not in a big rush.

Meanwhile all you could do was stand there and let uneasiness rise up in you. Why was he here, obviously expecting you? And why did he have to sit like this? Bastard!

“Look what the cat dragged out of the sea”, Astarion drawled afterwards while he kept tapping his index against the goblet, causing a very annoying continuous clicking sound.

”By the gods, you look even worse than the last time I threw you to the sharks and left you to die”, Astarion continued with a smug grin on his perfect pale face and shifted around in his seat so he could lean his elbow on the armrest and put his face in his free hand.

You felt your temper rising. Your hand itched to just grab your dagger, throw it at him and wipe his arrogant grin off his face. Especially for making you remember all the times you had come across each other since you had parted ways.

Stuff like this had happened way too often since you had sworn yourself to never return to the bastard. But your paths had crossed again and again and it tended to always lead to intense encounters - one way or another.

And somehow you were always the one left with nothing but an aching heart, yearning for the past while the infamous captain left seemingly unscathed and unbothered.

But you also had other things to think about right now. You were still trying to steal a ship after all! And you had to figure out where this godsdamned key was.

So as you looked around the room searching, you opted to distract Astarion with some idle chatter. You knew that would always work. The flamboyant captain just loved to hear his own voice way too much (you loved it too but of course you would never admit that).

“And what are you doing here? I didn’t see the Crimson anchored anywhere here”, you asked him while your gaze jumped between different corners of the room and your nemesis. At least Astarion was way too focused on mocking you to notice that you were trying to find a way to get the needed key and then get rid of the unwanted passenger.

“Of course, the Crimson isn’t anchored here. We’re not all fools as big as you, Staeve!”, the pale captain spat back at you, obviously offended that you would even think him capable of such a thing.

You shrugged - he kinda had a point. But it still didn’t mean that there wouldn’t be a moment when he would be the bigger fool after all.

“And don’t you have anything better to do than bug me, Astarion?”, you asked to keep him talking when a small golden glint drew your eye to a shelf behind the enormous desk. That must be it. Now you would only need to figure out the perfect moment to make a run for it.

Your eyes focused on Astarion again who was still very comfortably lounging on the big chair. He was currently lazily twisting around one of his ankles to draw circles into the air with one of his booted feet while he was gazing upon the nails of his free hand.

“Why, of course not, my love”, he replied and drew up one of his eyebrows as he looked back at you. “I was just in the area, when some of my crew picked up noise about a ragged bunch who seemed to be pirates trying to collect information about this neat little ship. And the descriptions they gave could really only fit one dirty pirate scum I know”, Astarion explained and lifted his legs from the armrest. The gaze of his unusual red eyes (obviously going perfectly with his doublet) was burning into yours as he got up slowly and sauntered towards you.

“So I bought this ship and simply waited with the laid out trap”, he said playfully and shrugged one of his shoulders, rolling it around, still slowly walking towards you with the feline grace you remembered well. He held the chalice with wine casually by its rim, dangling it next to his leg.

And as you took him in now in all his glory, you couldn’t help but be awestruck. He looked regal and dangerous - simply beautiful. But more than that you were smitten with memories of the past. Not only the last encounters you’ve had that had always been intense, but also from before that. When none of you had even dreamt of putting a captain before your name. Your throat closed up as you kept thinking about that; that and what you had once been for each other.

You desperately forced your thoughts back to the task at hand while the pale captain was sill stalking towards you. Although it was becoming very hard to concentrate the closer Astarion came.

“And you did all this to impress your ex-lover, yes?”, you spat when the other man had come so close that you were almost nose to nose. Gods be damned, he was even more beautiful and breathtaking up close than you remembered.

Several different urges were rising within you fighting for dominance. Your hand balled into a fist so hard, the knuckles were turning white as you tried to suppress all of them at once.

“Some people like big gestures”, Astarion muttered and let his head wander slightly from side to side while his gaze wandered from yours to your lips and back up again.

“Well, I’m not here for a date. I’m here to steal a ship”, you mustered sharply, still desperately trying to push down your conflicting emotions.

Astarion’s red eyes sparked, almost making your heart stutter right then and there.

“But unfortunately I am now in your way”, the captain replied teasingly, one white eyebrow flicking upwards. “What are you going to do about it, Staeve my love? Stab me with your sabre, eh?”, the pale elf teased while licking over his lips and cocking his head. A smug grin was playing on his lips then. His crimson gaze was boring into you, making you gulp.

You mirrored the sardonic smile: “Oh, you mean, like the last time?” You raised an eyebrow, mirroring him, and then quickly with one of your hands made sure that your shirt was still as widely opened as usual.

Astarion’s gaze jumped to your bare chest and you saw a muscle tick in his jaw. Good to know you weren’t the only one affected by this game.

But that was your moment. You pushed your elbow against the captain’s chest hard and made him stumble back with a yelp and then a hiss. The remaining wine spilled from the goblet Astarion had dropped. Some splashed onto you but it didn’t even matter anymore.

With a leap you jumped past the chair and onto the desk and started running across it, almost slipping on the maps and papers strewn across it and face-planting on the dark wood. Jumping off the desk again you were almost at the shelf and had already spotted the small brass key.

You were so desperate to get to the tiny golden thing in time that you nearly didn’t notice the glint of silver rushing towards you. Only in the last moment did you dodge under Astarion’s rapier. The captain had obviously regained his balance quickly and rushed around the side of the navigator’s desk to come after you. A quick glance towards him confirmed that he wasn’t pleased by you so rudely interrupting your flirt.

Meanwhile, dodging the weapon had forced you to drop to your knees and make the rest of the way in a painful slide over the wooden floor boards. You crashed into the shelf, making the key drop directly into your lap. Immediately you grabbed it and jumped up again while you quickly checked that your hat was still in place. And only then did you notice that the piece of furniture had started to tip, caused by you crashing into it.

Astarion was closing in on you again. So you picked the odds that seemed to be already in your favour and grabbed the leaning shelf to throw it down completely between you and your former lover.

And then you ran, drawing your sabre, just in case, while sprinting towards the still open door of the captain’s cabin. Rushing through you slammed the door shut behind you, hoping to gain a few more moments from it.

With the key clutched in your one hand and your weapon in the other you made it to the steering wheel and fumbled the tiny key into the seemingly even tinier keyhole. “You got to be kidding me”, you whisper-screamed once more. “Big ship, tiny key - who the fuck thought of this?”

