#he doesn't wake to the man he's tethered himself to; the man he's tethered to himself

[miidnightzone]

thinking about pre-canon andrew, who wakes kevin from nightmares even though he's heard you aren't supposed to do that. let the person wake up themselves otherwise you'll make it worse, they say. but if dogs can be trained to wake their owners from nightmares, is it actually wrong? andrew won't pull against this leash.

when kevin wakes, thrashing and choking on the end of a scream, andrew presses a hand to his sternum. dares that stuttering chest to fight back against him and just, "breathe." he near-whispers, looking back into kevin's wide, unseeing eyes, "it's andrew." 

it takes a moment for kevin to collapse into the couch like a puppet with all its strings cut. it takes even longer after kevin falls back asleep with tear-stained cheeks for andrew to pull away from where he's caught by the sleeve of his sweater. the striker's fingers gentle, so loosely held like he knew it would take no effort at all for andrew to escape, but nonetheless wanting. 

when morning comes, as always, neither say a word about it.

[touyasdoll]

After Class

pairing: professor!Gojo x student!reader (fem)

word count: 1.8k

warnings: inappropriate power dynamics, professor kink, power play, cum eating, oral (f!receiving), reader is wearing a thong and a skirt, semi public sex, rough sex, let me know if I missed any

notes: turns out I can still write smut, I think. hope you enjoy <3

"My next class is in 20 minutes, gorgeous," Satoru coos in your ear, grinding the tent in his slacks against your thinly clad pussy, only concealed by the fabric of your cotton thong beneath your skirt.

"You should hurry up and fuck me then already. I don't wanna keep you, professor," you purr, glancing back at him over your shoulder as you drop your hips back.

A moan leaves your lungs as you grind on his length just right, sending a shiver along your spine as your soaked cunt clenches around nothing.

He does love to tease, but he doesn't have the luxury of time today and he knows it. He's also so hard that it's beginning to hurt and the noises coming from you only make it worse.

"I want to keep you though," he whispers smoothly as he drapes himself across your back, lowering himself on his long arms to brush his lips against the shell of your ear.

He nips at it, reaching down to free himself from his pants before he flips your skirt up and hooks a finger into the thin strip of cotton separating him from what he's after.

Should he be fucking a student? No.

Does he care when his cock is buried inside you though? Also no.

"M'all yours for the next 19 minutes, baby. Make 'em count," you say as you reach over to grab onto the edge of the desk as you shake your ass.

"You're gonna be mine for a lot longer, princess," he replies as he glides the head of his dick against your folds, letting your juices soak the tip before he slowly sinks inside of you.

A groan pulls from him as your breathless gasp echoes back at your from the surface of the large wooden desk. He's so big it's mind numbing. Even when he takes his time.

"Fuck, Satoru," you breathe his name out, whimpering when he starts to move.

He slowly draws his hips back, the motion occuring in time with the handsome smirk spreading across his face, which only portrays a fraction of the insanity this man is able to convey.

"I'd love to hear you say my name when I'm not inside you. It sounds so good on your tongue," he says as he stands tall and grabs your hips, rolling his own at a steady pace.

"It'd probably make me hard anyway," he continues as he suddenly picks up the tempo, gripping your hips hard enough to threaten to leave bruises in the wake of his long fingers as his thrusts start to jostle your entire frame.

You cry out, wholly overwhelmed by the sensations flooding your entire body. It's easy to forget just how good it feels when you're with him until you find yourself here again, drowning in him while his cock drowns in you.

You grip the edge of the desk tighter, clinging to it as the two of you both struggle not to grow too loud for fear of alerting someone passing by in the hall to your illicit activities.

"Holy shit, you feel so fucking good, baby," he growls through grit teeth, colliding with you at an almost unnatural pace as his cock grows impossibly harder inside of you. "So tight. S'like your pussy doesn't wanna let me go."

You wish you could respond, but you can't. Not with the way it feels like he's threatening to puncture your lungs with every unforgiving shift of his hips. It's all you can do to hang on while the pressure inside of you grows with each passing second.

You do respond with a cry, one of pure pleasure. Your nails press hard into the wood, clutching despertely like it's your only tether to this realm, because it is. The euphoria coursing through you, promising that it will overcome you, is so all encompassing that it nearly blinds you; it strikes you dumb.

He looks down, committing to memory the glorious sight of his cock plunging in and out of you, punishing your cunt. His and his only. You are his and, in this moment, you both know it, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

He puts his all into giving you what you want, what he knows that you need, driving himself into you with every ounce of strength that he has, spurred on by the need to claim you, even though he already has you right where he wants you. Pliant and accepting beneath him.

"Need you to cum for me, gorgeous. Can you do that?" he asks, his voice much more calm than his body feels as every inch of him grows taut, threatening to snap if pulled any tighter.

You nod, you think you do, at least. Everything is rendered inconsequential as something inside you explodes, making you see stars even when your eyes roll back inside of your head.

He wraps a hand around your mouth, presesing it tight over your face to muffle the feral scream that pours from you. You couldn't stop it if you tried, not if your life depended on it.

"That's it. That's fucking it, baby," he mutters a second before his own end comes to claim him, stealing all of the breath from his lungs and inspiring his body to move on it's own.

His hips cast into yours as his seed spills into your womb, filling you completely as you whine and readily accept it, pushing yourself up with what strength you have left in your body to thrust your hips back to meet his own, drawing out his pleasure as he draws out yours.

"Satoru," you breathe out, sighing in ecstasy and your body gives out, thumping onto the desk while his motions stutter and then still.

He drapes himself over you, kissing along the back of your neck to nip at your flesh, to have one last taste of you before he reluctantly parts his form from yours, slipping out of you and sending a sinful mixture of both of your essences dripping onto the floor.

"You are going to be the death of me," he murmurs into your ear, kising the side of your face.

"I could say the same," you sigh, eyes heavy and body seemingly lifeless as you try to will your legs to move, but it's useless with every neuron inside you still firing and him lazily draped across your back.

"At least we'll go together," he muses, his lips quirking into a smile as he nips your ear one last time, sending a shiver down your spine before he stands tall to tuck himself back into his pants.

You push yoursself up once you've recovered, tilting your head to one side as you look him over and hop up onto the desk.

"Eat it," you command cooly, looking him straight in his baby blue eyes that have reduced you to nothing time and time again.

"What?" He quirks a brow, looking you over.

"Eat your cum out of my cunt, Satoru," you demand again as you lay back on your elbows and part your legs, displaying the mixture of you and him trapped between your thighs, leaking out of you.

He looks down, eyes widening slightly before he flashes you that smirk that never fail to make your knees weak and sinks down to his own.

His hands come up to hold onto your thighs, fingers running aong your still sensitive skin as his breath fans your core before he dives in, ice blue eyes locked with yours.

You gasp, your hand flying into his snow white locks to tug gently as his eyes flutter and falls closed while he devours you. His tongue laps at your pussy, greedily tasting the concoction of your escapades.

"Fuck," he murmurs into you, sucking on your clit just to smirk when you whine.

He does as you bid him, tasting the salt of his own design and the sweetness of you, letting it bathe his tongue as he cleans you. Rids you of the evidence of the sin you both committed so willingly, but he doesn't stop.

He doesn't stop even as your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging harshly at the stark white tresses that have been turned wild by your touch. If anything, he laps more incessantly at your center, sending you careening off into an abyss that you haven't seen before. That you haven't had the intene pleasure of seeing until he brought you there and tosses you over that precipice.

You howl and he reaches up, clamping his hand down over your mouth as your hips grind desperately against his face. He groans against your folds before he wreches himself away to stand up and claim your mouth, as if he hadn't taken enough already.

You kiss him back, tasting yourself on his tongue as his slides against yours, exploring your mouth without shame, because that was left at the door when you two were together. There was no place for it.

The handle on the door jiggles, stirring both of you as your heads whip towards the door nearest the front of the room.

"Fuck," you hiss, trying to collect your senses as you push him off and stand up, adjusting your panties and your skirt.

"Fucking early birds," he mutters as he wipes his chin, staining the sleeve of his shirt with your juices.

You move to grab your bag and he follows you, his long legs allowing him to keep up even with your head start.

He catches your wrist and you find yourself bumping into his imposing frame. As lean as he looks, it's all muscle. All height, towering over you as he bends down, catching your jaw with his other hand as he kisses you again.

You get lost in it, the knocking on the door fades away as you savor his taste—your taste—again.

"I'll be seeing you, beautiful," he says softly, a dangerous glint in his eye as he gives your hand a squeeze and lets you go.

You flash him a smile and grab your things as you chew on your lip, making for the door towards the back as he heads for the one at the front.

With one last longing glance, the both of you turn the respective handles in your grasp and you slip out of the room, retreating into the hallway to carry on with your day, traces of him lingering on your skin. In your soul, where he now resides.

thank you for reading! likes, reblog, and comments are all greatly appreciated ❤️

[the-kr8tor]

In Deep Water

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW vomit mention, CW Inaccurate medical procedures, CW injury, TW blood, CW violence, TW death, CW guns.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 7 >>> CHAPTER 8

The laughter gets louder as the source of it shows itself aboard the black hellion, the fog makes way like a curtain opening to start a performance.

Hobie's grip is tight, fingers weaved around your arm, bruisingly strong. Your nails dig into his flesh as the uniformed man tilts his head to look at you, his toothy yellowing grin thrown in your direction. His powdered white wig flutters in the breeze, medals glinting off the single lamp on the bow, hands resting on the pommel of his pristine sword. The angelic figure head is a stark contrast to the devil sneering down.

The blackened wood of his ship groans as it continues to break a part of the revenge. The sails unfurled behind him, blue wings fluttering in the wind.

The angel of death has come.

“Look at what we have here.” He clicks his tongue, eyes boring a hole through your skulls, he narrows them into slits, and like a snake, he slithers as close as he can, tethering close to the edge. There's a flash of emotion in his eyes, snarling, the navy man chuckles, the mere sound makes you want to cower. “Hello little birdy, now how far did you fly to get where you are now?”

Hobie clenches his jaw, stepping over to hide you from his view. His hand never leaves yours, the dull ache from his hold says that this isn't just a nightmare.

You want to wake up even if it means losing his hold on you.

“Oh where are my manners? Mummy would whip me if she ever knew I didn't introduce myself to a lady.”

Hobie shifts his weight, ready to pounce if need be. You grab his shirt, making sure he doesn't do anything drastic. Subtly flicking your eyes to the side, you see the crew do the same. They look at you with fear in their eyes, the hunter’s gazes illuminating their contorted faces.

You can't help but let out a shuddering breath, the sound echoing around the open waters, hoping to get your cry for help to somebody who can do something, anything to get you and everyone out to safety.

“My name's Captain Mathias Bradshaw.” He drawls, thin lips curling into a smirk. “This here is my little merry band of sailors who has a bone to pick with—” pointing at Hobie with his thick finger, white cosmetic smeared on his palms. “Him. The red hydra. I forgot to greet you yet, long time no see you rapscallion.”

You hear Hobie's shallow breathing. Grey eyes thundering, a storm brewing, lightning flowing through his veins. The only reason why he doesn't let himself loose on Mathias is your touch.

“You see here, sweetheart,” The man addresses you and you only. “For the past three years your so-called captain and I have had a bit of a tiff.” He chuckles coldly. “A rivalry of sorts.” He pauses, looking over his shoulder. “Is it still a rivalry if you're leagues above your rival?”

“No, sir.” A gruff voice says, hidden behind the mist.

Mathias turns back around. “Well, we got our answer then.”

Hobie sneakily murmurs to you. “Hide—”

“I'm not done talking!” The sudden outburst makes you jump in your skin.

“You should've been done with your senseless dialogue a long time ago.” Hobie straightens his posture, head held high, a picture of a pirate captain. “Come down here and fight like a fuckin' man, show me your flames and I'll show mine.”

The man scoffs, amusement in his green eyes. “Flames? Yours is barely a spark.”

Hobie scoffs. “Let's be done with it then. Get the closure we both want, fight me in single combat.” Mathias knits his brows, Hobie smirks. “No? Thought you were a gentleman, where's your fuckin' honour?”

A booming laugh replaces Mathias’ scowl. “I guess it died with your little red hair—”

Hobie lets go of you, drawing his gun, pointing it directly at the monster's head. The crew takes this as their cue, doing the same, pointing their weapons towards the men surrounding them.

There's hunger in his eyes, beneath the swirling grey there's a hunger waiting to be fed.

The enemy ships don't even aim their cannons at the revenge, instead they float still in the water, unmoving, the men aboard their ships smirk in your direction like you're being served to them on a silver platter. It's then you notice the sons of the sea’s ship is no more. They took the brunt of the hellion’s collision.

