#he is going to survive at all costs. no matter what. no matter what that means he needs to do.

[neverenoughmarauders]

Just going to frame this because it’s so true, so important and well articulated:

abuse itself is a complex system of relationships. It’s not just pure sadism, it’s often about a twisted understanding of love where pressure is put on the child — “I’m doing this to you because I love you and want what’s best for you”

And here’s the thing. Stakes don’t matter if your protagonist does not care about them. Something as small as being able to eat a chocolate bar can feel immensely important if the protagonist has just spent chapters telling you how much they want to eat chocolate and how much hard work goes into procuring that chocolate (yes, I am thinking of you Charlie). Yet, I feel nothing when the bridges around New York once more get destroyed in some action movie, why should I?

I quite like a little scene I wrote between Orion and Sirius, and I’ve pasted an extract below. Why? Because SIrius can’t bring himself to speak up against his father because he cares about his father’s option. Later (sadly off page) Sirius goes against his father, which is a much bigger deal because we know there is a cost to it. Not just surviving another curse, but ruining something, perhaps permanently - their relationship:

'You play well, Sirius,' Orion said approvingly some time into the game. 'Am I to understand it that you've found time to play a fair bit, in-between all your school work and mischief?'

Orion raised his eyebrows as he finished the question.

'I play with James Potter,' Sirius said, hating himself for feeling a surge of pride when Orion had complemented his play.

'And he's a good opponent?'

'He is.'

'Better than you?'

'I win more frequently.'

Sirius kept his replies short, unsure whether he wanted to prove to his father how worthy James was as a friend - or how unworthy he was.

'I wouldn't have expected any different from you. Still, that is impressive from the Potter boy.'

As it was not a question, Sirius had nothing to add. Technically speaking, James was likely better than Sirius at Wizard Chess, he just got distracted too easily. But his father didn't need to know that.

'It shouldn't come as a surprise,' Orion continued. 'His mother and father are exceptionally talented - in their own way, and blood matters immensely.'

Blood mattered for shit in Sirius' view, but he couldn't quite muster the courage to say so, not when he was playing against his father. Not when he was spending time with the only intelligent soul in this godforsaken place.

Dear Snuffles, Hope you’re okay, the first week back here’s been terrible, I’m really glad it’s the weekend. We’ve got a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She’s nearly as nice as your mum. I’m writing because that thing I wrote to you about last summer happened again last night when I was doing a detention with Umbridge. (OoTP)

fandom: obviously walburga didn't torture sirius or physically abuse him at all! she grieved him so much when he ran away!! he was her favorite!!!!

canon: *explicitly compares walburga to umbridge right after umbridge tortured harry for 7 hours*

[serpercival]

Writing Trapper, his number one goal to me is always, always, self-preservation. He does not care how he gets out of this alive, but by God, he's going to. Secondarily, he's going to make it out of this sane.

Sometimes, the lines blur. He sees his patients and Hawkeye as extensions of himself, either because he's had his hands inside them or because they're the thing keeping him sane, and he'll do anything to protect them, too. He'll think about killing a POW because the man killed a piece of him. He's only reeled back because another piece of himself stepped in.

[flwrkid14]

Tim and Danny: Love, Trust, and the Weight of Protection

part 1

Danny knows what it's like to be hunted.

It’s been his reality for as long as he can remember—forever glancing over his shoulder, never truly at ease. Between vengeful ghosts, government agents, and countless other dangers, his survival has depended solely on his instincts, his powers, and the fickleness of luck. He has his friends—two best friends and a sister who would drop everything to stand by him, who he knows would always have his back. But the weight of that reliance feels heavy, a burden he can't quite shake.

Trusting others, truly leaning on them, has always felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford. He wants to feel safe, to let someone else take some of the weight, but the thought of putting them in danger because of him? That’s a risk he can't bring himself to take.

Then he meets Tim Drake.

At first, Tim’s protectiveness doesn’t faze him. It’s Gotham. You don’t date a Wayne-adjacent vigilante and expect anything less than a little paranoia. Danny’s been through worse. A tracker on his phone? Standard. Tim pulling files on his professors? Honestly, kind of funny.

But then, Danny finds out how deep it goes.

He stumbles upon a folder on Tim’s desk—his name printed neatly on the tab. Inside? Background checks on his classmates, neighbors and friends. Surveillance reports. A detailed map of his daily routine. Heart rate data. Sleeping patterns. Eating habits. There’s even a file on Phantom.

For a moment, Danny froze.

This should terrify him—it used to. Being watched, tracked for his every move, reminded him too much of those who hunted him, who’d wanted to tear him apart and dissect him like a lab rat. His first instinct was always to run.

But at that moment? He felt... safe. The notes in the margins weren’t cold or clinical like the ones his parents would have written. No, instead, they were worried. Make sure he’s eating enough. Possible threat? Keep an eye on this one. Look for ectoplasmic spikes—could mean trouble.

This wasn’t someone trying to control him. This was someone trying to protect him.

Tim’s not like the people who hunted him in Amity Park. There’s no malice in what he does. No intent to control or hurt. It’s all fear. Love, even. Danny can see it in Tim’s eyes when he stammers through an explanation, bracing himself for anger or rejection.

He’s scared Danny will leave.

And that’s what gets Danny.

No one has ever cared for him like this, no one willing to go through such lengths just to ensure his safety. Yeah, it’s intense, maybe unhealthy, even by the standards of a world that isn’t known for its normalcy. Danny knows Sam, Tucker, and Jazz would do the same—they’ve all put their lives on the line for him before, and he loves them for it. But Tim is different.

Tim is strong enough to face the dangers of Danny’s world and carry the weight of his burdens without hesitation. It’s something Danny could never ask his friends to do—not because they wouldn’t, but because they have their own lives, their own paths. They would drop everything for him, just as Tim would, but Tim does it with the resolve of a vigilante, already living a life where protecting others is his duty. This is someone who understands the risks, who’s already made those sacrifices, and still chooses to say, “I will protect you, no matter the cost.”

So, he smiles. He kisses Tim’s cheek. And he asks, “Can I put a tracker on you too?”

The way Tim’s eyes light up? Yeah, Danny thinks. This is love.

-----------------

The batfamily doesn’t get it.

They corner Danny one day, all serious expressions and careful words.

“Danny, we’re worried,” Dick starts, voice soft. “About Tim?” Danny tilts his head. “About both of you,” Steph says. “This… surveillance thing. It’s not normal.”

Danny shrugs. “Neither am I.”

They might understand—on some level. They’d lived through their own kind of danger, faced their own threats. But for Danny, it was different. They didn’t grow up being hunted, didn’t spend years hiding from people who wanted to tear them apart just for existing. For him, trusting the wrong person wasn’t just a risk; it was a matter of life and death.

Tim’s methods might be extreme, but Danny sees the intent behind them. It’s not control. It’s care. Tim watches his back because he knows what it’s like to lose people. Danny lets him because he knows what it’s like to be alone.

“Tim’s the first person who’s made me feel safe,” Danny tells them, voice steady. “You see obsession. I see someone who cares enough to watch my back.”

They don’t know what to say to that.

-----------------

Their relationship isn’t conventional. But in a city like Gotham, love isn’t always soft and simple. Sometimes, it’s vigilance. Sometimes, it’s knowing someone’s tracking your heartbeat because they’d die if it ever stopped.

Tim watches over Danny. Danny watches over Tim. It’s not about control—it’s about trust. About knowing that, no matter what, someone’s got your back.

The bats worry. They whisper about boundaries, red flags and healthy relationships.

Danny doesn’t listen. He knows what he’s got.

In a world where ghosts and vigilantes collide, where danger lurks in every shadow, Danny’s finally found someone who won’t let him face it alone.

And that? That’s everything.

[dalishious]

Lucanis and Family

House Dellamorte is so gloriously messy. You don’t get to achieve and keep the seat of First Talon without getting your hands dirty…. and unfortunately, without a great deal of loss.

