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thewulf · 9 months ago

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For That Long? || Aragorn

Summary: Request -Hello! 👋 Your work is absolutely amazing! Especially your Aragorn fics (My King! 🗡️👑❤️) In fact, whenever works best for you, here’s an idea: During the victory celebration at Helm’s Deep, the reader (also a Dunedain Ranger) offers a quick dance lesson for Aragorn to a) enjoy the celebration with him and.... Read Rest Here

A/N: Thank you for the sweetest little request anon! I had too much fun writing this one. I love trying to get into his head. Keep sending amazing requests my way! And thank you for you kind comments!

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k +

TW: fluff?

“Not like that, Strider.” You giggled something fierce as he tripped over his own feet for the umpteenth time that night. Somehow you had convinced him to dance with you after quite literally decades of trying to get him as your partner.

“Have I not already told you how hopeless this is, Callia?” He asked you by your chosen Ranger name. You had to abandon Y/N when you left home all those years ago. If you were captured you must never give up your true name for your family could bear danger to your chosen work.

“You just need to relax yourself. Your mind.” You poked his forehead while grinning from ear to ear.

He sighed, “I cannot keep making a fool of myself in front of…”

You stopped him by placing his hand on your hip catching him most off guard, “My King overthinks.” You whispered as you took a soft step towards him. He smelled good. Like of the woody scent he naturally had but even better.

“I am no King.”

You smiled more to yourself than him, “Not yet. But the people have decided. It be but a mere month and you shall be.”

“It does not feel right hearing you call me that, my lady.” He countered while raising his eyebrows right up waiting for your retaliation.

Trying your best, but failing, you made a face in reaction, “You know I am hardly a lady.”

He hummed. Not even realizing you had begun to lead him you kept talking trying to rid his mind of the thoughts that plagued him. For if there was anybody who knew Strider better than himself it was you. Time had a way of making your heart the softest for him and truly only him. Countless sleepless nights of diving into your worst nightmares and trauma would find a way to bond the two seemingly hopeless souls.

“The opposite is true.” He smiled down at you with a look you had rarely seen from the hardened leader. You had been away from him longer than you wished. He had told you to go to Minas Tirith after getting orders from Gandalf to help the Hobbits of the Shire. You had heard the story of the great Bilbo Baggins and now apparently Strider had to accompany his nephew, Frodo. He had told you to go to Minas Tirith and wait for his word.

That had been six months ago. You had gotten used to life without him how odd it may seem. You had made a few friends that you probably never would have had Strider joined you. It was terribly uncomfortable. Your simple life changed when you had gotten word from him asking you to join him in Rohan. He knew something was coming and needed all the help he could get.

“A lady does not count her kills.” You spoke breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you. A shift occurred as he had taken control of the dancing now. Your easy banter all but freeing his mind from his thoughts. Dancing wasn’t so bad. Especially if he got to hold you like this.

“By your definition.” He smirked down but dared not look into your eyes for he knew he would cave to any of your demands, “Not by mine. And did you not say I was to be King?”

You fought every urge in you not to pinch his side, “You are impossible.”

“Do you not refute, my lady?” His smirk only grew as he noticed your face fighting the urge to react. It was amusing watching you try and stay neutral. For he had missed this. Sure, it was not only the two of you dancing but it had felt like it. You had a way of taking his mind off of whatever he needed. You had always seemed to have known what he may have needed.

“It is no use in arguing with you, Aragorn.” You gave him the eye letting him know you were not over the little secret he had kept from you for so long. You had only found out of the name when Legolas shouted it on the battlefield almost costing you your life. It had left you stunned. Who was Aragorn and why had Strider reacted as if it was his name.

Because it was. He had apologized profusely before you finally gave in. Leading you to this moment with him. You had finally convinced him he needed to learn how to properly dance since he was to be the king. And lucky for him you so happened to know many dances as your mother had insisted a girl your age to learn them all those years ago in Dúnedain.

An amused smile crossed his features as he led you across the dance floor. Maybe he was not so pathetic after all, “It is not like you, Callia, to bite your tongue.”

“Hush you.” A laugh escaped you. It was no use trying to hide your own amusement. Yes, he pushed you, but it had also shown you how much he too cared for you.

He slowly stopped the two of you from your dance before replying, “You are most fortunate the music has ended."

A quick nod left you head as it spun out of control by his soft touch and daring words, “Most fortunate indeed.” Begrudgingly you took a step back knowing the moment between the two of you had ended.

But his words had stopped you from turning all the way around, “I will stop teasing you if you lead me in another dance. For I must learn. I do not wish to embarrass you.”

You only grinned before stepping back into his hands, “You could never embarrass me Strider.”

Your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you took in the breathtaking room before you. Stifling a laugh, you couldn’t truly believe you had made it here with him, alive and in one piece. Your truest and oldest friend crowned the King of Gondor. How you would never have believed this only three years prior. You watched as royalty and common people alike danced with joy and glee for their newfound leader. Aragorn. It felt the most surreal as you watched him mingle with people that mattered. A King. Who would’ve thought. Glancing down at your nearly empty glass you sighed knowing you had to make the walk back to get another drink.

But you never made it as you were intercepted by nonother the man you were watching far too often that night, “Strider!” You smiled trying to play it off as nothing as his broad hands covered the length of your forearm with ease, “You best get dancing. You have many eyes on you, my King.” You grinned with ease knowing calling him such made him uncomfortable. You truly had known him as Strider for as long as you could remember. You’d met as teenagers in your youth, kids from Dúnedain.

Your fathers were friends keeping you close together often until he went off on his own. When it came time to leave you had heard Strider was a Ranger. Having a feeling you’d run into him again you weren’t surprised you were assigned to his company not long after you left home to find a purpose. Just like him. In a lot of ways, you were the same. But in so many different.

For the last sixty or so years the two of you became something of a menace in the North. Something to be feared. Always working as a team, the two of you always seemed to come out of battles unscathed.

He grumbled in response to the title name you had used on him, “I have told you not to call me that. It does not feel right hearing those words from you. Strider will do.”

You smiled seeing how you managed to get under his skin with such ease, “Strider is too informal. May I call you Aragorn at least?”

“I think Strider is perfectly formal. But you may call me as you see fit. So long as it is not, my King.” He smiled right back at you. Even he had to admit how nice it was seeing you so at ease. He had roamed the North for nearly sixty years with you. He had never seen you so relaxed. He was sure he had seen you smiling more tonight than he had in the past sixty combined. You smiled like that bright eyed teenager who had an obvious crush on the older teen. It was times like these that made him wish he had told you how he had felt the same. He had longed for you for so long in silence. He had a duty to uphold. But now? Time was different. He needed somebody on his side. He had always known that somebody was you.

You bowed just knowing it would push his nerves further, “As my King wishes, I shall only refer to him as Aragorn.”

His mouth dropped at your brazenness, but he should have known better. He was convinced you were placed with him was to keep hm grounded. You had a certain way about you that had him acting his very best, “Y/N.” He let out an audible sigh letting you know he was annoyed.

“Strider.” You raised an eyebrow as if to challenge him knowing that name was now obsolete in your vocabulary. He was Aragorn now. You could get used to it.

He looked to the dance floor before turning back to you, “Would you join me in a dance?” He held his hand out for you to take giving you your favorite impatient face. It was your favorite thing to do after all, push his buttons.

Your smirk turned up into a genuine smile, “This is a pleasant change. I would be honored to join you in a dance, Aragorn.”

“Are you going to choose a name Callia?” He grumbled as you placed your hand in his. His smile never faltered even though he pretended to be most annoyed by you. It wasn’t lost on your how gently he wrapped his hand around yours before nodding his head to the nearly empty ballroom floor.

You giggled more to yourself knowing how annoyed he was with you. Maybe you should stop winding him up. It was almost too much fun to stop though, “Am I not allowed to interchange two of your many names?” You followed along his lead down to the center of the empty floor.

He stopped once he had found a place good enough. Placed one hand over your hip and one behind your back, “Hands on my shoulders.” His voice dropped nearly an octave as he gave you a simple order. A shiver ran down your side at his touch. This was new for you as well. Sure, you had found him ever so attractive, but he hadn’t the slightest interest in you. Everything was platonic as could be between the two of you. So, you had backed off and kept it cool knowing nothing was ever going to happen.

You did as he wished and wrapped your hands around his neck, far more intimate than you had intended but you were committed now. It would be almost more embarrassing to unwrap yourself from him, “You did not answer my question.” You spoke trying to rid your mind of overthinking this situation you had seemed to find yourself in.

He gave you a grin as his eyes trailed all over your face, “I was only playing with you. You may call me as you please.”

Before you could answer the music started forcing your concentration of following his lead. It was impressive how quickly he had picked up on the steps of the dances you had only taught him only a few times a month ago. It had been a little over a month after the Celebration of Helm’s Deep after the hell that was the battle.

You were almost upset when the music had stopped knowing his hands would soon leave you. It was not right to have these feelings for such a longtime friend. Let alone the King of Gondor. But how could you not? He was Strider the great Ranger of the North. He was Aragorn the leader of the Fellowship. He was the King of Gondor. He was everything.

Fortunate for you he hadn’t move his hands from your waist even as the music stopped, “I do think I should call you Aragorn. It suits your stature. You have outgrown Strider.”

He bowed his head before slowly bringing his eyes up to yours, “Then Aragorn I shall be, my lady.” He was smirking now knowing how much you too loathed the high title he had seemed to start calling you.

With a frustrated breath your eyes narrowed at his, “If you shall call me my lady, then I will call you my King.” You too didn’t enjoy how the high title rolled off his lips. You were anything but a lady even in the dress you protested but had been convinced of.

He let out a breathy chuckle as he finally came back to his senses and let his hands go of your waist. You feared to admit how much you had enjoyed his touch and closeness, “I suppose that is fair, Callia.”

Stepping forward to straighten his collar you could only smile up at him in adoration, “You look very handsome tonight. Who knew you cleaned up so well?”

He took your hand in his once more, “It took a fair bit of work. But I must say, it is you who shines the brightest tonight.”

He had never complimented you so forthright before it drew a small gasp out of your very own mouth, “You are most kind to me. Thank you Aragorn.” You were suddenly thankful you had put some makeup on. You were praying it was covering up the sure-fire pink tint that was bound to be covering your cheeks.

He watched as you turned away from him, “You must get back to your advisor. He looks very weary over in the corner.” You tried a good excuse to walk away from him. He was suddenly becoming too much even for you.

“Wait,” You stopped and turned back to him with that subtle blush coating your face. When you stopped he continued, “Come take a walk with me. I wish to talk with just you.” His darting eyes let you know people were listening, always listening in now that he had such a high title.

“As you wish.” You followed him as he left the hall as discretely as he could.

The two of you had made it all the way to the gardens before he had spoken once more, “I want to thank you, Y/N.” By speaking your true born name, you knew this was serious. There was no playfulness of my lady or the knowing name of Callie. Y/N.

You had no clue where this was coming from. Truly, you rattled your mind for further thoughts before you gave in, “Whatever for?”

He smiled as he led you down the path of roses he had grown fond of in his short time here, “For always being there for me. You have shown up for me time and time yet again.” He paused taking your hand in his before placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. Had he no idea what he was doing to you?

“You are my truest friend.” You answered honestly after a few long moments of trying your hardest not to cave into whatever was taking over your mind. He was your friend! Only a friend. That is all he had ever wanted. He was simply thanking you for the journey. That was all. One chapter of your lives had closed and the next was to begin. You had to wonder where you would end up. In the capital being a guard? Roaming the woodland realms for danger? Head home and care for your aging parents? The choices were endless for your new life.

He let out a short laugh, “For that you are. May I tell you something?”

“Anything.” The response was so automatic it almost took you by surprise.

“If not for you, I would not be here.” He spoke quickly.

It took you much longer to process those words, “What do you mean?”

“If I had not known you would always be there I would not be king.” He smiled as his eyes traced your nervous face. You were truly the most beautiful woman he had ever known. How had he gotten so lucky with you? And by any other stroke of luck, you would accept his next question that had been weighing heavily on his mind.

“I am not sure what you mean Aragorn.” Your heart rate sped up just a tad as he stepped back from you. He fished something out of his robe pocked. Your eyes went wide as he held an old relic. A beautiful ring covered in gemstones.

“You have always been there for me Y/N. I fear nobody could ever take that place. I wish nobody to take that place. For I am the happiest when I am with you. Those last six months have not been good for me. But now that I am back with you I feel whole once again. There is no lady that could take your place Y/N. For your place is next to me.” The last words to come out of his mouth almost came out as a whisper for even he was nervous. The mighty King of Gondor afraid of some feelings he had almost his entire life. Oh, how his father would be laughing now.

Your heart rate kicked it up another notch. It felt like you had been training it was racing so fast, “Forgive me, I fear I am not enough…”

He stopped you this time though by placing a gentle finger on your lips, “I wish to not hear you speak poorly of yourself. For I do not respect those words. I will never believe them. I do know your entirely Y/N. Please, do me the honor of letting me court you.”

Your breath had been taken from you now, “You like me?” You had managed to get out feeling oddly faint.

“I love you.” He said so effortlessly you weren’t sure you had him quite right.

Your eyes turned up to his as he stepped closer to you, “You love me?”

A quick nod came from his head as his eyes bore right into yours, “I do.”

“I love you, too.” You spoke back before you could let your thoughts get the better of you.

His hands moved to your cheeks as he held you in his own, “For nearly seventy years I have yearned to hear those words from your lips.”

“For that long?” You asked in bewilderment to his statement. How had he kept it from you with such ease? It amazed you he had managed to be so stoic when you had been so obvious. Why had he fought it for so long?

He did what you least expected and bowed down to you, slowly. He had made sure you knew his intention, “I may not have always been wise to it but indeed. I have always loved you.”

You nodded quickly, your smile beaming brighter than ever before. He was sure that was his new favorite look on you, “Yea.”

“Yea?” He asked you as confirmation.

“I accept. I would be honored to stand by your side Aragorn.” Before you could bow to him he caught your chin in his hand shaking his hand to let you know that would be most unnecessary.

“You are doing me the honor.” He fastened the necklace with the ring on your neck tucking it underneath the top of your dress. His hands trailed down your sides resting on your hip for longer than he should have. He needed to take a step back or he would kiss you. Not that you wouldn’t let him, no. He was sure you would be more than happy about it. He simply wanted to charm you before he kissed you. He would not rush into this with you. For he had taken nearly seventy years to admit how he had felt. What was a little longer?

“You made it, Strider. You did it.” You brushed his wavy hair away from his face knowing that would be the last time you referred to him as such. From here forth he would be Aragorn. And you would wed him. How a life you dreamed of had come to fruition was beyond you.

He shook his head grabbing at your hands once more, “We made it. We did it.” He spoke of all the wishes the two of you spoke about in your many long nights. The dreams had seemed to come truer than either of you could have imagined. It almost didn’t feel real.

You nodded with nothing but love in your eyes, “Indeed, we did it.”

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pursuitseternal · 10 months ago

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“Possessing:” jealous, possessive Astarion in a double smut update for “Our Blood is Thicker,” featuring a first-time flashback 💞

Astarion x Cordehlia (F!OC) | E | 8.7 K possessive and first time smut

Summary: the Shadow-Cursed lands resurrect more for Cordehlia than an old enemy— more memories and griefs that Astarion can’t recall. If only there was some way to show Astarion their past… memories that kindle the same possessive desires of the past and new professions of… love in the present.

CW: angst, longing, jealousy, possessive Astarion, Kind Uncle Vibes Halsin, arrogant young Astarion, first time hand job, first time fingering, teenage sneaking for sex, inappropriate tadpole use if you squint, absolute feral rutting once the memory is done.

Previous Chapter | AO3 | Masterlist

Chapter 10: Possessing

🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️

Astarion could feel the rage building in his love, shuddering with tension off their leader. They all could. Waves of scarlet temper fluctuating as the Drow inside Moonrise Towers insisted on talking despite Cordehlia’s death stare… insisting on talking with Astarion. This Araj… as she introduced herself with the overconfidence of youth and privilege.

Cordehlia hated her already for both. And more.

Her companions held their breath, watching for those quick and deadly fingers of hers to reach for that shining dagger. And they all wanted to close their eyes the moment they heard the Drow, some expert in blood magic and potions, slather her attentions on The Spawn who pressed at Cordehlia’s side. “I’ve always dreamed of being bitten…”

“Uh oh,” Wyll bemoaned under his breath, taking the opportunity to grab at the she-elf’s elbow and whisper in her pointed ear while the Drow was busy making all her intentions known to Astarion. “Have care, for as much as you would like to run the monster throgh, it would not make things easy for us. Unless you wish to face Ketheric from the inside of a cell…”

“Or dead,” Gale added in her other ear.

Cordehlia gave a single, unwilling nod, rolling her shoulders and crossing her arms. Just as the expert in all things sanguine returned her dark eyes on the rest of them. “Can’t you talk some sense into your charge?”

Cordehlia’s fiery eyebrows raised slowly at that. “My charge?” she spoke between pressed lips. A wave of rebuke held back barely by their need to remain inconspicuous. “My vampire is his own being, he can choose who he bites, who he fucks, whom he loves, who he kills…”

“I’m sure he truly believes that,” the Drow laughed. Disparaging.

“Want a demonstration?” Cordehlia added quickly, a single corner of her mouth turning towards a smile.

“It’s alright, darling,” Astarion turned to meet her stare, caught somewhere between aroused and intimidated himself as it turned to lock those narrowed, hungry, enraged eyes on him.

“Oh, oh I see,” Araj gave a disparaging laugh. “You think he’s yours. All yours. I promise, I’ll leave your lover’s lower regions untouched, I only want a bite. In exchange, I’ll give you a potion so great, you’ll never find another like it in the realms…”

“I’ll thank you to never mention my lower regions again,” Astarion hissed.

“And he said no to you,” Cordehlia snapped, closing one step between her enemy and her beloved. “You can keep clear of us, Drow, of me, my companions, and my vampire. What need do we have of watered down power like blood potions when we have the blessing of the Absolute. I wonder why they keep you here at all.”

That made everyone behind her stiffen, every set of eyes scanning for enemies. Just in case.

But Araj laughed. “Fine, linger in your ignorance with your lover. Savor it while your bodies still haven’t burst into a mess of tentacles. See how romantic your nights of coupling are then… True Soul…”

Three sets of hands pressed against Cordehlia’s back then, but only one pulled her into his arm, tugging her along and back into the halls of Moonrise Towers. “Gods,” Astarion scolded her gently right into her ear as they paused on the outer walls of the tower, “your jealousy nearly got us all killed.”

Was he… angry?

She snapped her neck, turning to scowl right into his face. But that raging expression melted the moment she looked into his. He was so soft, so adoring, head tilted slightly as those crimson eyes widened and brushed over her face.

Until they rested on her lips, pursed tightly.

“That pleases you?” she managed to rasp as her tempers cooled.

“To hear you might just risk bringing the whole army of the Absolute down on us because some other female is pining for me to take a bite?” he smirked wickedly, completely possessive and naughty as his eyes looked to her neck. “And they say romance is dead, darling…”

Just as his palm cupped her cheek, tilting her face so close to his, her warm breath filled his undead lungs and coated his tongue with her taste… Gale cleared his throat.

Loudly. Distracting. Intentionally.

“Need I remind everyone that we stand literally on the precipice of the Absolute’s power? That Ketheric Thorm and his army are literally everywhere…”

“And all you two want to do is fuck,” Karlach burst in with a laugh. “I mean, it’s not a bad plan, it’s just not a plan to take down our enemies, soldier.”