But you managed to get in the key and heard a satisfying metallic clicking noise when you turned it around. But what you also heard was the door behind you opening and crashing against the wall forcefully when Astarion kicked it open.

You quickly got up, holding firmly onto your sabre while you grabbed one end of the steering wheel and with all your force - you spun it. Finally it worked! A short relieved sigh and a thanks to no god in particular left your lips.

You turned around - and were greeted by the finely dressed captain slashing at you with his rapier again. Your sabre was not lifted a moment too early when Astarion crashed into you and threw you back against the giant wooden wheel that at least had stopped turning. The crash had drained all air from your lungs and the wood was now painfully pressing into your back. You had lost your balance and were unfavourably forced to lean backwards while your boots were trying to find stable footing again.

Astarion’s rapier and your sabre were crossed above your head causing the metal to screech awfully while you were powering against each other. Astarion had thrown his other hand to your throat and was choking you while you tried to stop him from doing that with your own free hand. He was completely feral - probably as mad about you not playing along with his plans for the night as you throwing furniture onto him.

Not really the ideal reunion for former acquaintances, you had to agree. But the two of you had a history to perpetuate when it came to hurting each other in any kind of way possible. Today would be no different.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, your inner voice reminded you that it had indeed been right about the upcoming disaster. But you brushed it off, at least things stayed interesting this way. You were kind of in a rough spot at the moment.

Normally you’d easily be stronger than Astarion but he had taken you by surprise once more - bloody bastard. So the only thing you could do right now was trying to not get your head cut off or choked to death. And you were doing kind of miserably with both, but giving up wasn’t in your nature.

“If you wanted a romantic dinner you would have only needed to ask”, you croaked at Astarion whose face was contorted into a furious grimace. “Well that and at least an apology”, you continued, “maybe then I would have considered.”

Astarion’s red eyes widened shortly and then narrowed at you again. He squeezed your throat harder. The rings on his fingers added to your discomfort.

“You are an idiot, Staeve. You could have stayed with me, become my lover and my partner in crime. At least then you wouldn’t have to steal ships and run around in rags”, the captain hissed at you. His brows were furrowed firmly, causing a deep crease between them as he stared at you from under them. Astarion’s whole face was a snarl.

“What, and only be choked by you casually? Where’s the pleasure in that?”, you mustered despite the pale fingers still closing harder around your throat. The edges of your vision were starting to blacken and your head was beginning to feel woozy. You were quickly running out of options.

“I’ll never be your lap dog, Astarion”, you managed and felt a wave of anger rise up in you as you spat out the words.

The captain kept staring at you but for a split second you saw doubt flit through his crimson eyes and his chokehold on you let up for a moment.

Immediately, you made use of that in combination with anger giving you new strength. You pushed Astarion off you with a furious scream, making him tumble back and even fall with how forceful you had pushed him in his short moment of weakness.

You stepped away from the steering wheel quickly and with sabre in hand looked around, taking in your situation. You were still in the port? Why wasn’t this damned thing moving?

Then you remembered: the sails hadn’t been lowered yet.

Cursing so viciously even a bard would have been impressed by your colourful language, you turned around on the heel of your boot and ran for the nearest rope holding up the mainsail. Without letting go of your weapon but merely flipping it around so you could use your fingers and your other hand, you unwound the rope as quickly as possible. Letting go of it when you had managed you hoped to be rewarded with the big sail coming down and getting you moving. But when you looked up you saw that the damn thing had barely moved at all. Another rope was still holding it in place.

You groaned in desperation - well, you had obviously jinxed it by calling this whole endeavour easy at the beginning. This wasn’t easy at all anymore. In fact, it was a desperate pain in the ass.

Behind you you heard steps fast approaching. And when you turned around, you saw Astarion charging at you again, rapier at the ready, face nothing but an angry mask. But this time you had more time to react. You were ready to meet him now.

Nonchalantly, you threw your sabre up into the air to flip it around. You effortlessly caught it again and steadied yourself for the oncoming blow.

And then it came: the fine, thin blade thrust directly towards your neck. But you dodged the strike easily and struck the rapier away from your body, making it scrape along the edge of your sabre. The force with which Astarion had struck against you and that of your counter strike almost made the captain lose balance immediately.

But what he lacked in strength he made up with speed and dexterity. He withdrew the rapier from where it was drawn towards the ground by you and immediately started another assault, this time aiming for your torso. You dropped your blade to parry his, but his move had only been a feint

Astarion placed another lightning-quick strike towards your hip and you could only drop your weapon to counter in the very last second by letting the rapier crash against your hilt. The force of the strike immediately let pain shoot up your whole arm and into your shoulder. But this unfortunate counter had not only hurt you. You heard Astarion’s pained moan but when you looked into his eyes he was still just as furious, if not even more.

The pale captain then elegantly spun around trying to slash you across the face. You dodged by bowing low and then finally placed your first attack by striking upwards, aiming for Astarion’s shoulder. But your opponent quickly stepped out of your reach and hissed at you, your blade missing him by a fair amount.

And finally with some distance between you, you took your chances and ran off towards the other rope still holding up the sail. Immediately, you knew you were being followed by the angry scream ringing out behind you and the rushing footsteps. When you had reached the spot you turned around again and were immediately hit in the face with the hilt of the rapier.

You groaned as you saw stars and fell back against the railing. He’d hit you squarely on the nose. And the wet feeling you noticed immediately afterwards could only mean that he had drawn blood.  But you didn’t let go of your sabre and still managed to parry Astarion’s next blows. A fine pirate you’d be if you were to give up after one hearty punch in the face. This was merely a warmup.

But Astarion’s attacks seemed almost a bit cautious now. Was he letting up? It almost seemed that he hadn’t planned to hurt you that much with the unfair blow of the wrong end of his weapon. His fault though, for taking it easy on you.

“You know you’re supposed to stab me with the pointy end, not the blunt one, right?”, you spat breathlessly between trading blows with your former lover. That again made Astarion rage with fury. Heedlessly he swung his blade at you and you once more dodged by bowing below it, only being missed by a hair now.

And then you suddenly heard rustling above you. You quickly looked up and saw the end of the rope flutter while the mainsail was finally unfolding. Apparently, the rapier strike had just cut through the last string attached holding you captive in this port - good!

Astarion too had been distracted by the sudden happenings. “Shit”, he cursed under his breath. Both your weapons were lowered now as you watched the sail filling up with wind. And then with a sudden yank the ship started moving and with that threw you both against the wooden railing - hard. Your hat fell off and you could only helplessly yelp as you saw it drop into the water out of the corner of your eye.