Caterina

Caterina Dellamorte had five children and eight grandchildren. Lucanis’s mother was her favourite; she gave his mother her opal ring as a show of that favour. But House Velardo killed Lucanis’s parents and sent the ring back to Caterina to demand she surrender the seat of First Talon. When she refused to submit, a war of succession broke out amongst the Crows. House Dellamorte remained First Talon, but at great cost – the only surviving family Caterina had left was two of her grandchildren, Lucanis and Illario.

Lucanis says he and Illario lived in Villa Dellamorte with Caterina until they were eighteen. While he says they would have ended up under Caterina’s care regardless for training, they were taken in by her early after their parents were killed by House Velardo.

In the Tevinter Nights story, The Wigmaker Job, Lucanis reflects on the following:

“Memories of sweat-filled days without food or water came unbidden. Lucanis’s back tingled from where his grandmother’s cane had bruised his flesh for letting his guard down or fumbling his footwork. For years, he’d hated her. But his time as a Master Assassin had since taught Lucanis that Caterina’s cruelty was her way of making sure that he was prepared for this life—that he survived.”

And if Rook is a Crow, they share this dialogue:

Rook: What was it like? Training under the First Talon?

Lucanis: What was your training like?

Rook: Torture.

Lucanis: There you go.

Rook: But you didn't resent her?

Lucanis: Not anymore.

Thus, it makes sense that in Lucanis’s mind prison, Spite describes Caterina as “tenderness and terror.” She is his grandmother, and he has always been her favourite, as he acknowledges. I do not doubt that she showed affection for him, but unfortunately it also came with cruelty.

While I do not wish to defend Caterina’s actions, I do think it is important to contextualize them with a reminder that she is a woman who lost her entire family. I really do believe that Lucanis is correct in his assessment that Caterina torturing her grandchildren was her way of making sure they would survive, where their parents did not. Because unfortunately, she is also someone who clearly cares about maintaining her power, and was not willing to sacrifice it for the good of her family’s wellbeing. She wanted to have both power and family, and Lucanis and Illario suffered for it.

Illario

I truly do have sympathy for Illario, despite all the terrible things he’s done.

First of all, remember that all Lucanis went through, Illario also went through. But unlike Lucanis, I don’t think Illario has ever really fully forgiven Caterina. In The Wigmaker Job, he comments, “All that effort training and grooming us, and the old woman still won’t step aside.” Illario doesn’t see the point of been groomed as he was, and doesn’t excuse Caterina like Lucanis does. Probably because no matter what, he’s always been treated as the lesser one.

The saddest thing about Illario though is, in my opinion, that the only way he would have ever actually gained Caterina’s respect is if he really did kill her. Lucanis says he believes as such to Emmrich in party banter. But he couldn’t even do that right. He’s such a fuck-up and I love him.

Lucanis

Lucanis’s mind prison offers more insight in how he sees Caterina… and himself.

When you approach Caterina in the mind prison, she is angry that Lucanis is an abomination, and Rook is able to observe that Lucanis fears he has disappointed her. Spite comments, “Old stale fear of disappointment.” As the favourite child of an abusive parent myself, I can tell you right now I really relate to this sentiment of thinking you need to be perfect in order to keep your favouritism, because they make you feel like you owe that to them.

When you approach Illario in the mind prison, the first thing Illario says is that Rook is too good to be wasting time with Lucanis. He also says that Lucanis will fill his mind prison with corpses. Because that’s how Lucanis has traditionally seen himself, I think; as someone who’s only importance is that he’s a good killer. It’s how Caterina raised him. But now that he’s had a taste of more with the Veilguard, he’s terrified to lose it. Spite says that there are three kinds of people: “Family. Enemies. Contracts.” But the Veilguard has shown Lucanis that he can have friends, too. (And potentially a lover if Rook romances him, or he gets with Neve.)

Average families can be complicated. Assassin families, apparently even more so. I think a crucial part of Lucanis’s character is that he values his family so strongly. He no longer resents Caterina for how she raised him and Illario. He is unwilling to kill Illario, even though Illario made it clear that he would not have spared Lucanis in return. Because they are cousins who were more like brothers, and that means something to Lucanis. After all, as one of the notes found in his mind prison says, “So few of us left…”

-----

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[twilightkitkat]

I think that when it comes to characterizing Worst Wolverine as opposed to his other variants, the most important thing to remember is that Worst Wolverine is tired.

Almost every version of Wolverine has experienced loss in some way. He's lost lovers, friends, and his memory from before the procedure that nailed adamantium to his bones. But normally, the story depicts him as being angry, lost, and confused. He's still in the stage of grief where he tries to seek answers, make it right, and enact vengeance. The grief is fresh, like an open wound that keeps being scratched open even when it tries to scab over.

Normally, Wolverine is still somewhat in shock, or the intense wave of emotions that follow. His story is about his immediate reaction to grief and his action to combat it. He follows his impulses—he gnashes and snarls and claws until he murders whichever villain took what mattered from him. And only then does he start to grieve. But the story cuts off just right as he begins to sort through the emotions, not when he's in the midst of it.

Worst Wolverine has already been angry. He's been lost. He's been confused. He lashed out against the world in a fit of impulsivity that cost the X-men their reputation. He already sought revenge against a world that murdered his family and he had to live with the aftermath. For over a decade.

His story didn't end when he avenged his family, nor did it begin again when a new distracting plotline started. No. He had to sit quietly with his grief. Learn to live with it.

He wasn't just a character built on intense, conflicting emotions, because he had to keep surviving even after they died out. He didn't just have to live through his immediate reaction to grief, but live through the solitude of waking up every uneventful day with nothing to live for.

Worst Wolverine is tired. Unlike his other versions, he didn't have anything left that tethered him to reality. He had to come to terms with the fact that he lost everyone before he even let them know how much he cared. He had to confront his own feigned indifference, his gruffness, and all of his flaws while knowing he could never go back and fix it. He had to live with his own spiraling mind, thinking over the what-ifs and the could-have-beens and the if-onlys.

And he eventually reached a state of complete apathy. Where his only solace was drinking enough to drown out the voices in his head, to blur the images seared into the backs of his eyelids. (But even that didn't help. Not really. Not when everyone looked at him with scorn and reminded him of what he'd done. What he'd lost. What he'd ruined.)

It was in this state of exhaustion that Wade found him. Not the first person to approach him (to hook up, to sneer at him, but always with an ulterior motive) but the first to want something more. And when Wade pointed his gun at him, he laughed. Death was just a daydream to him. Something he wanted but could never truly attain. (A mercy he didn't deserve.)

But he went with him. And eventually helped him save the world. The one "good" thing he feels like he's ever done. The one thing he didn't fuck up.

And Logan is still exhausted. It's in his bones. It's in the wrinkles around his eyes. It's in his posture. But Wade helped him push past that for the hope of something greater. His entire arc in the movie was working past the fact that he's exhausted and grieving to finally let someone reach him. Move him.

And it didn't go away completely. Not with how he resigned himself to a life of isolation even in a new universe with a fresh start. But Wade called out to him. Pulled him back. Looked at an exhausted old dog that couldn't learn new tricks and still wanted to take him home.

Logan is exhausted. But now he can curl up next to Wade on the couch with the warmth and weight of someone next to him and finally sleep without waking up to another nightmare.

[tpwk-formula1]

Figure It Out - Landoscar***

SUB! Lando Norris X SWITCH! Oscar Piastri X SWITCH! Reader

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! I write for all drivers on the grid!

Summary: After Monza tension is at an all-time high in their shared apartment.

Authors Note: I've been writing for Kinktober and have been loving it so I decided to write a kinky little piece. The urge to post my Kinktober fics early is strong but I'm holding off. THIS IS NOT PROOF READ

TW - MxM action (Hand jobs and blow jobs), face sitting, slight masturbation, squirting, slight degrading

WC - 1500+

Y/N POV

"Just shut up, Lando," Oscar finally snaps at his complaining teammate turned boyfriend.