Cordehlia rolled her eyes, gripping the back of his neck in her gauntleted hands. Unable to deny herself just a quick kiss, even at the heart of their enemy’s domain. “Fine,” she sighed. “We find the secret to bringing down this… General, but if anyone comes to try to take any of you from me,” she tapped a finger on Astarion’s perfect, aquiline nose, “especially you… they will find it very hard to think with a dagger buried in their skull.”

“Again, such poetry, such romance,” her vampire purred, his arms struggling to release her. Not that he wanted to either.

They made their way back inside the Tower, and thoughts swirled in Cordehlia’s head, the haze of memories beginning to pierce through that constant blanket of lust Astarion seemed to draw about her at all times.

“Right,” she huffed under her breath. “Let’s go find this imposter who calls himself the General….”

“Imposter?” a deep voice rumbled quietly as Halsin turned around. “How do you mean?”

Cordehlia stopped, the others continuing a few paces ahead. “Ketheric is dead, weren’t you there? Did you not fight in vain glory for his defeat alongside Harpers and Druids and Elves? Did you not see the countless souls sacrificed to put that monster in a tomb?”

“I did,” his pale green eyes scanned her face with all the wisdom and insight three-hundred years lends. “You speak as one who knows of such things yourself, young one.”

Cordehlia’s mouth shut tight. Locking her lips in silence, keeping whatever it was that simmered behind her silver eyes within her.

“I may have joined your band to help break this curse that darkens the land, but make no mistake,” he paused before turning to follow, “I will help do whatever is necessary. But to do so, I need to know more than I can read on your own wizened face.”

She shrugged, pushing past the enormous Druid to rejoin the others. “In good time, perhaps…”

But her words dried up the second she stood on the edge of the gathering in the throne room.

He was there. In flesh. Ancient, grey, undead flesh.

Ketheric Thorm, half-elf, great general, and dead no longer.

Cordehlia heard nothing as she watched with frozen horror the scene before her unblinking eyes. An ax, launched from the hand of some goblin about to be punished for their failure, sliced right into the General’s armor. His great, gauntleted hand pulled it free, as if it were no more than a dull knife in butter.

Immortal. Just as they all had said… back from the dead…

And as she tried to steel over her face and steady her nerves, she forced more of those shadows from her past deep down inside her. They would have to be ignored. For now.

It wasn’t until they were back on the shadow-cursed trails, sent to find the mysterious relic that granted the immortal Ketheric Thorm his power, that Cordehlia finally felt her tenuous hold on reality and on her past begin to slip.

It was a century ago… a lifetime ago, a time when she wandered between losing the love of her life and falling under the spell of bloodlust the Bone Picker loved. Before she found herself totally alone. Not-quite widowed, but decidedly orphaned.

And now, her feet traced the same paths and vaulting roots from dying trees he must have…

Her father.

She kept herself busy, hurrying at the front of the group as they moved headlong into the dark and cursed forest.

“We really should make camp,” Shadowheart commented, “there are many dangers ahead, and we wouldn’t wait to face those exhausted.”

“A wise idea,” Halsin affirmed. “We can get a new start with the dawn… or,” he grinned a bit sheepishly, looking at the lands cursed to eternal darkness, “…if not dawn, at least when we are all rested.”

A few laughs sounded from the group as they headed for safer ground. But not Astarion. And not Cordehlia. She gave that smile that didn’t meet her eyes, holding her shoulders slumped down as if she carried that massive, invisible weight. He could almost feel it himself, just by looking at her. Slowly, he drew nearer, falling within earshot. Within arms reach, should she need him.

But she kept her attention on the Druid, locked in as they headed up the path. “Halsin…” she added, voice shaking just a bit, “you… fought to bring Ketheric down… the first time I mean?”

“Giving up your claim of being an imposter?” the Druid teased, instantly regretting the jovial tone as he saw the lines of her face. As he read her pain. “What troubles you?”

Cordehlia glanced beside her, face easing to find Astarion at her side. First in her heart. Always at her side. “These… ruined battlefields, where so many lives were lost, you’ve been here, Halsin. Tell me, did you fight beside the elven hosts?”

Halsin stopped short. That weight in her voice flooded with knowledge. He froze, nearly mid-step. “I thought you looked familiar…” he commented, almost to himself, eyes scanning the she-elf.

“Why?” Astarion interjected, curious if not a tad bit defensive at the familiarity.

“Of course, Star Elf, red hair that shock of brightness. A temper to defy the gods. You’re the daughter of General Aquilae, aren’t you? You’re just as ferocious in battle, just as passionate and hot-tempered.” The Druid tilted his head, starting to walk again. “I am… sorry for your loss. Sorry his sacrifice must feel like it's in vain with Ketheric back from the dead…”

“Don’t assume to know how I feel,” Cordehlia snapped, chin jutting up, barely meeting the large male’s chest-height. But fierce in demeanor. “Sorry,” she relinquished, that defiance instantly retreating back inside her carefully crafted shell.

“Quite alright. You’re in pain, grieving. But even grief heals, all things heal. Nature will heal, as hearts will too,” Halsin grinned gently, “but it takes time and… many ways of seeking solace…”

Astarion couldn’t fight the way his eyes tweaked in suspicion, hackles raising at the informality. As long as it was his tent that her solace was sought for…

“Aquilae…” Astarion let the name roll off his tongue. Something inside his mind thawing, something creeping into the light. “Is that… your name?”

What normally would have made a tender smile come to her full, pink lips made them scowl instead. “For once… for once, it would be a boon to have you either remember your past, or not ask such obvious questions.” She bit at every word. Her shoulders squared at him, armored and taught.

Those crimson eyes narrowed at her, his mouth hardened into a flat line. An exterior of equal adamant to resist her anger. And to hide his hurt.

“Well, darling,” he shook his head quickly, derisively. “I apologize for my shortcomings,” his gaze darted to the Druid who still lumbered beside her. “And I’ll leave you two to… reminisce correctly, then.” The vampire pushed his way between them, heading for the bustling group as they hurriedly and anxious made a small camp, setting magic wards and torches against the Shadows.

Cordehlia’s heart sank, her stomach knotted, making her want to puke right there and then on cursed grounds, watching him stride from her so quickly.

That exterior of injured pride, that mask of indifference hiding his own pain. Pain she caused. Pain flowed from her own.

Halsin cleared his throat softly. “He means a great deal to you, the Elf. The others gossip about your past constantly. Your Wizard, in particular, seems rather… put out that Astarion has meant so much to you,” the Druid sat himself down on a log, the wood creaking beneath his sheer mass.

But Cordehlia was too uncomfortable to do anything more than sway in place as her eyes darted between her Druid and the rest of her party. Not as if she were watching for every pissed-off dart of her silver-haired vampire in the mix.

“I… believe I know your history, or at least as much of it as the rest do…”

She scoffed, fingers beginning to unbuckle her armor methodically, absentmindedly. “More than he probably recalls,” she huffed under her breath. “If only… things were easier. Not just the tadpole and the Absolute… but with him.”

“Nature does not have regrets, young elf, only growth,” he smiled slightly, his scarred face turning with that wise happiness. “Besides, for as much as you resemble your father, the General…”

“He still seems like the pampered, arrogant, devastatingly handsome son of our High Lord and Lady?” she sniffed, suddenly feeling the warm pull of those years, however ancient they may be.

“I suspected as much. Your father only ever spoke to us briefly, to the point, not unlike his formidable daughter when she feels the need…”

That made Cordehlia grin softly once more.

“He had said once, on the eve of battle, he regretted risking his daughter to lose another… that you had already lost so much of your heart, an engagement to the next High Lord ending in tragedy.”

Halsin paused, turning to follow her own sharp, unerring gaze into the mess of companions. Watching as her eyes followed her lover through the crowd, her whole being growing heavier with grief each second that passed.

He let her breathe in silence a moment, waiting for her to speak. At last, something seemed to ease within her. “He was my everything, Halsin. My childhood playmate, my first kiss, my… first of many things…” Her voice was steady, aching with grief and joy mixed into one weighty tone. “He defied his parents to ask for my hand, well… his weakness for planning ahead worked that once, for as much… shame as it could have brought on us both. But I didn’t care. I had him.”

“The son of the High Lord and the daughter of the General must not have been such a match to frown upon,” Halsin sounded.. wistful. Cordehlia wasn’t sure. But she turned to look anyway. “At least now, for whatever darkness you both have endured, you share in one another’s burdens. But you can’t fault him for how he has… survived his pain by pushing down his memories. They will return, in time, as all things…”

“In nature heal,” Cordehlia finished with a laugh. “You’re rather predictable, Druid.”

“Three-hundred and fifty years, and you learn the value of consistency, young one,” he laughed, standing from the log. “Now, we better return before your vampire’s jealousy turns its hungry attention on me as a threat.”

Cordelia gathered the plates of her armor she had removed, walking them towards camp. And then she paused. Cursing.

Of course… as it had been of late, since that night in the Emerald Grove, all her things were in… his tent. Her stomach sank. She… wasn’t ready to face him yet. Wasn’t ready for his chilled anger or his glare of simmering rage, or his little frown of hurt.

But she swallowed her dread and headed towards that stretched structure of red and rose fabric.

It was already so dark, just the flickers of torchlight dancing to show her the way. Pausing, her hand hesitated before it pulled back the flap so she could enter. Cordehlia swallowed, why was she so nervous, he night not even be inside. Might be out hunting… or helping… or…

Before any other thought could make her hesitate longer, a pale hand shot out at her from within, wrapping its cold, undead touch around her wrist, and dragged her inside his darkened domain.

His tent was blacker than pitch. Even for her elf-eyes, it took her a moment to adjust her sights. But she could feel him around her, grabbing her from behind, hand around her chin, arm clutched around her waist, as he pulled her within.

“I didn’t think you’d come, darling…” his voice chilled her marrow, all the jealousy she had imagined inside him biting his words. “Thought you’d be too busy strolling down memory lane with someone who could walk with you…” his lips pushed against the edge of her ear, nipping it with his fangs, “just as you’ve always wanted…”

“You know what I want…” she murmured, arching against the confines of his body.

“Hmmm,” he taunted, and she could feel his breath trailing down her neck. “I thought I did… I’m surprised that you’re here, not indulging in some time with your warm-blooded companion who knows you… and most likely wants to… know you.” His mouth sucked on her ear, “carnally, to be clear.”

“Tch, tch,” she forced her body to twist in his hold, landing the point of her elbow in his gut to make his grip ease. Savoring the little grunted “oof” he made. “Don’t think so low of yourself, my love,” she breathed, scanning the way his face twitched between suspicion and arousal. “As if I could take anyone else, now that I have you back with me at last…”

She meant it, every word. Those eyes soft with sincerity, those lips already slightly puckered to invite him closer.

But he still had too much jealousy gripping his undead heart, too much ice flowing in his veins yet. “You’d rather have someone remember, I know, someone who knew your name, your father, someone who recognizes the family resemblance of your temper to match your hair… someone who can match the… intimacy you seek with your memories in the same way they might with your delicious body.” He pouted, those full lips of his frowning in taunting disapproval. “If only there was some way for us to share thoughts and memories, mind to mind…” he turned to give her the full power of his gaze then, and it made her lose her breath with his beauty, his intensity. That rakish cant of his brows and the haze of hunger in his eyes.

Her brows raised slowly, her smile spreading. “What are you suggesting, Astarion?”

He let his fangs show, his hands gripped into the soft flesh of her upper arms. “Show me, show me everything. Use the parasite, link your mind to mine, for I’ll be damned if anyone…” he growled with a snap of his jaw, “anyone lays a claim to you more than me.”

“Why, Master Ancunìn,” she smirked, running the pads of her fingers down that sharp cut of his jaw, “jealousy does rather become you.”

He stiffened beneath his touch, the muscles of his jaw tweaking as he clenched.

“You’re… not just jealous, are you?”

His eyes cast to the side. Just enough hint of remorse, of regret and longing softened his face.

“I… can’t explain it,” he whispered, almost sounding frightened to let the words out. “All I have known for so long is to manipulate, to do as I was commanded, to use my body and bury my mind, my feelings so far down, I… forgot what it was to think or feel for myself.”

His hands began to wander, to stroke her smooth skin and taught muscles beneath her shirt.

“And then, I found you, or rather, you found me. You forced me to confront those parts of me I neglected in order to survive. You made me rediscover what it meant to want a person…to want anything for myself. Like how you almost tore the throat of that vile Drow today, just for assuming you could compel me to bite her fetid flesh.”

He breathed, that jealousy still crept close by, his fingers insistent on her flesh, even with all the vulnerability that flooded his voice.

“I… should say thank you, my darling, but I would rather show you my gratitude. Rather stand at your side as equals, knowing everything that makes you… you.”

“That makes us… us,” she added, a smile soft on her lips. Her hand held his, pulling him down along with her, sitting on the mess of his blankets and pillows he called a bed. Before he could even settle completely, she crawled in his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist, cradling his cheek in her palm. His eyes bore into hers, the intensity, the possessiveness, the curiosity burning bright in the deep red of his eyes. “What would you wish to see?” she asked softly.

“Show me your father, show me you… show me our first moments, our sweetest moments, our most sensual, our most painful,” he rasped, brows furrowed with his ardor. “I want to recall… everything…”

She paused for a breath, eyes closing as if she searched those memories. Finally, her silver eyes opened, her gaze was languid, distant, and desirous. “Open yourself to me,” she whispered so close to his own parted lips.

A single brow arched in humor, “That's my line, darling…”

Before she could tease him or roll her eyes, their minds smashed into one another, their tadpoles humming as the world around them instantly disappeared….

———

“What do you have to say for yourself, lordling?” General Aquilae stared at him with those piercing dark eyes. Sharp like the eagle, the bird of prey after which he was named. “Son of the High Lord, caught watching our daughter bathing, you know there will be repercussions even your parents can’t pull enough strings to free you from…” The warrior’s voice rumbled like thunder, towering over where the young elf male stood in his study.

But Astarion gave no ground, arms crossed over the pale green of his tunic, the golden threads of its intricate embroidery catching the firelight as night began to fall. His sharp features smiled slightly, his deep violet eyes dancing as he watched the warrior pacing back and forth, that silver shock of hair barely tamed, same as he was as a youth, barely more tamed than the willful elfing that ran about with his daughter.

And now… now they would be inseparable. They had to be.

“You know what you have done has sealed Cordehlia’s fate as much as your own, little lord?” the general added. His voice sharp, direct.

“I would hope so, Commander,” Astarion purred in reply, “I thought my affections for your daughter were on… full display this afternoon.”

General Aquilae pressed his thick fingers into his temples, rubbing them as if to ease a headache. “You know, Astarion, most young males court their intendeds with letters or poems or art or song… not their cock in their hand as they watch them bathing.”

Astarion shrugged, coolly and casually. “I have never been like most young males, Commander. You have always known that, as loyal friend of my parents, their faithful General…”

“You can leave your parents out of this, boy,” the general straightened. “What will you do to make this right by Cordehlia? Leave her to the shame you’ve inflicted? To the gossip and the ostracization of her peers?”

“I intend to make her mine, General,” he replied. Steadily, those hard, smirking lines of his face easing as his smile dropped.

The commander turned to round one more time across his study, his boots falling harshly against the wooden planks of the floor. Until he drew up short. “It’s close, but you need to be clear, Ancunìn. You’ll make her your what? Mistress, whore…”

“Bride.”

It was a simple word. Uttered so clearly, so matter-of-factly, all ears that heard it frozen.

Her father. And Cordehlia. The sneaky she-elf who peered through the smallest chink in the wall, who held her breath to hear two men discussing her future. But at that word, her heart soared, scared, excited, terrified and… something else she didn’t know. Something that stabbed her like a hot poker in the gut and flooded her abdomen with heat. She could see Astarion’s face perfectly from here; he looked so regal, so confident. So happy. Especially at making her father draw up short and stop, at a loss for words.

“Well, General?” Astarion grinned, smiling so self-assured, so cocky, “do you need me to repeat, sir?”

“No,” the older elf cleared his throat loudly and repeatedly. “Thank you.”

Astarion bowed his silver-tousled head. “If that is set arights, then perhaps I can break the happy news to my intended myself?”

“Firstly,” General Aquilae raised a single thick digit at the boy, “I will set you straight on this point, lordling. You are both far too young by the rights of our people to marry. Prepare yourselves for a long engagement, one where you had better show her nothing but the respect and devotion befitting a female of our status…” he narrowed his large silver eyes down at the boy, “even if it is still beneath your own, Master Acunìn.”

Astarion flashed a bright smile, a deferential bow of his head and shoulders, hand placed graciously over his heart. “On my honor,” he crooned, magnanimous in tone. Just like his parents. “The lady and I will wait for years, for decades, if that is your sage guidance.”

“Not decades, no,” he sniffed in rejoinder. “Don’t be so grandiose, boy. Five years hence at most until you may wed, unless any unexpected, little… surprises… come up in the meantime…”

Violet eyes wide, Astarion remained still at the implication. He swallowed hard, much to her father’s satisfaction. “Yes, General,” he murmured in reply. The meaning was clear enough.

General Aquilae almost laughed at the submission, the immediate effect of discomfort that smacked the boy across his pristine, handsome, and youthful face. It would be enough to scare the boy into caution for the time being. And that would be enough for now. “Allow me to fetch your intended, then.” He crossed towards the door, but paused when the boy gave that signature boisterous giggle.

“No need,” he giggled again. “Cordehlia already has her ear pressed to the wall, eyes peering through keyholes, I shouldn’t wonder…”

That violet, glinting gaze looked right at her… where she had one eye locked through the crack in the wall. A smile dancing on his thick, parted lips.

Quickly, she moved and held her breath, flouncing her gown and making her way as if she were simply strolling by the study door, a little book in hand as if she were lost in reading. Her father threw open the dark wooden door. “Daughter,” he ordered. No other words needed. His lined brow furrowed to see her, in fact, so close to his study.

“Yes, Father?” she lilted, tucking the book neatly against her chest as she folded her arms. “Is… is there something the matter?”

“I’ll let you find out for yourself,” he replied, walking out the door, “but no, nothing the matter.” His rough hand caught his daughter’s fingers from her book, giving them a tender squeeze before he left them to it.

Her heart raced, slowly turning to face that smirking youth in her father’s study. The one who went toe to toe with her father, and lived to tell the tale.

“Astarion,” she beamed, open and exuberant to see him against her better judgment to be coy. “It is late, you know.”

“No better time for a man to call upon his beloved, his intended…” he grinned, all feline and subtle, striding to shut the door behind her. “I don’t need to regale you with all the negotiations do I? You were listening ever so intently from your little hiding spot, weren’t you?”

“Of course,” she smiled, taking a few steps away from where he felt so close to her. Crossing, she sat on the little couch near the fire. And she regretted it the instant he sat immediately beside her. “I… I suppose I should thank…”

“Don’t,” he interjected. “Tch,” he sucked his teeth, a habit of his when teasing her lately, “I told you I would get what I wanted, Cordehlia.”

“And, what was that?” she forced her face into a blank, innocent expression. Wide-eyed and pouting, hiding the laughter that bubbled inside.

“You,” he slowly seemed to lean in. “Despite my parents’ plans for a marriage alliance… despite your father’s hesitations…” his eyes cast down the front of her down, scanning the intricate weave of laces and ribbons that held her in, even as her chest heaved with panting and her bosoms threatened to spill out the top. “Despite even your own thoughts of self-inadequacy…”

“Oh, I do not doubt my own measure, Astarion,” she chided in reply, “I doubt that I will be enough to satisfy you and your… ambitions.”

“Wanting great things out of life means nothing if I can’t share it with you, my…” he whispered, that edge of pretend leaving his silken voice. A single finger pressed under her chin, feeling her throat swallowing and her jaw bobbing as she nervously met his gaze. “Hmmm, what shall I call you now?” he grinned. “My friend seems too unromantic. My intended, my betrothed… those seem so cumbersome.”