“You’re never going to get away with this”, Astarion hissed at you as you were both grabbing to hold on and gain balance again.

“But I am already getting away with it”, you grinned back while you felt more blood run from your nose into your mouth. A quick glance confirmed that you had at least steered well enough and the ship was moving away from the docks.

“Even if you are, you are never going to beat me”, the pale captain hissed again while he was pushing away from the railing and raising his weapon again. He was stumbling a bit but he wouldn’t give up, same as you.

“I don’t have to”, you replied and gritted your teeth as you too took up a fighting stance again. You were fairly sure you couldn’t keep going much longer but you still had to rid yourself of this unwanted guest.

Astarion looked in confusion at you while he made no move to attack you while you were still arranging yourself - gentleman’s agreement.

“I just need to be a pain in your ass so you’ll never forget what you’ve done to me”, you finished and licked over your lips, tasting copper and baring your teeth at him for just a moment.

For a quick second Astarion’s shoulders dropped and you saw hurt and guilt flash over his face. But it was quickly gone and replaced with anger once more as he rushed towards you in a final effort.

You stood your ground and watched him come with determination on your face. With a mighty blow of your own you met Astarion’s blade. And then it was a measure of strength again as your blades were pressing against each other. Astarion’s face was a grimace of pain and anger while he immediately went to support the blade with both his hands. You easily held yourself against him now. You’d always been the stronger one.

“We really have to stop meeting like this, love”, you said with a grin although your whole body was hurting now and in your mind and in your chest conflicting emotions were also still battling each other. You wanted to push him away for good as much as you wanted to pull him closer. Astarion just scoffed in response with his face twisted in pain. Both of your arms were shivering from the effort.

You were still torn between pushing and pulling - so you opted for something in between.

With a swift movement you withdrew yourself and your blade, causing Astarion to stumble forward caused by the sudden loss of resistance.

And that was your opening. With your free hand you grabbed the front of his doublet forcefully and pulled him even closer towards you while Astarion’s eyes widened in shock. But you hadn’t planned to hurt him - or not as he probably expected.

You dragged him over to you and crushed your mouth to Astarion’s lips that were already opened in surprise. The captain gasped when your mouths met but you didn’t leave him time to readjust. You let your tongue slip into his mouth and kissed him: passionately, forcefully but still meaning more to please than to hurt. And Astarion took you up on it, welcoming your kiss and giving in, even slowly moving closer. It was another show of strength but this time you won easily.

When you had almost forgotten what you had actually planned to do, you curtly stepped away sideways, letting go of Astarion. But not without noticing the glazed over look in the pale captain’s red eyes. His blade was lowered now, as were his defences in this instant. You saw the wishful yearning on your former lover’s eyes and knew that it was mirrored on your face, probably with a huge blush too.

But you had come here to steal a ship - and a ship you would steal.

“Thanks for buying me this gift”, you whispered and then with a quick and forceful movement pushed Astarion - whose face only managed to change to confusion - over the railing and off the ship.

You heard him yelp and then a big splash of water. iImmediately, you leaned over the railing to check if he was okay. After all, you had only meant to get him off your newly acquired property. To your relief you quickly spotted Astarion coming up from his plunge. His wet curls were hanging around his face now as you saw the hate and the fury on his face.

“You can have my hat if you can find it”, you screamed as the vessel was quickly moving away from where you saw a flash of Astarion’s curls in the dark water.

“STAEVE!”, he screamed. “YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS!” The anger in his voice was blood curdling. Good thing you were quickly moving away from him. You were pretty sure he’d find a painful way to kill you in this instant, given the opportunity.

“WE WILL MEET AGAIN AND I WILL MAKE YOU PAY!”, was the last thing you heard before you turned away from the railing. “Bet”, you replied only to yourself and walked over to the steering wheel. You looked up at the stars and checked if you were on your planned course to pick up your crew.

Then you went below deck of the Absolute to go find some desperately needed liquor.

By the time you’d reach the rest of your crew you’d be blackout drunk. Not only because you wanted to celebrate being captain of a new ship now, but mainly to forget the captain of another.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess

[barbstail]

The Sunflower Jewel (A Michael x Mc fanfic) Part 2

(Mc spends their first day getting adjusted in the celestial realm.)

First part

Day 1

Mc’s skin was finally met with the warm summer air of Devildom as they stepped out of the house of lamination, luggage in hand. Their gaze turned over their shoulder to look at the small crowd behind them waving. The brothers all gave their goodbyes.

“Make sure you wear the sunscreen I got you! That sun can be so bad for your skin.” Asmodeus called out.

“Be careful with those angels, ya just never know what they’re thinking!” Mammon warned.

“Make sure you eat plenty of celestial food!” Beelzebub suggested.

After a round of the brothers shouting warnings, suggestions, and advice as their goodbye, MC brought their gaze back to the beautiful carriage that was being dragged along by two pegasus. It was truly a wonderful sight to see such gorgeous creatures. Mc would enjoy it more if the situation at hand wasn’t so bittersweet.

Before the coachman could come down and open the carriage door for the human guest, the door already swung open and Michael stepped out with an odd air of grace he always seemed to have around him. He offered out a hand to Mc to which Mc looked down at his hand in confusion.

“Have you ridden a carriage like this before?” The archangel asked, his hand still outstretched. The human looked at the carriage more closely, it was rather unique looking compared to Devildom or human world carriages. It’s a unique shape. “I can’t say I rode one like this before,” Mc admitted. “It’s easy to slip if you’re not used to getting on, allow me.” And with that, Michael took Mc’s hand. He carefully guided them up and into the carriage, putting a hand on their back to ensure they didn’t just drop out.

“Oi, watch it will ya! Don’t ya get all handsy with Mc!” The pale-haired demon growled in protest. Michael looked over to Mammon and was tempted to roll his eyes in response. He turned to face the small crowd of his former brothers. “You know, if you’re all so worried you could come visit us. I would sure love to see you all in the celestial realm.” The silver-haired angel pointed out. Though he could clearly see some of the disproval in some of his ex-brother’s eyes.

Mc’s eyes could not help but explore the luxurious inside. It’s been a while since the exchange student had seen such brighter and softer colors. Taking a seat, they heard a big thump of what presumably was their luggage being stored in the carriage’s storage.