"Don't fucking talk to me like that," Lando replied back clearly still pissed off at the whole situation.

"Lando, on the track we are drivers. The whole point is to race each other that's exactly what I did," Oscar continues to defend his bold actions.

"I get that, and I don't even care about the fucking overtake but you could have done it during one of the straights not the first fucking chicane," Lando continues ranting allowing his voice to raise more as he continues talking.

"Both of you shut the fuck up," I finally snap making both of my lovers fall silent. It was rare for me to yell especially when it came to getting in between them when they were arguing about a race.

"Lando, I understand why it's frustrating, you're fighting for a championship while also defending against Charles and Oscar I understand being frustrated over your race result but both of you guys need to work together to make sure to secure constructors. To be completely unbiased here, Oscar the overtake was risky and luckily both of you guys are amazing drivers and were able to survive but Lando is right, it might have cost you guys too much time ruining the chances of a 1-2. However, Lando that does not excuse your actions either. Both of you guys love each other and you need to remember at the end of the day you got points and a double podium," I tell them softly to fend up to keep listening to them yell at each other.

"But babe," Lando started to complain before I sent him a quick glare making him shut up without finishing his statement.

"Both of you strip and go lay on our bed," I tell them both without even looking up at them going back to the book I was reading before they started arguing. When I don't hear movement I look up to find them both staring at confusion.

"Did I stutter?" I ask again a little more firm than before. Both of them shook their head before slowly making their wait to our room where I could hear them starting to strip down. Neither of them are talking but I know for a fact they're staring at each other. Mad or not they love each other and if anyone can turn them on it's each other.

With the layout of our apartment, I can hear every little sound they're making even if they're talking in hushed whispers.

"Lando, how long is she gonna leave us here?" I hear Oscar ask making me smile softly. I knew it was only a matter of time before their anger turned into sexual frustrations. Whether they will ever admit it or not after a bad race weekend especially one pitting them against each other the only way to fix it is to fuck it out of their systems. Sometimes it involved using my body and other times it was them using each other. Those were always the best ones to watch.

"Osc, please stop touching my thigh," I can hear Lando whimper which tells me right away who will be taking the lead tonight.

"Lando, we're sitting on the edge of the bed it isn't intentional, stop being petty," Oscar snaps back slightly, clearly just as frustrated as his boyfriend.

"I need, Y/N," Lando finally whispers out. Oscar doesn't say anything in reply which has me slightly confused until I can hear the tell-tale signs of Lando being touched in some way.

"Fuck," Lando gasps out before I suddenly hear them start to make out quite aggressively.

"Osc, please," Lando begs slightly making my pussy start to throb.

"You're gonna wait to cum until our pretty girlfriend decides to stop playing games with us," Oscar whispers to Lando making me smile. In that moment I made the decision to listen to Lando continue to whine and beg.

I stand up quietly before stripping down and sitting back on the couch with my legs spread wide open. I bring my fingers down to my pussy before I start teasing myself.

"What if she doesn't come in for a while," Lando asks Oscar making me smile cause we all know damn well I'd be in there as soon as I couldn't handle the teasing anymore.

"I bet you anything, she's sitting on that couch with her hand in her panties right now listening to you beg and whine like a little whore," Oscar tells Lando making both of us gasp at his harsh words.

In all honesty, it was rare for Oscar to be the dominant one between the two but it was always a favorite of mine cause he was just a different kind of cruel than when Lando is being the dominant one.

I can hear some movement before the sound of one of them spitting.

"Please Osc," Lando whines out again which tells me Oscar has to be the one on his knees teasing Lando. I can hear the sound of Oscar's wet hand moving up and down Lando's hard cock, which has him whing and gasping at the sensation.

I know how impatient Lando can get, so I decided to put him out of his misery by getting up and making my way to our room. When I get in there I can Lando's head thrown back while Oscar is taking him down his throat.

I make my way over to Lando where I grab his face before placing my still wet fingers into his mouth making him moan at the taste of my pussy.

"Look, she's come to save you. Maybe you'll finally be allowed to cum, but of course, you're gonna have to earn it first," Oscar teased Lando, making him whine around my fingers that were still in his mouth. When I pull them out I lean down and start making out with Lando. I can taste a hint of my juices which just makes me moan into his mouth.

"How are you already soaked," I hear Oscar ask clearly having seen just how turned on I was.

"You know I like when you take control Osc," I whisper once I pull away from the heated makeout session. It doesn't take me long to feel Oscar's fingers plunge right into my dripping pussy making me let out a gasp before moaning loudly against Lando's lip.

It's not long before Lando becomes a whimpering mess which tells me that not only is Oscar fingering me he's also giving Lando a handy.

"Fuck," I whine dragging out the word clearly overwhelmed with everything around me.

It's not even two minutes later that Lando is begging Oscar again.

"Please, Oscar. I'll be good. Please," Lando is begging as much as possible while also trying to keep kissing me.

"Our pretty little slut gets to cum first," Oscar tells Lando making me whine. This has Lando reaching down just enough to start playing with my clit trying to bring me over the edge faster.

"Oscar, please," I moan out once I feel my orgasm getting close to the edge.

"Cum for us," Oscar tells me making me instantly squirt all over both of the boys. Once my orgasm has concluded I hear Oscar tell Lando to cum which has Lando instantly tensing before releasing a high pitched whine before cumming all over Oscar's hand.

"Here," Oscar says while presenting me his cum covered hand which has me instantly licking all of Lando's cum off of it. Once it is clean enough for Oscar he climbs into bed pulling me with him to sit on his face.

"Get to work," Oscar tells Lando which has him shuffling around to get on his knees and start talking Oscar into his mouth.

Once Lando has settled into a good pace Oscar starts eating me out like it's his last meal on Earth. With one hand gripped on the headboard for stability before I tangle my fingers into Oscar's freshly cut hair. I know I'm pulling at it just right when I hear Oscar gasp at the slight pain I'm causing to his scalp.

"Fuck," Oscar moans out shortly after I hear Lando gag slightly on Oscar's cock. I can tell just from the sounds Lando's making he has all of Oscar's cock down his throat right now.

"Close," Oscar gasps out before instantly going back to focusing on my clit which also brings me closer to my second orgasm.

I hear Oscar groan out against my pussy signifying that he's cumming which has me tumbling over the edge with him.

Still slightly shaking I feel Lando lightly lift me off of Oscar before bringing me into his chest for a cuddle. Something that was always a part of our aftercare routine.

"How'd you know that would work," Oscar asks chuckling a little before placing a soft kiss on my lips preventing me from answering right away.

"We've been together for over a year. I know how you guys get," I reply back making both of the boys laugh a little.

Once everything has calmed down around us we all get up before getting into the shower together which inevitably resulted in a round 2.

[burrowdarling]

Dress

Summary: Joe begs you to join him at an event, where a dress leads to a confession of feelings. Based off of the song "Dress" by Taylor Swift

Pairings: Joe Burrow x best friend to lover!reader

Warnings: implied smut, pining, best friends to lovers

Note: Hi! I hope you're all doing okay, I know this week has been tough and long. I hope this can bring some kind of joy during a hard time. This is my first time writing based off of a song. I would love to turn this into some kind of mini series or maybe interconnected standalones. Let me know your thoughts or song suggestions, I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 1.9K

Check out my Masterlist here!

“Pleaseeee come with me, you owe me a favor, remember? It’ll be fun I promise”. Joe begged from his spot on the couch.

Joe had invited you out to one of the team dinner gatherings as his date, insisting that you had to come with him or he would be “too bored to function”. You tried not to place too much weight on the “date” part of the deal, knowing it would be more as friends than anything. He was putting on the whole theatrics, pouting with puppy dog eyes.