“Something simple, sweet and flirtatious,” she smiled, leaning into the heat of his touch, more of his fingers beginning to sweep over her cheek. “Nothing too saccharine… just a little something… darling…”

“Oh,” he gave that secretive half smile of his, “aren’t you just darling? So sweet and yet deceptively strong… that hint of irony behind it.. yes. Yes, it’ll do nicely, darling…”

Her eyes darted away, feeling so hot, cheeks flushed and burning, his hand still holding her face. But that heat swirled in her gut, her mind still reeling over the events of that day, and while her skin was clean from bathing, her mind had turned to only images and questions that were so, very dirty. “So…” she paused, feeling his face drawing nearer, his breath washing over her. “What was it you were caught doing exactly?”

Astarion’s eyes flashed, wide and dilating as he stared at that impertinent grin. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean… I wish to know… what… you were doing while you watched me,” her voice grew quieter, deeper in her throat the more she spoke.

“I was… pleasuring myself,” he managed to say, watching her cheeks growing pinker and pinker.

“Show me,” she whispered. Her chin jutted out in that over-confident way of hers.

Astarion cocked his head, a single corner of his lip curving slightly. “What?” he drolled.

“Show me… what you were doing…” she whispered, eyeing the door shut beside them, pure mischief in her silver eyes. “Show me, please…”

“I do so like it when you ask so sweetly,” he raised his brow, grinning widely as he leaned towards her breathtaking face. “So refined and smoothed over your edges, and yet…” His fingers pressed on her chin, tilting her upwards and drawing her close to his lips, “I still see that willful, feral playmate of mine who never once treated me like the son of the High Lord…”

“Quit your stalling, Acunìn,” she snapped, smiling all the while. Her body was pulsing, hotter than the fire before them should have made her. Her skin grew tighter the more he touched her.

“I can show you,” he whispered, smirking as his eyes darted towards the door. “But I’ll not do it in your father’s domain. Not when I’ve just garnered his dissenting approval.”

Her breath grew heavy, her dress suddenly too tight. “Where… when…?”

“It’s your home, darling. Can’t you think of someplace quiet… someplace intimate…”

“The gardens,” she couldn’t reply quickly enough. “I can slip from my terrace, if you meet me.”

“Then I shall be there,” his voice was thick, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. It made her stomach knotted and fluttery. Made her skin burning and her blood pounding. Whatever it was she was about to learn, she could barely wait the few moments it would be to sneak away.

Then he kissed her, more than just the little pecks as children. More than the courtly press of his mouth on her gentle fingers. He spared her nothing, for she knew full well already the twist of his tongue around her own, the sucking of his lips and the clack of his teeth against hers. But this kiss, this devoured her. Sucked her breath and filled her tastebuds with him alone. Until she forgot to so much as breathe.

A loud footstep outside the door made them suddenly draw apart, the turn of the handle making Astarion shoot right up from the couch to stand coolly at the mantle, a chilled, contented smile on his lips as her father returned.

As if those lips weren’t just consuming his daughter.

“It’s late, Master Acunìn,” the General commented, always direct, always commanding.

“Yes, well, there will be many years ahead of us for goodnight and goodbyes, isn’t that right, my darling?” the young elf nodded his head to his future bride. Who, very wisely, kept her flushing face away from the sight of her father.

“Yes, Astarion,” she replied, all joy and music in those two words. “Goodnight to you both,” she stood to dip a curtsy. “I am ever so pleased with our arrangement,” she added, smiling as she made her way from the room.

“As am I,” Astarion replied, locking eyes with the General. “Goodnight, my future bride and father. I can see myself out.”

“So long as you don’t see yourself back in, boy,” her father laughed under his breath. A cold sort of laugh, wisened by experience past the machinations of youth. “You have years for that. The blink of an eye for our kind.”

Astarion nodded his head, eyes still fixed on his exit. Careful not to give away the racing of his heart in anticipation. Gratified that his instincts were sharper than the General, the aging elf whose eyes he could feel until the moment he shut the door to their home behind him.

It would be an easy deception, to head down the path towards the road and double back to the little garden. The moon was bright, and the stars even brighter. Hanging arbors of bright purple and rosy blooms covered the walls and trellises.

She had chosen well, a secluded spot, hidden and muffled. He watched her room, a little cutaway on the ground floor, as he had before. Her shadow moving in the light, the flicker of candles gutting out as he heard the door to her terrace open.

He peered out from behind the arbor, her eyes instantly setting on him, her mouth parting in a smile. Hoisting her skirt, she ran over the little tiled terrace, scrambling, almost vaulting over the balustrade to land in his arms.

“I can’t believe you did that, Astarion,” she panted, instantly pressing her lips against his. “You’re so much trouble…”

“Yes,” he breathed in between her moving lips, “but aren’t I just worth it?”

“Show me what you were doing and we will see,” she growled into his mouth, his hands already skating over the silks of her gown, pawing beneath the edges of her robe. His fingers traced down her arm, weaving into her hand. Pulling her, they reached the little bench, nestled among the hanging vines of sleeping flowers. All was quiet and shadow. The air was cool against their burning skin, the stone of the bench even colder as they slammed into it, tumbling down to sit side by side. Pressed so tightly together, her leg draped between his. His arms pulled tightly around her waist.

“First day giving me your word you’ll be mine,” he panted, “and already all you want to know is how to pleasure me?”

“Well,” she shoved him away, hand planted firmly on his chest. “I already know how to tease you, to best you, to anger you and calm you…” she tilted her head with a sultry, knowing smile. “I’m sure there is much I have yet to learn… and I am eager for you to teach me.”

“You’ve come a long way from flinging mud in my face and threatening to tattle on my father, darling,” his words tickled her cheek as he hovered over her ear. “If you wish to learn, this lesson will be completely… hands on.”

“Save your wit, Astarion,” she hissed, a smile on her face, her hands already straying over the soft fabric of his tunic. “Need I remind you, after today, you had the advantage of knowing the sight of me… all of me. I have yet to have the same pleasure.”

“All in good time, after all…” he pulled away to stare into her eager eyes, so bright as they caught the starlight, “we have years ahead of us now.”

His hand covered hers, sliding it lower, letting her fingers brush over his belly that clenched as he struggled for air. Astarion said nothing, just giving her that half a smile that made her blush. His eyes watched her face blanch as he moved her hand even lower, to press it against where he was hard yet again that day. Slowly, he moved her fingers up and down it, her mouth hanging open slightly to feel its length from where it met his pelvis to the tip that pressed somewhere down the leg of his breeches.

She swallowed hard. Her breath was harsher than ever. Than even after sprinting.

“Well,” he finally purred as he kept their hands working over him slowly. “I only saw the parts of you that glittered in the water above its surface, and I have never been more jealous of some dewy drops on your skin before.”

Cordehlia smirked, beginning to move her hand more freely, fingers tracing the rounded edges of whatever it was beneath. “Now poetry? I prefer you razor wit…”

“How about nothing more than the sounds we make all on our own?” he breathed, his hands pulling the laces from his breeches free. She felt it shift as the fabric released. That hard thing twitching as he reached inside. She couldn’t look away, the sight of him making her mouth water.

And her body even hotter than she had ever been in his presence, in his arms before.

She shut her jaw, clenching it as she watched his hand wrap around its width, watched as it jerked and twitched as he beat over it back and forth. “It’s not like you to hesitate or to balk when something is… hard.”

One hand shoved his shoulder, the other wrapped to join his grip around that… thing. She exhaled as she squeezed, the skin so smooth, the whole shaft so hot and pulsing with the beat of his heart. And so hard as he had joked. Rigid and silken, hard and smooth. Her touch straying towards its tip, she saw it dripping, little white, almost clear drops as she touched it. She swept it in her fingers, tacky and slick over that fleshy tip.

He groaned as she did so, and instantly she pulled away. “Sorry,” she hissed, her cheeks growing even redder in shame to hurt him.

“No,” he panted, grabbing her hand back to encircle that tip again. “The opposite, it felt amazing, the way you touch my cock…”

“Oh,” she smiled, reapplying the same sort of stroke over that little slit, feeling it seeping again as she touched him. “So…” she tilted her head, meeting those dilated, violet eyes, “…you like this?”

“Mmm, very much, even better than when I touch myself and think of you. The real thing is so much better,” he groaned again as she stroked harder, faster, like he had before. Head thrown back, he closed his eyes, savoring that no-longer-timid touch.

“What happens next?” she asked, somehow breathless herself.

“The best part,” he replied through clenching teeth. “Whatever you do, don’t dare stop…” he was growling, his hips raising as she kept that beat. He rocked on the stone bench, hands gripping into the edge. She watched as he contorted, seeming to be in agony, that cock in her hand growing harder and hotter, but she didn’t dare stop. Like he asked.

She felt it shudder in her fingers, his body clenching as he groaned. Collapsing forward, he kept shaking as noise after pained and panting noise came from his mouth. More of that sticky white drips shot from him, and Cordehlia held her breath, so certain she had hurt him.

A fear that was dispelled the moment she looked at his face now. His slack-mouthed smile, his eyes wide and glowing in the moonlight, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her against him. Lashing his mouth to hers, he muttered such sweet things into her lips. “That was…” he paused to breathe, “amazing. You were perfect. Better than I had dreamed…”

“It looked painful,” she replied, breaking away with a push on his chest again. Turning her head, she looked where the stones of the terrace were discolored and wet, where his cock still dripped a little more of that gleaming whiteness. “And you call that pleasuring yourself?”

“I assure you, he grinned, brows raising, lips quirking, “it is quite the opposite of painful.”

“Hmm,” she hemmed, skeptical as she turned to look back into that face.

“You look like you need some.. convincing…”

His hands wrapped around her waist, slowly starting to gather up the thin silks that covered her perfect, pale skin.

“I think I can show you, if you let me,” he crooned, mouth smiling wider.

“You’re going to teach me how to… pleasure myself?” Oh, she was so haughty, so confident and daring. Even when she was wrong, it was stimulating.

“Really?” She kept that hand firmly on his chest, even as her body gave her away, her hips sliding slightly closer as his hands pulled her skirts to her knees. “I take it this knowledge was not garnered from first… hand… experience…” she tested him.

“No, no,” he shook his head, smiling with reassurance, “I read it in a book, a most fascinating book…”

“So fascinating that it made you pursue release in… pleasuring yourself after?”

“Seems like you know more than an elegant, righteous she-elf should…” he touched her skin then, sliding two fingers higher from her knee. “You weren’t watching me, were you?” he taunted, fingers tracing back down only to dare higher beneath her skirts.

“No, that seemed to be your duty, my darling,” she laughed as she spoke, low and slick. Her breath came heavier. Her skin flamed hotter the higher he touched.

Then, she looked right into his eyes, all that taunting evaporated, her smile softened, her eyes wide and pleading as she could do nothing more than breathe and lean back even more.

And he kept touching, awed by that look of trust and… love. And then, he slunk those fingers beneath the thin line of her undergarments.

She was… wet. Hot. Those folds he had read about, observed in drawings… it was so much better now. But he needed more.

His other hand gripped her knee, pulling those strong legs of hers apart. A gasp tore from her throat as she let him. Her fingers clutched at the back of his head, locked into his hair as if she was about to collapse.

And then, his touch slid inside. Her eyes shot wide, her face contorting like his had, now she knew why.

He slid those fingertips back and forth, dragging that hot slick more and more through that seam. At last, he circled through that point at the apex, drawing his touch over that hard little spot. Just as he had read. But the way it made her clench and groan was even… more magnificent.

Her cheeks were so pink, her forehead beading with sweat. “What… is that…” she managed to speak, breathless and deep in her throat.

“Give me you hand, sweet Cordehlia, and you can tend to your own needs when I can’t be with you in the shadows.”

She obeyed, keeping that one grip tight around his neck. But the other slipped in to join his so quickly. Pushing harder, sweeping faster, his fingers tried to keep up with the way she was… touching herself.

“Gods,” he groaned, “how does it feel?”

“I… can’t…” she panted, eyes shutting hard as she groaned.

So he slid his fingers in deeper in… in her quivering walls.

“Ah!” she mewled, forgetting they were still in danger, forgetting anyone could hear them.

But Astarion didn’t care, not when she clenched hard and tight around his fingers, not when his cock was pulsing again, aching for another round of his own release.

She shook so hard, she almost pulled him down, her arm releasing instead to hold herself up. Her eyes looked at his body again, settling on where his cock still stood hard and twitching in his lap. “I want to watch you… watch you touch yourself while I…”

“Yes,” he growled, hand slipping from her skirts, rubbing that slick that coated his whole hand over himself. “Gods, Cordehlia,” he couldn’t keep his eyes open, not needing much more than a few more pumps on his cock to set him nearly off again. One last glance of her face wracked with ecstacy, the sound of her orgasm as she beat her own fingers into that hot slick he could smell… it was enough.

It was more than enough.

He watched as she bit her lips and screamed through them, hearing that wet squelch of her fingers beneath her skirt grow somehow wetter sounding.

She was divine. Worthy. Beyond compare. Worth all the wagging tongues of the nobles and disapproving scowls of his parents to make her his.

His.

And with that, he groaned and came again. Harder and more intensely than ever before. Spurting streams of his cum covered the tiles and dripped from his hand.

He looked at her then, her eyes glazed with lust, with sated desire and yet burning up for more.

He was hers as much as she was his…

And he would never be the same.

————

She released his mind. His mouth hung open, his breath ragged.

His heart warmed over, despite being dead, all fluttering and hot. Maybe a fragment of his soul returned to him, he wasn’t sure. The way her silver eyes beat open, that ember of desire in them from the memory of so long ago… it made him realize just how achingly hard he had become.

More than her blood in his stomach, more than the sight of her bathing… it was an ache in his groin and his chest that only one thing could satisfy.

And he could smell the same need between her legs, could hear it in the way her heart raced and rapped in her chest.

Swift and sure, her hands clutched into his shirt, grabbing him hard and pulling him. To make him climb on her body, to cover herself in the only remedy to quell her burning. She pushed his clothes off his skin, his voice reduced to a growl in his throat. Those eager, dexterous fingers ripped his own clothes off, relieved only once he was freed. Once they both were freed, nothing but their skin and desire to share.

“I was your first,” he rasped, crushing her with his body, consuming her with his mouth. “The first to know you, to touch you…”

“To taste me and pleasure me and have me…” she purred, “and I you.”

“And none shall have you like I have… like I do…” Astarion groaned, slipping his fingers into her, just as he had perhaps a million times before. Her arousal was so hot and plentiful, all resistance was gone.

As if her body was made for him. The same way a key can slip so perfectly into its lock.

After those memories, he wouldn’t be surprised if it were so. “You enjoyed learning from me,” he grunted into her mouth, the visions of their memories still flaring in his head. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she sighed back. Her hips bucking hard, riding each crooking touch he made deep inside her.

“Your little shakes of excitement, your wide, innocent eyes and pink little lips wet for me…”

“Yes,” she sighed again, arching and clinging hard around his neck.

“Your lips, your breasts, your honey-dripping cunt… Gods, I want to fuck them all, make every inch of you mine, make them swollen and marked by my bite…” he looked down at her then, teeth glinting as he gave a wide-mouthed grin. “Not the Druid, not the Wizard, not a single one that looks at you would doubt you are mine…”

“Astarion, I’ve been yours,” Cordehlia said, hands gripping hard as she shuddered, feeling her own juices beginning to gush around his fingers, his thumb commanding her with all the dexterity he plied, all the knowledge of her body he now recalled from centuries.

He crooked his fingers even harder through her orgasm, working and fighting against every time she bore down in ecstacy. Panting, she softened around him, beneath him. Yielding to every part of him, body and soul. “Your turn,” she rasped, face nestled against his shoulder. Her hand gripped around his cock, slick already from the drips that already leaked from its tip.

Hips bucking into her fist, his lips peeled back to bare his teeth. “May I?”

“Bite me a dozen times so everyone sees your markings? Yes,” she snickered, rubbing over his shaft just a little faster until he groaned. From her touch or her words, she wasn’t sure. But she loved it either way.

The base of her neck, the throbbing of her jugular, the crest of her collarbone… one after another he nipped and drank. Each bite making her fist clench so tightly around his cock, he had no choice but to let his body rut into her grip. His tongue lapped all over her own ivory skin, her crimson blood thick in his throat as she pleasured him.

That age-old touch that commanded him, pleasuring him as only she could. Thousands of forced lovers over hundreds of years, and for once, he reclaimed that feeling of intimacy, that near-first-time thrill he thought long dead. Making love to one he wanted. One he…

“I love you,” he whispered between her blood-dripping breasts.

“I have always loved you,” the reply couldn’t leave her lips fast enough. Her fingers gripping into the locks behind his pointed ears, pulling his dripping copper-tanged mouth to hers. Furious. Crazed. Matching that possessiveness stroke for stroke with her tongue, nip for nip with her teeth on his lips. Her hand dragged through the pooling blood on her body, running that warm, thick liquid over his cock.

Making him shudder as she ran her touch up and down it again. He groaned with that hot slick gliding over his length. The scent of her blood was too delicious to resist. “As fun as it was to cum all over you when we were young, I’d much rather be invited inside, my love.” He tried to sweeten his voice, but that play on his cock already had him undone.

She only chuckled, guiding him inside her so quickly, he barely could tell what was her fist and what was her folds until her thighs clenched tight around his waist, her hips bucking hard against his own. Riding him with every little bit of passion she had stored inside for him alone.

Possessing her for centuries. Making certain he never forgot now that he was hers to possess as well.

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franzkafkagf · 5 months ago

Note

that are your conquerors headcanons? pretty please? 🥺

omg this has been in my askbox for soooo long im sorry. I have soooo many thought let me split it up

aegon i 🐲

he is nawwwt beating the intertility allegations im afraid

he was the quietest of the siblings

he had a bad relationship with his father, they never got along. i mean the first thing he did after becoming the lord of dragonstone was to burn down volantis for being foolish; i think their father was too cautious/inactive and he resented him for that

when the maester told him there was a possibility that he is unable to sire heirs he had a tauntrum and had to be soothed by his sisters 😭

he fell into a depression after rhaenys died, visenya had to drag him to balerion so they could go burn down some castles again

dorne's letter was a plea for peace; prince nymor told him that rhaenys didn't die with her fall; she died after the dragons' wrath over dorne. she was burned with the dornishmen by her own siblings

he went to dragonstone to burn her remains

he felt even more guilty after that revelation, him doting on aenys so much and being blind to his weaknesses was "atonement". he genuinely thought he killed rhaenys and had to do this to make it right. he knew aenys could never become the king he needed to be

visenya 🗡️

she is nawwwt beating the intertility and boy mom allegations im afraid

she is extremely loyal to the people she loves (namely rhaenys, aegon and maegor)

she actually did help aenys at the end of his life; she loved him, i'm sure of it. she tried to save him but he couldn't be saved anymore

she loves him because he is rhaenys' son. that loyality didn't extend to rhaenys' grandchildren, though.

she and aegon were VERY alike. so alike that it was kind of scary tbh

that's also why they couldn't stand each other most of the time (the love was there, though)

visenya was LIVID about his reaction to the letter, that was the final straw for their relationship

not only because he showed "weakness" by making peace, but also because he didn't tell her about rhaenys' funeral. she wanted to be there.

she and aegon created maegor together via ancient valyrian blood magic

visenya saw this as a last restort; aenys seemed like he was going to die

rhaenys 🎀

she was a bit of a hoe but we love that for her

aerion said sterile daughter, sterile son and thot daughter

she is the only one of the three siblings actually able to have a cordial conversation with someone

she's the optimist while aegon is the pessimist and visenya is the realist

she and meraxes had a super deep bond

the conversation between the siblings on how to get a heir was very awkward

visenya and aegon insisted on also choosing who aenys' father was going to be

she was the one who came up with the house sigil of the three-headed-dragon

she was never really that passionate about the conquest; she only went along with it because her siblings did

she was the best mom to aenys <3

#WOAH. got that out of my system.#aegon the conqueror #aegon targaryen #visenya targaryen #visenya the conqueror #rhaenys targaryen #rhaenys the conqueror #asoiaf #asks #ales.txt #my creations

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theharrowing · 9 months ago

Text

Collateral 🗡️ POV: Jungkook

Jungkook has to take care of a few things, and he makes a mess.