Soon, Michael’s face showed up again as he climbed up inside. The coachman helped him close the door as the heavenly prince took his seat in front of his guest. “We’re finally having a proper face-to-face meeting, I have to say you pique my curiosity. Just how did you capture so many hearts in Devildom?” He asked, offering a smile. “It’s a long story,” Mc answered before suddenly feeling a jolt of force before being secured by a hand.

Looking up, they saw Michael putting a hand on their shoulder. “Take-off can be rough if you’re not used to it.” He reassured. Mc had an embarrassed expression for nearly falling on Michael. Sitting up straight in their seat again they muttered a small ‘thank you’ as they felt the carriage slowly go into the air.

MC’s eyes stared out into the window. It felt similar to flying on an airplane, except there was the complete lack of sea belt. They could only help they weren’t about to get nauseous from the ride.

Michael, as if sensing his guest’s distress, offered a sympathetic expression. “Do you not like flights?” He asked. Mc shook their head. “I see…next time we can use a portal then.” The angel reassured.

Soon, light began to shine from the window. It took the human a second to realize that it was sunlight. They leaned over, trying to take in more of the incoming view.

“Beautiful isn’t it? I couldn’t imagine living in darkness for so long. Just how did you do it?” Michael asked, looking out the same window that his guest was. “Vitamins and warm clothes,” Mc replied to which Michael frowned. “You didn’t just pack warm clothes now, did you? Devildom clothing isn’t suited for life in the celestial realm” Mc looked like a deer in the headlights at the question to which Michael chuckled “If not your words then your expressions talk for you.”. Mc gave a disapproving look.

The carriage suddenly began to shake as it suddenly landed on the ground. The ride slowed down as the sound of the distant pitter-patter of hooves could be heard outside. At least Mc’s plane sickness was giving some release.

Michael’s blue eyes stared out to the grassy and flowery fields of the celestial realm. He glanced over at the human in front of him. “Have you seen views like this in the human realm?” He inquired, giving off a curious expression. The exchange student shifted in their seat and looked outside the window for the second time. “Yes, I have.” They answered him.

“I’ve heard that the human realm has many different views that even we angels don’t get to see here.”

“Really?”

“Yes, such as winter. Our winters are too mild-mannered for us to get the same views that humans get in their realm. Tell me, do you enjoy winter there?”

“It’s pretty but too cold for me.”

The conversation continued until the carriage finally halted in place. The coachman opened the carriage door, revealing the elegant view of the blue crystal palace. Mc had seen the palace before but even so, the feeling of looking up at something so otherworldly made them wide-eyed.

They didn’t even notice the hand that was being offered by the coachman. Suddenly snapping out of their trance, they took the hand and slowly began to get down before nearly slipping from their foot missing the step. Fortunately, Michael had grabbed the back of their shirt fast enough before they could hit their head on the ground.

“This carriage really isn’t designed for humans,” Michael muttered, shaking his head. Mc raised a brow “What’s that supposed to mean?”. Michael allowed them to get off properly before following right after with far more ease. “Human legs are just…shorter.” He answered to which Mc nearly rolled their eyes. “Humans aren’t that much shorter.” They argued.

With luggage in hand, Mc and Michael made their way into the palace. Once inside, Mc couldn’t help but take a look at their surroundings. The inside of the palace was warmly decorated with tasteful cozy colors and rich gold to complement the surroundings. Colorful fresh flowers, paintings, and curtains served as excellent decorations on the walls of the place.

Michael had led the two of them over to a large mirror. Mc, looking confused, gave the angel an odd look. “The stairs take forever, so we added these mirrors,” Michael explained before demonstrating what he meant by stepping through the mirror. Mc gave one glance to the reflective surface before suddenly putting their foot into the mirror to test it out. Mc’s foot went through the mirror and hit something. Figuring it was safe enough, they hopped inside with their luggage being dragged along.

Once they were on the other side of the mirror, they were met with a very unhappy Michael who was glaring at them. “Please do tell me why you thought it was a good idea to kick me, Mc?” He said in a stern tone to which Mc could only give an apologetic expression “Sorry…”. Michael sighed “Don’t make me regret teaching you about our mirror portals.”.

The two continued on their journey down the decorated hallway. Occasionally, the archangel would stop and explain the history of a few of their paintings that hung on the walls. It wasn’t too long until the two of them stopped at a rather fancy-looking door that had a note taped onto it.

Michael picked up the note and read it quietly before sighing. “And here I thought I was going to introduce you to the others.”. Mc glanced over at the note, trying to catch some of the details. “Others?” They muttered to which he nodded. “Yes, my brothers. Apparently they’re all going to be far too busy with their duties in other places… I guess that means you’re stuck with just me for a while,” Michael explained before he began walking again.

Mc let out a huff as their arms got tired from hauling their luggage around. They continued to follow after the silver-haired man until reaching yet another mirror that looked very similar to the mirror from before. Michael gave Mc a wary look. Don’t even think about it.” He warned before going through. Although Mc would be lying if they said they weren’t tempted to repeat the same incident from before, they decided out of the kindness of their heart not to and just walked inside.

Finally, after who knows how long, they seemed to be down the hallway that had the guest rooms. Michael led Mc over to a certain door, opening it to reveal a room that was similarly decorated as the rest of the palace. It had a canopy bed that was pink with a pile of fluffy pillows and a nightstand that sat beside the bed with a flower vase that lacked flowers. There was a white rug and white curtain to compliment. Overall, a very pleasant room to be staying in.

Mc didn’t miss a beat as they went ahead and threw themselves onto the large canopy bed. “I take it that you like the room?” Michael chuckled to which the human only gave a small nod in response, clearly tired from the trip. “I’ll let you rest then. The servants will tell you when it’s time for dinner.” He said before finally closing the bedroom door and letting his guest sleep.

Mc slept and slept before suddenly jolting awake at the sound of knocking. “Dinner…” a meek feminine voice spoke through the door followed by the sounds of footsteps hastily walking away. Mc let out a groan, not being so happy from waking up from their slumber. They wiped the drool from their face before shuffling themselves off the bed.

They caught a glimpse of themselves in the mirror on top of their drawer. Looking over, they were met with a disheveled and sleepy-looking version of themself. A look of dismay was written on their face. They couldn’t possibly go to dinner looking like this.

Hastily, they made their way to the bathroom. They washed their face, tidied up their outfit, and went to brush their hair only to realize their hairbrush was still packed in their suitcase.