“You want me to come to the dinner that you’ve been complaining will be ‘so boring’ so I have to suffer too? I don’t hardly see how that’s comparable to the favor you did for me by taking out my recycling for me that you offered to do” you questioned, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be nearly as bad as he’s been making it out to be.

“Hey, in my defense it was a lot of boxes to carry okay? You can be my source of entertainment, I won’t be able to survive without that” he explained, falling more into the dramatics as he dropped down onto the couch behind him to really solidify his point, exhaling a big sigh as he did so. 

“I hardly doubt that Joseph, you’re being so dramatic” you said with your arms folded over your chest, not going to fold to his pleading that easy. Turning away from him as you sat across from him.

“I guess you won’t know unless you come with me then, huh” Joe said with a small pout on his lips, knowing it was the surefire way to win you over. In reality, he didn't have to even try. While Joe was your best friend, you’ve had feelings for him for a while now that have only grown with time the closer you two have gotten. Meeting back at LSU, you had so many memories together that have only made your friendship what it is today.

“C’mon, what else will it take for you to agree to go? I’ll do anything Y/N.”

Your heart rate picked up at his comment, needing to will yourself back to reality that there are so many other mundane things he could do to sweeten the deal for you. Thank god you had your back turned, able to give yourself a second to breathe. In all honesty, you would go just to spend more time with him, it was always fun to make him work for it though.

“Fine, but I won’t have anything to wear so you’re fronting my cost for a new dress” you stated turning yourself back towards him, sticking out your hand to signify the offer.

“You could’ve just asked that from the beginning. Deal” Joe agreed, returning your gesture and shaking on the deal.

_______________________________________________

It was finally the day of the dinner, taking the day to get yourself ready with an everything shower and full skincare routine. You made a day of it, pampering yourself after you had gone out to get the perfect dress. It complimented the color of Joe’s suit perfectly, while accentuating all of your favorite parts of yourself. It wasn’t anything too elaborate, but it made you feel confident and that’s what matters. You may or may not have also thought about Joe when picking it out, what he would think about when he saw you in it. You quickly shook the resurfacing thoughts from your mind as you slipped it on, careful not to mess up your look.

While you were applying the finishing touches to your look, your mind wandered to thoughts about yours and Joe’s friendship. You had met during one of his first classes when he transferred to LSU, asking you for directions to his next class. It happened that you were going the same way, offering to show him and the rest was history. On paper, you both were opposites, but that’s almost why you complimented each other so well. You matched one another's energy and could read the other like a book. It almost felt as if you didn't need to speak the thought out loud at times, able to tell what the other was thinking.

You and Joe had been there for each other all throughout college, being a support system and lifeline in the hard times as well as the biggest cheerleader for the highest highs. Through every breakup, Joe was always there to pick up the pieces he didn’t break, comforting you while giving you the praise he felt you deserved. Another thing you wrote off as him just being your best friend. No one wanted to see their best friend sad, so it was natural to want to cheer them up, right?

You were drawn out of your thoughts to the sound of your front door closing, signaling Joe had arrived.

“Hey Y/N, you ready to go?” he called from your living room, making his way through your apartment.

“Just a minute, I’m finishing up and we can head out” you called back, hearing his footsteps get closer as you spoke.

There was a sudden pause as the sound of Joe approaching got closer, turning to see him stopped in your doorway. He leaned his body up against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You look absolutely amazing, I love that we have a matching thing going on” Joe said as he looked you up and down, his gaze taking you in.

 It all felt like too much, turning your attention back to the mirror in front of you.

When you were leaving your apartment to get into his car, Joe placed a gentle hand around your waist to keep you steady in your heels as you walked across the pavement parking lot. Your skin felt like it was ablaze under his touch, finding yourself craving more of it as his hand dropped to get the door for you.

“Thanks” you mumbled, trying to regain your composure back as the night was just beginning.

_______________________________________________

The night drew on, Joe not letting you far out of his reach as he spoke with his teammates and other guests that were there. It felt as if you had a pull to one another, a sense of palpable tension between you in the air. Joe seemed to be a lot touchier than usual, tending to keep you close when one of his teammates would get a bit too close for what must have been his liking. It all felt like too good to be true, that he must have really wanted you near him

There was only what you could describe as a Joe shaped indentation in your life, making any man incomparable to the standard he set for you without even knowing. So many guys in the past few years have tried to take their shot with you, but you never let any of them get too feeling like they were missing something that you were looking for. Even the ones that did ended up breaking your heart, leaving you feeling a deeper hollow pit than before them. 

He was so close to you at the table, you could smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating off of his body that was clad so nicely in his suit, his arm slung protectively over the back of your chair as if he was staking his claim over you. It was taking so much willpower to not just lean over and say the most unspeakable things to him. To finally confess everything you’ve been feeling, wondering if he felt the same or if it would be a waste of time and ruin everything you created together.

In this moment, it felt like just the two were the only ones despite the room being so crowded with other guests. You leaned over, placing a delicate hand on Joe's thigh to test his reaction. You felt his muscles tense beneath your touch, close enough to hear his breath hitch in his throat. All signs were pointing in the right direction.

“Y/N” Joe said, his voice labored and breathy.

The way he says your name, stopping you in your tracks, short circuiting your mind for a moment. That was the kind of power he had over you, the ability to completely send your senses into overdrive without even realizing he was doing so. You tried your best to shut your mind off, taking the opportunity to tell him while you had the courage to do so.

“I don’t want you like a best friend” you spoke, voice keeping composure while trying to keep yourself from backing out.

Joe’s eyes closed as his head subtly dropped back against his chair. A quiet groan coming from his throat online loud enough for your ears only.

You leaned closer to his ear, keeping your body language as natural as possible with everything you’re feeling. Noticing how he was reacting to your words and proximity.

“I only bought this dress so you could take it off” your confidence shifting with a hint of seduction in your voice, sealing your fate to ending your friendship or starting a new chapter.

That seemed like the last straw for his own composure, not being able to contain his own building desire. Joe turned to look towards you, his gaze darkening from your confession, your grip tightening on his thigh as he tried to process the moment.

Without speaking, Joe stood from the table of his teammates and began gathering his things as he silently gestured for you to do the same. 

“I think we’re gonna get going guys, Y/N isn’t feeling too well so I’m gonna bring her home” Joe said casually, holding out a hand for you to take.

Everyone said their goodbyes and wished you well. The minute you were out of the vicinity from everyone, Joe heaved you over his shoulder and began to hustle towards the car.

“JOE” you yelped followed by a light chuckle, caught off guard by his actions.

He didn’t reply until he got you to the car, dropping you carefully to your feet and pressed your back against the car door.

He leaned close to your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine as he spoke “you have no idea how long I've wanted you. First, I'm gonna get you home and we're gonna get you out of this dress so I can do all of the things I’ve only ever dreamt of doing to you. Then we can talk about where we want to go from here, but I sure as shit don’t want to go back to just being friends. Does that work for you, sweetheart?” 

You didn’t trust your voice in that moment, not knowing if words would come out if you tried and opted for a firm nod.

He backed away from the car, bringing you towards him so he could open the door for you.

“Get in mamas and buckle up, because once we get home, you’re in for a ride” closing the door before you could give him a response.

You were about to be in for a night you didn’t expect, but one that would change everything for the best.

Thank you so much for reading, please send in any requests or comments. I hope you enjoyed!

[prisonhannibal]

These are messages between me and my friend Nader @abdalsalam1990 on friday (1st of november 2024) after I asked about his day. Screenshots posted with permission from Nader, so that he can share in his words what he’s going through. Thankfully he told me the bombings calmed down a little on saturday, and they were able to stay. But Nader’s family has already been displaced nine times, and it could happen again at any time. They urgently need to get out of Gaza when the border opens because his father Ahmed has cancer and needs treatment outside of Gaza, and his niece, Iman, who’s only one year old is suffering from malnutrition. Can you even imagine how terrifying it is that the funds you’re saving up for evacuation once the border opens again are the same ones you have to spend to even survive that long?