Or, the one with Jungkook, a cocktail of drugs, a bandolier of kunai knives, and 15 dead men.

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

❗ THIS IS A CHARACTER POV CHAPTER!!!

if you do not wish to perceive any POV that is not the main character, please feel free to skip this one!

🗡️Jungkook x a male stranger, Jungkook x Taehyung

🗡️ word count: 8.5k

🗡️ mafia au, complicated relationships, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit, 21+

🗡️ warnings: discussion of drug use and manufacturing (mdma/ecstasy, methamphetamines, amphetamines); mention of homeless people being thought of as disposable; actual drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy laced with meth, all while drinking whiskey); use of molotov cocktail as a weapon; hand-to-hand combat; graphic knife violence & broken glass used as a weapon; killing 15 men; getting stabbed but not too badly; plenty of my annoying sense of humor.

🗡️ note: hello! welcome to the character pov chapters! these used to be locked behind a paywall but tbh i don't feel good asking people for money, so i am setting them free (cue Jimin.) this chapter is possibly my favorite written chapter for all of Collateral, and it is gory as all hell. i hope you love it!!!

🗡️ early draft beta read by @blog-name-idk - but it has undergone some pretty big non-beta'd edits

🗡️ posted feb. 2024 - originally sept. 2022 | read on ao3

The sounds of Jeongguk grunting while his fists repeatedly hit his punching bag are all that can be heard in his spacious home. So when Jeongguk glances up to find this morning's hookup standing against the frame of the hallway entrance in light blue boxer shorts, he startles, and, in a flash, pulls his gun from the holster around his hips.

The man jumps and throws his hands in the air while Jeongguk sighs and shakes his head, recalling who he is. He reaches back and slides the barrel of his weapon into place at the small of his back.

"Why are you still here?" Jeongguk asks, returning to punching the red sand-filled bag that hangs from the ceiling of his mostly empty living room.

Sweat runs down Jeongguk's face and neck, sticking his hair to his forehead. He wears his hip holster, a pair of black basketball shorts, and nothing else. With each strike of his bare skin against the bag, his knuckles sting.

"That's no way to speak to the guy who sucked your soul through your dick this morning," the man teases, and Jeongguk grimaces as he looks at the man, who grins.

With a scoff and a roll of his eyes, Jeongguk says, "I never even learned your name. It's not that serious."

The man opens his mouth as if to respond, but Jeongguk raises his hand and says, "I don't want to fucking know. Be on your way."

For a brief moment, the man just stands and stares owlishly with his mouth gaping open, and Jeongguk resists the urge to pull his gun on him once more. Then the man shifts around on his feet and mutters, "You drove us here," with a dejected frown.

Jeongguk sighs with vexation. He pulls his phone from his pocket, thumbs around through his contacts, and calls Hoseok, who answers after the second ring.

"Ggukie bun, to what do I owe the pleasure?" It sounds like Hoseok has his phone on speaker, which means he is most likely driving.

"Hyung, are you busy? I need someone driven home."

"I happen to be on my way back to the property now. Gimme ten? Gonna pick up Seokjin and then I'll swing by."

"Sounds good. Thank you, hyung."

Hoseok chuckles, says, "My pleasure, little bro," and hangs up.

Jeongguk shoves his phone back into his pocket and nods toward the front door, saying, "Your ride will be here in ten. You can wait outside."

With a huff, the man turns on his heels and walks back down the hallway to the guest room from which he came. Irritated, Jeongguk abandons his workout and walks to the kitchen for a glass of water. His house is a spacious and open concept with black countertops and silver appliances, all of which are pristine and practically empty.

Jeongguk pulls a tall, thin glass from the rack beside the sink, fills it halfway with water from the tap, and drinks most of it, only to dump out the rest. Then he rinses the glass off, sets it in the same spot it was before, and he returns to his punching bag, waiting for his guest to leave.

It only takes another moment for the man to appear in a black tee untucked over tight blue jeans. His hair is short, dark brown, and disheveled, and Jeongguk spares him a final passing glance before looking away. Some shuffling around is heard as the man puts on his shoes before the front door opens and closes.

Jeongguk grabs his gun from its holster and twirls it around his finger as he makes his way through the space and locks both deadbolts on the front door—not that the man would be able to bypass a retina scan and passcode to return inside. He heads up a flight of stairs beside the entrance toward his master bedroom and en suite to get ready to meet with Yoongi and Namjoon in thirty minutes, whistling some tune that is stuck in his head while the heavy, familiar weight of his glock grounds him.

Meetings make Jeongguk anxious. For as long as he has been part of Yoongi's family, nobody has given Jeongguk a reason for his anxiety; it is simply his natural state of being. He hates sitting and brainstorming, always finding himself spacing out and needing whoever was speaking to repeat themselves. He would rather be given an order and sent on his way.

And with the new girl in the house, everyone has the habit of getting sidetracked and steering the conversation to her. Especially Namjoon and Hoseok.

It is not as if Jeongguk doesn't like having her in the house, but he is tired of having to pretend to give a shit about new people. And, after the debacle with Ryujin, he is not eager to watch his boss fall in love with an outsider.

If there is one thing this world has taught Jeongguk, it is that to love is to die.

In his standard-issued black button-up tucked into black slacks, Jeongguk checks his appearance, running a hand through his unstyled hair. The front is growing out, falling just below his eyebrows, and it is another thing on the long list of shit he does not want to deal with.

Jeongguk straightens out his rolex and heads out through his dimly lit bedroom, down the short hallway to the flight of stairs that leads right to his front entrance. He sits on the second to last step and puts on worn-out doc marten boots, taking care to double tie the laces, and he adjusts the gun holster on his ankle so that it sits comfortably above his right boot.

Not that he will need a gun to go to Yoongi's place, but he may need one for where he plans on going after.

Jeongguk's home is the second closest to Yoongi's mansion, so rather than drive, he gets on his trusty 7-speed mint green bicycle. Strapped to the handlebars is a light brown handwoven basket in which he tosses a small black duffle bag. Jeongguk straddles the bike, gripping onto the soft brown handlebars, and sets off down his driveway, waiting as his weight triggers the security gate to open and let him be on his way.

It only takes three or so minutes for him to pull up to Yoongi's front gate. There is a path that connects all of their homes and allows them access without leaving any security gates, but the road has a nice steep hill that Jeongguk can get some real speed on, and he prefers that to the private path that is much more level.

As the gate opens granting Jeongguk access, he spots Hoseok and Seokjin standing hand in hand on Yoongi's stoop. From the smell of it, they are smoking a joint, and as Jeongguk gets closer, the sound of his tires on the cement driveway calls their attention.

Jeongguk grins and flicks the small aluminum bell on the handlebars twice, ringing it playfully. Yoongi's head appears from behind Seokjin's broad shoulders, and he smiles his wide, gummy grin that always sets Jeongguk at ease. Hoseok lets go of Seokjin's hand, and he turns to greet him.

"Who was the boy?" Hoseok teases.

Jeongguk rolls his eyes and shrugs. "How did you get back here so fast?"

"He didn't live too far," Hoseok responds with his hands on his hips.

Jeongguk knows the look in his eye—the squinted glare that suggests he isn't getting the information he desires and that he plans to pry more.

Hoseok continues, "I'm impressed you let him stay the night."

With a sigh, Jeongguk says, "I didn't. Picked him up this morning."

"This morning?" Seokjin asks as he turns and mimics Hoseok's stance—whether intentionally or simply because they spend too much time together, it is hard to say.

This is the facet of being the youngest that Jeongguk hates; he is always subject to twenty questions about what and who he does despite him almost never sticking his nose into their business. They love to pick on him, and it drives him crazy.

"Yeah, this morning," Jeongguk grumbles as he gets off his bike, walks it to the garage, and leans it against the painted steel panel door. "I had pent-up energy and couldn't sleep, so I went to Paradise and found someone to fuck."

Yoongi scoffs. A crooked smirk tugs on his lips—nothing but trouble—and Jeongguk braces himself for what he is about to say.

"Pent-up energy from bashing a man's brains in?"

Jeongguk hums in agreement and pushes his hand through his hair. "As if I'm the only one," he grumbles, making his way to the stoop. Seokjin holds a joint up to his lips, and Jeongguk reaches out and snatches it, sticking his tongue out as his elder, who squawks in dissent.

"You're certainly not the only one," Hoseok responds with a waggle of his eyebrows, and Yoongi shakes his head as he chuckles.

Jeongguk takes a deep inhale of the joint, enjoying the faint crackle of tobacco that has been mixed in. Smoke fills his lungs, and he holds it in, then tilts his head upward and blows the small plume out.

"Shall we?" Seokjin asks as he wraps his arm around Hoseok's waist. They are both dressed in black suits with white undershirts, with their hair styled a little nicer than usual, and Jeongguk wonders what they may be up to, but he doesn't want to ask. Unlike them, he hates to pry.

Yoongi, however, can always be trusted to unveil people's plans. "You'll be back in an hour or so?" he asks, reaching to smooth the lapels on Seokjin's dress shirt.

Hoseok nods and gives Yoongi a soft smile. "Seokjin is meeting with a few brokers at House of Cards, so while he's busy wooing them, I'll return in time to meet with you and Taehyung."

"Perfect," Yoongi responds with a satisfied smile. He turns to Jeongguk and says, "Namjoon's inside. Shall we?"

Jeongguk hums and holds the joint out toward Seokjin, who holds up his hand and shakes his head. Seokjin and Hoseok wave their goodbyes and walk toward the black sedan parked a few feet away, and Jeongguk waves the two fingers that cradle the slowly diminishing joint and follows Yoongi through the front door.

As he kicks out of his shoes, Namjoon comes down the stairs wearing a stupid smile that makes Jeongguk's stomach turn. What he and Yoongi get up to is their own business, but after what happened in the past, he hates the thought that the cycle is repeating itself. He has always wondered why the two of them can't just be happy together without having to play house with a third. But it is none of his business.

Smoking weed is probably a mistake. As Jeongguk lifts his hand to pass the joint to Namjoon, he already feels a little spaced out and way too relaxed. He approaches the blue velvet couch, sits on the end furthest from Yoongi's chair, and leans into the corner of it with one arm up on the armrest and the other slung around the back. Namjoon sits in the other corner, as close to Yoongi as possible, and angles his body toward Yoongi like the obedient little puppy he is.

As expected, the meeting loses Jeongguk's attention almost immediately, and he spaces out, rubbing his fingertips along the velvet fabric of the couch to make it dark and rough, only to smooth it out again.

Occasionally, Yoongi asks Jeongguk's opinion, catching his attention and reiterating whatever point it is he wants Jeongguk to weigh in on, and Jeongguk looks up, nods, and grunts.

The meetings always go this way. Everyone has a conversation around Jeongguk, and then they cater to Jeongguk's lack of attention in order to ask his opinion on trivial matters. He doesn't understand why this can't be done over text.

When they conclude the boring chunk of the meeting, and Jeongguk has grunted and nodded somewhere around eight to ten times, Yoongi sits forward in his chair—a movement that always catches Jeongguk's attention—then he angles his hips to reach into the pocket of his slacks and pulls out a small baggie full of pills.

There are about eight pills in the bag, and they are little pink semi-squares. Without having a closer look, Jeongguk knows that they are ecstasy pills pressed with methamphetamines that were shipped from California, but he picks up the baggie anyway, inspecting them for the Iron Man logo imprinted on the back.

"These are trash," Jeongguk says, tossing them back onto the table.

One of these pills will have the user grinding their teeth so hard they are likely to chip one. Jeongguk once woke up from a bender that included these and other substances, and the sides of his mouth were so chewed up and swollen, he could barely eat soup.

Since then, he keeps a mouthguard in his duffle bag along with his weapons. He will never understand why Americans so willingly settle for garbage drugs.

"That they are," Yoongi responds with a smirk. "But we have already begun to manufacture smoother MDMA that gives you the high minus the mouth grinding, and I would like your guys to try to emulate a pill that has those qualities, plus the amount of methamphetamines found in these."

Jeongguk rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "If you want an upper that doesn't have a negative effect on the user's mouth, meth isn't the way to go."

"What about drugs that are meant to treat attention deficit?" Namjoon butts in.

Jeongguk tilts his head to show Namjoon he is listening and tenses his jaw to let him know that whatever it is, he better get to the point. Namjoon has a tendency to get long-winded, and Jeongguk finds it annoying. Namjoon seems unaffected and continues with a soft smile.

"Those pharmaceuticals don't often cause users to grind their teeth or get the other 'meth mouth' side effects. Perhaps we can find out how much meth is used in these pressed pills and test whether that same amount of Adderall or something similar would have a more pleasant effect. If your team doesn't still have Adderall or anything similar on hand, I'm sure we could get some smuggled in by the end of the week."

"Adderall isn't meth," Jeongguk mutters. "Amphetamines are a different class of stimulant, but...it might work. And I'm almost certain we have some on hand."

Jeongguk does not hate the idea. But he is not a scientist—none of them are. He has no clue if this idea will actually pan out. He does, however, have scientists under his employ, so he takes the baggie and shoves it into his pocket.

"Fine," Jeongguk says. "I'll talk to the team about it. Anything else?"

Namjoon shakes his head as if Jeongguk was directing the question to him, and Jeongguk ignores him to glance at Yoongi.

With a soft smile, Yoongi says, "Of course, we need to figure out who that Jae fellow is, who—"

"Already on it," Jeongguk interrupts, to which Yoongi sits up with a smile. "After some digging I found Jae and fourteen men who either knew about his plan or were helping him carry it out. I invited them all to a party at the private club. I'll pop by the warehouse on my way—kill two birds with one stone."

"Kill as many birds as needed," Yoongi responds with a dark, knowing gaze that sends an excited shiver through Jeongguk.

"You got it, boss."

* * *

Jeongguk stops at a red light just outside the city, gathers saliva under his tongue as he takes the baggie of shitty pink pills out of his front pocket, and pops one into his mouth. He makes a mental note of where everyone will be in an hour or two, banking on Seokjin still being in town, knowing he will be in absolutely no shape to bike home. Then he runs a hand through his hair, gives the bell on his bicycle a celebratory ding as the light turns green, and takes off.

The air is warm, but the breeze that hits him as he rides at a slight incline feels nice and cool. It centers him—a calm before he kicks up a storm.

So little of Jeongguk's life has ever been calm, and so he takes these moments whenever he can and holds them close to his heart. Driving would make everything go faster, and it would be much more convenient, and that is precisely why Jeongguk rides his bike instead.

Jeongguk's drug operations primarily take place in a warehouse district on the outskirts of the city in an abandoned area that has been left impoverished and ignored with intention. The syndicates like having dumping grounds—a place to make people disappear—and when Yoongi took over and extended his reign to this area, there were talks of cleaning it up to improve the quality of life, which he staunchly declined.

In fact, the area seems to only have gotten worse. Ironic, perhaps, that some of Yoongi's most state-of-the-art equipment is housed in this very district.

There were homeless populations, but once the warehouses became more useful and Jeongguk employed a team of scientists to begin manufacturing some of their heavy-hitter drugs, everyone was pushed out or eradicated. Or, if they had their wits about them, they were brought onto some of the more disposable teams.

Jeongguk veers from the busy streets and begins an uphill journey that quickly turns to dirt and gravel terrain. The bike bounces as Jeongguk leans into each stride, and then he pulls up to a small concrete compound of four identical grey rectangles with steel panel doors and a few run-down cars outside. He thumbs over a key fob in his pocket to cause the steel door on the second building from the left to lift open, and skids to a halt in front of it.

Whether the drugs are slowly starting to take effect or Jeongguk is anxious about meeting with his team, he is unsure, but there is a tremor in his hands as he rides into the dark cement enclosure and taps the button over the fabric of his slacks once more to close the door behind him.

Jeongguk parks his bike off to the side of the entrance, closes his eyes to take a deep exhale and shake out his limbs, then makes his way through the empty building to a set of steps in a far corner.

Two stories below is where the science team works, and Jeongguk takes the baggie of pink pills from his pocket, pulls one more pill out, seals the baggie shut, and rubs his thumb and finger over the plastic-covered pills as he makes his way downstairs.

* * *

The phone rings thrice before Seokjin picks up, and Jeongguk rubs his hand over his nose, stifling a sniffle as cocaine drips down the back of his throat.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Jin-hyung," Jeongguk says in a tone that lilts on being ragged and unsure. "A-are you still in Seoul?"

Jeongguk hears Seokjin sigh. "Are you high?"

"Hmm...not yet. But I will be."

Jeongguk absolutely is high. It crept up as he was discussing Yoongi's idea with the science team, and he got so antsy that he needed to get out of there as soon as possible.

Luckily, there wasn't much to say to the team in the first place; they are used to these kinds of requests and know more about the processes than anyone else, so Jeongguk had nothing to explain—he simply plopped the baggie onto a metal table, muttered their idea, and was out rather fast.

"Do you need a ride?" Seokjin asks, voice stern in a way that always makes Jeongguk anxious—like he is being spoken to like a child.

"Yeah," Jeongguk mutters. His mouth shivers and moves a little too slowly. "Yoongi encouraged me to go b-bird watching, and I'll probably overdo it."

"Bird wat—what did he tell you, exactly?"

Jeongguk giggles, realizing his mistake. Bird watching—how silly. "I'll be in your district. Gotta knock skulls together and find out who lost my pills. Might get messy."

"And you need a ride?"

"Yes, hyung."

"Did you drive?"

"Yes, hyung."

Another sigh. "Send me the coordinates. I can be there in about an hour."

"Thanks, hyung," Jeongguk sing-songs in a dazed voice as he pulls the phone from his ear and hangs up.

His bike tires crunch on gravel as he sits back on the seat, grips his handlebars, and begins to ride. Inside the wicker basket sits an empty duffle bag, the contents of which have been strapped to Jeongguk's chest, scratching his skin ever so slightly beneath his shirt.

The ride from the warehouses to the river feels simultaneously too fast and incredibly slow. Jeongguk's heart pounds as he continues to come up on the pill and ease into two too many tiny spoonfuls of cocaine. He wants a drink—something stiff as hell to take the edge off.

Tonight, in a private club near House of Cards, fifteen of Jeongguk's men are enjoying an evening of drinking and taking it easy in celebration of a great month of getting product onto the streets and sold. This, of course, is a lie; their month tanked once one of them pulled a significant amount of pharmaceuticals and ecstasy, and Jeongguk has gathered them all for easy disposal.

Namjoon and the lamb met with Changkyun to rough up a couple of men who spilled the beans about someone named Jae fucking with their supply. Afterward, Jeongguk put his ear to the ground and immediately started to hear whispers of other men who may have been working to help him. He found out who had been working close to Jae and who had been hanging out with him while off duty, and he made sure to extend invitations to all fifteen of them for a party at the club tonight.

Everyone who is actually worth a damn is currently in one of the warehouses having a lowkey shindig of their own, far away from the others, and none the wiser. They will all find out eventually, and Jeongguk looks forward to their loyalty being tested when they do.

The sun has begun to set, and a pinkish-orange glow colors the sky. Jeongguk likes to imagine the pink as a runoff of blood, picturing the stars above spilling the crimson liquid onto the earth, getting soaked up by the clouds.

He stands, straddling his bike, and stumbles it into a rack, feeling the dizzying tendrils of his high begin to wrap him in a tight hug. A valet worker walks over with a bike lock and begins to anchor the vehicle into place, then sends Jeongguk off with a deep bow.