Mc groaned but forced themself regardless to go and open their suitcase. Their mood was lifted when they noticed a little Ruri-chan stuffed beside their clothes along with some of the items that Mc didn’t remember packing in there. Seems like the brothers left Mc little presents to remember them by when Mc had their back turned. How sweet of them.

No wonder their luggage was heavier than expected….

Mc, now fixed up, left their guest room and headed down the hallway. They jumped through one of the portal mirrors from before and went to jump through the second one but stopped when they heard the faint sound of jingling. Looking over, they saw another mirror down a dark hallway.

The mirror had a strange colorful shine to it that made swirls in the glass of the mirror. There was just something so…tempting about it. Some gut feeling telling Mc to go inside.

Mc let out a scream as they suddenly felt a hand grabbing them. Jolting their head over their eyes were met with blue ones. They both looked at each other startled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The archangel admitted before his eyes met over to the mirror in the distance.

“Don’t use that mirror, it’s broken,” Michael explained as he looked back at Mc. Mc being as curious as ever couldn’t help themself and asked “What happens if you use it?”. Michael was silent for a moment, seemingly debating whether or not he should even tell the human. “It’ll just teleport you to a random location.” He admitted, though something felt off to Mc when the angel said that. But Mc was given much time to ponder to themselves as they were quickly being guided away from the broken mirror and over to working one.

“The food is going to get cold.” Was what Michael said as he shuffled his little lost lamb away from potential trouble. Knowing the reputation of this human exchange student, he knew he was going to have to deal with that mirror later. That was for another time though, as it was time for them to eat.

The two soon arrived at a large room where multiple white-clothed tables were set up. The two weren’t alone, there was a small gathering of angels there that were seated and eating. None of them which Mc recognized.

“I thought your brothers were away?” Mc spoke out loud to which Michael shook his head. “These are my guests. Though, I suppose you could consider them my siblings through The Father.” He stated as he walked ahead of Mc into the dining hall. A few of the angels were quick to stop what they were doing and greet the archangel. Michael gave a greeting of his own but before Mc could even try to follow the silver-haired angel they were being met with their greetings.

“Heya there! You come here often?”

“Salutations, you must be new here.”

“I’m lovin’ the hair!”

Mc stuttered their words as they were quickly overwhelmed by three strangers who suddenly just approached them. They glanced around for Michael for help but saw him nowhere. It was as if the angel somehow managed to disappear into thin air. “E-excuse me!” Mc managed out, quickly scrambling away from the group of friendly and curious angels that had managed to form around them.

They let out a sigh of relief when they made their way over to a more excluded part of the dining hall. That is where they spotted the table that was hosting the food. Mc’s stomach grumbled at the sight and so they made their way over to the table, hoping and praying that they weren’t going to get any more surprised greetings.

Fortunately, the universe had heard Mc’s pleas as they were able to begin making a plate of food without their social anxiety spiking.

While making their plate, they spotted it. A single slice supreme sparkle cake. Mc could feel their mouth water at the sight of it. They hadn’t had this cake in so long as it was the perfect thing for the stressful day they had.

They reached for the piece but were stopped when met with another hand. Looking up, Mc met eyes with their new competitor…it was Michael. As they stared at each other, they both made an expression that only two fellow sweet enjoyers could understand. They will fight to the death for this cake…

“Rock…paper…scissors…” Mc hissed out to which Michael only smiled. “Do you really think you can defeat me?” He asked. Though he was smiling, his eyes were telling a completely different story. Mc just gave him a determined as they outstretched their hands, ready for battle.

“Fine…I’ll play your human games.”

Rock.

Rock.

Rock again.

Damn, why won’t the two pick something else other than rock?

Finally, Mc chose scissors just as Michael chose paper. But just because Mc won the battle doesn’t mean they won the war and the harsh battle continued between human and angel. So they kept going.

Hand gestures upon hand gestures. It kept going until finally! There was a victor.

Mc threw their fists up in joy. The victory was theirs. They had managed to beat the archangel Michael in special hand-to-hand combat others known as Rock Papers Scissors.

Michael looked at Mc before a faint smile grew on his lips. He gave a faint bow of his head in a respectful manner. “You have bested me, the cake is yours.” He said before taking his plate and walking away, leaving the slice to Mc.

Mc gladly took the slice onto their plate with absolute glee only to see what was presumably one of the cooks. The cook held a brand new cake and sat it down where the premium sparkle cake used to be. Taking the dirty tray, they looked over at Mc.

“I see you and Arch Michael are getting along.” The friendly cook spoke, flashing a smile to which Mc could only feel slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t think anyone was watching us,” Mc admitted, giving a sheepish grin. The cook laughed in response before gesturing outside. “Please do tell him we brought more cake.” The stranger said before making their leave.

Mc glanced over to the outside patio that the cook had pointed to. They glanced over at the small crowd of people and not wanting a repeat of that awkward account from before, decided to bring Michael a slice of cake. Hopefully, this could convince the angel not to leave them alone with random strangers.

Walking outside, Mc could see Michael sitting alone at a table. He seemed at ease as he sat alone with his meal. As if sensing a presence, Michael looked up from his dinner and over at his new company. He quickly noticed the extra slice in Mc’s grasp and began eyeing the piece with little to no shame.

“They brought out more cake.” The human stated as they walked over. They sat the plate down by the seraphim angel which brought a small smile to his face. He was quick to use his fork to take a bite out of the desert and let out a small hum of delight. “So that challenge was done for nothing, hm?” Michael purred out, his mood quickly perking up from just one bite of sweets.

“What are doing alone?” Mc asked as they sat at the table. Michael pondered that question in his head as he helped himself to yet another bite of cake. “I find people…overwhelming at times.” He stated honestly as he sat his fork down. “You must relate, how odd,” Michael added.

“Why is it odd?” Mc asked.

“You have a crowd of people in Devildom who care for you, I figured it would take a very social person to be able to pull so many people in,” Michael answered.

“Do you have people who care for you?”

“Hm, of course! You don’t think I could run an entire realm all by myself, now do you?”

“Can you tell me about them?”

Oh boy, did Michael tell them. The archangel was all too happy to indulge Mc in his habit of rambling about things he cares about. He talked about his brothers, He talked about Luke, and he even talked about Simeon. It was interesting for Mc to learn about little details about some of their friends that they otherwise wouldn’t have learned about if it wasn’t for Michael.