While fearing for their lives from heavy bombings, Nader and his family still have to worry about the cost of transportation to be able to evacuate. Prices are sky high in gaza, for example a kilo of tomatoes costs €40. On top of that, it’s getting colder fast. The family doesn’t have adequate clothing or blankets and need to buy it. When you have the opportunity to help this family survive the winter and feed themselves until they’re finally able to get to safety, when you can relieve their stress about money in a war zone, why wouldn’t you?

Please help Nader’s family. If you can’t donate, listening to his story and sharing it will help it reach the people who can. I’ve been in daily contact with him for a month now, and Nader works so hard every day to get help for his family, please make sure he knows that the world hasn’t forgotten them and that people are still listening and care. It will give him and his family the hope and motivation to continue this work. No one should have to do this to survive, especially not a seventeen year old boy. Your donation can help take this weight off his shoulders so that he can pursue his hope and dreams of going to university and so he can finally sleep safely without the sound of bombs all night.

This campaign is number 4 on this spreadsheet.

€30,180 raised out of €50,000, we are so so close to the short term goal of €33,000, they need only €2,820 to be two thirds to their goal. Will you donate to help this family survive and get to safety? ❤️🇵🇸

Can you join me and match my donation of €15? ❤️ every donation makes a difference, even if it’s less than that it matters

Donate here

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[lullabyes22-blog]

Real talk because you are THE resident Silco expert and all your headcanons are 100% correct: why does fandom think Silco would be good in bed? (Or good at sex at all?)

I've seen headcanons about him being a giver, and about his dick game being fire, and while he's a sexy, charismatic man, I feel like he's too... selfish, insecure, and just not a romantic guy. He's also a very bitter, lonely, and angry dude. Idk, it makes sense he would have some kinks but I feel like he'd be too much of a bitch to care for anyone else in bed. I guess he'd want it rough, and I've read some fics where he's a sadist, but I feel like it'd just be a quick fuck to satisfy himself, not a slow, passionate, sensual thing.

idk, do with this what you will.

I agree - with nuance 💗

Silco - at least as I write him in FNF - is principally a headfuck. If he's demonstrating an interest in you, then he wants something from you. If he's nice to you, there's a bottom line. No act of generosity comes without strings attached, and every small kindness comes at a terrible price. That aspect of cold-blooded calculus is never far away from his base nature, which splits the world into assets and liabilities, and his own actions into a transaction of cost versus reward.

With that in mind, he excels, not at sex, but at getting his partners to do what he wants them to do. For him, it's one of the many fluid ways of expressing power, and demonstrating his mastery over the subtleties of the human body and mind.

A few readers have noticed that he comes across as very detached and controlled during FnF's sex scenes - and that they read as weirdly voyeuristic. That always delights me, because it's an intentional choice. He doesn't really see his partner as anything beyond a medium to his goals, so his focus is entirely on their physical responses and his own actions. His narration is distant, observational and impersonal, because he doesn't experience sex as something that involves an emotional or empathetic connection. Rather, he's gauging how his target's responses play out on a physical plane, and he's calibrating his own actions to maximise their impact.

To give credit where credit is due, he's very intelligent, patient and observant. There is also some realistic backing to the running gag that Good D is invariably attached to Bad Men. More specifically, Bad Broke Men. Silco has not grown up in a position of privilege or wealth. He has been forced to make use of every available resource. He has survived by the skin of his teeth on a constant knife edge of deprivation, hunger and fear.

He's a scrapper. He's a survivor. He's an opportunist.

And to be any of those things, you need to know your way around people: their wants and weaknesses. That's the foundation for the idea that he's good in bed - that he can anticipate his partner's desires, and respond accordingly. The difference is, his actions have no romantic underpinning. It's a matter of pure pragmatism and self-interest.

In terms of technical skill, he's likely very good at finding his partner's pressure points, both literal and figurative, and exploiting them. But if it were up to him, he'd find a way to turn the thumbscrews with nothing more than a well-chosen word and a cold look. The sex is just a generality, and his enjoyment a function of their compliance.

When it comes to actual intimacy?

My friends, he'd be spectacularly bad.

Not just bad, but skittish, hostile and hopelessly inept. He'd feel like an accomplished stage actor who has to step out onto the boards for an improv class. He hasn't got the right lines, he isn't dressed for the part, and he isn't even sure what role he's supposed to be playing. He'd be so awkward, he'd actually have trouble looking his partner in the eyes. The sum total of his sexual ouvre would devolve into the following comedy of errors:

"What the fuck is this?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Don't touch me there."

"This is going well, right?"

"Why can't I get it up?"

"I can't do this."

"Leave me alone."

"Where are you going?"

"Don't leave me."

"They always leave me."

"Why does everyone leave me?"

And he'd only spiral deeper into self-loathing and isolation. To submit to intimacy is to open oneself up to the mortifying ordeal of being known, and the constant risk of rejection. To Silco, it is anathema. Actual emotional vulnerability during sex would be not unlike attending his own public execution.

But.

Silco is not a one-note villain, much less a one-trick pony. He has a human history riven in deprivation, bloodshed and betrayal. He's remade himself from a 'weak' man into the premier kingpin of Zaun, but that predatory bracing still hides remnants of the soft-natured idealist he once was. In fact, he's the product of a deeply embedded internal conflict between two distinct versions of himself. The one who seeks to burn his enemies, and the one who seeks to save his city. He's also, as demonstrated by his love for Jinx, capable of profound devotion, loyalty, and a deep-seated longing for companionship.

That means the potential for romance exists. It's just buried deep, deep, deep down beneath years of abuse, neglect, trauma, and self-imposed barriers. If he meets someone who can dismantle those barriers, or bypass them altogether and earn his trust, there is a ray of hope.

Sex would still be frightening and uncomfortable, and it'd involve a lot of trial and error. But it'd also have the potential to be deeply healing. Not because Silco would become a better man, but because his partner would make him want to try. He'd also bring the same intense focus, intelligence, and determination to the task that he applies to his criminal empire - which means that, once he does have his sea legs, Silco would have the potential to become a truly giving lover.

It's all about context.

And the context is always: will he take the gamble when he has nothing to lose, and everything to gain?

[jymwahuwu]

Oop— the thought of Capitano as a father-to-be being extremely doting, confusing Fatui agents at how endearing he is basically bending over backwards to ensure your needs are met (and yeah a lot of times HE is the one to do it if he feels others are incompetent or not capable to care for HIS sweet wife and unborn baby)

I’d also think he’d be super super protective. That seems obvious but in the 5.1 trailer he did say “humanity deserves to survive at any cost” and if he had the choice “he’d go back to save everyone” or something along those lines yeah? Me thinks he’s lost a ton of people and is dealing with a bare minimum of survivors guilt and trauma :(

So giving this man a baby lowkey see him having a daughter is bound to bring out some intense traits in him lmao

Lowkey tho, it’s also kinda hot to think of Capitano becoming Papatano and literally threatening to burn the world with his own two hands if it meant protecting his newfound family 😳

Ahhhh this is so cute💖💖💖I love the overprotective Capitano

You're right, Capitano's traumatic experience (we still don't know what it was) has led him to protect the people who matter to him at all costs. After learning that you were pregnant, the number of Fatui members assigned to protect you tripled. The books you read, the games you play, and the food you eat are all checked. Don't allow any crisis to lurk around you.

Capitano spends more time with you. He talks to you about the baby, like their names, until you point out that it's a little too far ahead to assume the baby's future career right now??? Imagine him walking around with the baby on his shoulders.

Arlecchino: …?

Dottore: …^-^?

Tartaglia: Is this how powerful people live?

All in all, he was grateful that he still had the chance to live a happy life. He will protect you and your baby, even if it means he sometimes needs to burn down rotten branches. This is also his responsibility as Fatui.