No longer their sails fly, their crow's nest and pieces of wood lay floating in dark waters.

Left behind, slowly drowning in the depths.

You feel droplets sliding on your cheeks, for a second you thought it's your tears. And then more and more of it comes pouring down, splashing on the wooden floorboards.

Thunder booms from a distance, lightning flashes in the sky, lighting everyone's scornful faces.

A few of Karl's men stand with Hobie, clutching their injuries. You don't see Robbie, his lack of presence makes you glare at the sneering men.

“Say her fuckin’ name.” Hobie says through gritted teeth. “After what you did— Say her name.”

“Eh.” Mathias shrugs, “I forgot.” the laughter of his men echoes in the mist.

“You fucker—!” Hobie's hand shakes despite this, he draws the golden gun, aiming it at the navy man whose smirk gets wider.

“I recognize that little blunderbuss.” He chuckles, wiggling his pointing finger, “She pointed that at my head too, you'll be unsuccessful just like she was.”

It takes every fiber inside Hobie to not just shoot and face the consequences later. But he's surrounded, his crew is surrounded, they have no chance of escaping death if he shoots. The only option he has is through single combat and to appeal to the man's ego. He's hoping the idea works.

One look over his shoulder, one glance at your trembling face and he's back to that day, the day MJ was lost. He prays that this day doesn't end the same way three years ago.

“Little dove,” Mathias’ devilish eyes roam over your trembling body. “Look at you,” he chuckles lowly, “I'd say dear ol' Hobie here got an upgrade just because this one's got her head still glued on her neck!”

Hobie almost shoots him until someone from his crew screams, their voice full of malice, venom dripping with every utterance.

“Fuck you!” Gwen exclaims, “Don't you have any honour? She's dead and you're still spitting on her watery grave! After everything you've put her through!”

“Ah! Gwen Stacy, the ballerina turned pirate. How you doin', miss Stacy? I heard your father's still down in the stables, trying to repay his debt to the crown.” he rags her on, scoffing.

“You're still defending her? She's a traitor, a navy spy. The greatest one we've ever had in fact. Her only downfall is loving a bunch of…” he sucks in his teeth, trying to find the word. “Thieves like you. Love got her head cut off and love will be your ruin too.” Flicking his eyes to you, he observes everyone's faces after his tirade.

Hobie steps between Gwen and Mathias, his guns still raised, eyes brimming with the anger of a forsaken God. Yet he remains calm, clearing his throat, standing tall.

“Mathias Bradshaw, I challenge you to single combat, a duel. I win, you let us go. You win and you get to take us all back to the capital.” Hobie's voice booms louder than the thunder above. Lightning strikes near, the water sizzles at the contact. “I know a man of your stature can't say no.”

The man in the uniform guffaws loudly, broad shoulders shaking. “Oh that's hilarious, you think you'd win against me, little pirate? Hmm?”

“Yes.” Hobie doesn't miss a beat.

Mathias smiles, “I guess this one's less messy than what I was planning. Name your terms.”

“Guns only, five bullets. You get shot three times you lose.”

“I'll add a tiny thing to your wager.” The navy man looks over to your direction, pointing his crooked finger at you. “Same terms but I get to keep your little bird.”

Hobie turns to you, wide eyes staring back at you. “No—” He's already shaking his head before you speak up.

“Deal!” You roar above the thunder storm, deciding your own fate. The rain is getting heavier, drenching your terrified self. “The captain will take your terms as long as you honour it.” Nodding to Hobie, he holsters his weapon away from you.

Mathias cackles in the background.

Gently holding on to your arm, you already know what he'll say.

“Don't. Do you know what you just agreed to?”

“I do,” you stare at his raging eyes but they're tender when he looks at you. “I know you can take him, I trust you.” Taking his hand away from your arm, you squeeze him once before pulling him towards you. “Don't play fair, because he won't.” you whisper. “Fucking obliterate him, for MJ.”

Hobie takes you in like it's the last thing he'll ever do. He imprints your touch in his mind, wanting to remember the softness of it when the bullets get too much for him to bear.

He nods slowly, still unsure of your decision. If you trust him enough to sell your soul then he'll fight to the death so you don't have to.

With one last look at you, he turns around, facing up to the man he loathes the most, wanting to just strangle him with his bare hands. Maybe he'll do just that.

For the crew.

Mathias takes his blue coat off, grinning the entire time.

For MJ.

He grabs on to a rope, rappelling off the black hellion, landing in a thunderous impact on the deck.

For you.

Now that he's leveled with your gaze, he's a lot smaller down on the deck, stout with a round belly, face painted with white lead that's currently melting in the downpour. Hobie's taller and slimmer but he makes up for it in his agility and speed. You've seen him fight but Mathias' form could be compared to Finn's build, all muscle and strength hidden behind his uniform.

You're glad this was a duel of pistols if it was any other fight Hobie could be in trouble.

A few of his men do the same, jumping off the hellion while the ones on the smaller ships stay on board but keeping their eyes peeled.

Surrounding the bloodsail pirates, the hands of Mathias' men never leave the pommels of their rapiers. Hobie clenches his jaw, now standing before the king's flame, he can't help but gaze behind the man, back to you and his crew.

Gwen goes to your side, lacing her trembling fingers through yours, Pav sidles behind you, clutching the back of your vest. Miles stands next to Gwen, holding her other hand. You see them look at eachother with a knowing glance and glimmering eyes.

Your eyes meet Hobie's, you give him a nod, eyes full of fury, and trembling lips. You mouth a ‘Bleed him dry’.

The simple act of Hobie smiling at you, makes you tear up. It's the same one he gives you after you patch him up, it's the same one when he handed you the hot chocolate. It's the same smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

You're afraid as you part with the crowd to the side of the duelists, lest you get caught in the crossfire. As the one in front, you get a good look at the enemy on the other side, all lined up perfectly like the obedient soldier men that they are. You roam your eyes to their faces, wondering how they could obey a man like Mathias.

You assume the uniformed man walking towards the duelists is Mathias' right hand man. Left eye covered in an eye patch, his hazel eyes observe you. He's carrying a large wooden box, pristine and smooth at the edges with golden locks and embellishments. He opens it with a creak, rain water landing on the wood and soaking the velvet inside.

“You're the challenger, you get the first pick.” Mathias gestures towards Hobie, all smiles like he's not about to meet the end of a bullet.

You stand on your tippy toes to take a peek inside. There are two dueling pistols, flintlocks. One white as fresh snow, one is black like the hellion.

Hobie takes his pick, pocketing what you assume is the five bullets. The black gun in his hand shines when a lightning strikes the mast of the hellion. You hear splintering wood in the distance.

He steps back in place, measuring the metal’s weight in his hand.

“Good choice.” Mathias eyes down the gun. “Death has touched that one.”

Hobie glares, baring his teeth. If only that was enough to kill the man before him.

Mathias takes the remaining gun, wiggling it in his hand. “You ready, little pirate?”

Hobie doesn't show an ounce of fear. “You're going to die today.”

“How confident, confidence alone won't help you aim straight.”

Your entire body shakes whilst they stand back to back, guns raised on their sides. They walk slowly, counting their steps.

The pouring rain doesn't help, raindrops obscuring your vision, the cold mixing in with the ice in your veins.

With every step Hobie takes,

Five

with every hit of his boots on the floorboards,

Four

your heart tries to escape,

Three

pulse hammering,

Two

threatening to give out. Afraid of what's to come. No one else dares to make a sound.

One

Standing end to end on the dock, they turn around swiftly.

After a beat, the man with the box yells. “Fire!”

Bang!

The sound echoes out in the dark, above all the rain and thunder.

Hobie hits his mark, Mathias groans, clutching his dominant shoulder. Smoke bellows out of their guns, dissolving into the rain.

Your words are repeating in Hobie's head ‘Don't play fair’ you say, then he won't play fair.

He notices his bleeding arm, looking down he sees the bullet nicked his skin, leaving an angry gash in its wake. The wood behind him gets the brunt of the bullet, the metal embedding inside, splintering a gaping hole.

You jump when Mathias laughs along the thunder. More and more lightning pierces the sky. You can taste iron in your mouth, not realizing the pain from biting the inside of your cheeks.

They reload, Mathias’ man observing with his watchful eye, making sure they both adhere to the rules; but you highly doubt he's doing it for fairness sake.

Metallic clanking, gunpowder clinking against steel, Mathias' voice enters the fray to your dismay.

“You know, you were too easy to fool.” He starts, finishing up his reload. “You never asked why I left my lieutenant in your hands and why was it so damn easy for you to get my travel documents.” Smiling, the lead on his face melts further, dripping on the floorboards, the white paint mixing in with his blood. “Just like I said, love will be your downfall.”

Hobie doesn't have enough time to squabble, instead he would let his aim talk for him.

“Twenty paces!” The eye patch man yells again.

Hobie and Mathias move forwards, getting closer and closer to each other. You want to put a stop to the duel, but you have to trust Hobie that he'll make it, that he'll win. He has to.

You dare not blink.

“Fire!”

Bang!

Hobie almost keels over, his shoulder heavily bleeds, trembling hand holding his flesh together. You see him smile underneath the pain, following his gaze, Mathias clutches his shooting hand, groaning and hissing. It looks like Hobie shot a hole right in the man's hand. The white gun lays on the bloodied floor, discarded.

Gwen's hold on you tightens, you can hear Pavitr sob quietly.

You catch Hobie's eyes. There's hope in the swirling grey, nodding, you encourage him, mouthing an ‘end it’. He seems to understand, straightening his stance, he reloads the gun as best as he can with an injured shoulder.

Mathias wheezes out a strained laugh. “I gotta hand it to you, your aim is pretty good.” He stands, grabbing his gun on the way up with his uninjured hand. “No matter how amazing your aim is, you're still bloody blind!” He screams, spit flying out of his mouth.

“My two bullets that's in you say otherwise.” Hobie tilts his head mockingly.

“No, no, no.” Mathias clicks his tongue, waving the gun wildly. “You still don't get it do you? You're not asking questions, letting everything fall into your lap, thinking God's on your side on your little revenge quest. But he's not,” he chuckles. “Sacrificing my lieutenant was the best decision I've ever made, especially knowing the fucker can absolutely sing. Loose lips sink ships, little pirate. Do remember that. Especially since you didn't seem to learn from it last time.”

Hobie's face falls, dread filling his chest.

“Bribing the governor to plant my travel documents and telling him to go unwind in a brothel for a couple of days was well worth my coin.” Mathias stretches his shoulder, reloading his pistol with bloodied hands.

He continues. “The two idiots at the gates were…well idiots, I barely had to do anything to them. The lock was a false security to make you sweat a little bit.” The king's flame proves himself. “You're blind. You've focused so much on taking me down that you didn't notice the little details. It's either that or you're also deaf, preferring not to hear your crew's concerns.”

“Not a very good attribute for a supposed captain.” he shrugs, he says his words mockingly.

“Fuck you!” Hobie aims directly at his rival's head.

It's all his fault, everything that led up to this point is his fault.

The gun trembles in his hold. Mathias looks pleased, smiling at Hobie.

“You know the rules.” Mathias sucks in his teeth. “Don't fire until lieutenant Dubois says so or I win and I get your little bird.” he looks over at you. “Oh we're gonna have so much fun together, every night, every day.” His laughter makes you want to grab the nearest knife and shove it down his throat.

You don't back down from his disgusting gaze. “If he doesn't kill you, I will.” Pavitr tries to hold you back. “And it won't be quick.” your voice shakes from sheer anger.

“I look forward to it, duchess.” Mathias spares you one last glance.

You don't notice how Hobie looks angrier than he did, he's clearly holding back. His glare alone could burn a hole through Mathias' skull. Yet he stands tall, getting a second wind; he's gonna shoot a hole in his skull instead.

His head goes a hundred knots per hour, thinking of all the what ifs. What if he just listened, what if he didn't let her stay, what if, what if, what if, the words are tattooed in his mind, clawing and biting at his psyche.

“Ten paces!”

They walk in sync, closer to each other more than ever. Pausing in place, they stare each other down, Mathias' smile never leaving his lips. Hobie's scowl gets deeper with every second that passes.

“Fire—!”

“Fuck this.” Mathias lunges in surprise, grappling Hobie.

Hobie doesn't get a chance to dodge, his gun clattering on the floor as the heavier man tackles him to the ground. The wet floors make it hard for Hobie to find leverage against Mathias who's currently choking him with his large arm.

Chaos ensues, everyone breaks the line, unsheathing their weapons, fighting, steel and skin clashing. Pistols going off left and right, but your main focus is on the two men writhing on the floor.