“But enough about me, you must want to tell me about your loved ones. Tell me, how are my former brothers doing?” Michael finally asked, interrupting Mc eating their meal. Mc swallowed the piece of food in their mouth before beginning to speak. “They were doing well before that snowstorm hit us. I was even planning to go the an anime convention with Levi.” They admitted.

“Anime huh and here I remember when Leviathan used to be our fierce navy general.” The silver-haired angel chuckled to himself, seemingly relieving some of the memories in his head. “People really do change…tell me, does Lucifer still have the habit of dragging his wings when wet?” Michael asked, looking over at Mc who had just finished their meal. Mc looked up at Michael and nodded.

“Was Mammon always a troublemaker?” Mc asked as they began eating the rest of their desert. Michael couldn't help but smile at that. “Mammon…where to even begin. That angel was a troublemaker before he even learned to walk properly. Always getting into things, bolting off, and being loud. Me and the others simply had no idea what do to with little Mammon. Fortunately, Lucifer was willing to take him under his wing.” The seraphim explained before glancing over at the sky.

The sky was fading from its beautiful blue to a pale orange. Michael let out a small yawn at the sight, clearly tired from the long day. “It’s getting late.” He said, looking back over to Mc. Mc was looking at the sun curiously. “The sun can set here?” They asked the angel to which he answered. “Yes, the sun does change position here but it never actually turns into night like it does in your realm. A little unfortunate if you ask me, I would’ve loved to see the sky be filled with stars.”.

Michael stood from the table and picked up his empty dishes and silverware. He peered over at his guest. “It’s getting late, little lamb. Let’s continue our conversation tomorrow.” He stated before beginning to walk away. “Good night, Mc.” That was what he said before leaving.

Mc stood up and gathered their own silverware and dishes. They followed after the archangel only to not see him anywhere. Mc could only hope that Michael disappearing into thin air wasn’t going to end up like a bad habit of his.

Giving the dishes to the servants, Mc headed to bed so they would be well rested for what the next day would have in store for them.

Next part

[frostbitten-writer]

The Black Pearl of the Sea

Pairing: BDAS!Hobie x sea guardian/ mermaid R

(R is a bit heartbroken at the end, but you don’t need to know about it for now tehe 🤭)

Authors note and trigger warnings:

It’s not really a pairing but it kinda is, idk. There are implications that they were together but you can call it all you want. A bit of the fall reference at the end, but 🤫.

I wouldn’t say that there are any triggers, besides a little suggestive comment, but if there are, please let me know so I can write it up!

Description of R as in clothes. (But again, if there is something more, let me know!)

Credits to @the-kr8tor and @the-shroom-garden for the banner and story! Go and read BDAS by @the-kr8tor!

Word count: 3,4k

The Black Pearl of the Sea

 

The sound of water crashing against the ship filled the ears of the young captain, who was standing at the front of the Buccaneers flagship. The sun was already setting, casting a bright orange hue to the sky. 

Hobie was looking at the endless sea, lost in his thoughts before he squinted his eyes and saw a black dot in the water, “Oi! Wait a minute, Pav, what’s that?” He called out to the boy who was sitting in the crows nest, snatching him out of his daydreams and enjoyment of the warm breeze. He reluctantly took his spyglass and his gaze roamed through the waves, before fixating on a spot. "Errm..” he called out, “looks like a normal cave, nothing special, cap’n!” Hobie looked up to the crows nest, the wind blowing through his hair. “Aight! We’ll spend the night there, maybe we’ll find something interesting. Who knows!” 

 

-

 

The crew started to fuss around, getting ready to enter the cave. The walls were thick and covered with a moist layer of moss and sea salt, the smell of sea water becoming more intense. As the sails were put down and they slowly entered the cavern, the dark hollow place started to glow in a vibrant biofluorescent blue, illuminating the mysterious depths and earning a few sounds of awe from the crew. 

“Let the anchor fall!” Hobie’s authoritative voice echoed through the place, gaining cheers from the group as the loud splash of the anchor filled their ears. The cheers were quickly replaced with the roaring metallic sound of the chain moving, before hitting the depths with the last joyful sound. 

As soon as the ship was secured,the sound of soles hitting the ground mixed with laughter filled the place, a chorus of talking and banter.

 

With a curious and checking gaze, Hobie made sure that everything was fine, since he couldn’t just trust and believe that his crew mates wouldn’t mess something up.  He watched them laugh, play and roughhouse with each other, only Gwen sitting on a rock and silently judging them, even though she couldn’t help the smile on her face. “Fix some food,” he calls out and shoos them with his hand  “maybe start a fire or somethin’. I’ll look around the place.” 

 

-

 

Walking around for a couple minutes, Hobie got more and more stunned by the massiveness of the place. The fact that it was almost as big as the whole revenge, was frightening and pleasing at the same time. After some more minutes he stumbled upon a beautiful pond, with the rays of the moonlight shining from above the ceiling and a strong waterfall creating a magnificent and yet frightening wall. He walked closer to the water, his warm breath evaporating from the coldness. The crystal clear water created a reflection, making Hobie look at his own features and his disheveled hair, topped with his hat. He crouched down, his belt slightly clicking and making sounds as he was bending to let his hand sink in the icy water, getting himself ready to drink from the water source.

 

“What are you doing?” A voice of a young woman thundered, making Hobie forget about his need to drink and look up to the voice with widened eyes.

 

 

“Who are you?” Hobie manages to whisper, his gaze lingering on your face and then to the dress you wore. You were standing powerfully beside the waterfall, your hair loose and shiny, illuminated by the moon. Your dress looked almost like the deep and dark water, the ruffles flowing down like never ending waves. 

“Very impolite to answer a question with a question.”

You look at him with a judging eye, observing his pirate attire and looking up and down at him. “I am the guardian of this cave, and the sea in general. Now you. What do you need here and what did you come for?”

“The guardian of the what? The sea? Very unlikely, with you being so thin and boney… you sure you didn’t hit your head, sweetheart?” He regained himself and mocked with a mischievous grin, standing up straight and looking down at you.

 

“I can make your ship and your crew vanish from this place in a mere second, the only thing that will remain are the memories of the pirates and the mighty Revenge, that so badly wanted to rebel against the Royal Navy… Would be a shame, don’t you think?” You spoke with a serene voice, yet the waterfall started to intensify by seconds, the water level started to rise and almost reached Hobie’s feet.

He took a step back, his eyes finding your face again. “A shame indeed.” He spoke with a calm and yet cautious voice, placing his hand on the blunderbuss that was fastened to his belt.