[atxxzist]

this sea of despair | c.s

summary: you've always dreamed of exploring the vast lands and seas beyond the small and quiet town you grew up in... you just didn't think it'd come at the cost of your own dignity and integrity, getting thrown into a whole new world against your will where none of it matters and the only way to survive is to betray who you are in the face of choi san

pairing: choi san x f!reader

genre: pirates!au, angst, smut

WARNINGS: dubcon, sexual assaults, slut-shaming, san is a huge red flag, not a romance story sksjasjdsjs, half-assed smut, im failing to name all of them but pls go in cautiously & pls lmk if i should add something else

word count: 20.8k

you spot him immediately when you reach the top of the hill, the boy recognizable a mile away from the shirt he's wearing; the top once a white color but now a ragged and slightly dirty beige from all the years of owning it.

he looks over his shoulder when he hears the distant footsteps, a smile already on his lips before he's even sure it's you.

"hey," he greets, the soft gaze never leaving as you plop down on the grass next to him.

"hi," you return, adjusting yourself into a comfortable enough position before looking out into the horizon, seeing the sunset about to take over the sky while the waves crashes against rocks and each other.

this is your favorite place in the entirety of dune; sitting atop at such an angle with a sight makes you feel as if you have the whole world in the palm of your hand.

like if you look out far enough, you can see all the islands, other towns, and settlements in the south sea. and if you look even further, you just might be able to picture what those belonging to the north are like.

just the mere thoughts of it makes you excited--the illusion that you can achieve any and everything when you look down on a world that seems so much smaller than you.

but the place isn't just a spot for the eye candy but also safety. when you and minsoo wanna drown out the chitters and judgments of everyone else and escape into hushed whispers and sacred words you cannot say to anyone but each other.

you've known him for as long as you remember, and he always has a way to make you feel safe and comfortable; listened to and heard.

it always has felt like you found each other in a rather unfortunate world... at least that's how you see him. a speck of light in uncertain darkness.

"how's your father doing?" he asks, eyes and voice turning a soft empathetic.

the reminder brings out a low sigh, but it's an unfortunate reality you're living through.

"not well."

he was just fine a couple weeks ago, getting up and going about his routine when he fell ill out of nowhere, it came so quick and sudden, you couldn't process it at first that your own father was now stuck in bed all day while you ran across the town daily to find some kind of remedy... to no luck.

there's medicines that helps lessen the symptoms but things doesn't seem to be getting any better by the day.

"sorry to hear," he says, disheartened that he can't help you. it's hard to find any skilled doctors or expertise in such a field in a small place like dune. "keep trying. i''ll help, too, and let you know if i come across something."

"i appreciate it," you tell him, a genuine smile on your lips that he returns.

sometimes, you still wonder if not following the feelings budding underneath whenever you're with minsoo is a mistake.

if one day you're gonna grow to regret choosing your heart over safety and security, every time you're with him, the yearning and longing is felt on the surface you both won't scratch.

with how minsoo is, his nature always so selfless and self-sacrificing, he wouldn't let you. you know he still won't.

it was the day the topic finally showed its head after the both of you tippy-toed around it for so long... when it was clear as day even to those around that you hold good feelings for each other.

more than gratitude and being friends.

"but i think it's best we don't," minsoo says, his delivery bittersweet as you shoot to him with fluttering and confused lashes.

you clear your throat quietly and ask, "why not?"

because usually if the feelings of love and admiration are mutual, there isn't any reasons not to try. that's how it works, doesn't it?

"because i'll only hold you back."

you go blank at his words, attempting to mentally break down what he means exactly.

"didn't you say you wanna go out of dune? explore other nearby islands and towns, maybe even step foot into the north sea one day? i don't want you to have to choose between me or your dreams in the future."

you only stare at him, your throat feeling tight and head still a little confused, he has to add, "i don't plan on leaving dune. sure, it isn't the best place there is to be, but i like it here. it's where i was born and where i hope to die."

when you finally grasp what he's trying to tell you, a small sigh of defeat leaves your chest, but he takes your hands in his immediately and looks at you so assuringly like everything's gonna be okay.

"i'm not saying we shouldn't ever, but i hope to one day have the map you've always dreamed of creating in the grasp of my hand, and maybe you can tell me all about your adventures. but for now, i want you to freely dream of those things without having to consider anything else, okay?"

you don't know how he's still able to smile in such a situation, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear and always with words that mends the doubts in you.

sometimes it feels like he has too much faith in you, and sometimes it's as if you're just chasing a false dream, but if it's to really happen one day, you'll do it for him, too.

--

you separate from minsoo on the path back to town, having to run to the only pharmacy in the town to pick up more medicines for your father.

the white building is quite small situating near the outskirts leading to the fields, and you've ever only seen one worker here who you've grown to be familiar with pretty recently.

she's a little older than you and very soft-spoken, her drive to always help the best she can is something you greatly appreciate.

walking into the empty pharmacy, she greets you immediately upon arrival and you wave as a response, watching as she bends under to pull out the bag she's already prepared beforehand.

"thank you," you tell her, pulling the few coins out of your pockets and handing it to her.

"your father doing any better?" she asks.

you shake your head, looking and sounding just as disheartened as when minsoo asked.

"unfortunately, no."

"sorry to hear," she says, also pitying you just as much as minsoo did. "if only dune were able to get exports from those in the north sea. but we have to do with what we're given. i hope you'll be able to find something better for your father soon."

you nod, a thin smile on your lips from the kind encouragement.

"yeah, i'm working on something," you answer, swiftly turning to the window and seeing the blackness that covers it entirely. "i'll take my leave now before it gets too late. once again, thank you."

you turn your back to head out when her slightly hesitant voice stops you.

"y/n."

"yes?" you stare wide-eyed over your shoulder.

"be careful, okay? i heard halateez are getting closer."

it takes you a few seconds to register what she's talking about, replying in a rather calm and casual tone, "yeah. you, too."

--

you didn't think much of what she said back at the pharmacy due to the sudden unexpectedness of it, but the closer you get to the town square, catching sight of the black and red bounty poster you've seen plastered for miles for the past months now, your body can't help but to get a chill that makes you wanna shiver in uneasiness.

halateez. they're one of the most notorious pirates crew roaming the seas of wonderland--well known for their disguises and hidden identities, now currently the biggest fear for everyone in dune because words are that they were just in the east sea a while ago, meaning as soon as they're done, they'll be heading down here.

no one knows what to expect but the fear definitely seems more real each passing day, waiting in apprehension for a mysterious ship to appear on the dock and just hope for the best.

and it might be because you're so deep in your thoughts, or that you can barely see in such darkness that the second you turn the corner to head down the road home, you hit face first into someone's hard chest causing the bag in your hand to drop and the few pill bottles to roll onto the ground.

you gasp and apologize under your breath, but there's no time to even see who it is because you're more concerned about salvaging your father's medications as you bend down immediately to pick it all up.

"again, i'm sor--" but you stop just short of finishing when you finally look up and the dark figure hovering over your body conjures up a knot in your throat, clearing it lowly and standing on your feet as you try to make out his features in the poor lighting.

he hasn't said anything despite the situation, though you're able to make out his brows as they curve at you in judgement.

your eyes lower to his chest, the black ink drawn on it intriguing you because it might be the first time you've ever seen anyone in dune with a proper tattoo.

you try not to stare too long, giving this man just one last look, finally adjusting to the lighting and seeing that he's actually quite good looking.

some intimidating features and a gaze that makes you wanna cower for sure, but he's handsome.

when he doesn't say anything, only continuously stare at you for what seems like the longest time, you apologize once more before bowing and excusing yourself, thinking of how odd such a man is on your way back home.

you wake up to what is the loudest commotion ever in your 20 years of living, looking up to where your father is resting and glad it didn't also jolt him from his sleep.

something already feels very wrong, the pit of your stomach is telling you it and the sudden knock at the door as well.

when you open it to minsoo's concerned eyes and voice saying your name so early in the morning, you know it's only gonna get worse.

but before you can even ask why he and what seems like the entire town are up so early and looking absolutely scared for their lives, the deep and roaring voice of another from a distance away makes you snap to the source, your heart beating so fast in your chest at the sight.

as if the men from the posters you were just looking at yesterday jumped straight out of them and is now in front of you--black attires, hats, masks, and all armed as they stand right in the middle of the town square as the one that spoke just now stands just a couple feet ahead of the rest.