You hear Hobie choke so you run faster, taking a fallen dagger from a corpse, you quickly dodge people, determined to save Hobie.

“This is what happens when you let your feelings decide for you!” Mathias yells above the mayhem.

Finally making it close to them, in one swift movement, you stab Mathias on his back, crimson ebbs on his white shirt like spiderwebs. He screams, letting go of Hobie.

You don't spare him a glance as you take Hobie by his arm, dragging him below deck. Shutting the doors closed, Mathias bids you farewell with one last cackling.

Guiding him through the corridors, you hope the winding hallways help make it harder for the enemies to find you.

“Y/N.” He wheezes out.

“Don't fucking talk.” Your feet brings you to the galley. Sitting him down, he plops like a fish on the chair, head lolling to the side.

Slapping his cheek, he wakes back up with a groan. “Actually, keep talking. Stay awake, please.”

Hobie nods, “I need to go back up, I can't leave them there.” He tries to stand but your hands stop him, making him sit back down.

“You can't help in this state. Let me treat you then you can go and help.” You look in his pained eyes. “Please, at least let me help with your shoulder.” your other hand fumbles to his back, searching for an exit wound. You already know the answer when you feel the hot crimson weeping out from the puncture left behind.

You plead with your eyes.

“Alright, do what you have to do. Make it quick.” he nods, you leave his side to light a fire in the hearth, laying a metal poker on top of the hot coals. “Can I tell you a story?”

“Whatever keeps you awake.” Taking out the first aid kit from your bag, you notice your hands tremble. They never shake when you're treating someone, with your back turned away from him, you swallow down a sob.

“There was this girl, she had red hair like one of those…” he sighs, injuries aching, throat throbbing. “Apples.”

You reach his side once again, trembling fingers dipping into the wound ointment. “You have a way with words.”

He grabs your shaking hands in his, “Are you alright?”

You pause in your frantic movements, blinking rapidly. “Y-you’re the one who's bleeding right now.”

“You're shaking.”

You twist your wrists away from his touch. “I'm alright, worry about yourself and your crew.”

“You're a part of my crew”

“Shut– just…” you exhale. “Continue your story.”

Hobie nods, eyes drooping. “She just one day showed up on the docks, asking for a place.” He inhales sharply. “I needed to fill the second ship so I agreed, I let her in. I shouldn't have done it.” His eyes well up but no tears fall. “I should've turned her away but she was determined, she had the skills to stay— can you give me somethin’ for the pain? A fuckin' rum or wine, anythin’”

“No alcohol, if you want to bleed out be my guest.” You hold a cloth above his wound, pressing down to stop the bleeding as much as you can.

“Fucker!” He stomps his foot, “you can be such a little shit sometimes you know?”

You can hear the struggle upstairs. Weirdly enough, there's no sound of cannons firing.

“I know—” the ship tilts suddenly, flinging you and Hobie brutally to the side. You do your best to shield his injured self, taking the brunt of the impact, back stinging from the wall.

He lands on top of you, arms on your side, face hidden on the crook of your neck. You can feel his staggered breathing on your skin.

Bottles and pans fly towards you two. Pushing him away, you guide each other to the corner of the room, huddled together, protected by the hearth.

“Shit!” Hobie protects your head with his hand when a pot flies towards you. The ship keeps turning and tossing the both of you until it finally straightens out, you can feel how fast its going by how wild the utensils are swinging.

“Someone got hold of the helm.” He whispers, his cool hand on your tender shoulder. “We're running.” Hobie doesn't say it with pride or dejection, he utters it with embarrassment.

“That's good,” you stand up, giving him a helping hand. “We can get out—”

The unmistakable sound of a cannonball whizzes past and the ship lunges harshly on the side again. You can hear frantic yells from above.

Hobie takes your hand, “I need to get up there.”

Helping him up, you nod. “And you will, let me close that wound off and give you something for the pain and we'll go back up there.”

“Y/N, you can't—”

“We will go up there.” the fire in your eyes makes him obey. “Sit down, I'll make this quick but not painless.”

He flops down, masking the pain with a grimace. Inhaling, he continues. “I let MJ in.”

You pause for a second before taking the metal poker. “Even after seeing all the bloody signs.” He sighs. “Maybe I am blind.”

You hold his face tenderly. “You were, but you still have a chance to change that. You can still help your crew. Make it right for their sake.”

He holds the back of your neck, kneading the skin with his bloodied fingers. “I don't regret letting you stay.”

You look at him apologetically. “You will after this.” Shoving the leather pot holder in his mouth, moving aside his clothes. “Inhale” you place the hot poker directly on his bullet wound, cauterizing the gaping hole.

It sizzles, Hobie holds on to your sides tightly, bunching up the fabric in his hands. Muffled screams eaten up by the leather in his mouth.

You move the rod away once it's done. Hobie's eyes roll in the back of his head. Slapping him lightly, he wakes back up.

“Stay awake, hey. Look at me.” He stares at you through half-lidded eyes. “There you are, captain.” You smile to reassure him. He gives you a tired nod. “Now for the exit wound.”

Hobie inhales, more than ready this time around. His skin is clammy, eyes red from the brimming tears. He clenches his entire body, determined to get it over with. Twisting around in his seat, he hopes the ship doesn't rock as you push the searing metal poker on the back of his shoulder.

With a muffled yell from him, you take the tool away, letting it cool down. Moving his head with your hand, you look at him apologetically.

“I'm sorry, if I warned you first you would've flinched.”

Hobie spits the leather out of his mouth, patting your cheek with his sweaty hand, he leaves it there, stroking your skin.

“I wouldn't have flinched.” He chuckles through the searing pain.

“Of course you wouldn't.” You hold his hand that's on top of your cheek. “You did good.”

He laughs, hand leaving your skin to hold your hand instead. “Not the first time I've felt fire.”

You smile, without thinking, you lay your forehead on his as more cannonballs fly around the revenge.

“You did good too.” He whispers. Eyes closed, he leans away. “Now get me something for the pain and let's get the bastard.”

You smile, nodding to him. Taking a bottle from your bag, you rub mint oil on his upper lip, igniting his nerves, keeping him awake.

“That's the only thing I have that could help. I can't give you alcohol.”

Hobie tentatively stands up, “Maybe after this then.” He groans, slightly limping. “‘m gonna need an entire crate of ‘em.” he thinks adrenaline is enough to keep him on his feet.

He faces you, a ghost of a smile on his pained face. Hobie bends at the waist, you scramble to help him but he refuses with his hand raising to stop you. Taking something from inside his boot, he grabs a shiny and slender thing.

“Here.” Hobie hands a silver dagger to you, intricate carvings of a turtle and a sea snake looping around the glimmering handle. “Somethin’ to defend yourself.”

“Are you sure? It looks—”

“I don't mind givin’ it to you.” He closes your hand around the hilt. “Make sure this one hits his neck this time.”

“I will.” Your eyes fill with determination, adrenaline still coursing through you.

He wobbles towards the door, sparing you a smile on the way.

“Hobie,” you call after him. “Continue your story after this?”

“Only if you tell me yours.” He looks over his shoulder, giving you the same smile he always has.

You scoff with a small smile, “Maybe I will.”

“Let's fuckin’ go and be pirates then.”

—

Getting up the deck was tedious work with all the rocking and shifting from the ship and the wild waves, add that with all the cannon balls whizzing past, it was like riding an angry bull. Meeting halfway with Karl on the way there made it easier, filling your chest with hope.

“Where's Robbie?!” He frantically yells, forehead bleeding, hands gripping Hobie's vest.

“I-I don't know.” Karl's face falls. “But we'll find him, I know he got out.”

“Got out from what?” His voice trembles, “what happened, Hobie?”

Hobie holds his friend’s wrist, “I'm sorry.” Karl weeps. “Go find Robbie and your crew.” He shakes his head. “And get the hell out of here, he's after me not you.”

Karl's eyes fill with tears, flicking towards you who look on with sad eyes. “What about you and the others?”

“We'll find a way out. We always do, remember?” Hobie reassures him with a smile. “Take one of my dinghies, and row the hell out of here.” he takes Karl's hands away from his vest. “We'll see you back at the old place, yeah?”

“You fucking better, Hobart or I'll drown you myself.” Karl takes your hand briefly, nodding. “I hope I see you again, doc.”

“Me too, captain. Find Robbie.”

You part ways with Karl, praying that he finds Robbie and what remains of his men.

“Ready, trouble?” Hobie gets your attention by brushing his pinky against the back of your hand.

“I'm right behind you.”

—

It's war.

The moment Hobie opened the door to the deck you smell petrichor and blood in the air.

You get a glimpse of the battle before he could shut the doors. Bodies, both pirates and navy alike lay motionless on the floor. The sound of thunder mixes in with the pained yells, flashes of lightning illuminates the night sky and you see the faces of the dead clearly.

Two-fingers lay face first on the deck, arms bent at an angle, blood pooling from his head. Through the smoke and splintered wood, Foul screams when a sword plunges through his heart, silencing him immediately. Danny takes a bullet for Finn who promptly avenges him with his cutlass, swiftly separating the man's head from his body.

One face you were hoping was among the dead was missing. Mathias isn't on board.

Something flashes in his eyes when he looks at you. Grabbing your arm, he leans in, your heart stops.

Hobie moves past your head to press his forehead on your shoulder. Bathing in your presence, hand squeezing your skin

“Hobie?”

He smiles, moving his hand up to cup your jaw. Chuckling, he cleans his dried blood off your cheek with his thumb. “Do me a favour, Scuttlebutt?”

“What is it? We need to get up there!”

Hobie ignores you, leaning away. “Survive for me would you? Live, find your family. Promise me.” He sniffs, eyes glinting.

“What?”

“Just promise me, trouble.” He shakes you.

“Alright I promise. Can we—”

“I'm sorry.”

“What—?” Hobie pushes you hard, you fall off the steps, landing on your behind, he exits without looking back, shutting the doors closed. “What the fuck?!”

You rattle the doorknob but it's no use, he locked it on the outside. Frustrated, you try to kick in the door, hurting yourself from the hard wood.

“Fuck! Hobie!” You bang the door, peeking through the keyhole you see carnage as Hobie makes quick work of the remaining men. “Let me help!”

The sound of cannon balls going off almost deafens your eardrums. If only you had your lockpick you could open it.

Your lockpick.

It's a stretch but you still run towards your cabin, feet thudding loudly, echoing around the hallways that you've memorized.

You feel relieved after seeing your door. Shouldering it open, you frantically search for the metal on the shelves. The tip of it scratches your hand but you don't care, already bolting off towards the exit. Running off with your bag tied around you, hoping the medical kit inside is enough to treat the wounded, you hold the lockpick in your hand while you run.

Your hope dwindles with every cannon hitting the ship.

Doors whizz past, ankle stinging, the sounds of screams and gunfire makes you sprint faster.

You don't notice the blood soaked hulking man leaving Hobie's cabin.

Running into him, you stagger, tumbling down, heart falling into your stomach as he looks down at you through his nose.

“Hello there.”

Scrambling to get to your feet, you slide under his legs, stabbing his achilles heel with your lockpick. The man screams in agony, you take the opportunity to sprint like you've never ran before. You'd take running away from O’hara any day.

Your lungs scream for you to stop, but you go on as you hear thundering stomping behind you.

There's no exit and you can't run forever.

The metallic click rings behind you, rounding the corner, you barely dodge the bullet aimed at you, nicking your hip.

“Shit!” You almost fall yet you continue on, entering the library, you shut the doors behind you, locking it swiftly.

Lifting your hand away, the sight of your own blood turns your fear into fury. With your trembling hands, you unsheathe the dagger from your belt.

You have a promise to keep, and you never break a promise.

Hiding behind the armchair you always sat on, you crouch down, gripping the dagger, ready to strike like a viper in the sand.

You look back on what she taught you, “Strike fast and hit hard. Don't give them a chance to get back up.” her voice whispers it to you and you intend to follow it.

The door bursts open, splintering the wood to a thousand pieces.

“The captain wants you alive, little birdy. This doesn't have to hurt if you just come with me, eh?” You hear him chuckle lowly, blatantly lying to you.

His heavy footsteps thud closer.

You use the shadows as your guide, the oil lamp left open on the corner table does the work. For once you thank Gwen for forgetting to close the light.

“I can help with your wound. Glue your wings back together again” he whistles. “The red hydra can't help you with that but I can. I'm a surgeon you see.” Getting closer and closer, you time your strike right.

You come out of your hiding place with a battle cry. Still crouches down, “I highly doubt that!” Slicing his tendons in one quick movement. The second he falls to his knees, you stab him in the neck.