You walked over to him, your feet splashing the water just slightly, and yet you wouldn’t fully sink in the deep sweet water.

You stopped just in front of him, resting your hands on the edge of the ground he was standing on. He didn’t move away as you looked up at him, but he looked more like he was intrigued by what would happen.

“Why are you here..?” You asked again, your voice quieter and gentler, sounding like a whisper.

“Dunno, just wanted to look at what was in the cave.. and I’m glad I did.. it’s not everyday you find such a pearl in a pond… I thought you were just a children’s tale..” His voice was soft and quiet, as if almost in awe.

“ I‘m not a pearl, but I heard people talk about me that way.. you truly are amazing and yet so childish. The pearl of the sea? Really? You didn’t find another way to describe the most powerful creature?” You scoffed, and yet the captain didn’t take your scolding seriously.

“I think it’s pretty suitable, you do look like a pearl.  Your hair so shiny.. your fingers so delicate and slender, your dress all see-through and so.. watery.. “

He spoke with amusement, his gaze lingering on whatever he was just talking about.

“You people are absolutely shameless!” You exclaimed, splashing some water in his face. 

“Oi! No need to become rude! It’s a compliment!” He laughed and wiped away the water.

“It’s not a compliment! How dare you say so!”

“Alright! Alright! I admit defeat, so then, tell me, pearly… would you be so kind and polite to let us, mortals, stay here for a night?” He put a hand over his heart, even though a mischievous smirk played on his face. 

“Fine. I’ll let you stay just for the night, but don’t you dare say anything about me or this cave..” 

“Fine, fine.. no telling.. got it. Ain’t no snitch.” He snickered and took a few steps back, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he made his way to his crew, leaving you alone in your pond.

 

-

 

After a warm dinner with the crew and some jokes and banter, everyone went to hit the hay, saying their good nights and thank yous for the food. Hobie was the last to re-enter the ship, his laughter quieting down from the playful interactions with his fellow pirates. As he was about to close the door to the captain's quarters, he heard a melodious voice, echoing through the thick and moist walls. The sound was like a lullaby, soft and calm and yet Hobie never felt more awake. At first, he couldn’t bring himself to move, his hand glued to the door handle as he just blankly looked into nothing and listened to the song. 

Was he hallucinating? Did the others hear it as well? He didn’t know, and yet there was only one way to find out.

 

He quickly made his way out of the ship, not even bothering to properly take the stairs. He knew that he would probably get scolded by his crew, knowing how important sleep was for them.

He quietly wandered around the location, cursing the big, almost labyrinth like paths under his breath. 

He could guarantee that he heard the voice from everywhere, and he would slowly get more and more irritated by the fact that he couldn’t cooperate with his ears. He felt like the damn mystery was crucially laughing at him for being so foolish.

 

He was stumbling through a small path, almost stooping down in order not to hit his head against the harsh surface.

He almost missed a turn, blindly taking some steps back to make it through the narrow gap. At this point, he really thanked his lean body, because if he were built like Finn, he would have needed to find another way to get through.

 

The place got lighter and lighter, the turquoise light glowing and guiding him. He was sure that he was nearing water,  didn’t know why but his gut was telling him so because of the smell and moisture.

And his intuition was right for once, as he walked further. 

He didn’t even know why he was so desperate to find the source of the song, but maybe he just knew that he wouldn’t sleep through the night listening to the singing. Or maybe the sound was just too alluring…

 

Walking through the cold place, he found a small waterfall in the middle of a different lagoon, not the one that he saw before. Large boulders and corals were scattered in the water, probably from the ceiling.

 And in the middle of it, he saw a silhouette…

 

You were just calmly combing your hair and sitting on one of the rocks, the strands shining in a white if not silver light. You didn’t notice his presence at first but when you did, you stopped what you were doing and looked at Hobie whose jaw dropped. 

“Why are you even singing at such an inhumane time?!” He exclaimed and threw his hands up, still baffled by meeting you again. You could see how tired he is, just by seeing his eyebags alone.

“Am I not allowed?” You asked, putting your comb to the side.

“I mean- you are allowed, but it’s rude to sing while you have guests and stuff!”  

He tried to come up with an argument or excuse, but seriously, why was he so bothered? It’s not the first time he engaged in a conversation with a siren or merfolk, since he did steal some things from the underwater world.

“You people are seriously so sensitive?” You asked with a slightly shocked expression, “I mean, I thought you were cruel with wars and guns, but never in my lifetime have I seen such thing. A pirate bothered by some peaceful singing…” 

“I’m not bothered..! I just have a journey to continue and I need to rest and other rubbish..” He murmured, almost pouting like a little child who was proven wrong.

You watched him get visibly more irritated and desperate, so you decided to let it be.

“Fine, I’ll stop.” You responded with furrowed brows, your forehead slightly creasing in the middle as you stood up from the stone you were just sitting on.

“Thank you..” Hobie huffed and watched you disappear into the water, the water creating gentle waves as you swam further down.

 

…

 

“Erm, so how do I get out..?”

 

-

 

With a quiet groan he was awoken from his sleep, forced to move from his disheveled bed. He’s not even sure how much sleep he got, but he was sure that after his encounter with you, it was near impossible to sleep or even close his eyes. 

 

After quickly dressing in his usual clothes and brushing his teeth, he swiftly opened the door where everyone was already waiting for breakfast. He sat down on his usual spot, his usual stoic face expression replaced with a scowl.

 

“Didn’t get much sleep, eh, cap’n?” 

Hobie didn’t even register who said that little comment, but he was quick to groan and rub his temples. 

“No.. bloody voice kept me awake..”

“What voice?” Gwen asked, slightly confused and concerned. 

“Yeah, well, y’know. The voice that was at night, you didn’t hear it?” Hobie looked over to the group that was seated at the table, hoping to find some support in their faces. 

But unfortunately he saw them only subtly shake their heads or murmur something like ‘no’. 

“Y’know, it happens… sometimes you just can’t catch any sleep…” Pavitr tried to soothe Hobie’s distress but Hobie quickly shot him a glare and stood up from his place, the chair falling back due to the force.

“I’m not a bloody schizophrenic! I know what I heard and you don’t get a say in it!” He retorted, his brows furrowed. “Thanks for the perfect breakfast.. Hurry up, we’re leaving immediately after..” With heavy stomps he left the room, probably going to look for a new place or new people to kindly ask to lend some stuff, (in reality, he’s just looking for castles and rich hypocrites to rob). 