"listen up! we want a thousand coins from each house within an hour! if you don't have it, you better find a way!" the man threatens, his right hand holding a gun that sits on his shoulder so comfortably.

cries and panics ensues instantly, your heart breaking at the distress written all over fathers, mothers, and children's faces as most of them cradles each other in a hug and cry together, then some retreating back into their house in defeat.

you turn to look at minsoo and he has the same look all over his face, sharing the same desperation as you but also disappointment and anger that nothing can be done.

"i'll get back to you soon. you let me know if you need me," he tells you much to a nod before going back to his own house and family.

you take another glance at the men in black as they just sit around and chat away like they're not ruining the lives of a community already going through a hard time.

your father is already awake when you return inside, asking you in his frail voice, "what's going on?"

"nothing," you tell him, putting on your best smile. he's sick and he doesn't need even more things to worry about. "just a town event."

he doesn't say furthermore but he does watch you go through your belongings until you pick up what looks like a jar full of coins.

"i'll be back," you assure, walking out and shutting the door because you don't want him to see or be a part of any of it.

as you await in the compacted living area for your turn, the longer you stare at the jar in your hand, the more you wanna cry because this is all you have from all the years of saving.

all of your dreams and future is in this small jar that you've spent the last few years putting all your blood, sweats, and tears into because if you were to ever get out of dune one day, you want it to be by your own doings.

a thousand coins is almost an entire year worth of living in the south sea. stupid fucking pirates.

you don't necessarily have a problem with them because just like people, there's good and bad pirates, and at least the ones that had passed through dune before were just rowdy at worst given most only came for the brothel, but they never held the townsfolk at freaking gunpoint.

at least half an hour goes by when you finally hear the voices before the knocks.

"are you sure it's this one?"

"yes. he couldn't shut up about it."

you open the door slowly with a racing heart, the two men in front glaring you down and making you feel all kinds of discomfort even through the disguises.

you don't say anything, only extending your hands with the jar in it, hoping and wishing for it to be over as soon as possible while you keep your gaze to your feet.

too long goes by when nothing happens, looking up again only for one of them to say, "we don't want coins from you." the statement making you raise a brow in confusion.

"you're y/n, right?" the other one who's just slightly taller than the first, says, with you returning a halfhearted nod. "it's been requested that you come with us."

and if they weren't holding your entire town hostage and parading around like they'll actually do what they say, you might think they're out of their minds because how in the hell do they know your name and is now demanding just the absolute craziest request.

"says who?" you reply, an edge to your voice that's starting to no longer consider the presence of these maniacs who could do anything to you.

"you don't need to know," the first one responds, the audacity to sound even more annoyed than you, before swiftly grabbing for your wrist but you're quick to pull back.

"i'm not fucking going," you spit. "i'll do anything and everything, even pay double, but if you guys think i'm coming with, you're insane."

he only laughs, his amusement clear even with the mask on.

"sweetheart, you're insane if you think you have a choice, now let's not make this even--"

it's probably stupid of you to shut the door in front of two very obviously strong men who's also taller than you, but you do it anyway and of course--it doesn't work, the one with a deeper and more annoying voice stops it immediately, pushing the frame back so hard it thumps against the wall and causes your father's voice to pierce from the bedroom.

"y/n, honey, is everything okay?"

"yes! everything's fine. please don't come out!"

when you look them both in the eyes again, backing away slowly with your throat and heart clenched as they only get closer, you're really not sure if you'll be able to get out of this.

"that your father?" the more annoying one asks again, his head tilted and mocking you through the tone.

"none of your fucking business."

but he only laughs again, like there's something so entertaining for him in other people's misery.

"oh, but it is. because if you don't come with us, you'll be putting your father in a lot of trouble."

you fume through your nose. "you wouldn't dare."

and just when you eventually loosen up and lets your guard down, not wanting to put your father in any danger, the other one comes at you so fast, you can barely react.

his hand clasp your mouth and nose tightly with something you can't even properly make out because you're busy struggling, eyes suddenly heavy and consciousness gone before all you see is utter darkness.

"seriously, what the fuck?"

"he asked us to do it."

"doesn't mean you had to. you know he's a fucking maniac."

"he also asked us to not smother her with chloroform but that also didn't happen."

"what else were we supposed to do? she was resisting."

"does hongjoong know about this?"

"not yet."

"jesus fucking christ... did she see you guys without your masks on?"

"no. but not like it matters now anyway."

you hear the conversation and booming voices for a good minute before you can fully make out your surrounding.

there's a brown nightstand in front of you with a badly lit lantern sitting on top, and when you're able to roll onto your back, you find the ceiling is made out of wood with multiple lines of thicker woods spreading across just a few inches apart.

you're constantly rocking back and forth, unable to stay still as if being swayed by the motions of water, and then comes the smell. something of fish and another you can't dissect just yet.

then it hits you. halateez and their threats, the two men walking into your house and demanding you come with them, then your attempt to fight when one of them suddenly came at you.

you wish it was all a bad dream, but you know it's not. it all feels too real and your current state is proof of it.

you turn to face the side of the wall made out of even more wood, a lone tear rolling down your cheek as you sniff the salty air when the door comes apart, causing you to jolt from your position.

standing there is a face you can actually see as you two just continuously stare at one another, your body naturally retracting and curling up because these people could do anything to you.

it's almost as if he can read your mind, shutting the door gently and telling you at the same time, "i'm not gonna hurt you, don't worry."

he looks a lot younger than any pirates you've ever seen in your lifetime... like he could be even younger than you.

"where am i?" you ask, volume barely loud enough and sounding like you're gonna break into a cry any second.

"a pirate ship," he answers, having stopped just short of the door and staring you down... but you knew where you are. maybe you were just hoping you would be wrong.

"please let me go back home," you beg, the waterworks already coming, usually not one to drop a sob story to get your ways but there's no other choice.

this is so wrong on so many levels and you actually cannot fathom it being a reality right now.

the man takes a short, almost remorseful breath, moving his gaze to the floor briefly before he locks eyes with you again.

"i'm afraid that isn't possible. the ship's already moved away from dune for a while now. plus, he won't let you leave. not anytime soon at least."

"he?" you quote, pitch high and curious.

"says who?" you reply, an edge to your voice that's starting to no longer consider the presence of these maniacs who could do anything to you.

"you don't need to know," the first one responds, the audacity to sound even more annoyed than you, before swiftly grabbing for your wrist but you're quick to pull back.

"he'll be here soon," is all he tells you about this mysterious man before going off about other things. "if you need to relieve yourself, it's the door to your right. probably different than what you're used to but you'll get the hang of it soon. dinner is at 7, and if you have any further questions, you'll have to ask san yourself. i don't know when i'll get to talk to you again."

you open your mouth to say something but a call outside cuts you short.

"jongho!"

he gives you another look, his expression unreadable. he seems to feel bad for you but it's hard to believe anyone's intentions and sincerity in your current state.