Stepping back, he chokes in his own blood. With wide eyes you flinch when he stands, seemingly unaffected but his shaking pupils say otherwise. With a garbled noise from your assailant, he reaches for you.

“What the fuck?!”

With a split second decision, you dodge his hands, moving backwards, throwing books from the shelves which bounce almost harmlessly on his head and body.

There's a loud thrumming sound outside, its warbling is almost mechanical but definitely something an animal could've made.

He heard it too, pausing in his movement for a second before he lunged towards you. With a scream, your back against the corner, he jumps you.

Your head hits the wall in an ugly crunch, seeing stars, sliding down the wall, landing on the floor, he chokes you with his bare hands. Indistinct noises escape from his mouth, your dagger nowhere to be found in his throat. His entire body hides anything in front of you, drowning your vision, filling it with your murderer. His blood drips down on your face, almost drowning you in it.

You know he's running on fumes but based on your vision fading, lungs gasping for air, you think you'd go out first before him.

Hands grazing something metallic on the floor next to you, you inch your fingers towards it. Finally finding your grip, you smack it on his head.

You've got a promise to keep after all.

He yells, the oil from the lamp spreading on his skin and clothes, engulfing him in flames.

You frantically roll away, killing the fire clinging to your clothes until there's nothing left but burned cloth.

The flames light up the entire room in orange and reds, the paper around him helps feed the fire as he tries to desperately put it out.

There's that thrumming again.

You watch on, holding your tender neck. Your face is flat, eyes reflecting the fire that's quickly eating at the man. Fabric burns on his flesh, flesh turns into charred muscle, the fire eats at that too until he falls, silence hanging in the room except for the fire cackling, ashes and flames surrounding his corpse.

You stand up, ratty shoes stepping over fire to grab the fallen dagger with a thick cloth from your bag.

For a second you stand amidst the fire.

The thrumming outside and the warmth wakes you up, flames licking at your clothes, it's heat scorching your skin, nose filling with smoke. Even with all the pain you still escape with your life, determined to keep your promise.

Running outside the former library, the cracking of splintering wood fills your ears, you instinctively dodge, backing away before the mast of the revenge falls on your head.

Shielding your face, you cower. The mast stills, sharp wood lay next to your feet. Tentatively opening your eyes, the sounds from above are clearer in your ears, all the screams and guns going off, you hear it loud and clear that you can decipher whose screams belong to whom.

The fog enters below deck through the gaping hole left by the broken mast. All the while, the smoke from the library rises up, replacing the mist.

Your exit.

You don't hesitate to climb up. Jagged edges of sharp wood rip amd snag your clothes, stabbing your skin. Finding leverage, you manage to prop yourself up on the deck, meeting face to face with a lifeless Ned.

The light in his eyes is gone, unsung music escaping from his open lips. Skin dirtied by flowing ichor.

You don't hear anything else other than skin meeting skin in a brutal dance.

“No.” You quickly jump up, leaving the fire behind you to consume, to devour what's left of the revenge. “Ned?”

Desperately feeling for a pulse, your heart wretches in your throat, saliva filling your mouth, bile rising up from your gut.

There's no pulse.

With a choked sob, you close his eyes for him. The sound of wet punching makes you turn to your side. Hobie's eyes are wild, vicious and desperate, bloodied knuckles pummeling the man under him. Skin broken, nose cracked, skull open for the world to see. Yet, Hobie doesn't stop even with the obvious signs of death. Fueled by rage, he paints the wooden floorboards with the man's brain.

It all feels sickenly real, your heart is still beating in sync with his punches but there's so much death around you that you feel like you're a part of the dead. Blood and smoke filling your senses, adrenaline slowly washed away like the tides.

You're sitting in a graveyard and nobody else has noticed.

“Hobie.”

His fists pound harshly through the man's head, splintered wood now embedded in his skin.

You apprehensively crawl towards him, your various injuries aching, blood seeping out from your hip. The chaos around you still continues on while he still doesn't stop.

“Hobie—” your fingers brush his arm, he flinches back, fist raised to knock you out. But he halts, knuckles kissing the tip of your nose, painting it with crimson.

With wide eyes, he heaves, muscles tensed, grief all over his expression. You shove your fear down, holding his raised knuckles, moving it away gently. You hold his face in your other hand, smearing the fresh ichor on his cheeks, staining your own skin.

“It's done, he's dead.” You nod, caressing his face, turning it away from the carnage below him. “Hobie,” you unclench his fist carefully, shattered bone and hair sticking to him. With a shallow breath, you let the tears flow on your cheeks. “He's dead.”

His face flashes with fury only to be triumphed over by misery. With a heavy heart, he nods.

Behind Hobie, a uniformed man raises his pistol, without a second thought, you take the golden blunderbuss from his waist, hastily aiming it directly at the man's head.

Your ears ring, the smoke from the gun blinds you for a second before you see your target fall dead with a bullet right between his eyes, blood splattering like fireworks from his head.

Hobie looks at you in surprise, taking his gun away from you carefully. Hands soft on your raised skin. He pats your cheek and you could only shake your head.

“We need to—” the ship collides with something, Hobie holds you close, covering you away from debris. With his embrace, he protects you. Scarred hand on the back of your head, face hiding in the crook of your neck. Leather, sea salt and blood invades your senses.

The hellion is once again looming over the revenge, its golden façade cracking under the damage made by Hobie's ship.

Mathias shows himself, looking worse for wear, he wobbles on two feet, clutching his injuries.

You hear footsteps around you, raising your head, eyes widening at what's left of the crew, they stand behind you and Hobie. Wiping blood off their faces, reloading their guns, sharpening their swords. The red sails of the people's revenge still fly above, more than ready to take what they're owed, no matter what it takes.

Gwen's blond hair is dipped in ruby red, hands tight around her blunderbuss. Miles wipes his face clean, stepping next to Gwen with clenched jaw. Pavitr stands directly behind you, face covered in what you hoped to be someone else's blood. He nods, reassuring you.

Yuri and James take one look at Ned, their expression alone could make you weep again. Finn, crouches down next to you, nodding wordlessly, blue eyes glossy.

Hobie exhales, with shaky legs he stands up, helping you back to your feet. Gripping your knife, you scowl at the man above.

“How cute. The power of friendship isn't enough to save you.” Mathias says through gritted teeth.

The rest of his crew arrives, there's less ships than before, proving how the bloodsail pirates is a force to be reckoned with. They have what Mathias doesn't have, giving them something worth fighting for.

Mathias nods, signaling his ship to turn their cannons towards you and your family.

You step in front of Hobie. “I have a proposition!” Yelling above the rain and metallic clanking, you push away Hobie's hand from your shoulder.

“What is it?” The man rolls his eyes, looking incredibly bored. “We can't be here all night.”

“Me,” the crew voices their concerns, Hobie takes your hand, face terrified.

You smile, “it's alright.” Whispering to him and the crew only. With tearful eyes, you turn back to the devil above. “You seem like you really want me, so fucking take me instead. Let them go.”

You feel the heat beneath your feet. The fire devours everything just a few feet below you.

They all yell your name behind you. Protests fill your ears but you choose to ignore them. You feel his calloused fingers squeeze your hand.

The man guffaws, “Holy shit! You like them that much?” He observes Hobie's contorted face.

“You like her that much?” He chuckles. “You know what? I don't even want you that much, sure, get on up here, birdy!”

There's that thrumming and warbling again. It's much clearer now that you're above, it seems like it's coming from beneath the ship.

“Come here and take me then!” The rain mixes in with your salty tears. Raising your arms, shoving everyone away, you taunt him. “But let them go or I'll plunge this dagger through your eye!”

“Christ, you're as insane as him. Perfect for eachother eh?” he sighs, gesturing for his cannons to cease. “I'm already satisfied even though a few of your men escaped from a dinghy but eh, I'm sure I'll get them soon enough. Just like how I'll get you one day, little pirate. I'm a very patient man, I'll wait three more years if I have to.”

Hobie's face is full of anguish when he swivels you around to look at him. “Don't fuckin' do this. He won't keep his word,” he flicks his eyes to Mathias, then back to you, grey eyes darker than before. “the moment you step foot on that ship he'll kill you.” his mind comes back to that fateful day.

He can't let that happen again, not to you.

You look at him softly. “I know, but I'll make it hard for him, that'll give you enough time to escape. Hobie, I have nothing else, just this.” swallowing the lump in your throat, there's heat under your eyes. Taking his hand, you squeeze it once. “Let me do this, for you and for them. You still have to get your revenge so let me do this. Don't let him win.”

“You promised.” His voice cracks.

“I don't think I can keep it now.” You flick your eyes behind him, the crew looks on with grief marring their eyes. “They're too young for this, Gwen, Pav and Miles, they deserve to live too.”

You hear the rope fall from the hellion's deck. “I'm glad I got stuck in that net even though you made me walk the plank.” chuckling through the tears, you give them your best smile to remember you by.

“Don't leave.” he pleads.

Sliding your hand away, you take one last look at them, making a sketch of their faces in your mind to remember when the inevitable happens.

“I have to go now or this won't work.”

The captain has no plan on how to fix it, how to fix everything, and he beats himself bloody for it.

Turning around, with every step you take feels heavier than the last. You make amends to her in your mind, praying that it reaches back home. You also thank her, but you don't regret running away that day.

You'll never know what lies for you up north or if there's someone there waiting for you. If there is someone, you apologize to them too.

You leave traces of yourself to the people behind you with the hope you live on through those pieces. That at least they won't forget your name.

The howling wind and rain whips at your drenched form, committing the feel of it to memory.

Grabbing the rope, you fight the urge to look behind.

“Hurry up, birdy!” Mathias cackles. “Come on then—!”

The thrumming is deafening, everything seems to freeze mid motion.

Giant mounds of flesh rise up from the water. Snake-like features curl above, rising to the heavens, cutting through the grey clouds.

You can't help but be mesmerized by the beauty of it. Iridescent scales glimmer against the lightning, cracked scales teeming in gold. the lightning bolts ricochet off their scaly skin, unharmed.

More serpents appear from the depths, towers of scaled flesh. They rain sea water from above, dripping from their massive bodies.

One curls just above the hellion, opening its eyes, revealing an entire ocean in its orbs.

You can't stop looking at it, petrified.

“Dragons.” You say in awe.

“Y/N!” Hobie races towards you. His hand brushes against your shirt, so close yet so far.

You get yanked up with the hellion, grip still frozen on the ropes. Holding on for life, the beast has curled around the ship, in your peripheral you see men jumping off, splashing down into the depths, taking their chances in the cold.

Facing the creature, they trill and thrum, crushing the hellion and the navy ships in their massive jaws and swirling flesh.

You wake up from the trance they had you in, almost losing your grip off the rope.

“No!” You screech, saving yourself, arm socket straining against your weight. Twirling the rope around your hand, you tie it just like how they taught you.

Palms burning on the hemp, looking down, you're hanging high above the revenge. You watch as the crew frantically unties a dinghy while Hobie and Finn stay behind, they're too far for you to make out what they're doing.

Your only chance is to jump in the water but you know that'll be the end of you.

Water parts for something swimming fast under the water, it moves towards the Revenge. You scream their names in an attempt to warn them.

“Gwen!” Your throat struggles from the screaming. “Brace yourselves!”

The serpent crashes on the starboard side, away from where the small boat hangs. Hobie clings to the remaining mast, knife in his hand. Heart pounding, you watch as Gwen runs towards Hobie, he yells, she shakes her head but in the end she bolts for the dinghy. You nod, hoping she saw that you forgave her.

The beast constricts around the helion, crashing the oak and its gilded carvings in its wrapped body.

You sway in the wind with the serpent’s movements, praying that the rope hangs on to the figure head. The figure head of an angel looks down at you, lifeless eyes observing your slow demise.

This is the end for you, you've never thought you'd be killed by a mythical being turned into reality but here you are, hanging on by a thread, waiting for death to come.

With one last glimpse at the revenge, you see the fire finally reaching above deck. Gwen and the others lower down on the dinghy while Hobie grabs onto a rope, cutting the knot off the steel rings, remembering James' teachings, if he keeps doing that he’ll get yanked up, and with the wild wind, it will surely be a disaster.

You yell his name in a futile attempt to stop his effort at saving you.

Finn raises something in his hands, heaving it over his shoulder.

You sharply turn your head when a snapping sound fills your ears. The hemp untangles, with the rope breaking in the middle, you close your eyes.

The sea serpent lets out a guttural scream, the sound alone sends shivers down your spine. It uncurls around the hellion and you get a glimpse of a sharp harpoon sticking out from its eye.