"Mister Jeon," the buff security officer working the front door mutters with a bow of his head. He pats Jeongguk down as he asks, "What's on the menu tonight?" fingers tracing over pointed steel between his pecs.

"Teaching a lesson in loyalty," Jeongguk responds with a wide, sadistic smile. "Boss will send a cleanup crew; you just need to worry about keeping the men inside once the bartender leaves through the back."

The guard rubs his palm over the gun on Jeongguk's ankle, then stands and says, "Understood."

When Jeongguk walks into the small club, the men are all crowded in a circle, shouting over the sounds of skin slapping against skin. Whenever these low-lives get thrown into a room together, all they want to do is fight. Jeongguk can barely see a tousle of bodies in the center of the group, but the sounds of grunting as hands and feet make contact with limbs and cheeks has adrenaline coursing through him.

The space is cast in a drug-induced fog, and Jeongguk's eyes slowly scan around and attempt to make sense of everything. There are no windows and only one exit, save for a secret door only staff have access to behind the bar. The building itself is solid brick with mahogany floors and deep red wallpaper. Lighting in the space is dim, appearing darker still since the scarce furnishings are rust red.

Jeongguk makes his way to the bar and orders a double whiskey neat—the shittiest they have on the rail. He likes to feel the burn as it travels from his lips to his chest—likes how every inch of his body responds in protest against something so wretched.

"You're off for the night," Jeongguk mutters, and the bartender nods, grabs a towel to wipe a wet spot from the bar top, and then walks into the back, abandoning his post.

Jeongguk pulls a vial of cocaine from around his neck, unscrews it, and begins to tap a small pile onto the sticky counter. He leans and sniffs as much as he can, first through one nostril and then the other, leaving the rest behind.

Then, he pulls the second little pink pill from his pocket, takes a dizzy step back, and pops it into his mouth. He reasons that the only way to come out of the other end of a bloodbath without ruining his ability to sleep at night is to become relentlessly high.

With the remainder of his whiskey, Jeongguk washes back the pill and attempts to formulate a plan. One of the men approaches the bar, and Jeongguk turns to find him leaning against the edge and looking around.

"Where the fuck is the bartender?" the guy asks, glancing at Jeongguk.

Recognition hits the man, and his eyes widen, then he stands up straight, turning to Jeongguk with his head bowed forward. "S-sir," he mutters, "I didn't see you there."

Jeongguk's heart pounds as he undoes the top three buttons of his shirt, reaches past the fabric, and pulls out a sharp steel kunai knife with a hole on the end of the handle through which Jeongguk sticks his index finger. He twirls the small, heavy knife and takes a step toward the man.

"Are you having fun tonight?" Jeongguk asks with a voice that is far too steady for how he feels.

The man eyes Jeongguk's knife and gives him an ugly, toothy smile. His hair is greasy, his brown shirt is stained on the front, and he smells like piss. "So much fun, boss! Thank you for giving us the night off."

Jeongguk nods. "I wanted to give a special congratulations to Jae. Have you seen him?"

At the mention of Jae, the man's eyes open widely, and he nervously looks around the bar. Then he nods with his chin and says, "Red shirt. W-want me to get him for you, boss?"

Every inch of Jeongguk tingles. A hazy, thick euphoria embraces him tightly and makes him want to dance—dance and sing and slit all of these men's throats until the floor is sticky with blood.

Jeongguk opens his mouth, aware of how tense his jaw is becoming, and moves it around as if stretching it out. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rounded plastic container in which he stores his mouthguard, and he shakes his head at the man before him.

"I'll take care of it," Jeongguk says as he pops the container open, pulls out the clear guard, and shoves it snugly into his mouth.

"Oh—okay," the man says, taking a step away from Jeongguk, who continues to stare him down with his lips spread over the clear plastic covering his teeth.

Jeongguk twirls the kunai on his finger and takes a step toward the man. The man jolts as if startled by a jump scare, and he takes a clumsy step back, tripping into a barstool and reaching back with his hand to steady it. Everything seems to move too fast and too slow, and Jeongguk finds he can only process that which is immediately in his line of sight—everything else is a hazy wash of light and color.

This is the sweet spot. Any higher, and Jeongguk might not be able to perform.

Jeongguk spins on the balls of his boots, places his palms onto the sticky bar, and hoists himself up, landing surprisingly steadily on the bar top. Then he hops down onto the other side and straightens himself as he allows his eyes and brain to catch up to one another, scanning the bottles on the shelves. There are a lot of clear bottles, but only one of them is the vodka he desires.

"W-what are you doing, boss?" the man asks.

"Making a cocktail," Jeongguk shouts over his shoulder.

"Gin...close..." Jeongguk mutters to himself, mouth full of plastic and twirling his kunai. Fidgeting helps him focus, especially with methamphetamines coursing through his blood.

"W-what kind of cocktail, boss?" the man asks, and Jeongguk huffs an impatient sigh. He hates being bothered; why is this man bothering him?

"Ah, here you are," Jeongguk mumbles as he finds a nearly full bottle of Smirnoff 100-proof vodka. He pulls the bottle spout out and drops it to the floor—metal clattering on brick—then turns and searches the rail for a rag.

"Molotov," Jeongguk shouts as he takes the corner of the stained rag and begins twisting it into a small enough tip to shove into the bottle.

"What?"

Jeongguk has to use the kunai to slice part of the rag away, and he tosses the useless strip over his shoulder, then continues to shove the rag into the neck of the bottle, leaving a couple inches sticking out from the top.

Satisfied with his work, he pulls a gold-plated zippo lighter from his pocket and flicks it open against his thigh in one swift motion, igniting the flame in the process. Then he holds the flame up to the rag and watches with delight as the end of the dirty fabric catches. He pops the lighter closed and drops it back into his pocket, then he sets the flaming cocktail aside.

With the kunai dangling from around his finger, Jeongguk pulls out his mouthguard, dribbling spit that has gathered around it down his chin as he says, "Molotov," more clearly with a grin.

The man looks on in horror, frozen in place, and Jeongguk shoves the guard back into his mouth, places his palms onto the sticky bar, and hops back up, onto his feet in a squatting position. Without warning, Jeongguk picks up the bottle, chucks it overhand toward the crowd, sending it high enough to hit the ceiling, and he smiles widely as the bottle explodes and rains liquid fire down onto the men.

Laughter rocks through Jeongguk, and he loses his balance, falling backward onto his palms against the bar. He sits flat on his butt and swings his legs over the edge of the counter, watching as men panic and scream.

Most of them will have minor burns. Several men run around flailing while their shirts and hair singe, and one man rolls on the floor, desperate to put out the flames. In the chaos, Jeongguk spots Jae off to the right, away from the fire, and he hops down from the bar to make his way over to him, pulling his mouthguard out.

"Yo, Jae!" Jeongguk shouts, and the man in red turns quickly and begins to run toward Jeongguk.

"Boss, you have to help us!" Jae shouts frantically, clearly drunk. "Someone threw fire at us!"

Jeongguk giggles and takes Jae roughly by the bicep as he mutters, "You, come with me."

Jae stumbles but compiles, and Jeongguk drags him several more feet away. Beside the bathrooms of this old building are thick pipes that stick out from the brick, and Jeongguk yanks the man close to one as he reaches into his pocket for some metal handcuffs, fumbles with opening one end of the cuffs, then locks it around Jae's wrist in a tight squeeze.

A shout rips through Jae's chest, and he attempts to get away but then throws a punch. Jeongguk takes the impact of his fist to the jaw and then slams his forehead into Jae’s face, knocking him backward into the wall.

Jae's head hits brick, making him grunt, and Jeongguk manages to reach the man’s hand over his head and secure the open cuff to one of the pipes.

Adrenaline from absorbing the punch has Jeongguk's nerves singing to life, and he punches Jae in the stomach for good measure, then turns to find the man at the bar shaking while leaning against it with a look of horror on his face.

"Why so scared?" Jeongguk mock pouts.

The man shakes his head and whimpers, "Wh-what's going on, boss?"

"You know what's going on," Jeongguk mutters with a grin.

The man shakes his head again, this time more frantically.

Jeongguk cocks his head to the side, sending a dizzying wave through his body. "No? Because if you told me what happened, I would consider letting you live."

The flash of hope that widens the man's eyes tells Jeongguk everything he needs to know, and he advances quickly—crowds the man's space. A quick glance over his shoulder shows the rest of the group is still broken out into chaos with men attempting to help others put out the remaining fire and get to their feet. A few blurry bodies are on the outskirts of the crowd, but nobody appears to be approaching him.

"Tell me what happened," Jeongguk growls as he turns back to the man at the bar.

"J-J-Jae s-said if w-we cover for him, we'd get a cut."

"A cut of what?" Jeongguk asks.

The man screws up his face as if Jeongguk's question is ridiculous. "Money, s-sir."

"Money for what?"

The man shakes his head. He knows he is fucked—that he has already said too much—and he nibbles on his lip, which trembles. Jeongguk brings the kunai up to the man's throat and presses the tip against his jugular notch.

"Answer me."

"P-pills!" the man shouts. "Narcotics and party drugs. He t-took them off the last shipment while you were distracted."

"Distracted, hmm? Tell me, what was I distracted by?"

At this, the man begins to panic and twist as if hoping that he can get away somehow. So there is more to this story than them simply stealing from him to turn a profit. Interesting.

"Boss?" a voice comes from behind Jeongguk, and he grits his teeth hard and pushes the kunai into the man's jugular, turning his face away from the spray of blood. The man gargles and thrashes, and Jeongguk takes a step back and allows him to fall to the floor and bleed out.

One down, fourteen to go.

Jeongguk pops his guard back into his mouth, spins on the balls of his feet with a wide plastic smile, and finds two worried-looking men standing before him. He reaches into his shirt, pulls another kunai off the bandolier of blades strapped to his chest, and begins to twirl them both—one on each index finger.

The major downside of having to be this high to commit mass murder is that his aim is shit. The entire point of having so many knives strapped to him is to throw them at his targets without needing to immediately retrieve them. Instead, Jeongguk straps the belt around his chest as a means to ground himself—a tight, scratchy hug.

Jeongguk advances on the two men. One stumbles backward and begins to run back to the group while the other gets an angry glint in his eye and comes in swinging. Jeongguk guards his punch by driving the tip of a knife through the man's forearm, then punches his other knife into the man's neck. For good measure, Jeongguk kneels as the man falls and slices his throat open to quicken his bleeding.

Two down, thirteen to go.

When Jeongguk stands, stumbling as he finds his balance, he notices some men crowding around him while others attempt to escape. Jeongguk feels himself fly into a blind rage as he approaches the small group and begins punching and stabbing, absorbing hits that are nowhere near as damaging or lethal as the ones he doles out. He barely feels it when fists make impact with him, and he giggles wildly when one punch lands on the kunai under his shirt and slices the man's knuckles.

"You ruined my shirt, you fuck," he complains through his mouthguard as he punches a knife into the soft tissue and cartilage the man's face, still giggling like a madman.

A glance around the space shows Jae in his corner, three men at the door attempting to beat it down, and two men on the far-end wall huddled up. A couple men groan and crawl against the floor, and Jeongguk has no idea how many of them are dead or dying, so he advances on the three by the door.

Jeongguk takes a chance and flings one of the knives, and it whirs satisfactorily and hits one of the men in the shoulder. The man yelps and falls to his knees, clearly assuming something far worse has happened to him, and Jeongguk takes the opportunity to advance and take the other two out while he is down.

A knife to the throat here, a headbutt followed by a knife to the throat there, and Jeongguk is bending behind the last man, pulling the knife from his back and reaching around to the front of his neck to slice it open. Jeongguk gets to his feet, stretches his neck from side to side, and turns to survey the scene.

The two men who were by the far wall must have gained courage, and they come barreling toward Jeongguk. One slips on blood and falls back against the floor with a loud smack, but the other manages to get close enough to attempt to slash at Jeongguk with a piece of broken glass. Once again, Jeongguk blocks the punch with a knife to the forearm, then punches a knife into the throat, watching with a plastic grin as the man falls to the ground.

Groans and gargles fill the space, and Jeongguk catches his breath as the room sways and twists before him. His mouth is dry, and the smell of brassy blood is overwhelming, and Jeongguk wants to curl up in a ball and take a nice big nap.

On the floor, the man who had slipped and fallen convulses, and Jeongguk wonders if his head has been pierced by broken glass. Nobody seems to be getting up, so Jeongguk surmises he must have fourteen down with only one left.

Jeongguk wipes the back of his wrist against his forehead, undoubtedly coating it in sweat and blood, and he turns back to Jae. Blood runs down Jae's wrist, and he shakes like a leaf on a tree—he has clearly been attempting to pull himself from the handcuff. Jeongguk pulls his mouthguard out, sucks in some of the saliva that has pooled, and shoves it into his pocket beside its case.

"Last man standing," he slurs as his high becomes unbearable. "You have three minutes to spill before I kill you."

The tangy scent of urine hits Jeongguk's nose, and he looks down to find a large wet spot on the front of Jae's jeans. He shakes his head and scoffs.

"It wasn't my idea," Jae whimpers. Jeongguk cocks his head and studies the man's face—is he crying? What a fucking wimp.

"Whose idea was it?"

"You know whose!" Jae shouts. "The same family that sent the man to fuck up your boxer! The same family who attacked your whore! They're sending people from all sides to throw you off your game and shake you up!"

"My whore?" Jeongguk growls as he grabs Jae tightly by the jaw. "Jimin isn't my whore, and speaking about one of my family men like that is a good way to get a knife shoved into your filthy little piss hole."

Fear visibly shakes through Jae, who thrashes in Jeongguk's hold. He even grabs onto Jeongguk's wrist with his free hand in a feeble attempt to yank Jeongguk's grip off of his jaw. Jeongguk headbutts him again and squeezes tighter as a dizzying quake rocks through him.

"Why did you accept her offer? Were you really stupid enough to think you wouldn't get caught?"

Jae scoffs and shakes his head, appearing to act tough with tears on his cheeks. "She has men on the inside."

Jeongguk squints, losing his ability to see clearly even as close to Jae as he is. "On the inside? On my team?"

"Well...she did. You killed most of them."

"Who are the others?" Jeongguk demands, and Jae laughs.

"You got everything from me that you could," Jae says. Jeongguk thinks he sees Jae's eyes flash to the side and back, but it takes him too long to process it before Jae mutters, "Kill me and be done with it."

Jeongguk takes a step back, ready to drive the knife into Jae's throat and move on, but an arm snakes around Jeongguk's torso and hot, piercing pain hits him on his side. Jeongguk drives a knife into the hand around his waist, piercing his own skin from the impact, and he yanks the knife away in time for another piercing pain to hit him between his shoulder blades.

Only as Jeongguk spins and finds one of the blood-soiled men holding a jagged, bloodied piece of glass does Jeongguk realize he has been stabbed. He grunts as he thrusts both of his knives into the man's guts and shoves the man back until he slips on blood and falls to the floor.

"Fuck!" Jeongguk shouts in frustration as he spins around and slices Jae's throat open in a broad, sloppy motion. He does not want to deal with stab wounds of all fucking things.

Jeongguk slowly steps back and looks around the room, swaying as he turns and attempts to survey the carnage left behind. Everything is a blur of reds and browns with hints of whites and blues, and Jeongguk stumbles toward the bar to sit down on a stool and catch his breath.

The pain in his side and back tingle-throb, and Jeongguk attempts to remember how to tend to a stab wound, but all he can do is grind his teeth and rest back against the bar top. When the door to the club flies open, Jeongguk doesn't register who approaches until he hears Seokjin's nagging shouts and feels him prodding at Jeongguk's torso.

"Yah, are you injured?" Seokjin shouts, fussing about at Jeongguk's side where his hand is weakly pressing against a wound.

Jeongguk hisses and nods, and then he giggles at the thought of any of these men thinking they could kill him. How stupid of them.

"Where did you park?" Seokjin asks as he gets Jeongguk onto his feet with his arm draped over Seokjin's broad shoulders.

"Front," Jeongguk mutters.

All the world is a blur of lights and colors, streaked and sloppy before Jeongguk's eyes. He steps into the cool night air, and the security guard says something he does not comprehend, and then he fumbles down the short set of steps, onto the sidewalk.

"Jeongguk, I don't see any of your cars," Seokjin says as he shakes him roughly.

Pulled to alertness for a split moment, Jeongguk hums and says, "Ol' minty," while flinging his hand in the direction of his bike.

"Wh—Jeonggukah!" Seokjin shouts. "You said you drove here! I asked you if y—oh, this is unbelievable."

"I dr—I drove my bike," Jeongguk slurs.

Jeongguk is led to his bike where the blurry valet attendant is bowed before him, and Seokjin gets him to straddle the small metal cargo rack above the back tire.

"Feet on the pegs!" Seokjin barks as he lifts Jeongguk's feet one at a time and places them onto small metal pegs that are screwed onto his back tire.

Jeongguk somewhat obeys—he has done this many times before—but his feet slip a few times until he is steady. Then Seokjin moves the bicycle away from the bike rack, tells Jeongguk to hold on tight, and once Jeongguk wraps his arms around Seokjin's ribs and leans his head on his back, they are off.

Seokjin smells nice. Like cigars and the expensive cologne that Hoseok insists he wears. He takes in a nice deep breath and groans happily before letting it out. The night air feels cool on his skin, and he smiles as Seokjin drives them home.

From time to time, Jeongguk hears an unintelligible grunt or groan, but he ignores it; he will undoubtedly hear it again once he has sobered up, so there is no use trying to strain the few remaining brain cells that are still working to try to make sense of it now.

The ride from the city to the property is usually around thirty minutes when it is just Jeongguk. He has no concept of how much time has passed as he attempts to watch a tree line blur by, and although the scenery is familiar and Jeongguk thinks he has some idea of how close they could be, he does not dwell on it. Instead, he closes his eyes.

When the bicycle finally skids to a stop, Jeongguk nearly topples over. Seokjin swears and mutters, and Jeongguk attempts to place his feet on the concrete driveway, but his legs melt like hot wax, and he sinks downward as the weight of his collapsing bicycle drags him to the ground.

Seokjin manages to get Jeongguk untangled from his vehicle and picks him up over his shoulder, carrying Jeongguk potato-sack-style toward a light that shines out into the night through some windows. He hears the mechanical beeping of the locking mechanism and then the door crashes open. The sounds of three particular voices gasping tells Jeongguk that he has been brought to Yoongi's house.

"Taehyung," Seokjin mutters. "I think he's been stabbed. There doesn't seem to be a lot of blood loss; I think he's delirious from being high."

There is some shuffling around, and Jeongguk hangs over Seokjin's shoulder, feeling sleepy and, frankly, completely unbothered by anything.

So he may have gotten stabbed once or twice, so what? He found out more information, and he got to let go of some of his pent-up rage. His jaw aches, however, and he wishes he had not taken his mouthguard out.

Jeongguk is transferred to a different strong person, and Jeongguk wraps his arms around the different neck and hugs closely. After a split moment, he realizes by the clean smell of lotion and eucalyptus shampoo that it is Taehyung, and Jeongguk smiles as he carries him back outside.

"Stabbed?" Taehyung mutters curiously as the night air hits Jeongguk's cheeks and makes him shiver.

The walk to Taehyung's house from Yoongi's is short, and Jeongguk buries his face into Taehyung's neck as he mutters, "Mmhmm."

Silence falls, save for the crunch of dirt under Taehyung's shoe. Jeongguk thinks he begins to fall asleep, roused by the sound of Taehyung's deep, soft voice.

"Are the wounds deep?"

Jeongguk shakes his head, although, truth be told, he has no idea. There is a wet spot on his back, but it does not feel very big, and the one on his side is pressed against Taehyung.