The crew was still sitting at the table, looking at the shut door with round eyes, the sound of the slam still buzzing in their heads.

Pavitr slumped into his seat next to Gwen, looking at his food with certain confusion.

“Was it my fault..?” He asked gently, murmuring the words to only let Gwen hear them. 

“No.. it’s not. Just a bad day I guess. He'll be fine..” She responded, even though she herself was concerned and unsure of her words. 

 

What if it’s not gonna be alright..?

 

“So, like, technically and hypothetically… can I eat cap’ns portion..?”

 

“Do you want to swim behind the Revenge?”

 

“Alright! Just a question!”

 

-

 

Soles were thumping the wooden floor.

Sails were swiftly opened.

This could only signify one thing. The Revenge was finally taking off. 

Hobie was kinda relieved by the news, it’s not that he wanted to stay in this place either way.

The anticipation was in the air, and even though the pirates grew up doing those things, the happiness was visible every single time they took off.  It was kind of a reminder that they’re still moving. Still a thing. Still some hope that they have to maintain.

Hobie was again checking outside of the ship for any left supplies, since he knew that the crew could be reckless. 

For example Pavitr once forgot his spyglass, and Hobie had to steal a new one, risking his freedom and almost getting caught.

 

Looking behind stones and seaweed, Hobie was checking everything he could check.

“Leaving so soon?” You asked, a playful smile on your lips.

He was slightly startled by your arrival, but he couldn’t afford giving you the upper hand again.

“Yes, thank you for letting us stay.” He murmured, not quite acknowledging your presence. 

“Why so bitter?” 

“Why so excited all of a sudden?” He grumbled, finally meeting your eyes, his gray eyes looking like clouds before a storm.

You were taken aback, not expecting such a reaction from him. “..hey, c'mon. I didn’t mean it in a mean way.. y’know, I thought it was just mindless banter. Isn’t it what you pirates always do..?” You spoke gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

He sighed in frustration, even though he tried to keep himself together.

“It’s fine. Just.. tired.”

“ Why? Not excited for the upcoming trip?” You spoke lightheartedly, trying to ease his mood.

“Erm, I guess I am excited..” 

“Well see? No need to be sad, new places to see, new people to meet…” Your voice was getting quieter, as if sorrow was getting the better of you. 

“I would have loved to go somewhere..” you whispered and took your hand off his shoulder, clasping them together to your lap.

“Why not travel? Why not see new places? New caves?” He spoke, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. 

“…”

“I traveled enough in my lifetime.” You responded, your answer lacking the same enthusiasm, but replaced with bitterness and coldness. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Exactly what I said. I traveled and lost enough stuff. I thought I didn’t have anything more to lose, and yet oblivion always proves wrong.” His eyes looked into yours intently, seeing the sudden change in your mood. And as if on cue he heard a lighting roar outside, the wind blowing and the waves getting louder.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your journey. It’s better you go..” He couldn’t even bring himself to argue, that you started to walk away, leaving him standing alone. 

 

“Oi! Cap’n! Are you coming or are you staying here till yer ol’ and wise?” Yuri called out from a distance, an amused grin on her face as she stood next to the canons. 

“Yeah..” he looked in the direction that you went, putting his hat on, “we’re leaving.”

 

-

 

The calls of the department were loud and then backed up with laughter and cackles. Bells rang here and there, all while Hobie stood and looked to the destination ahead. 

“Sails!” He called out to the group of people who were responsible for their part. 

“Sails are ready!”

“Everything good?” He yelled to the whole group, his face having his usual smirk. 

“Then lift the anchor!” 

 

Some feet away you were quietly looking at the scene unfold, hiding behind a stone. You promised yourself not to get emotional, but how could you not when you felt the memories flood back again? 

The ship was sailing offshore, with the crew awaiting a new adventure.

 

-

 

The ship was again at its fastest speed, hitting against the waves with such force that the salt water would splash up. Pavitr was standing and looking down to the water, arms crossed as he leaned on the railing. That’s when he felt a strong arm wrap around his shoulder, shoving him to the person's side. 

“Why such a long face, eh?” Hobie teased, his crooked grin adoring his features. 

“No just..-“ 

“Listen, I’m sorry I snapped at ya, didn’t mean to. I know it was trashy from me but I’m sorry, judge me.” He spoke, one hand stuffed in his pockets. 

“And you know how I can be when-“ he pulled his hand out and heard something fall out of his pocket and roll against the wooden floor, almost rolling off the ship but Pavitr stopped it on time with his foot. He kneeled down and picked the mystery object up, holding it in his palm. 

“It’s.. a pearl..” He said, his voice confused and uncertain. 

“Eh? A pearl? How did that one end up in my pocket?” Hobie murmured, picking it up from Pavi’s hand and holding it in his. 

“I don’t remember snatching one..” he muttered,  idly throwing it up and catching it back, watching it fly for a couple of seconds. 

“Eh, dunno. Must be some kind of old thing I stole.” He shrugged, stuffing it back into his jacket before looking at Pavitr with his signature grin.

“So, we back to alright?” He asked, squeezing his shoulder. 

“Yeah, we are..” Pavitr giggled quietly and looked up at him. 

Hobie’s grin widened, if that’s even possible. But I guess it is. 

“See? No need to be so sad and sappy, seriously. You’re such a sap..” Hobie teased, receiving a playful hit from his friend. 

“Shut it!”

“You’re gonna tell me about shutting up? Who is the one yapping all the time while drinking chai tea?” 

“It’s not chai tea! How often do I need to say that!” 

The giggles and warm smiles were shared, the teasing and sarcasm so familiar. So loving… so happy and sweet…

 

~

 

 

 

Oh how tragic…

 Oh how sad…

The poor little mermaid heartbroken again…

Why can’t you just get used to it?

 Admit the truth…

You don’t know him…

The one you loved is gone…

You lost him…

 And he didn’t even know it!

Know it that you loved him!

So foolish and selfish you were to say the three words!

 But you only figured it out when you lost him…And now you’re cursed.

Destined to see him every thousand years, destined to see him.

So close yet so far away…

 Forced to stay where you are, not supposed to run into his arms like you used to…

And the pearls just continue to roll down your cheeks…

Little, beautiful black tears of sorrow…

How many pearls have you cried now?

 Thousand? More? You lost count…

And now they are somewhere all around the world…

 Considered as beauty and grace…

And yet, you’re here, helpless and in distress…

Always in love,

never the lover.