Falling with the hellion, the serpent's eyes turn from blue to a bloody red, bathing everything in its gaze in crimson. it's the last thing you see before you shut your eyes.

You feel a familiar arm around your middle, looking over your shoulder, you think you've already died.

“I've got you!” Hobie yells, with him carrying you and his hand grasping on the rising rope, he struggles to hold on.

So you help him, wrapping your arm behind him, you hold the rope in the other, face close to his as you two fly above the revenge, swinging and whipping uncontrollably in the storm.

The beast trills, jaw unhinging, its rows of shark like teeth in full display.

“Shit!” Hobie manipulates the rope to swing you two away from its sharp teeth.

It fails to catch you, instead it turns its attention to Finn on the deck.

“Finn! Run!” Your blood curdling scream gets his attention, yet he pays no heed.

But everyone already knows it's too late, with one last fight in him, he raises his harpoon, yelling, meeting the serpent's opened mouth halfway.

It swallows him whole.

You just stare at where Finn once stood, he leaves patches of his ichor on the floor.

The revenge sinks, fire and water engulfing Hobie's home, your home.

“Love!” The name rots in his mouth, it gets you out of your frozen state. “I—”

The last standing mast cracks and breaks apart. You lose your grip on Hobie.

And you fall once again. For a second you fly, eyes peering towards the clearing sky, with white clouds in your vision, you brace for impact.

“MJ!”

That's the last thing you hear as you fall in the depths in a harsh splash.

A/N: so sorry for the late update!! Hope you like it 🫶 (if i forgot to put any warnings on the tags please tell me)

[mollywog]

Laurel

Prologue | In Trouble | A Proposition

But he doesn’t forget.

She wakes late the next day to find a slip of paper jammed under the front door; The stilted scrawl summons her to meet after sunset. She knew Haymitch was a miserable drunk, but never suspected he’d stoop to blackmail.

Fueled by her rage she storms off to Victor’s Village, pounding on the old mentor’s door until it finally swings open. Bleary eyed and disheveled, he doesn't seem surprised to see her despite her disregard of his note. He grunts and bids her wait by the gate, before disappearing back into his house.

She turns to obey when motion catches her eye; the curtains at the house across the street flutter closed and she scurries down towards the entrance, tucking herself out of sight.

Staring off towards the mountains, she considers a life on the run with her mother and sister, but it’s never made sense before, even less so with an infant to think of.

She’s so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t notice Haymitch’s approach until his bark snaps her from her daze. Even more startling is the realization that he isn’t alone, trailing behind him is Peeta Mellark; the only other inhabitant of Victor’s Village.

Visions of burned bread and bruises taunt her, but worse still, the heavy weight of an unpaid debt. She has the urge to flee on the spot, but her desperation and curiosity drive her forward. They walk in silence, her eyes darting to him often, catching his gaze fixed on hers before quickly flitting away. Haymitch slows to a halt when they're out of sight of the Village, turning to look at them, his eyes sharper than she’s ever seen them.

“Her sister’s in trouble,” he says without preamble, looking at Peeta while tilting his head towards Katniss.

Katniss takes a step back, Peeta’s eyes flit to her once again, full of concern.

“The way I see it, the two of you can help each other out,” Haymitch continues. “Everdeen. Your mom’s the healer, right? She can declare a quarantine order for your sister; shouldn’t be a problem for her. Keep her hidden away so no one knows her condition, while the two of you head down to the Justice building, get married; a patch up, so when the baby comes, we can pass it off as yours.”

Her mind is racing; the idea had never occurred to her. It’s risky, but it could work and it wouldn’t have to be Peeta… she could find someone else if he objected, and she probably should; She already owes him too much without adding this to it. She’d just need to find someone she can trust; Someone who would choose to tether himself to her and another man’s child, never breathing a word of their deal... The despair creeps back in; no one comes to mind and she’s running out of time. She’d have to claim the baby as her own without a husband. No, that wouldn’t work either, at least not in 12.

“A wife and a child would go a long way to securing the President’s trust,” Haymitch adds.

She furrows her brow, but Peeta must understand the connection. “I told you, I’m not going to play that game,” his voice is firm. “You said we’d find another way.”

“This is the other way. And what about her sister? You’d be protecting more than just yourself here.”

Peeta exhales, running his hands down his face.

Her head is thundering from last night's liquor and the pair's cryptic words are doing nothing to help. The president, game, protection; She doesn’t understand their significance or connection, but it sounds like Peeta’s in trouble too. If marrying her could keep him safe it would be like a trade, rather than a debt…

“You’d be going into this on equal footing. An alliance,” Haymitch says as if anticipating her concern. “Mutual protection. Doesn’t gotta be anything more.”

“Katniss?” Peeta’s voice has softened and when she turns to look at him, after years of stolen glances, his eyes hold her stare.

It’s all too much.

“I need to talk to Prim,” she says before dashing away as fast as she can.

Question

[mx-myth]

Okay so I've had some meta thoughts about Laurence's amnesia and how it relates to his relationship with Tharkay sitting in my drafts for like over a year now so I figured I'd finally clean it up and post it. Heads up it's really long.

Laurence finally consciously realises that he loves Tharkay (or is in love with him, whatever nuance you'd like) after "knew him, and knew himself." But at this point he's completely in pieces as a person (more on this next paragraph). Post-amnesia, he's an entirely different man. Pre-Temeraire Laurence is the harshest, strictest version both of and with himself. He follows the rules to the letter, basically takes Temeraire only out of duty in the beginning, and even keeps the promise between him and Edith despite there being no formal arrangement at all. Post-Temeraire but pre-amnesia Laurence has softened. He's putting less emphasis on the rules and more on his morals (see: treason). He has more leeway but still carries that honor/duty/order with himself.

Which is why post-amnesia Laurence is the version of himself that discovers that he loves Tharkay. In the wake of losing his memories and then regaining them he's lost and unmoored. Both of his past selves are so different and therefore so distant. They're both true but it's too jarring for him - especially in his current circumstances, much less the overall war - so Laurence becomes a new person. This is Laurence at his most vulnerable, his most unguarded, who smiles more often now because he doesn't really know that he didn't smile that much before. He has two major tethers to his personhood: Temeraire and Tharkay (I hesitate to say only tethers, simply because Laurence's life isn't that small, but repeatedly these two are the ones who have had the biggest impact on his life, who have kept him going). Obviously he loves Temeraire, he's never going to stop loving Temeraire, he just isn't capable of it, but seeing Temeraire didn't bring back his memories (I can't imagine how Temeraire must have felt, meeting a version of Laurence who had never met him). Laurence loves Temeraire in the most unconditional, selfless way - to be very Greek about it, his philia. But I think when he finally comprehends how Tharkay was the catalyst behind this radical change of his self he dives into his memories again and goes over them in excruciating detail (and he was definitely doing that already, but now he's doing it with a lens exclusively focused on Tharkay). At some point he comes to the realisation that Tharkay loves him, and that he loves him, and that he's been unconsciously shoving it down every time it's surfaced (past-Laurence was saying no homo while actively homo-ing). And with the benefit of being an new version of the same person (and also some hindsight, finally), this Laurence says, I've committed treason. My country sees me as a traitor but they still need me to serve them as a tool. I lost myself once in a war (see: "what are you doing?") that's still being fought. Time is short and there's no guarantee I won't lose my memories again, that I will still be the person I am right now. What do I have to lose?

(And on some level, this Laurence thinks, what can stop me?)

He begins giving to Tharkay what Tharkay always had given to him. His acts of devotions start small (relative to Tharkay's; transporting too many ferals is obviously a little outside of what Laurence can feasibly do). He cares for Tharkay once he wakes ("have you noticed the top of your head appears likely to come off?"), he helps him eat and drink, he massages his hands once they heal, he stays with him through the nightmares that come to haunt him. And he continues doing these little things for Tharkay, hoping that he understands (he's willing to wait, Tharkay waited for him after all, and Laurence doesn't want to push him, especially as he's healing). But I think the act that hits Tharkay like, oh, it's different this time is when Laurence bargains his freedom to Napoleon. I feel like that carries unspeakable meaning for Tharkay, who was ostracized growing up and ended up never having a "permanent" home since he travelled so much. I can't imagine that he hasn't been in a similar situation before, but he's probably always been expected to weasel his way out of it without any outside help. He's trained himself out of expecting someone to help him, to care enough about him to save him. Yet part of the man who turned to treason simply so the dragons of France wouldn't die in pain lives on in this Laurence. Pre-Temeraire Laurence is rules and post-Temeraire pre-amnesia Laurence is morals, but post-amnesia Laurence is all heart. There was never a way he was going to leave Tharkay behind.

So Tharkay starts watching him. He watches Laurence continue to devote himself to him, again and again. He brings him his coat on cold days. When it rains and their scars ache he curls around his hands and rubs lotion into them. When he goes into town he always brings Tharkay back a little gift. He starts growing vegetables in the garden and he learns how to cook non-wartime foods and how to knit (because he is a man forged by war and what does one even do during peacetime when one's dragon is busy reforming the government, anyway?) and suddenly he's providing for Tharkay like never before. He looked away for one moment and suddenly Laurence's prescence and all that he does has made the manor a home.

Yet Tharkay, for years, has told himself so many times that Laurence is off-limits, untouchable, that he can love him but that there's no chance that Laurence will love him back. The only way he can love Laurence is silently, nearly from afar, and so he tried to do that. But he can't just stand by and so every time he finds himself committing a deux ex Tharkay (see: ferals, again). He understands that there's some shit Laurence needs to learn himself (and god is this series very good about character development for Laurence) but he's not going to do nothing when the man in about to die. For him it's about caring and providing for Laurence even if he doesn't know it. He learns to content himself with the knowledge that, even if nothing comes of it, he can still be by Laurence's side.

But then the amnesia plot happens (which he only learns of after all of it goes down) and suddenly there is a half-stranger wearing the skin of the man he loves (loved, he tells himself) looking at him with those familiar blue eyes filled with a completely unfamiliar emotion. He's relieved that Laurence remembers but he's said that his Laurence is gone that he's even thinking of it like that (Tharkay has a lot of anger, both at himself and others and the world). Laurence is right in front of him, he's not gone at all, but he's gone in a way that matters. But also this new Laurence is by his side all the time. He's feeding him and helping him drink and dress and he sleeps on the floor by his bedside. Tharkay is so confused because this has to be some kind of fantasy dream he's having. He must still be in the cave (and it's believable that he is, because he returns there every night in his dreams). But he isn't and he has to struggle to come to terms with this new Laurence.

So every time Laurence does something even remotely nice he hyper-analyses it and rationalizes it to himself. He deludes himself into thinking that this is normal for Laurence now. It's normal for Laurence to fuss and hen over him now; it's normal for him to smile at him with that emotion written plainly on his face that Tharkay still hasn't (refuses) to decipher. And he does this well into post-canon.

For that reason he only gets with the program when Laurence has to leave the manor (leave home) for a long while (probably with Temeraire) and suddenly Tharkay is all alone in this huge manor. He's wearing the socks Laurence knitted for him and eating food Laurence grew and walking into rooms and seeing little parts of him scattered everywhere. There's a novel he's reading left on the table by the chair he prefers in the library. There's a cookbook in the kitchen in which he's bookmarked recipes he thinks he might like. Tharkay finds a handwritten list of things they need to buy in town left out for him. He left his pillows on Tharkay's bed because he knows he likes sleeping with a ton of pillows (and they smell like him, and Tharkay pretends he doesn't bury his face in him, that he doesn't miss him while he's gone). When Tharkay wakes up in the morning he makes two cups of tea and waits for Laurence to come in from talking with Temeraire before remembering that neither of them are here (home). He expects Laurence to appear in the evenings to ask if he wants to go on a walk through the grounds with him (and he always ends up saying yes). Tharkay learns that the manor is too big for one man who has always been a little too lonely in his life.

So until Laurence returns home he plots and plans and agonizes. After a week once Laurence has come home (and the first thing he had said to him was welcome home, and Laurence had beamed at him, and it was so unbelievably natural to say it) Tharkay begins his attempts at reciprocating. He wakes up earlier so that he can brew Laurence tea so he can take it out to sit with Temeraire. He says that he cooked some of the recipes from Laurence's cookbook and insists on making them for Laurence (he had to figure out his system of marking which recipes were Laurence's favourites). He gifts him a sturdy, functional, and beautifully crafted knife to wear around the house for daily use; he specifically makes sure the knife is up to Temeraire's standards. In fact, Tharkay talks to Temeraire about everything, and Temeraire tells him, with no minced words while completely drawing his own conclusions, that it's very nice that Tharkay is asking him for his blessing, but does he really need it at this point? Haven't they been courting long enough? He's always approved of Tharkay, because he makes Laurence happy.