"How many bodies?" Taehyung asks softly.

The sounds of Taehyung's feet crunching over gravel feels oddly calming to Jeongguk, and for some inexplicable reason, he feels the urge to cry.

"Fifteen," Jeongguk mutters with a tremble. He is cold, and he grips onto Taehyung tighter in search of warmth.

Taehyung tsks and chuckles. "So reckless. You don't have to do these jobs alone, you know? You can take one of us."

"Sorry," Jeongguk mutters, feeling defeated and miserable.

Another chuckle comes from Taehyung, instantly lifting Jeongguk's spirits and making him feel okay. "Don't apologize, baby. We just worry about you."

Jeongguk nods against Taehyung's neck and mutters, "Okay."

"I can't believe how mean you are to me," Taehyung whines in a mocking tone as he leans the two of them forward to punch in the password to his front door.

Taehyung opens the door and switches on a foyer light, then makes his way down a short ramp into his basement, where his exam rooms and surgical equipment are. The fluorescent lighting makes Jeongguk groan and squeeze his eyes closed.

"First, Hoseok tells me you brought home some nobody to fuck," Taehyung continues to mock-pout, "and then you show up all cut and bruised. Starting to make me think you don't need me anymore, baby."

Jeongguk knows Taehyung is being playful, but he cannot stop himself from taking it very personally, and the sloshing of heightened emotions has him feeling incredibly sad.

Taehyung means more to him than anyone in the world, which is precisely why Jeongguk tends to keep him at arms-length sometimes. Tears spill from Jeongguk's eyes.

"S-sorry, hyung."

"Awe, my poor crybaby," Taehyung sing-songs as he sets Jeongguk onto a leather exam table covered in a white paper sheet.

Jeongguk continues to hold onto Taehyung tightly until two strong hands wrap around his wrists and pull his arms down. He does not want Taehyung to see him cry, even though it would not be the first time—nor the last.

"Are you bored of me, Ggukie? Is that why you don't call me anymore?"

"D-don't want to bother you," Jeongguk whimpers pathetically, swiftly crashing from his high and feeling the full array of his emotions.

Jeongguk opens his eyes a crack to find Taehyung hovering over him and unbuttoning his soiled shirt. Taehyung chuckles at the sight of the blades and reaches around Jeongguk’s back to undo the belt and pull it free. Then he pulls Jeongguk's shirt away, making Jeongguk shiver, and he surveys the first wound.

"Not too deep," Taehyung says as he meets Jeongguk's gaze and smiles. For the first time in a while, Jeongguk can clearly see in front of him, and he thinks Taehyung is more beautiful than ever. Taehyung quietly studies his face. "You seem to be coming back to me. How do you feel?"

Terrible, Jeongguk thinks. He can't tell if he is fully coming down or if the second pill still has more high to give him, but he trembles and his bones feel restless in his skin, and he cannot keep his emotions from teetering from one extreme to the other, especially with Taehyung looking down at him the way he does.

"Shitty," is all Jeongguk says.

"Let's get you into a nice warm bath," Taehyung suggests with a grin that makes Jeongguk melt. "We'll clean your wounds, and then you'll show me what you did to that pretty boy who you picked up this morning. Sound good?"

Jeongguk will need a lot of cocaine to keep up with Taehyung, especially in this state, and he nods and attempts a smile, feeling his teeth clatter in his mouth.

"That's my good baby," Taehyung groans in a tone so deep, it makes a chill rock through Jeongguk.

There is only one person who Jeongguk lets his guard down for—lets do anything he pleases. And although Taehyung is absolutely terrifying and will undoubtedly be the death of him, Jeongguk cannot tell him no.

thank you so much for reading!!! i hope you enjoy these extras. i lament only writing from one point of view, so these have been a lot of fun for me. hopefully it's not too confusing plopping them into the story as early as chapter 10.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF THIS SITE, BUT LIKES ARE ALSO SUPER APPRECIATED!!! THANK YOU FOR READING, I LOVE YOU!!!

tag lists will be on separate reblogs! they’ve gotten too big to contain as one! if you would like to be tagged in this fic, please let me know!!! 💜💜💜

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#jungkook mafia #yoongi mafia #bts mafia #bts poly #bts angst #fic: collateral #Spotify

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serene-faerie · 3 months ago

Text

Doriath Dashboard Simulator (part 2)

🌲 treehugger Following

I love you oaks I love you beech trees I love you pines I love you holly I love you forests of Doriath and all of your beautiful leaves 💚

( 2,091 notes )

🌺 queen-melyanna Follow

Aman is great and the Gardens of Lórien are beautiful, no doubt

But does Aman have a regal, grey-eyed, super tall Elf king with long grey hair and a strong jawline?

( 250 notes )

🌈 thingol-and-melian-can-rail-me Following

Thinking about moving to Doriath? Excellent!

If you've always wanted to live in a kingdom ruled by a DILF and MILF couple, then Menegroth is the place for you!

🐝 hello-my-honey Follow

Girl you do realize that Thingol and Melian are happily married to each other???

🌈 thingol-and-melian-can-rail-me Following

Well that hasn't stopped this elleth from dreaming about a threesome with them 🙈

🍄 from-the-nether-region Follow

I'm straight but even I have to admit that King Thingol is a very sexy king 🤤

🌷 blossoms-of-menegroth Mutuals

Melian is truly the luckiest woman in Arda, being married to an Elda as fine as Elu Thingol

🏹 strongestbow Following

Oh for Eru's sake, don't you all have any decency?! This is your king and queen that you're speaking about!

You need to show them your respect! Not talk about them like this!

🦔 ilovehodgehegs Follow

Me reading this post like

#y'all are too thirsty ffs #sure thingol and melian are hot #but have some decency people #show some respect for your king and queen

( 8,056 notes )

🏛️ daily-menegroth-pics Follow

The ceiling of Menelrond

#my pics #menegroth #doriath #throne halls #arda #middle earth #beleriand

( 389 notes )

🌳 queen-beech Mutuals

We got some new guests here in Menegroth; some of the Noldor from Aman. So far, I really like them!

Finrod is such a sweetheart, and he's really good at speaking Sindarin too! King Thingol really seems to like him (guess it helps that he's part Teleri). And his sister Artanis seems to have gotten Queen Melian's interest. Same with Lord Celeborn, not that I blame him.

Artanis has the prettiest hair I've ever seen in the world!!!

I'm so excited to get to know these guests! I sure hope we can all be friends :)

🌳 queen-beech Mutuals

Wait what do you mean they were hiding a literal slaughter of our kindred in Alqualondë???

🗡️ heavy-handed Follow

Posts that aged poorly

( 1,650 notes )

🦋 a-tired-butterfly Follow

"Why are you so mad at the Noldor??? We literally saved your lives from Morgoth!!! You should just get over the Kinslaying already!!!"

Omg I know!!! It's not like the Noldor took advantage of King Thingol's hospitality and kept quiet about Alqualondë until he had to confront them about it!!! It's not as if we Sindar are ethnically related to the Teleri, which that means some of us may have had relatives killed in Alqualondë!!! It's totally not as if the Noldor had other motives for coming all the way to Middle-earth and are refusing to respect the people who've lived here longer than them!!!

I guess we Sindar are just overreacting after all :)

🌼 sunflowerdaughter Mutuals

Damn you went for the kill!

But well said, my friend! Anyone who tells us that we're overreacting has clearly lost their mind. Either that, or they're a kinslayer themselves.

🔘 celegorms-girlfriend-deactivated-6702

Oh sure, go ahead and pin the kinslaying on us. You know, it's not like the Teleri could've just avoided the bloodshed by giving us their ships. It's not as if they didn't start the fight themselves. No, the Teleri are poor innocent babies in this and we Fëanorians are the true scum of Arda and even worse than Morgoth himself :))))

I've said this once and I'll say it again: if it weren't for us, you Sindarin cowards would've already been slaving away in the mines of Angband. You should be thanking us for saving your asses instead of getting on our case about Alqualondë.

🌅 sunset-in-the-trees Mutuals

Wow, aren't you a piece of work? I'd expect nothing less from a hardcore Fëanorian supporter lmao

First of all, we Sindar were already battling Morgoth long before you even came to Middle-earth. While you were slaughtering your own kindred, we were doing a kin-avenging of Denethor, so you can shut up about that. Plus, our armies were decimated so that's why we can't even fight in battle now.

Second of all, you didn't even need to steal the damn ships. Fingolfin and his people crossed the Helcaraxë into Middle-earth so you could've just done that instead of killing Elves who were literally unarmed and unprepared. It's telling that you blame the Teleri for defending themselves when you literally ignored their protests and tried to steal the ships anyways. And then you tried to hide this from King Thingol when you know that he's friends with Olwë??? And then you wonder why he hates the Fëanorians and kicked you out of Doriath! I'd do the same if I were in his shoes!

Lastly, I think I speak for all of the Sindar when I say that I would rather be a slave in Angband than ally myself with the likes of you. If this is how you Fëanorians are gonna treat us, then we don't owe you an alliance.

Go back to kissing up to your precious Fëanorians on your own blog.

🌿 woodland-lass Follow

🕊️ falas-birdie Follow

Annnnd they've deactivated lmao

Guess they couldn't handle your clapback

( 10,375 notes )

🐿️ thesquirrelwhisperer Following

Friendly reminder that if a squirrel gives you an acorn, you must always accept it! It means that you're the squirrel's friend!

🌰 nuts-about-squirrels Follow

And if a squirrel climbs onto your shoulder, don't be scared! He's just being friendly!

( 15,667 notes )

🌌 princess-tinuviel Follow

When he's dark-haired and has a rugged beard 😍

When he looks at you like you're his entire world 😍

When he's strong enough to lift you into his arms 😍

When he can pin you up against a tree like it's nothing 😍

When he calls you "Tinúviel" 😍

#my boyfriend is so hot #and so sweet as well #i love him sm #shut up tinuviel #hornyposting #do not rb

( 2 notes )

🪈 daeron-the-bard Following

I don't understand what's so special about Lúthien's boyfriend

Sure he passed through Ered Gorgoroth and Nan Dungortheb and fought off Morgoth's forces by himself which is impressive I guess

But how did this Beren guy even manage to get Lúthien to fall in love with him???

💮 crownofniphredil Follow

I'm gonna be honest and say that it's probably his eyes

He's got the eyes of a sad baby deer and some girls just love that

( 56 notes )

💧 es-gal-duin Follow

First Beren and Lúthien stole a Silmaril from Bauglir, then they both died, and now they've come back to life as mortals??? Lúthien has been given mortality???

This year has been wild as hell lmao

I wouldn't be surprised if King Thingol decides to adopt a mortal as his son next year

( 1,700 notes )

🦌 king-elu Following

I've only had Túrin for a day and a half and if anything happens to him, I'll kill everyone in Menegroth and then myself

( 2,640 notes )

🌸 menegrothsroyalfamilystan Follow

Reblog if you think King Thingol and Queen Melian are the sexiest rulers in all of Middle-earth

✴️ notice-me-feanorians Follow

Oh please!

As if the king and queen of Doriath could ever match the glory and majesty of High King Fëanáro himself! He was beautiful and strong, and no one can even hope to be as fabulous as him: not Thingol, not Finrod, not Fingolfin, and not even Fingon!

Long live the House of Fëanor!

🍂 lady-of-autumn Following

Ew get the Kinslayer off this post

🛡️ fingolfin-can-destroy-me Follow

Sorry, but this is High King Fingolfin erasure and I won't stand for it

Who else had the balls to duel Morgoth and wound him seven times???

🌸 menegrothsroyalfamilystan Follow

Has your high king ever married a sexy Maia after looking into her eyes for 200 years?

Has your high king ever carried out a kin-avenging of his long-term ally and best friend?

Has your high king fathered the most badass half-Maia daughter in all of Beleriand?

Yeah. I thought so.

Long live King Thingol and Queen Melian!

( 789 notes )

🍁 nostalgic-doriath-povs Mutuals

POV: It's the wedding of Beren and Lúthien and you're enjoying a slice of blackberry rose tart during the feast

🦊 nivrimvixen Following

Wait what do you mean it's been 37 years since the Quest for the Silmaril???

🍃 windsofchange Follow

Posts that make you feel really old when you least expect it

( 500 notes )

🌱 lord-0r0ph3r Following

Doriath is officially no more. Our king and queen are dead, and it's likely that the young princes are dead as well. The only consolation is that Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin are also dead, and young Elwing is alive and well.

To my fellow Sindar, do not lose hope.

We must look out for each other and rebuild here in the Havens of Sirion. We must endure the cruelty of Bauglir and his forces. But we will not surrender so long as we fight back. We will not give into Bauglir or the Fëanorians.

One day, we will be the harbingers of vengeance. One day, Bauglir will be sent to the Void. And one day, the Fëanorians will have to answer for their crimes.

For now, let us rest and heal. There is still much work to be done, and we will need all of our strength in the coming days.

( 103 notes )

Link to part 1 here.

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adiluv-moved · 1 year ago

Text

❥ MERCENARY + HOMEMAKER SPOUSE HCS. ˚⊹꒷

☁️୧・꒰word count꒱ 1158.

🌼୧・꒰warnings꒱ takes place pre-manor.

🦆୧・꒰adi moment꒱ request here! these were originally supposed to be combined into one post, though i decided to split them since they ended up full length regardless, lol. i had a lot of fun writing this, i think it's a super adorable scenario! hope you enjoy! ꒰˵•̀⤙•́˵꒱૭

you can find eli's version here!

꒰🗡️��・Naib isn’t exactly accustomed to how peaceful life is with you, having gone through most of his entire life without any opportunity to relax. First, it was the war, which—for obvious reasons—proved to be a rather heavy strain on the man, both physically and emotionally. Even after he’d decided he’d had enough of the bloodshed and defected, living within Britain certainly wasn’t cheap, and he was still unable to seize the chance to step back—though he now had his job as a mercenary to blame for that one.

꒰🗡️꒱・I’d imagine that Naib would prefer to live in a more rural part of Britain, perhaps in a cottage not too far away from the city. Not only does he benefit by encouraging your aesthetic preferences ꒰which is for the best, considering he’s got no taste for design, himself꒱, but he also manages to keep you safe. Two birds with one stone, really. Of course, while living outside of the city does make his line of work slightly more tedious, he’s more than willing to deal with commuting than to move you anywhere closer to such prying eyes.

꒰🗡️꒱・That is to say—he kills, and he gets his assignment done. It’s simply business, as cruel as the reality is. But who’s to say that those close to the victim won’t try to seek ‘reimbursement’ of their own? He’s seen the way that people act when they’re desperate, and he’s seen just how far down they’ll stoop to achieve their goals. For this reason, he’s incredibly protective over you and the life that you share. The thought of anything happening to you is one that he actively despises, and he’s always on the lookout to make sure that nobody’s following him back home.

꒰🗡️꒱・You’re in no real danger while Naib is around, at the very least. He’s got years of experience killing and protecting under his belt, so it’s safe to say that most attackers prove to be of little to no threat to him. Sure, there are occasions where he’ll receive a couple of scratches every here and there, though those tend to be the only signs that anything had even occurred. You’ll patch them up upon noticing them, gently scolding him for attempting to hide his injuries, yet he’s always really preferred to be discreet about such occurrences. In his mind, there’s no need to worry you over a pest that’s already been dealt with… But he is thankful for your concern.

꒰🗡️꒱・As an extension of this, he’s very much insistent on accompanying you whenever you head out—a habit you’d only receive explanation for well into your relationship. Finding out that your partner is a mercenary certainly is quite the shocker, especially when it re-contextualizes the instances in which he’d depart whilst citing ‘work’. Even still, I’d say that Naib was even more shocked when you’d decided to stay with him—under the assumption that there would be no more major secrets kept between the both of you. Regardless, he still couldn’t help but be confused when he’d awoken the next morning to see that you were still sleeping soundly to him. He’d truly expected to lose you.

꒰🗡️꒱・Although he sends some of his paycheck back to Nepal, you’d be genuinely surprised by the amount that he has left back. Whether it be just by his lack of desire to splurge or simply due to how lucrative his… career choice is, the man is rich—far more than you’d ever guessed. You’ll never be without anything that you need, considering that Naib is perfectly content to allow you to decorate the house and buy anything that catches your fancy.

꒰🗡️꒱・He’s got enough in savings to comfortably retire from his duties as a mercenary, something that he’ll do if you express discomfort with the job. It takes him some time to fully realize that that chapter of his life has finally come to its conclusion—and he’ll be eternally grateful if you attempt to help him ease the transition. Practicing for job interviews and reminding him of what excuses to use should anybody question the sizable gap in his resume does eventually help him snag a new job of his own—free from all the bloodshed of his past!

꒰🗡️꒱・One of his greatest struggles in re-adjusting to an average job would easily be working alongside other people. It’s something that he hadn’t really done since he was in the army, and even then—thinking about his old comrades had the tendency to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. His general introversion does nothing to help him, either, with him preferring to keep entirely to himself or a select handful of trusted individuals. There’s also the added factor of his coworkers just… pissing him off for no reason, as well. He just can’t seem to understand why they’re so incompetent—surely, such simple tasks can’t be all that difficult?

꒰🗡️꒱・Considering his background, you’ll have to admit that it’s quite interesting to see him getting so heavily worked up over something that’s so mundane, though you’re aware that his lack of options wasn’t any fault of his. You do listen to all of his ranting and raving, something that you’d initially recommended to him as therapeutic, though he’d only come to understand why until that first gossip session. He’d ended up getting really into it, and… I don’t think he can go back, honestly.

꒰🗡️꒱・Naib tends to get progressively cuddlier as time goes on, but I’d also say that his desire to cuddle with you is also rather dependent on his mood. It’s relatively safe to say that he’d prefer to be the big spoon—the just something satisfying to him about having your curled up, and safe within his arms—though he’d also still love to be held by you every now and then. Especially so when it feels as though he’ll drown within the memories of his past.

꒰🗡️꒱・Even if he decides to quit his job as a mercenary and return to the life of an average civilian, the pain that he’s felt—and inflicted—isn’t something that just… goes away. There are times where it’ll haunt him, where it’ll break down his walls and make him feel like a microscopic mess. It will claw at him, tearing him down and turning him into a shell of himself, where he just wants nothing more than to be rid of such terrible memories—and you wish that there were a way for you to remove them.

꒰🗡️꒱・He loves you, and he’d never hurt you, but he’s absolutely terrified that he might. Please hold him, please reassure him that you’re there for him. Reminding him that he’s got a whole life ahead of him to live, and that he’s far from alone—that he’s safe, at least now—it helps him… And he appreciates it, more than you could ever know. So, no, he’s never quite understood what it means to have a peaceful life… but if it’s with you, then… He doesn’t mind learning.

i have a taglist, which you can sign up for here!

#꒰📍꒱﹕my writing ⋆#identity v #identity 5 #idv #id5 #idv mercenary #idv naib #naib subedar #identity v naib #naib subedar x reader #identity v x reader #idv x reader #identity v headcanons #idv headcanons #identity v headcannons #idv headcannons

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gaybananabread · 9 months ago

Note

rottmnt tickle head cannons? What is your favorite tickle trope for Rise? (As in who is your favorite Lee/ler scenario)

🐢Rottmnt Tkl Headcanons♡

~Oooooh my Rise hcs! Sorry I've been so dead recently, school is kicking my ass this semester (⊙⁠﹏⁠⊙). I'll do character hcs first, and the trope thing at the end. Much longer than my others for sure. I need to do more for these skrunkles tbh. Slight Rise spoilers if you squint. Sorry this took 8,000 years, and thank you for requesting!~

(Casey Jr Hcs)

💥Raph🧸

General:

We can all agree that this big ol’ teddy bear loves tickles, right?

Be it a fluffy comfort or destroying a bratty brother, Big Raphie is up for it.

Taking this into account, he feels like a switch.

Might admit he likes it around the right person, though his brothers have known for years.

He has to really trust someone to tell them.

Doesn't wanna seem like he's unfit to protect his brothers. As you can probably guess, he gets lovingly ejected from that mindset when people find out.

Lee:

If he gets a lee mood, he tries to hide it and fails miserably.

Big boy will have the dopiest grin around his playful brothers, which he does a horrible job at hiding.

Can't seem to focus on his advice-giving or training. It doesn't take long for his brothers to notice.

Worst spot is his underarms. You get him there and he'll give every dog near a NYC sewer grate a headache.

Melt spots are his palms and beneath his chin. Gentle scratches on either surface melt him into a happy, giggly puddle.

Likes being tickled by anyone really close to him. He's just gotta be in the right mood for it. April kills him most often.

Amazing thing to do to him is gentle melt-spot attention to help him relax. Toss in some reassurances and praise while you're at it. He'll be in a blissful daze for hours.

Ler:

Mostly a revenge-ler, but he can also randomly get ler moods.

He loves the Tickle Monster persona, always uses it on his brothers when they're being shitheads.

A softer ler, though he isn't afraid to wreck someone if they refuse to quit (or ask).

When he's being nice, soft scribbles, flurries of pokes, and side squeezes.

“Cootchie-coo, ya cutie!”

When he's not-so-nice, you get one or two giant, inescapable tickle-claws attacking you, big squeezes and occasionally neck nibbles if he's feeling evil.

Mikey, Leo and April get it most often, though each for different reasons.

Mikey straight up asks, and big bro is more than happy to provide. Boy loves a willing lee.

Leo’s always a shit, and some Raphie tickles work wonders on taking him down a peg.

April either offers to let him tickle her as a stress/mood reliever or engages a tickle fight.

He gives the best aftercare ever (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠｡⁠♡. Cuddles, back rubs, maybe a nap in his cozy lap if you're comfortable with it. Potential hot chocolate if you're patient.

🗡️Leo✨

General:

Sassy man gives off ler-leaning switch.

Always in the mood to lovingly murder his brothers’ lungs, but occasionally likes to forget his name.

This playful goof definitely likes tickling, though he refuses to admit it. He needs to protect his coolness, afterall.

Lee:

When the lee mood hits, everyone in the house is immediately notified. Not directly, of course, but it's pretty obvious that something's up.

WAY more one-liners and flippy jokes than normal. Awkward finger guns at the end of jokes, little prods and pokes for no reason, just general annoyance.

In his mind, he'll either annoy them into wrecking him, or they'll pick up on it and help. Either way, he gets tickled.

If anyone tickles him, it's usually either Raph or Mikey. Raph gets tired of his shit the quickest, and Mikey is good at reading people.

Worst spots are his thighs and feet. Get him there, and there's no way he'll be able to even think about sassing anyone through his laughter.

Melt spots are his forearms. After a long day of patrolling the city and being awesome, some light traces there will make him a very happy turtle.

Ler:

Okay but the SASS

He's such a teasy bastard of a ler. Will tease and coo at his lee until they're a flustered, blushy mess. Then he'll call ‘em cute one more time, just because he can.

He frequently gets ler moods, but those are way easier to take care of than their opposite.

Most of the time, his lee will be Mikey or Donnie. His bubbly brother is almost always in the mood for a good tickle “fight,” and Donnie needs to relax sometimes.

Has a bit of a rough style, but does get softer moods sometimes.

During regular moods, he loves to dig into sides and bellies, attack death spots and blow raspberries to hear a lee squeal.

On softer occasions, he'll gently skitter his fingers along death spots, switching places whenever the giggling gets too loud. Maybe some tickly kisses if you're lucky

His aftercare typically consists of cuddling during a Jupiter Jim movie, snacks, and gentle praises. Makes sure his victims are smiling, even when his fingers aren't wiggling.

🎨Mikey☀️

General:

Sunshine boy loves tickling, both as a bonding activity and a coping method.

He's a lee-leaning switch for sure. Ready to get his ass handed to him, but open to helping out his brothers’ lee moods or cheering someone up.

Has magical “can say the t-word at any time” powers. You know he abuses the absolute heck out of said powers, too.

Lee:

Lee moods are no rare thing for this boyo.

Gets them very frequently, though he's actually able to ask for help when he needs it.

Either accidentally or on purpose, he's able to fluster his ler. He'll ask for more, one specific spot, tell them that they're doing an awesome job, ect.

When he gets super stressed, some cheer-up/calm-down tickles are much appreciated (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

A massive squirmer, he can't help it. Make sure to pin or hold him, or you might get an elbow to the nose (accidentally, of course; he'd never stop apologizing).

Worst spots are his knees and neck. Either spot gets him screeching, though he isn't likely to try and stop you.

Melt spot is his palms. With his mildly-terrifying mystic magic, some feather-light touches can be reassuring. Just make sure to ask first.

Everyone kinda rotates through wrecking him, though Raph and Donnie kinda dominate the field.

Either because they catch on/get annoyed the quickest or something else, he's usually found with them.

Ler:

Surprisingly formidable ler

Don't let his cinnamon-roll vibe fool you: this man can and will wreck your shit.

Tweaks his style a bit for each person. Super observant and tailors how and what he does to each lee.

Compliment-teases are his specialty. He'll have you blushing in 5 seconds flat.

“Aww, I love your blush! It's so bright and cute, just like you!”

“This squishy belly is just so ticklish, isn't it? Here I thought it was just adorable!”

“Was that a snort? No, don't hide it! Those are the best!”

His ler moods are a bit rarer, but they are absolutely something to fear (or enjoy while they last (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)).

Super sweet aftercare. You can't escape cuddling (unless you can't handle the touch, he'll understand). Usually some hand-baked treats as well, depending on what he has hidden from his brothers.

General:

🛠️Donnie👾

He's a ler-leaning switch, but that's mainly because he's not always open for being touched.

He gets lee moods, but they're rarer. People have to ask before they try anything.

Even with ler moods, not always open to get somebody.

Communication with this boy is key.

Lee:

It takes a good combination of good day + not overstimulated + in a touchy mood, but he does get lee moods.

Tries to hide and ignore them, but it never works out. Either Shelldon finds him and helps, or one of his brothers stumbles across the mood.

If he’s super overwhelmed with a project and okay with touch, some light tickles are perfect for bringing him back to Earth.

Little hand flaps and kicks when you get him. Happy stims galore! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Worst spot is his soft shell, though armpits are a close second. Loud, bright and occasionally hysterical reactions.

Melt spots are his belly plastron and tops of his thighs. Gentle traces and scratches on either spot leave him a stimmy, giggly puddle.

Most of the time, it’ll be Leo who tickles him. It’s usually for help calming down, though April isn’t far behind.

Will never admit it, but he does enjoy both sides of tickling.

Ler:

You know this mans uses his shell attachments to wreck people.

Those metal claws? Yeah, good luck- =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇)

Very dramatic commentary on his lee’s reactions. His inner theater kid loves to shine. Either that, or complete monotone. There’s no in-between, and he’s never offered an explanation.

“Oh my, you’re laughing rather hard, my dear gigglebug!”

“Judging by this raucous laughter, I’d say this is your worst spot.”

“Oh, it tickles? Really badly? How unfortunate for you…”

Has absolutely made tickle-specific gadgets and I will die on this hill.

Remember the feather staff feature from the Shredder episode? He didn’t just have that for no reason.

Usually wrecks Mikey and/or Leo. They’re both very talented at provoking him, either on purpose or by accident.

His aftercare depends on his mood. If he’s cool with touch, he’ll cuddle and watch a movie with you. If not, you’ll usually get some pats from his claw and snuggles from Shelldon (yes lil’ dude is fine gimme a break)

📹April⚾

General:

Hmmmm toughie, but I’d say ler-leaning switch. Not all that ticklish, but willing to help if one of her brothers is in a bad ler mood.

She just kinda prefers to do the tickling most of the time, unless it’s for her bros.

Extremely confident, bears the magic power of saying the t-word whenever she pleases. You know she puts it to good use, too.

Being the sister of the family, she’s gotta put her bros in their places. Why not use tickling?

Lee:

While it’s not often, she’ll let Big Raphie tickle her if he needs to.

Sometimes that boy just needs someone to reassure him that he’s not hurting them while giggling their brains out.

She’s pretty good at sitting still, amazing poker face. Could easily dominate in the Arms Up game.

As I said before, not super ticklish. Serves her well in tickle fights (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

Only her ribs really get her laughing, but other than that it’s bubbly, pitchy giggles.

Doesn’t really have a melt spot, though if she had to choose a favorite, it’d be her belly.

Ler:

VERY very teasy. Easily-flustered lees be warned (˘ ˘ ˘)

Loves seeing her lee blush and sputter, finds it endlessly adorable.

“What? Oh, it tickles? Good, thought I might’ve been going too easy on ya!”

“Oooo, someone’s blushin’! How cute~”

“Wonder what would happen if I went for your worst spot… Only one way to find out!”

Giggles along with her lee. They’re adorable—how could she not?

As big sis, it’s her job to keep her brothers in line. Why not use tickling?

Frequently gives Raph calm-down/confidence-boosting tickles. Boy’s too stressed, in her opinion.

After him, it’s helping Donnie relax or pry him away from a project. Leo also needs to be taken down a peg every once in a while.

Super snuggly aftercare. Back rubs, praises and even some teases for the road, if ya catch my drift~

🔥Cassandra🏒

General:

I’m feeling ler on this one. She doesn’t seem like she’d enjoy being tickled too much, though she definitely doesn’t mind wrecking others.

Before the Hamato fam stepped in, she didn’t really have much experience in the tickly field.

Maybe one of her foot-face mentors, but other than that, nada.

That absolutely changes when she joins the bros.

Ler:

Ready to vanquish any “enemy” lee mood to help her friends out.

Rougher style normally, though she can be convinced to dial it back. You wanna forget your name? She’s your gal.

Takes her role sorta seriously, though she can be playful. Just depends on her mood.

If she does tease, it’s more observational than anything.

She just kinda says flustering stuff without meaning to.

“Well, no duh it tickles. That’s the whole point!”

“Not there? You asked me to tickle you, but scold me the moment I get somewhere? I don’t think so!”

Attacks everyone pretty evenly, but she does have a preference for April and Raph. They’re the most fun to take down, in her opinion.

Cass respects boundaries, of course. You genuinely want her to stop and she’ll be off you in seconds.

Doesn’t grasp the concept of aftercare quite yet. Once you can breathe, she’ll start asking for feedback.

“How was that? Did it really tickle? Details, giggler, details!”

If specifically requested, though, she does give a mean back-rub and/or massage. If your back or neck is ticklish, though, you’re gonna have a whole new problem~ ( ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )

💮Splinter🐀

General:

Splints has ler energy, ya know?

Like April, not super ticklish. He isn’t the biggest fan of being tickled, but if it’s with very specific people, he’ll tolerate it.

Doesn’t interact tickle-wise very often, but he does have his moments.

Is very aware that his children love it and tries to connect with them in that way sometimes.

Ler:

With his ninja skills and small size, he can take down even the brattiest of lees in seconds.

You see his tail? Yeah, absolutely uses it to help wreck his victims.

Very playful, goofy ler. Laughs along with his lee, makes little comments on their reactions.

“Oh my, little one. I never would have thought you’d be so sensitive!”

“Heheh, what a cute laugh! You really should let me hear it more often!”

When he notices any of his kids are down in the dumps, he sneaks in a few pokes and scritches with his tail.

If that doesn’t work, they get the full-Splints treatment. Reassuring teases, rougher tickles and his undivided attention.

He’ll bug Draxum when he feels like it, which is more funny than anything.

Reducing the broody goat-man to a giggling, cursing mess is therapeutic for him ( ͡º ꒳ ͡º)

His aftercare is light and sweet. Head pats, reassurances, and a small cookie break for a nice close.

🌱Baron Draxum🐐

General:

Before the turtles, had little to no idea what tickling was about.

Sure, he knew that people laughed when it happened, but he couldn’t tell what was so great about it. It was just touch and laughter - no big deal.

Once the teetles got ahold of him, though? Yeah, that view changed pretty quick.

Turns out he’s a switch. Likes “destroying his nuisances” with the harmless technique, but doesn’t mind it being used on him.

Will never admit the latter, though.

Lee:

A LOT more ticklish than one would imagine. Like a few squeezes will leave him giggling and blushing like there’s no tomorrow.

He’s pretty good at hiding his lee moods, though they definitely aren’t repressible. Draxy feels them, but can keep others in the dark.

If anyone’s gonna notice, it’ll be Lou (Splinter). He knows the man the best, thanks to Mikey’s whole “fatherly-bonding” push.

Splints will help, though he’ll tease the shit out of the Baron the entire time.

While he’ll never tell the rat man, he enjoys the silly exchanges.

Worst spots are his hips and shoulder blades. Either place will have him stuck in a snorty, rumbling bout of hysterics.

Melt spots are his palms. He adores gentle traces there, lets him know somebody cares.

Ler:

Absolutely uses his mystic powers to help him.

Those vines? Yeah, restraints and tickle tools for days

Very smug ler, likes to tease his lees until they’re flustered messes. It’s done out of love, though, so can you blame him?

“This must be torturous, huh? The vines holding you still, my fingers on your worst spots… However, I don’t think I’ve heard you say stop…”

Usually tickles the teens if they’re annoying him, but also goes after Lou every so often.

He knows there’ll be repercussions, but life’s no fun without a little risk.

Huginn and Muninn are next in line. Surprising no one, they’re and attention whores. Draxy makes sure they get their fills.

Not the best with aftercare, but he tries. Back rubs and light praises while you catch your breath. Maybe some of his “confectionary wonders” if you’re brave enough.

*✧⁠◍Favorite Trope & Lee/Ler Pairing◍✧⁠*

Okay, so there’s no way I can pick a single favorite pairing. I love them all too much! I can, however, name my top 3.

lee!Raph, ler!April is definitely up there. I adore the big-siblings energy in their fics, and they just bond so well!

Pretty much anything with lee!Donnie in it. I love seeing the smarty-pants get got ( •̀ ᵕ •́ )

lee!Draxum and ler!Splinter. Okay, hear me out, but I love redemption arcs and enemies to friends/lovers/co-parents or whatever you wanna call what they have going on. They’re fun and I like fun.

For my favorite trope, I’m gonna have to go with cheer-up tickles, or more specifically, some stop-stressing-tf-out tickles. It’s always so fun to read how people would cheer up the boys, as well as write some super duper, totally not self-indulgent fics like that for myself. Maybe one day they’ll see the light, but don't count on it lol (¬////¬)

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justtogetthrough · 1 month ago

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When Dr Gaul tells Snow she erased the 10th Hunger Games because it was a mistake to bring the students into it, all the ones who died make the Capitol look weak. But all those deaths will be for naught if the 10th games will have never existed after the fact, after so many children died. But not just the student-mentors’ deaths were for naught. The deaths of the 23 tributes (24?) too. Wasteful. None of those kids needed to die that year if it’s like the game never happened in the end. How tragic for their families. At least with the games replayed and on record, their lives continue to be known. All 24 tributes are just wiped off the face of history, starting the day after the games ended.

I wonder if Snow went home after that visit with Gaul and thought about this waste. He tells Katniss decades later he has no problem killing children, but he’s never wasteful. The subject of waste is material for a Gaul assignment if we’d had more glimpses of his internship with her. I feel like that was a “value” (for… death traps) he grew to give a lot of weight to. It shaped his moves. Kill, but not wastefully. And oh, 10th was such a waste. A waste of children AND a waste of feeling love, of connecting with someone, of hopes and dreams, of opening up to someone about private things, and letting him care about someone, feel enlivened by someone. All of that a waste.

What do you think happened from 11th onwards regarding mentors? It would have taken at least 50 games to get every district to have a victor to become mentor so did having mentors not roll out til 51? Did they have Capitol adults mentor victor-less districts, or even all the districts before then?

🏟️🔱🐍🐀🗡️⚰️

🌳🧊🏊🐦‍⬛🌷🎻

Also do you really think people in the Capitol just forgot about Lucy Gray by the next day? They loved her. That buzz wouldn’t die down unless the president threatens punishment on anyone who utters her name or something. The Capitol was captivated by her. Yeah you can make sure no one new sees her games or hears about her (sort of), but you can’t make her fans forget. Not without imminent threat at least.

Idk I forgot Snow became a gamemaker right away for the 11th and my mind is like a hamster wheel realizing how drastically the games will have changed starting immediately. Him coming home being like yeaaah not only are the games too depressing for people in the districts to watch, but they don’t have electricity or tv’s to watch them even if they wanted them to? And. In 10 years no one in the government and none of the stationed peacekeepers ever realized/reported the games had no reach in the districts and that this might be of interest to the Capitol.

But dutiful Snow gets sent out for only one month, with Dr Gaul having to know that he’d pursue this girl but that he would ruin it/have it blow up in his face and he’d definitely come back. And come back he does, with on the ground knowledge of what the games means to the districts (nothing) and why this is so (lack of engagement/interest). Did she ever ponder the risk that he’d choose his songbird instead? I mean she probably didn’t care if he got shot for deserting or treason or whatever so the risk was worth it to her, if he may come back with new ideas. And come back with ideas, he did. Horrible, insane ideas.

Does anyone else find it interesting Dr Gaul’s name sounds like “gall”. Because. The gall of that woman.

#sleeping pill cocktails #thg #the hunger games #coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #lucy gray baird

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osleeplessflowero · 9 months ago

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// haven't written red in a hot minute, might as well experiment! 📖 Fairytale AU series! ft. an Assassin Red? 👀 ❤️ Reader is Gender Neutral as always, SOUL is up to you! 🗡️First Oneshot (You're here!) Second Oneshot (Coming Soon)

You run. You run as far as you possibly can, your cloak flowing out behind you as you run through the woods, grabbing onto trees and launching yourself forwards to get a head start.

A dagger, or rather a sharpened bone, flies by your face just barely missing it and landing in a tree in front of you. You turn left, clutching your bag of spell ingredients to your side.

Being chased by someone who's out for your head in return for some gold was not on your schedule for today!

"you may as well stop runnin'," The assassin shouts from behind you, keeping up at a rapid pace. "it's pointless!"

You dodge another sharpened bone, looking back at the skeleton behind you with a glare. "And let you just fucking kill me? YOU WISH-"

"i can see why they found it so hard to kill ya before, you've got plenty of stamina-" He throws a few more bones, you jumping over them to the best of your ability.

"Who hired you?" You stand behind a tree, backing up when a bone goes through it and running again. No time to catch your breath when your life's on the line..

"confidential." "Of course." You roll your eyes, opening your spellbook and looking for something to possibly help your situation. A transport spell? Protection spell? Anything??

You see your hideout up ahead, contemplating locking yourself in there, but you really don't want an assassin to know where you live, so you take a right.

The light of the sun shines through the trees harshly, a spotlight on the chase. Woodland creatures peek their heads out from behind the trees to watch. Fairies fly about, sitting in flowers and whispering to each other to give commentary.

The skeleton was starting to get tired now, but he couldn't stop running. He really didn't want another lecture from his brother about "Slacking Off". He adjusts his dark red cloak, the fur on it soft against his skull.

You're good at dodging, he'll give you that. You've managed to avoid every single bone he's thrown your way with relative ease. Most people would've been down by the second one. He can respect your skills, even if you're the person who he needs to kill for this bounty.

Thoughts race through your mind. Your potential killer is running right behind you, and you're running out of places to, well, run to. Who could've possibly wanted you killed? You've left your past life behind, they don't have to worry about you showing your face again. So who could possibly want you dead?