That's how Tharkay realises he and Laurence have been dancing around each other like shy birds, both of them subtly showing off but not making the first move. And maybe he realises that Laurence is thinking how he used to think - that it's okay as long as he can be by his side, that he doesn't need his love reciprocated (it's a very long chain of Tharkay loving Laurence, Laurence knowing Tharkay loves him and loving him back, and Tharkay loving Laurence and knowing he knows he loves him and loves him back). And of course Tharkay wasn't going to make the first move back then, and if Laurence hasn't by now, then maybe he should borrow some of Temeraire's courage.

It's something small. The words come later, given how action-forward both Laurence and Tharkay are. They don't even need words. Maybe Tharkay takes Laurence's hand during dinner and intertwines their fingers, maybe he touches Laurence's cheek after he's braided his hair as their eyes meet in the mirror, maybe as they pack away the port and piquet he kisses him good night. Whatever it is, they look at each other and simply know. Tharkay sees Laurence slowly start to smile, a huge one that spreads across his entire face, one that he's only seen on Laurence when he thinks he's alone with Temeraire. He seems to brighten, almost radiating light.

For his part, Laurence reciprocates. He squeezes Tharkay's hand, he turns his cheek into Tharkay's touch, he pulls him in for another kiss. He watches as something seems to drop from Tharkay, something that he hadn't even known he was carrying. He becomes loose and relaxed, his body language more open as he looks at Laurence with one of his little smiles, a bit of shyness that he's never seen before evident on his face. He tells Tharkay that he's the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

[accioprocrastination]

One Day At A Time (Part 5/?)

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Hangman's fiancée is hospitalised and Jake waits for her to wake up

T/W: Anxiety, panic disorder, PTSD, POW, gun violence, hints to torture, death

Jake POV

He sits silently on a freezing cold, completely uncomfortable plastic chair by your bedside stroking the back of your hand for hours on end.

Jake's eyes are transfixed in horror as he stares at your hands - more specifically at your bleeding, bandage wrapped nails. His stomach clenches in nausea as he thinks about the fact someone has probably ripped them.

What on earth has happened to you?

How could anyone do this?

Are you mentally okay after what you've been through?

What if you don't love me anymore?

He asks himself a million questions that he cannot answer as he sits staring at what's been done to you. Every unanswered question is adding to his stress.

Jake is snapped out of his thoughts when the door handle rattles and Cyclone walks back in. He subconsciously straightens in his chair in acknowledgement.

"At ease, I don't expect you to feel inferior in a hospital." Cyclone remarks clearly feeling apprehensive by his surroundings as he hesitantly places a vase of flowers down on the windowsill.

"Have the doctors said anything to you?" Jake questions quietly, momentarily turning away from your lifeless body.

"She's stable. They're trying to wake her up." Cyclone confirms.

Jake carefully avoids touching your nails as he squeezes your hand slightly, hoping the motion will help you feel tethered enough to open your eyes.

The admiral's gaze flits between the two of you, wondering if Jake is going to speak up.

"Was it your decision?" Jake finally asks having wondered it ever since he got the call to say you were not coming home. At the time Jake practically begged Javy to find out information about what happened the day your plane went down, but the name of the admiral who made the decision to withdraw help was classified before he could know who to blame.

Cyclone is the one that called me, he knows who made that decision.

He confirms Jake's suspicions with a single nod.

"She is the best pilot I've ever worked with. I didn't expect for what happened that day to occur" Cyclone admits meeting Jake's eye line.

That's as close to an apology as I'm going to get from the man.

"Someone should've gone after them. She fucking deserved that." Jake's lip wobbles as he says the words. His brain is endlessly thinking of what you may have had to endure to look like this right now.

Jake will never admit to anyone that the rational part of his brain completely understands why the admiral would pull back the rescue effort after three other people were killed.

Your squad's relatives had the closure of their bodies - Jake never had that. Your family had a funeral with a casket that everyone knew was empty.

Jake closes his eyes in pure dread as he thinks back to that day.

"I've put through an emergency leave request on your behalf." Cyclone declares after a few minutes of silence. Jake doesn't say anything, still lost in thought.

"Have you called anyone?" Cyclone asks.

Jake shakes his head. No. He left the house in such a rush that he's fairly sure his phone must be somewhere on the side next to his house keys.

"She doesn't like being crowded when she's sick." Jake states.

The admiral nods taking that as what it was, a polite way to tell him to go away too.

*

Jake jolts awake at the sound of the door opening again. "Sorry" a nurse whispers at him.

"Don't apologise, come in." he says gesturing with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other.

The nurse smiles slightly at him and moves around the machines to check all of your vitals.

"What time is it?" Jake groans - from the stiffness of his neck he knows he's been asleep for a fair while.

"Half four." The nurse responds checking his fob watch.

"When do you think she'll wake up?"Jake questions looking away from the note-writing nurse, back at you.

"It's different for everyone but hopefully soon." he replies.

Jake doesn't admit that he's scared for whatever you're going to say to him. Scared that there's nothing between the two of you anymore.

I don't know what I'll do if you're not the old you

But how can you be the old you after this?

"How did you two meet?" the nurse asks trying to distract Jake from his obvious nervousness at this whole situation.

He hasn't spoken the hugely exaggerated version of your meeting in years; the story he used to tell people to make them swoon before everything happened... Instead he settles for something he know will instantly shut the conversation down, "at work".

When the nurse leaves Jake is watching you on high alert again.

"I know you won't let me say this to you when you're conscious but I am so sorry I couldn't save you baby." He murmurs.

*

Reader POV -

Despite the beeping of hospital machines telling you that you're in a sterile environment, you wake up to fear and adrenaline pounding through your system.

Where am I? you mentally question, too tired to wake up.

You can hear someone snoring nearby but do not have the strength to prise your eyes open.

Who is that? That doesn't sound like Ghost.

From experience you know that you've been under some form of anaesthetic to be feeling this out of control over your body but it doesn't stop your mind racing a million miles an hour.

I have to wake up.

You groan trying to compel yourself to wake up.

Hearing your heart monitor pick up slightly, the man besides you is snapped from his slumber, instantly taking your hand.

"Take it easy sweetheart." He says rubbing your cheek. You flinch dramatically at the nickname, afraid of who you think is standing next to you.

Someone's touching me. You panic unable to force your eyes open long enough to take in your surroundings or fight back if you need to.

Oblivious to the real reasoning behind the flinch, Jake's eyes fill with tears as he removes his hand from your face petrified that he may have hurt you.

"I'm sorry sweets." He whispers carefully untangling your hands as well.

Desperate for you to talk to him, Jake watches as your eyes flicker open and closed. He holds his breath in anticipation of you finally waking up but is sorely disappointed seconds later as you're pulled back under the sleepy haze of anaesthetic.

Part 6

Masterlist

Tags:

@inthestars-underthesun

@rainy-darling

@emma8895eb

@tgmreader

@ems-alexandra

A/N: I just read this back and why is the start of this giving Gone Girl??

[muutos]

❝ i’m not who you think i am. ❞ //cullen wullen

THE LOOK UPON HIS FACE IS SOMETHING JUST WIDE-EYED ENOUGH to strike both angered and scared. he's not so much frightened of every mage he encounters, which has subsided greatly over the years . . . but they remain a shameful tie to unfortunate trauma, despite. enough to shape a mind previously so open, and accepting. A PINPRICK STING LINGERING IN THE WAKE OF SIGHT.

HIS LIP GIVES A HEALTHY TWITCH, SHOULDERS SQUARED.. he's trying not to -- well, he's not quite sure of that himself. IT'S NOT A RECOGNITION WHICH DISMAYS HIM SO MUCH AS ONE MIGHT THINK. his disillusionment was spurred by the act of this one man, as was ensuing chaos. HAZE OF SELF CORRECTION WHIPPED BACK AND BENT. in the form of a tiny hole of light streaming down six feet of dirt. YET EVEN STILL, HE DOESN'T UNDERSTAND THE ATTEMPT OF THE OTHER TO SAVE FACE. his brows wrinkling, slightly. wrist subtly resting against the hilt of his sword.

HIS JOB IS TO PROTECT THE INQUISITION, NOT EXPRESSLY FROM MAGES. no leash left tethering him to duty, despite itching fingers near forbidding themselves to touch the very substance he so relies on. NEARING THE ENTIRETY OF HIS LIFE NOW . . . OR A LEAST THE MAJORITY. yet despite he can't help natural scowls, internally groaning at his own inability to sift through thoughts and assign them. FEELING IT NEAR IMPOSSIBLE. and he could almost beg the same reprieve back. "as long as you are here to assist, my opinion on the matter is hardly relevant." his hand has raised and falls back to where it sat, with an uncomfortable shift. TONE GRUFF AND POINTED, as if asserting his command. "but i'm not the one you'll have to worry about, i imagine. i bear no ill-will towards any of the mages here. including you." at least he could be honest on that part, without question. his internal conflict would cease being their problem.

@alitlantern. blood and darkness.

[arabaka]

Mmm… Imagine Protective Reigen… Like it could range from him protectively wrapping an arm around his s/o's shoulder when someone is looking at them creepily, to him absolutely wrapping them in his arms (softly but strong) when they're badly injured on a hard exorcism case/world domination arc. And when the people around him yells at him that he could also get hurt because of it. He doesn't care, because he's willing to take the risk, any hits, or maybe even fight. Just to keep them safe.

They're one of the people that has brought him happiness in this world. Their warm smile, their soft laughs, their hard-to-not-be-missed personality, etc are the things Reigen look forward to when he wakes up to live another day with them. So if they're getting hurt BEYOND this, then Reigen will never forgive himself.

Besides, when it comes to his lover, running away is the last thing he'd do.

(I feel so ill rn)

*₊˚💬୧ ( me too anon. me too )

You come to find Reigen's love language is touching. It's like he always needs to have a tether to you, even if only for a moment, the very same way he needs air to breathe. So when he needs to walk past you, he's always guaranteeing there will be a brush of his chest, the bump of his hip, on your body. Needs to curl his fingers around yours, palms kissing when you hold hands because your warmth is the only thing that can get him going most days. He only ever wants to busy his hands with you.

But sometimes, it's about something other than love. His grasp on you can be a statement, louder than words and sweeter than syrup. Mine, he tells the world or at least the man that's been eyeing you at the bar for the last ten minutes. I'm here, he tells you when you're bruised and aching after a fight you should have never been involved in. I love you, he reminds you when his arms hug you tight, absorbing your cries after a long night.

Reigen loves you and he'll spend every waking moment making sure you, and the whole world, knows it.

[noahtally-famous]

I remember how I had a very minor, barely-there jaskaveawn (or whatever tf their ship name is) fic idea that’s like a ‘fresh start’ trope with the absolute slowest of slow burns and it’s these four coming across each other post-tdpi. and it came abt bc I randomly imagined dave in one of those hairstyles where his sides are shaved or one side is, and the hair at the top (and maybe the other side) just flops together on that side. like punk vibes dave who stops giving a shit and is just tired now. this man def had an emo phase, I bet, and I’ve no doubt he would adopt the punk style (at least the general looks) if motivated

but abt the fic idea...

dave was rescued from the island due to lawsuits and his family’s influence, but everyone else assumed he was a goner and that niggling bit of guilt/regret is still there in the rest of the three (bc y’know they’re all good ppl who do have some form of connection with him, despite it all). then sometime later there’s a confrontation at a bar between dave and keith—who fucking hates his guts after the finale—and somehow dave ends up from being in an alley, close to hyperventilating bc of how grimy it is, to waking up with a hangover in jashawn’s apartment/house, and he ends up staying there, temporary at first but it stretches as time passes bc he’s drifting around with no tether; he's lost physically and metaphorically, and while he doesn't want to ever see the three ppl who, in his eyes, took part in making him this way, there is a smaller part (that grows with every interaction) that yearns for it, the touch, the acceptance, the grounding support of normalcy; he craves it but he, too, is filled with regret and shame--especially when he sees sky for the first time since the incident, and finds out that she, jasmine, and shawn still keep in touch. he feels out-of-the-loop, but he also feels he deserves it. what he did went against his believes of normalcy and he hates himself for reacting so 'abnormally extreme'. and then there's sky who doesn't know how she feels anymore so she suppresses it and honestly doesn't want to see dave and that doesn't change drastically until much later; then there's jasmine who takes sky's side more but is partially willing to hear dave out, and shawn, who's more or less the opposite (leans toward dave's side, but also sky's bc he gets both sides) like he's also stuck at the center of all this bc dave did inadvertently try to kill him too in his spite--but with all four of them in the same apartment, things get a little...well, something starts to grow. (plus there are some more keith cameos here and there that bolster that growth, though I'm sure he doesn't mean it to lmao). overall the fic touches upon the idea that every character is capable of growing and redemption, the concept of perception, how they live post-td with former competitors, but also the utter angst and panic and misunderstandings, and yeah. in my head, it’s a rollercoaster and I’ve these random scenes mapped out that I’ve no idea how to connect lmao

[coldshrugs]

12 for the fluff prompts 🥺💗

thank you fren!! this is SO late but i missed them so. here we go.

closer to you

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau word count: 815 note: this prompt was "pushing a strand of hair behind their ear" and uh... we got there in the end :')

Muddy darkness thaws to warm pink-gold scattering behind the thin skin of eyelids. She is still in the edgeless realm of half-sleep, unburdened by body or name. Unaware of the exact space she occupies, only that it is too warm.

It would be a simple thing to drift off again, but even now she recognizes the fracture in his routine.

Somewhere outside the boundary, he breathes, and she hears it here, a deep, comforting rumble her mind cannot help but latch onto.

Inhale (Estinien).

She stretches, languorously rolling towards the sound. She breathes with him.

Exhale...

(Estinien)

And now there is a sense of place. They’re in their suite. In their bed, and he’s still here. Her heart (she must have one, the part that recognizes him before remembering herself) is swollen at the thought.

Inhale.

Balsam. Charred vanilla. Uncomplicated and earth-grown, distilled into a sweet amber scent that clings to him like smoke. This is the tether that drags her toward reality.

Estinien.

Exhale.

Estinien. And her name chases his until both settle into something solid. Estinien and...

Io opens her eyes to a flood of soft golden light. The details are unfocused. Here, the bed and her pillow. There, the thin cotton quilt shoved down to her waist. The humidity, thick and oppressive, creeps through the window at her head, relieved only by the feeble breeze that ripples the gauzy curtain.

Her eyes adjust, and Estinien is golden, too, painted by dappled patches of the morning sun. The steady rise and fall of his chest shifts the light. It dances over and into the valleys of long-healed scars, warping into mesmerizing patterns.

It is rare to wake before him. His days have early starts and late endings, a routine worn deep by years of disciplined training, and still more years of dread at what he might find in his dreams. So he rises with the sun, leaving Io to sleep while he readies himself for the day. He wakes her eventually, when only a sliver of morning remains, with the promise of breakfast from a favorite restaurant, or a cup of coffee, or a bath already drawn.

Anything to keep busy.

Then there are mornings like this one when the exhaustion catches up to him. Mornings when his familiar weight and warmth in their bed surprise her. Io savors these opportunities to watch him sleep in.

She props herself on an elbow.

He lies on his back, one hand on his bare chest, the other resting between them. Asleep and utterly untroubled, Estinien's face is softer than the version she holds in her mind. Free of the lines that sit between his brows, free of the tension in his jaw. Dark circles still ring his eyes, evidence of his usual sleeping habits, though they're less stark in this light.

As much as she loathes to disturb his hard-earned peace, Io cannot resist sweeping a stray silver lock away from his cheek, tucking it behind the blade of his ear. Her hand falls to his chest. She settles into the pillow again.

Estinien pries open an eye. "What are you doing?"

"Go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you."

It's too late. He rolls onto his side to face her, and the strand of hair she tucked falls loose again, as obstinate as the man in front of her.

"I overslept." He grins, squinting against the light. "And you let me."

"And I'll do the same tomorrow. You need the rest." Io's hand returns to his cheek. "Besides, I like waking up with you like this."

"Mm, perhaps it's more likely you want a partner in midmorning indolence." His tone is teasing, his voice syrupy, and he yawns loudly, demonstrating the point.

Io laughs, preparing a quip to celebrate her victory, but she doesn't get the chance to answer–Estinien's arms snake around her waist, and he pulls her across the short distance that separates them. The heat is sticky and stifling, so they kick off the quilt. Io curls into him, forehead to forehead, smiling softly at the patterns his fingers trace across her back.

He kisses her slowly, content to linger in each deliberate movement. His lips part, and the kiss deepens, but there is no heat, no request for more than this quiet intimacy. For the second time this morning, her heart feels too big for her body, tenderly beating against her ribcage as if it's trying to find its way into his.

Estinien pulls away and peace returns to his face for a moment.

“Fine,” he sighs, looking at her with an adoring sort of resignation. If Io melts, it will have nothing to do with Thavnair’s heat. “If you would have me waste half my day here, I expect to be plied with coffee. ‘Tis only fair.”

She has never been happier to leave her bed.

[insomniamamma]

Hi 💕 I’m here with a #microfic pairing 😁

Ezra + hopeful

Arte! Thank you for this! I don't think this is microfic by anyone else definition but mine! (6 hundred words and change) But here we go!

At first he isn't sure if he's awake, flashes amid the darkness. The sound of the rock-hopper's engines screaming, pressure on his chest, the girl's pale hair caught in the light from the portholes like a halo and then black. A twist of jumbled lights and sounds, something shoved down his throat, pinning him like a claw, why can't he breathe? Blood coughed into the inside of his helmet in a gaudy fan, everything red, Bakhroma hanging red and bloated and insensate on the horizon, a dead clouded eye--

Then he's back aboard the Atropos, his brother suited up, helmet under his arm, standing in the airlock doorway, and Ezra knows what will happen, knows that a quarter cycle from now he'll get holed by a micrometeorite, that the Atropos will carry on without him, make the pivot and leave him to drift, a comet with a blown tether for a tail. He's dreaming. He's had this dream over and over. Got a bad dust infection there, brother, stop fighting the vent--only that's not what he said--that's not what Owen said, and then there's the claw, the root down his throat, choking, he can still think so why can't he breathe, easiest thing in the world, why can't he breathe--

Things half-remembered and half-dreamed churn. Ezra stops trying to tell the difference. Maybe dear old Ma and Pa were right about him and he's pissed off Kevva enough to be in hell. Maybe this is what happens, trapped in the rat-run of his own thoughts, killing a man and slicing open his chest to reveal a glistening aurelac sac, a slight girl with frost colored hair and clever hands splitting him open like a ripe fruit, reading his entrails like the augurs of old, I cooked our IDs. We're clear to the bench. The hopper's ours now, salvor's rights--

He comes back to himself slow, the steady beep of a monitor in his ear, weight on his chest, blood-shining light through his eyelids. The feeling of being pinned is gone. This weight is different, spread out warmth over his left side. He can feel the nasal cannula looped around his his head, but there's something else, stirring and ticklish against his cheek, and when he opens his eyes he sees a jagged black trough cut through a field of golden wheat, squeezes his eyes shut and even this takes so much effort, and when he opens them again, he recognizes the crown of Cee's head, her face tucked into her folded arms, asleep against him. He tries to shift. Manages a feeble twitch of his remaining hand, something clipped to his finger.

"Hey," he says, a dry squeak that hurts his throat, "Cee." And he feels her stir, feels her push herself back into the chair shoved next to his bed. He understands where he is. The med bay of a the freighter. The lights hurt his eyes so he closes them. "Hey," she says, "You're awake." "Thirsty," he says, and feels her small, cold hand curl around his nape, press of a plastic straw to his lips. He sucks greedily, and she pulls it away. "Gotta go slow," says Cee, "You'll make yourself sick." But for now the coolness of the water is enough on his raw throat, goes limp in her hands, laying his head back down on the pillow, heaviness in his limbs calling to him, sleep like a siren's cry. "Tired, Birdie--" He feels his lips move, but he doesn't know if any sound comes out. "S'okay." Cee rests her hand on his sweat damped forehead, "I'll be here when you wake up."

[diazpatcher]

Hello guys, I wrote something about coma Buck :)

An office job, a goddamn office job, if Buck had known that coming to LA would have him stuck in an office job, typing in numbers all day, he would've jumped off that cliff. Which is not to say that his life is not fullfilling he has fun with his friend, well office friends. Which can you call it friends if you only talk when the sueprvisor is not there? It was wird, at first, of course it was weird. Buck went from being a navy seal to office worker. So yeah his restlessness and constant headaches had a reason hisblury vision probably were a result of his headaches. Although, he couldn't quiet remember how he got here. "Coming through! Make a hole." Buck jumped up, but when he turned, there was no one there. He definetly needed some more, sleep. "Evan, oh Evan we told you this would happen. We warned you." His mothers was in front, no behind him. Her hands held tightly to her chest. Before he could answer he was falling. The floor had crumbled into pieces and all that was holding him was a red rope, tethered to something, someone? There was something in the air, a bright flash and pain like he has never felt before shot through him, blood dripping from his mouth and leg. He was standing somewhere in L.A. blood covering the ground around a body, no not a body- A giant wave was rushing towards him, a child, a little boy with red glasses and curled hair- He was drowning. "Buck, I know you'll wake up, you just need some time, like last time." His hands were covered in blood now, he was in an engine rushing down the streets of L.A his white shirt was drenched in blood. The man was back again, it was his blood covering Bucks hands and clothes, his face was wet with something, tears? No. No there was an unmistakable taste of iron in his mouth. Blood. The engine disapeared, instead Buck found himself clawing at mud, his hands burnign up from the cold, a name he doesn't remember falling form his lips. Something was seriously wrong with him, why was he hallucinating so vividly, someone had to help him, but he couldn't understand who was real and who was part of his hallucinations. Someone was holding him tightly, pulling him away from the mud and the echo of his screams. He needed to get out, get away, get back to his reality. His body went slack, darkness engulfing him, completely and somethign about it was so welcoming. With nothing left to hold on to, Buck gave in. "We need a crash cart!" Maddie jumped away as Eddie tried to keep compressions going until the nurses arrived with the crash-cart. The doctors pushed Eddie away Maddie grabbing his arm with her trembling hands. This was just the first night and his heart had given up twice already. V-fib twice, twice she had to watch as her brother, her first baby, was shocked. The lightning had burned him, his chest now covered in Lichtenberg-figures. "He is stable." The cart was wheeled out of the room and with it Maddie and Eddie. Standin in the hallway was worse than sitting vigil at Bucks bedside. "Eddie?" Bobby was next to them now, the drinks in his hand long forgotten, "Did he crash again?" Maddie turned away her eyes glued to the white door. The doctor walked out,right into Maddies arms. "He is stable again but hsi heart still needs time to recover, now all we can do is wait." Maddie simply nodded, walking back inside, her jacket still on the chair, her bag on the floor. "I gotta go, Chim is uhm is gonna go to work and Jee is with him. Call me if anything, changes." Maddie pressed a soft kiss to his temple before slowly walking out. Bobby settled into Maddies abandoned chair on his left side, cross in his hands. Eddie sat on his right side, begging God to not take him from them yet. Not yet.

[chemdisaster]

okay, but now i'm thinking more about 16 year old scar in my au selling himself in order to afford his transition

his body already doesn't feel like his own because of his transness. and to combat that, he does something that makes his body feel even less like his. he wanted to see a man in the mirror, but now he can't even see a person. he tried to become himself, but turned into a thing instead.

it takes him a long, long time to recover from that. to stop feeling like he's dreaming every waking moment. to look in the mirror and see himself. to feel at home in his body and know that it's his own.

and then someone impersonates him. and his body is not his own again. someone is using it again, it's not his own. scar looks in the mirror and he can't tell if it's him or the impostor staring back. he watches all those videos of him on the internet and doesn't know which are him and which aren't. he sits naked at night and traces all his scars and feels a little bit more of himself slipping away with every time someone blames himself for something he didn't do. if his body is not his own, then he has nothing to tether himself to reality. nothing to show that he is a person. his flesh is being used by someone else - again.

and then he gets involuntarily committed. no part of yourself is your own in a mental hospital. they literally put you there in order to take away your bodily autonomy. that on its own is enough to make anyone feel like an alien. but scar gets put in the worst psych ward around, one designed to get rid of people, not to fix them. and he gets mistreated horribly. there's several very humiliating incidents that i won't go into detail about right now. and then, as the cherry on top of the cake, they cut off his hair.

after all that, i don't think he will ever truly recover.

[alightinthelantern]

book reviews: Falling Man (Don DeLillo)

A well-written story, but a very sad one. The language used is very poetic, in turns of phrase and how sentences are often constructed in the book, and reading it was very pleasant for the most part. The story focuses on the relationships between its main characters and the emotional ramifications of these relationships, and does it well. The story is definitely a feel-bad one though.