As you become further and further lost in thought, you feel the side of a bone (the non-sharpened side, that is) hit the side of your torso, knocking you down onto the cold ground. You back up quickly, holding your side with one of your hands as the skeleton slowly walks towards you, bone in hand. His sharp teeth are on display as he grins down at you, a single gold tooth glistening in the light. You try to get up, but he holds you down with one of his boots, leaning his arm on his knee as you wince.

"well, look at that..seems i caught ya."

"Let me go!" You struggle, trying to push him off of you.

"can't, sorry 'bout that." He watches you continue to struggle despite this, raising a browbone. "now, what's someone like you doin' to get a price this big on their head? gotta be somethin' pretty damn bad."

"I don't know why someone wants me dead, I haven't spoken to anyone in a year. I'm just trying to live my life out here, not be bothered by people I knew in the past."

"huh.. so you have no idea why?"

"No! I don't want anything to do with them, that's for sure. I didn't ask for this, I haven't done anything."

"hm. well, that's a pity-" He raises a bone above you.

"WAIT!" You hold out your hands, halting his kill. He lets out an annoyed huff, staring down at you.

"what? what is it now?"

"You don't have to kill me, I can give you double what they gave."

"yeah right, they offered me a fortune to bring your soul back to 'em in a pretty little box." "I have a shop, I make a ton of profits. I can give you some in exchange for you not killing me. Wouldn't you rather get your gold from someone who isn't corrupt?"

He averts his single visible eyelight to the side. He's thinking about it.. Please let this work. You're running out of options here.

"you mean to tell me you can give me more than royalty?" "Yes. ..Just let me live, and I can show you."

He hums in acknowledgement. In truth, you didn't really..seem like someone that should have a price on your head. Something about the aura around you. You never fought back when he first encountered you, instead choosing to run immediately.

If he could get more gold from you than from some entitled tyrant, he'd choose the former option any day.

"alright, i'll bite. i'm goin' with ya to get it, though. no funny business, or it won't just be your heart i'm takin' back." He points the sharpened edge of the bone above you against your raised chin to emphasize his point.

"Okay. Get off me first, then." You deadpan, before he lowers his weapon, stepping off you. You get up and dust yourself off with a huff. Might as well go find the shop..good thing you don't live in there.

It's a mostly quiet walk there, with the exception of the sounds of nature around you. You perk up since the silence is starting to unsettle you.

"Y'know, I can actually give you an alternative soul if you need one for "proof" that you killed me. So you can still get paid without any questions." "..you have a human soul?" He narrows his eyesockets at you. "I have my business, you have yours. You want it or not?" You look back at him. "if you actually have what you promised, i'll accept it." He shrugs. You let out a sigh as you finally reach your potions and medicine shop, unlocking the door.

The skeleton glances around at all the different plants inside, both magical and natural. Potions are on various shelves as well as ingredients to make them. He probably should've guessed you're a mage of some kind, seeing as you literally have one of the hats on your head right now.

You go behind the counter, looking through several cabinets for what you need.

"you got any poisoned apples or spindles for princesses to prick their fingers on in here?" He jokes, earning an eye roll from you.

"I'm not allowed to sell those anymore." You reply, continuing to look. That causes him to pause and look in your direction, before letting out a laugh. So you've got jokes too, huh?

"funny." "I try." You pull quite a few hefty bags of gold out of your cabinet, sitting them on the desk and taking out some gems you found while exploring some crystal caves. "This enough?"

"holy shit, you weren't kiddin'." "Duh. My life was on the line." "well, fair 'nuff. deal's a deal." He takes what you gave him, hiding it all in his cloak with magic.

You slide over a container, motioning for him to give you the box in one of his hands. He sits it down, and you transfer the pieces of a deceased person's soul into it. Thankfully it's the same color as your own, so it's more convincing.

"heheh. pleasure doin' business, human."

You correct him, telling him your name.

"huh.. guess we aren't strangers now. name's red. nice to meet'cha." "You too, I suppose..skeleton that almost tried to murder me and cut out my soul." "gotta work somehow." He slides over a stool, sitting at the counter. You rest your arms on said counter, curious.

"you mind if i stick around? 'm not ready to go back there yet." "Uh..go ahead, if you want. I'll just organize some stuff."

And you do just that, the skeleton sitting and observing. Once he gets to talking, the two of you go through various topics of interest, both shared and opposing. When he's not trying to kill you, he's a bit of a charmer in truth. You can see yourself getting along with him.

"And so that's.." You pause mid sentence, seeing the skeleton has fallen asleep. With an amused smile and a huff, you pull out your wand and conjure up a blanket, letting it fall over him and deciding to let him rest.

You walk over to one of the window seats, lying down yourself and letting your hat rest over your face.

Morning arrives. Red sits up, confused, before remembering what happened previously. He feels the blanket over his shoulders and smiles a little bit, looking over at your sleeping form.

"not bad. not bad at all." Is all he says before walking out. Yeah..he'll be back later.

#sleeplessflower's oneshots #underfell sans x reader #fell sans x reader #sleeplessflower's fairytale series

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jakescaravel · 1 year ago

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The Caravel (series)

🏴‍☠️ ⚔️ ⚓️

Part 1

Pairing: Jake x reader

Word count: 3,317

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, mentions of kidnapping, pirate life 🗡️🗡️ (it’s pretty tame for now. Make sure to read the A/N below before jumping in!) 18+ MDNI!!

A/N: Hello all! The Caravel is a slow-burn series about pirate Jake, I don’t want to give away too much here because the summary is already written into the story! One more thing! ⬇️

I have very carefully created a mood playlist for this specific part

If listening to music while you read isn’t your thing that’s totally fine but I do highly recommend it. The songs are kind of in a specific order but it shouldn’t matter too much if you shuffle. Okay it’s finally time…

🏴‍☠️ 🏴‍☠️ 🏴‍☠️

Exposition

Jacob Thomas Kiszka was a pirate aboard The Caravel. A ship that had once belonged to his father.

Captain Thomas Kiszka was his name. He had met a woman on shore and 9 months later, Jake was born on the very ship. Thomas had insisted his son live the life of a pirate. And his mother, having nothing much to offer him, had no choice but to hand over her precious child to become the next captain of the infamous ship. However Jacob Thomas Kiszka would not be the next captain of The Caravel.

The only two things Jake’s father had left him were his sword fighting skills and a little coin necklace from the great Atocha, a ship with immense treasure that Thomas’s crew had pillaged before he was killed in battle.

The crew aboard The Caravel were the only family Jake had ever known. They had taken him in, taught him how to fight, sail, how to handle his women and his rum. They had taught him how to navigate the seas and how to uphold The Caravels legacy.

It was late summer, the time of year when the seas were the angriest. It had been storming for longer than any of the men on board had ever seen. The crew was well equipped for bitter weather but they had never had to endure it for this long. They were running low on everything but more importantly, they needed a doctor.

The current captain of The Caravel was named James Calico. He was Thomas’s first mate and the one who was to lead the crew of fearless men to find the lost treasure at The Gardens Gate before Jake was of age. Captain Calico had heard of a young woman off the coast of the town they were nearing who was a doctor. All they had to do was collect the needed supplies for their voyage, and then collect the girl too.

🏴‍☠️ 🏴‍☠️ 🏴‍☠️

Jakes POV

Your mind is fuzzy from the rum you've been drinking all morning but all you have to focus on is your job. Go in, get the liquor and get out. Fast.

You roll your eyes at the thought. They know I can handle more than this, It isn’t fair.

Everyone on board knows who you are. They know who your father was. They respect you and treat you well. They took you in as one of their own and taught you everything you know but they do not give you as much power as the son of Captain Thomas Kiszka deserves.

You had heard parts of the plan from Reed, Captain Calico’s first mate, and a well respected man on board. He had always been the one to tell you more than the captain intended for you to know. You think of him as the closest thing to a real friend.

You know the plan has something to do with kidnapping a doctor but you don’t have time to worry about that. You have your job and you are ready to do it.

You look down and grab the handle of your sword. You run your hand along the smooth leather (a nervous habit you picked up) keeping it in place and you instantly feel calmer. You’re confident in your ability to fight. I’m ready.

The boat docks and the anchor is lowered. You look to your Captain for instruction and he gives a slight nod. Within seconds, you’re all running off the ship and making your way through the town. You are ready to defend yourself if anyone tries you. However, as usual, no one does. You smile to yourself hearing the familiar shrieks and cries.

“Pirates!”

This is a feeling you’ll never get sick of. The feeling of straight adrenaline coursing through your veins and raw… power. You feel your heart beating out of your chest and you know nothing can hurt you in this moment. You’re invincible. Soon the entire square is clear and you make your way to the pub knocking over boxes and crates in the process.

You don’t have to look around for long. The rows and rows of bottles line the walls and you grab two cases and fill them up, and then one more for good measure.

You make your way back to the square where you see the rest of your crew, taking supplies and one by one returning to the ship.

You look over and see a man everyone called ‘Brute’ holding a woman by the throat threatening to cut off her head if she didn't give him the rest of the meat at her stand. We don't have time for this. You hear the commanding voice of your captain telling him to let her go. And when he speaks, people listen, that's the rule.

Back on the ship you only take two steps before you hear the anticipated cheering. Time to celebrate. You set down the cases and help pass out the bottles of rum. You feel a small jolt and soon The Caravel is gliding across the water.

When you reach to grab a bottle for yourself, something catches your eye, or rather someone. It's a girl.

Wow.

You’ve heard of sirens in stories but you thought they were make believe. She is unlike anyone you have ever seen. She’s beautiful.

Your eyes travel up and down her body, slowly taking her in. You can't help yourself when you stare at the exposed skin on her stomach through the tear in her dress, or the bit of thigh that was showing. Your eyes meet hers and she quickly looks away.

She’s scared of me. Usually this revelation would please you but it feels like a stab to the chest. You think for a moment. She must be the doctor.

You hadn't expected it to be a girl, let alone someone this beautiful. She looks confused and panicked. Now that you pay closer attention, you see that she's being held roughly by two men, Patrick Lock and Robin Evers. They were good men but they obviously didn’t know how to control themselves in the presence of a lady.

A realization washes over you when you look into her eyes. The storm is gone... strange.

You shake the thought when you see Patrick and Robin wearing identical evil grins that make your hands bawl up into fists. Let go of her. You want to grab your sword and slice through their hands but instead you stay by the liquor cases continuing to study her.

🏴‍☠️ 🏴‍☠️ 🏴‍☠️

Her POV

Your mind is racing and your heart is pounding. It’s hard to think clearly when your arms are being held so tightly. Do they have to be cutting off my circulation?

Just moments ago you were sitting at home with your sister reading to her and now you were on a pirate ship. One of the ones you had only heard about in the stories your father used to tell you.

Your eyes flutter closed hoping to wake up from this nightmare. You can smell the ocean. Of course you always could but it was so much stronger now. The cool breeze on your skin is refreshing in contrast to the sun's harsh rays. You let the sound of the water distract you from the dull pain growing in your arms.

SWOOSH.

One particularly strong wave crashes against the side of the boat causing your eyes to open again.

Crash against wave upon wave.

The realization hits you once more. This isn’t a dream, this is real. Your eyes search the ship frantically. If they let go of my arm maybe I could jump off the side and swim back to shore. You look around once more.

The ship is like most that you’ve seen around the dock. Perhaps a little bigger. You don’t know much about them but you recognize the familiar ropes and watchtower. Your dad is a sailor but you’ve never gotten to see his boat. Now I never will.

There is something else near the tower, it’s a flag. A black flag. An exposition.

There is a symbol of some kind. What does that mean?

Your thoughts are cut off by the dozen men that surround you beginning to close in. You can hear the sound of their boots hitting the wooden deck.

Creeeeeek.

Each of them looks slightly different than the last. Some of them wear hats and carry swords, some of them wear shirts and some of them don’t. But they all look ragged and their eyes share the same slight yellow tint. Scurvy. They all eye you with dangerous expressions and wild eyes. It makes your stomach turn.

However, there is one man who stays back. He looks younger than the rest of them. He has long brunette hair and entrancing brown eyes. He has on a white button up shirt with only one button done up just above his belly button. Classy.

You can see his tanned chest and his strong arms from where the sleeves are hiked up. He has on a pair of black breeches and a piece of cream colored fabric wrapped tightly around his waist. He wears a brown hat and a small white knit bracelet on his wrist. The mysterious man wears two silver hoops and has a clean shaven face. A small coin necklace hangs loosely around his neck.

You look back up to find his eyes boring into yours. The sword he carries tightly against his body seems to be staring at you too. The sight of the sun reflecting on the pointed silver makes a shiver run up your spine.

Your gaze is broken by someone walking towards you. You know he's the captain by the way the men part leaving a clear path from him to you, some of them bow slightly.

He walks slowly and carefully, not breaking eye contact. He doesn’t look anything like what you've heard of in the stories. No peg leg, no eye patch.

He has a long beard and he wears a hat or a tricorne as your dad taught you. When your eyes travel down you see his sword swinging slightly by his side and the wood shifting beneath him with every step. You struggle against the two strong hands holding you causing them to grab you tighter. That’s gonna leave bruises.

The captain finally reaches you and towers over you. He looks strong and powerful. He lowers himself so that his face is level with yours and you smell the rum on his breath.

He speaks with a hint of amusement as if he thinks this whole situation is funny. “Hello young lady.” He smiles showing you his singular golden tooth.

He looks to the men holding you “Patrick, Robin, is this how we treat our guests? We don’t wanna scare the poor girl.” His eyes widen.

“Aye.”

They let go of you causing you to stumble forward. The men laugh as the captain catches you and lifts you back on your feet. You recoil at his touch. “Come on matey, I'm not gonna hurt cha.”

You think about running but fear plants your feet firmly to the ground. What does he want?

Unable to meet his gaze, you look back to the young man, he’s… smirking? When he sees you look at him, his face drops and he looks back to his captain.

He speaks again “Welcome aboard The Caravel. What’s yer name?”

You can't seem to form words so you stare at him, lip quivering. The captain laughs at you. The rest of his crew laugh too. The young man laughs slightly but trails off when you look at him once more.

You feel yourself getting dizzy. You can hear a small voice in the distance that you recognize as the captains. He’s explaining to you how they needed a doctor for their ship. He tells you you have no choice but to oblige and there’s no point in trying to run away. He points to something but you can’t see what. You’re trying to absorb his words but your thoughts are still clouded. You turn back and see that you’re already far away from shore. You watch as your town grows smaller and smaller until it's a dot to strange horizons.

The captain yells something that you can’t quite hear and you watch as the men assume their positions. Some of them go straight for the cases of liquor. Some of them climb the many ropes that stretch to the top of the ship, and some of them laugh at a joke being told.

These men are loud and dirty and not very kind. I need to go back home, I need to find my sister.

The captain keeps his eye trained on you, it was almost as if he was saying, ‘try to escape, try to swim away, I dare you.’

In the next hours, no one speaks to you, no one addresses you, they don't even acknowledge you. As The Caravel got farther and farther away from home, your body felt smaller and smaller. Weaker and weaker.

Oh my god, my sister. I can't imagine what she’s thinking right now, I hope she’s safe. My father won’t be home for another week. I hope he’s okay too. There was a storm that seemed to have fizzled out but he must have survived it… he must have. He's strong. Maybe when he returns home and finds out I've been captured he’ll come to save me. Him and his crew.

You look up again, and there is the young man, just across the deck taking sips of his drink. He doesn’t seem to be doing much of anything. His eyes fall to yours then drop back down again. He then looks out into the vastness of the ocean, seeming to be thinking about something important.

I want to know his name.

Time doesn’t wait for your thoughts to collect and soon the moon replaces the sun. One by one the men go below deck to sleep for the night. The harshness of your reality is starting to set in. I’m only of use to them when someone is injured, other than that am I just a lost thought?

You are left alone on the deck, it's cold and lonely. It reminds you of your first day of school when you didn’t know anyone. That night you had gone home and cried in your fathers arms but this night, your father was miles away, on the same ocean but still, miles away.

The boat rocks gently to the rhythm of the sea. Your body becomes a part of the ship, swaying with the water. You feel the little droplets splash over the side and trickle down your face.

It's almost calming, almost. Maybe if I wasn’t a prisoner. At least I'm not tied up.

The moon is full tonight. Its light illuminates the deck and the water in its path. It’s breathtaking.

After several minutes of staring, you accept your fate and try to find somewhere to sleep. You decide a sandbag will have to make do. You attempt to find a comfortable position which proves to be difficult.

As the boat moves with the water on the salty sea, your salty tears begin to fall. It’s scary how quiet it is, and you miss your home, and your bed. For miles in every direction, there is nothingness.

Just as you close your eyes preparing yourself for an uncomfortable sleep, you hear a noise. It’s footsteps. You look up to find the young man approaching you. He’s holding something.

Where is his shirt?

The little coin necklace bounces on his chest when he walks. He ventures closer and kneels beside you.

“Are you cold?”

This is the first time you’ve heard his voice, it’s low and raspy but comforting. He asks his question with caution and genuine concern. You nod.

“Here.” He holds up the shirt and wraps it around you. You can’t help but smile.

He smiles back but doesn’t leave. He pauses for a moment. He looks lost, as if he doesn’t know if he should stay or go. He offers you a small smile and breaks the silence once more.

“What’s your name?”

You tell him your name and watch his lips curl into a perfect, addicting smile. You feel your cheeks flush. He was… pretty.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

“Jacob Thomas Kiszka, mates call me Jake.” He pretends to curtsey causing you to giggle.

This warms Jake’s heart, He couldn’t bear seeing you so sad earlier. You had looked… horrified.

You allow yourself to admire his face. The way his lips fall into a perfect heart shape, the way his eyes sparkle underneath the moonlight, the way his cheeks move when he smiles.

What he does next surprises you. He goes to sit behind you and asks if he can help you. What? You turn to face him with a confused look on your face. He smiles at you. He brings one of his hands up to your hair and drags it down the length of it exposing the many tangles that you hadn’t even registered.

“Is this okay?”

You wonder how you could possibly say no to him so you let him carefully comb his fingers through your hair.

You close your eyes and let yourself bathe in the feeling of his calloused fingertips gliding across your scalp. His hands move slowly and carefully so as to not hurt you.

You don’t really understand why you’re letting him do this or why he wanted to do it in the first place. Maybe it was the kindness in his eyes or the way his voice sounded when he asked. But you just sit there and let him continue.

Jake starts working on a particularly large knot and starts humming to himself. You smile at this small act of vulnerability and let out a small chuckle. He stops singing and you turn around to be met with his reddened face, flushed with embarrassment.

A few minutes of comfortable silence pass as you look up at the stars.

“Do you do this to your own hair?” You couldn’t help but ask. You had grown curious about life as a pirate and Jake was the only pirate you’d seen on board with long hair.

“Hmm? Oh.. oh yeah I do. It takes a while with all the salt in the air and everything, and you know I just thought…” He trails off.

He looks up at you smiling again and you decide, I can trust him.

He parts your hair and moves half of it to drape gently over your shoulder. You feel his warm breath on the back of your neck sending you goosebumps. Oh.

He finishes brushing through the second section and it’s over far too soon. His hands leave your hair and quickly run down your shoulders making you shiver.

He did that on purpose.

He stands up and faces you, he’s wearing a similar smile to the one that paints your face. Now much more relaxed than before, you look into his eyes. How can a person's eyes be so comforting?

You're sad to see him go. Part of you wishes he would stay, and that he could warm you instead of his shirt. You’re wondering if maybe he had the same idea but then he speaks.

“Goodnight then mate.” He winks at you. There’s that butterfly feeling again.

You watch him slowly descend down the stairs below the deck. His hair blows with the wind. I can still feel his hands in my hair.

You rest your head on the sack of sand and eventually your eyes close. That night you fall asleep thinking of your sister but smiling at the new friend you’ve made.

Part 2

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