Plot: Keith and Lianne Neudecker live in Manhattan, NYC, USA. After several years of marriage and constant arguments they separate but do not divorce, and Keith moves into a new apartment closer to where he works, in a law firm situated in the World Trade Center. A year and a half passes, and Keith spends his weekends playing poker with five friends. When the Twin Towers are hit by a pair of hijacked airplanes on September 11, 2001, Keith survives the initial collision and the onslaught of debris tossed around by the collision, but most of his coworkers are killed by collapsed walls or ceiling equipment. He joins the thousands of people thronging the stairwells, slowly making their way down to ground level, and comes out onto the street just before the South Tower collapses. In a daze and injured, he's picked up by a passing truck driver, and gives him the address of his wife's apartment, where he shows up unannounced. In the aftermath of the attack Keith moves back in with his wife and son. His wife Lianne juggles caring for their son with running a writer's workshop for patients with Alzheimer's, and editing books, as well as a strained relationship with her mother and unresolved trauma over her father's suicide sixteen years prior, and seems emotionally unmoored and perpetually on the edge of a breakdown which never comes. Keith and Lianne's son Justin is seven and becomes convinced that the Twin Towers were hit but survived the attack, and that planes sent by "Bill Laughton" will come back any day to finish them off, and watches the skies continually with his friends and borrowed binoculars, which disturbs his mother. Keith's relationship with Lianne improves and they begin sleeping together again, to Lianne's mother's consternation, but after Keith returns a briefcase he'd somehow picked up in the chaos of September 11 to its rightful owner, a woman named Florence, he begins a short-lived affair with her centered on their shared experiences of that day. Meanwhile an anonymous stuntperson dubbed "The Falling Man" starts terrorizing the city of NYC by hooking himself to the roofs of buildings and jumping off to dangle by a tether, suspended upside-down in imitation of a photo snapped of one of the jumpers from the Twin Towers. The days turn into weeks and then months. Keith takes a job with a different law firm. Three years pass. Keith, unmoored, leaves his job and becomes a professional poker player, always flying to conventions around the world but living in Las Vegas more than anywhere else, and sees his family only occasionally, drifting further and further away from them. Lianne tells him she's afraid he'll disappear completely from their lives. Lianne's mother dies, and she sees her mother's boyfriend for the final time at the wake. Lianne's writing group concludes and she doesn't begin another, but continues editing books for a living. She attends a protest against the Iraq war with her son, then comes home, speaks to her husband on the phone a little while, then stares in the mirror and sees that she's 41 and going grey.

Honestly I don't recommend the book.

[jaynovz]

For @terribledelights​ who reached out asking about this concept. Unfortunately, it never made the jump from concept to full story. However! I made you a little rec list of fics I’ve greatly enjoyed with some similar dynamics!

Enjoy~

-

The Isle of Hope (series) by ElDiablito_SF:

Summary (for first entry): When a heartbroken John Silver arrives in Georgia ten years after the events on Skeleton Island, he doesn't quite have it in him to face Flint. Instead, he concocts a scheme to befriend Thomas, and gets more than he bargained for in exchange.

-

at summer’s end (series) by forbiddenarchives:

Summary (for first entry) : There should be a list entitled Thomas Hamilton’s Terrible Ideas, and at the very top, Thomas is certain, right after “trusting Lord Peter Ashe” and “blowing that stupidly beautiful older student in broad daylight on the last day of term”, it should say “taking up correspondence with feared pirate captain Long John Silver”.

(Or, it takes seven weeks for Silver to become fully integrated into their lives. A small story told in snapshots.)

-

between that sun and thee by brinnanza:

Summary: Silver pouts, his plush bottom lip begging for a bite. “Madi and Flint aren’t due back for another week at least. The least you could do is entertain me after waking me up so rudely.” He actually bats his eyelashes. Thomas can’t believe this ridiculous creature had once been a fearsome pirate king; he’s far too pretty for it. Perhaps he’d been more convincing with a beard, but with nothing but stubble hiding the sharp lines of his jaw, he looks more like a boy than a king.

-

A certain knot of peace (series) by twofrontteethstillcrooked:

Summary (for first entry): "I should let you go back to bed," Silver said quietly. He pulled his hands out of Flint's. As he stood the blanket slipped from his shoulders.Flint stayed seated. He put a hand on Silver's hip. "Come with me."

Or: a respite.

-

smallpox (series) by vowelinthug:

Summary (for first entry): "See? I told you I didn’t kill him."

—post-finale, where everyone learns a valuable lesson about communication and smallpox

-

Life At The Spyglass Inn (series) by medusine:

Summary (for first entry): Flint tries his hand at knitting. Thomas and Silver watch, and mock, and laugh.

-

Lightbringer Verse (series) by ElDiablito_SF, Porthos4Ever:

Summary (for first entry): After failing to fix her relationship with Silver, Madi sets off to find Captain Flint again.

-

The Tether Series by stele3:

Summary (for first entry): “So you did find him,” the man says faintly. When Thomas looks up he finds himself caught in perhaps the strangest regard one person has ever given another, a gaze that absolutely does not dissuade Thomas from the notion that a feral, scavenging animal has broken into their home.

-

we can lose and call it living by I_wouldnt_be_one_of_them:

Summary: It's been twelve years since everything fell apart, and John Silver is settled in New England. He has a nice house and a job he likes, and he's gotten used to the loneliness. It's a good life, he thinks, but of course that's cast into doubt when James Flint and Thomas Hamilton show up to find closure and, apparently, to see whether he's happy.

-

To Resist a Current by lapsi:

Summary: He levels the pistol at John Silver’s head, lips in the start of a snarl.

The John he was acquainted with would have feigned indignation, raised his hands and his eyebrows and used Thomas’s pacifism to defuse the threat. Wheedled his way into a calmer state of affairs. Silver doesn’t flinch, an uncustomary flatness in his countenance as he returns the eye contact.

It falls to James to speak, which he does with as much retaliatory coldness as he can muster. “Get out of my house.”

Post series work, set ~18 months after the season four finale. John is drawn to Savannah, desperate for help. James is, in turn, pulled back to the chaos of piracy.

📓<3

Hullo!

This is the Silverham Revenge Fuck--

Post-series, Silver finds where Thomas and Flint are staying. Silver and Thomas run into each other in town and figure out who the other is. Both are angry at Flint for separate reasons and want to get back at him. Silver because he’s livid that Flint’s curse has come true (the comfort growing stale etc) and is still angry from the fallout of the finale, and Thomas b/c Flint refuses to tell him any of what happened in the intervening 10 years (and ESPECIALLY not about Silver.)

Anyway, when Silver rolls into town Thomas is like "well fuck u I'm gonna get my own answers and also that dick." So Thomas propositions Silver and Silver is snarling mad at first but then is like "yeah sure if it'll hurt Flint's feelings. even tho I don't like you either" (but he... he does).

Lots of Silverham being catty bitches to each other with crackling sexual tension. Like full Mean Girls. They get on each other’s nerves b/c they’re far more alike than either would like to admit. aka both smarmy little shits.

We wanted there to be a physical altercation so like, at some point Thomas taunts Silver for being in love with Flint (which comes as a Huge Shocker to Mr. Repressed Disaster Bi Silver) and Silver fucking decks Thomas. 

Direct quotes from Brinn b/c it’s too fucking funny to just summarize: Silver, post finale, still hopelessly in the closet, shows up to reconnect with Flint but finds Thomas in town first and Thomas is like "ah the prodigal lover returns at last" and silver's like "this is very heterosexual I assure you" and Thomas goes "oh sweetie u gay as fuck" so Silver hauls off and clocks him and from like, the floor, split lip bleedly a little ferally over his teeth, Thomas is like "oh I'm about 2 show u how queer u are little man"

Thomas knows how to take a man APART he's got Silver panting for him and Silver's still like “no this is ridiculous I don't love flint stop it u know how dicks are" and Thomas makes him beg for it

"use your words or no orgasm" PERFECT

the whole time they're fucking, Thomas is talking nonstop about Flint, about what he's like in bed, about that little freckle he has right by divot in the small of his back, etc

Anyway fighting turning to sex yay! Silver getting dom-ed into next week by T.Ham yay! 👀

[hanemiso]

REMEMBER ME .

… akutagawa ryuunosuke x reader .

synopsis … akutagawa has been struggling to come to terms with your accident. he can’t seem to face you, so he resigns to watching over you while you sleep.

genre … angst, fic

a/n … this was inspired by the song “happy accidents” by saint motel. i really do think akutagawa is perfect for this kind of angst and i was genuinely so excited to write this one.

“Why have you been coming here and watching me sleep?”

You stare at the individual remaining in the shadows of your hospital room. Within the confines of darkness, his face almost fit to resign in anonymity. But the sliver of moonlight drawn across his pale features reveals someone you don't recognize, yet your heart blooms with familiarity.

“Even with your memory gone, you ask the most unnecessary questions.”

Akutagawa didn't mean to get caught. On most nights, he was the most cautious, more so than he was on missions. He doesn't know when or how, but it seems that you had been anticipating his visits. Only tonight did you confront him, and he was forced to face reality; the cruel world he is forced to reside in, once again mocking him in the wake of happiness. No such thing can exist in this world curated for him. He knows it well.

"You say that like you know me." You raise a brow at him.

A crack stirs in an already shattered frame. Yet, he expected no less. Though he hadn't imagined this scene playing out in his head before, Akutagawa knew what was to come. And though he did— he does— know you, he lets the comment blow through the air.

To Akutagawa, this room is a weight he's tethered to. No matter how many times he walks away, he always returns. It's like the red thread he was bound to cut ties anew, reinforcing this god-forsaken hospital takes hold in his mind.

He doesn't have anything to say to you, nor did he ever have the desire to find the right words. Yet, he cannot seem to hold back the burning question in his mind.

"You don't remember."

"Remember what? You? Am I supposed to?"

Your answer did not lessen his concern, though it was direct enough to confirm his thoughts. A growl bubbles in Akutagawa's throat as the frustration builds. It had been quite some time since the last time he had relished in your loving gaze, yet he can remember it like it was yesterday. It was something he always took for granted, but he'd rather eat his own shoe than admit it.

Akutagawa never thought he'd fall victim to unrequited love. He hated it. He loathed the idea of love alone, claiming it foolish for a man to wish upon; and yet, he resigned to it. You found him, and you wouldn't leave him alone, even when he threatened you. And soon, he found himself enjoying your presence. He opened up his obsidian heart enough to let you in, though he never found it possible before.

But not even his worst nightmares could've prepared him for this. It hurt like hell, not being recognized by the one you love. It ached more than the coughs that racked through his body. It was more damaging than a bullet wound. A wound of the heart— a vital organ, it was the most foolish Akutagawa had been.

To succumb to a weak heart's desire; how shameful of him.

His silence raised your suspicions. You slowly sit up straight in bed, moving as if cautiously gauging a predator's aggression. Though he wore a glare as cold as ice, his pursed lips held secrets to his true thoughts.

"Wait...do I know you?" You ask.

He narrows his eyes at you. A question so innocent, yet it taunts him as an everlasting reminder. In this very moment, Akutagawa wishes he had never met you. He had pondered it before, if things would've been better if you two had never met. And now he was sure. He wouldn't be able to feel such things if you had just passed him up. He wouldn't have to remain in this hospital room and face your foreign gaze if you would have stayed away from him.

After a couple seconds of silence, Akutagawa scowls, "Tch. Forget it. This is a waste of time."

He shouldn't have come here. He should just walk away for good, like he has tried so many times before. But killing his emotions proved to be harder than it used to be, when he finds your mug sitting on the kitchen counter. Or when he sees your clothes hanging in the closet. When he smells your perfume lingering on his coat.

“Then why are you here..?”

Akutagawa goes quiet; why is he here? He wonders the same.

Staring at your vacant eyes, holding no remnants of him, he can’t bring himself to answer. He wants to walk away again— it’d be best for you both— but he can’t.

This is when Akutagawa can’t stand his own stubbornness. His unmoving heart can’t find the right words to say, but his mouth moves faster than he can think.

“You love me…but you don’t know it yet.”

It comes out like a whisper in the wind, but you can faintly hear it. It was a mistake to come here, he knows this. And it was foolish of him to express these emotions wallowing in his aching bones.

It was a vexing tale that neither of you knew the meaning of. The words pounded in your head, as if a heavy stone had now been placed in your mind.

The pain in his voice makes it hard not to believe him. But before Akutagawa can reveal anymore, he's gone from your eyes. The window curtains sway in the wind, the tail of a black coat catching your eye as it vanishes.

He knows it in his heart of hearts, why he always comes back. It's because he simply can't forget you, the way you forgot him.

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