"i have to go," he says, turning his back to you, one hand on the handle when he stops to look over his shoulder to give you the final farewell, his pitch suddenly deeper as if sending you a warning. "i know it sucks, but please, try to be on your best behavior. he won't show you the same mercy."

you don't say anything, watching as he leaves and gaze drawn to the tattoo on the back of his wrist that you swear looks familiar but is unable to get a closer look.

left to your own devices, your mind is traveling at a thousand miles per hour, talking under your breath and pacing around the tiny cabin trying to digest everything just now while simultaneously trying to think of how to get the hell out of here.

san. jongho, who you think is his name, said it. san is the fucking lunatic that ordered for you to be here.

well, you certainly don't wanna be here when he shows up, searching the entire perimeter of the room for anything and even going into the so-called "restroom" jongho was referring to only to find two buckets--one filled with water and one empty, before shutting the door in defeat.

when you're just about out of ideas, plopping down on the edge of the bed and accidentally making eye contact with the porthole on the other side of the nightstand, you don't know why you didn't think of it sooner.

you can try breaking it... if you can find something, once again touring the area and busy looking over and under that when the door creaks open again, you just freeze in place.

"planning to escape?" a voice lighter but different from jongho and filled with amusement rings from behind as you swallow down the knot and spin around slowly. "i wouldn't do that if i were you."

he still has on his diguise attire or whatever the hell it is, but the second he locks eyes with you, he starts taking off just about everything, starting from his hat then his mask.

when it finally comes off, you visibily and audibly gasp.

“again, i’m sor–” but you stop just short of finishing when you finally look up and the dark figure hovering over your body conjures up a knot in your throat, clearing it lowly and standing on your feet as you try to make out his features in the poor lighting.

he hasn’t said anything despite the situation, though you’re able to make out his brows as they curve at you in judgement.

"you!" your finger weakly points at him in accusation, but the man just smirks like he finds a kick out it.

his chin nods off to the porthole and you follow, his voice soon filling up the space, "if you wanna try jumping out of that, i'll tell you now it won't work. we're so far from any land at this point, you'll soon drown before you even know it."

now that you're able to see him clearly, his features more prominent and menacing in daylight, nothing welcoming like the boy that came before him especially with how he's literally undressing you with fox eyes, you can't help but to grow smaller and slowly retract away from this man.

"you're the one that ordered all of this shit?" you still manage to say despite the fear overtaking your body as you watch him take off the coat and pull the turtleneck off his head.

you avert your eyes to the floor to avoid the sight of his naked torso, but he seems to find something so funny about it as he laughs it off.

"i did," he replies nonchalantly, clearly unbothered even with the sincerity and seriousness of your question, only throwing himself down onto the bed with his hands behind his head as he continues to stare at you some more, never in your life have you ever felt this uncomfortable.

"why?" your voice cracks, all that anger and grief coming back up even stronger this time around. "what did i do to deserve this? i was just living my life, my father is sick and he needs me. what would he do without me?"

you're full on crying at this point, hoping and praying that maybe this man in front of you who looks like he's listening to just about the most boring past time story, will somehow take pity on you and let you go.

you've done nothing but tried your best to only do good deeds, so why you of all people?

you think of your father; of minsoo...

san shrugs, not moved by the tears or the breaking of your voice.

"i did it because i can? i did it because i want to?" he says, unsure himself much to your utter disbelief because he cannot be serious.

"so you're that fucking bored you just go around stealing lives of people because you can?" you scoff. "you pirates are so stupid."

he smirks and you regret the words the instant he gets off from the bed and starts walking toward you until your back hits the wall and you cannot go any further, really showing you where you stand in a situation like this.

you're holding your breath with clenched fists when he lowers his gaze to yours, tilting his head mockingly in a proximity too close for your liking.

"if you don't want anything bad to happen to you, i suggest you speak to me a little more fucking nicely, huh?"

you swallow the tension, staying quiet and choosing safety because you have no idea how he's gonna react and what he's capable of just yet.

then it catches your attention again while you're actively avoiding his gaze... the black ink on his chest in the shape of an 'a' and a circle around it.

that must also be what jongho has at the back of his wrist.

"good girl," he coos, breaking your train of thoughts as the pet name makes you feel all forms of disgust, the way he says it so affectionately when right now, all you wanna do is kick him in the shin.

you think if you don't say anything and let him be, he'll leave you alone, but he shamelessly rakes over your face and figure with a twisted gaze.

"you know," he whispers, breath ghosting the tip of your skin, finally looking up to meet his eyes. you hate the fact he's attractive for such a sick person, and you hate it even more the way he's biting at his lower lip. "you're even more beautiful up close."

you wonder if he can hear how loud your heart is beating, so afraid and fearful about what he's gonna do to you.

and when one of his fingers slowly creeps up to brush against your cheek, you visibly flinch, prompting a snicker from him before he backs away completely much to your relief.

you proceed to watch as he walks over to the nightstand and pulls a piece of clothing out of the top drawer, then throwing it onto the bed.

"change into this by tonight," he informs, tone calm but you know it's an order.

he isn't done just yet, going back to fetch one last thing before shutting it and putting on a show for you as he works on wearing the black top he got just now, pulling until it sits on his skin comfortably.

"i've got some unfinished business so i'll be back by dinner time. but for now, stay put and might i warn you one more time, don't try anything stupid and don't even try entertaining the idea of escaping," he states, the warnings sending a chill down your spine.

he doesn't wait for any kind of response from you, leaving the second after and lifting the heaviness off your chest even if just slightly.

this man really just came in here to intimidate you because he can.

--

there is really not much to do, especially in a small space you're unfamiliar with. you go back between sitting on the bed and looking through the porthole watching as the waves carry the ship along the dark water.

you don't allow yourself to sleep even if your eyelids are growing heavier each hour, your heart unable to be at rest with such a situation you had no say in.

you still haven't even changed into the outfit san demanded you to because you don't know why he wants you in such skimpy clothings for.

you absolutely refuse to wear it.

and although he's warned you to not even think of escaping, your mind can't help but to drift to the possibility of getting out of here. maybe not right now but in the future, it could happen.

he's a fool if he thinks you've already accepted your fate.

it's getting darker outside and you're failing at finding things to keep yourself occupied, when the sudden chatters outside takes your attention.

it's a tad muffled but you can still make out most of what they're saying--the voices sounding like they belong to the men earlier who's responsible for you being here in the first place.

"yeah, she's beautiful so i can understand, but san is still one crazy son of a bitch for doing this." you hear the laughters, such a matter being reduced to a casual discussion between the two.

"he didn't do it alone, though. we literally took the girl away from her home."

"you think san's going to... tonight?"

you don't even realize your ears are practically glued to the door attempting to eavesdrop, but you back away from it the second you finally digest the comment, not even bothering to hear the rest of the conversation.

is this why he took you in the first place and even ordered for you to change into some lingerie by the time he returns? it would only make sense because what other use would someone like you be good for?

just the thought of it sends your body into a state so scared and helpless, desperate to take back the rights of your life into your own hand but completely out of ideas as of currently.

minsoo would always tell you you're the most beautiful girl he's ever seen, and it was flattering at first... why wouldn't it be? it was until it wasn't; your appearance all anyone could talk about.

the aunties that lived next door would always tell your father jokingly that if he had just let you work at the brothel, the two of you could make way more than tending to crops and animals.

you don't have a problem with anyone who does that as a way of living, but it is simply not for you.

your beauty has done nothing in life for you but served troubles.

there's no way to tell time except for the darkness coating the porthole and the way your heart beats faster every passing minute, waiting in anxiety till san will eventually come back.

when you're just starting to doze off, managing to forget about him for just that quick moment, he finally makes an appearance again, the sound of the door opening jolting you from the drowsy state and into fear once again.

you watch him throw a mere glance at the piece of clothing still untouched on the bed.

"i'm pretty sure i gave you a clear order, no?" he looks at you, his antagonizing gaze already making you feel small.

but you stand your ground, spitting lowly but boldly, "i'm not wearing that."

he scoffs, shaking his head to the ground, honestly amazed at the amount of resistance and bravery one still has in a scene where they're clearly at a disadvantage.

he thinks you have absolutely no instincts for survival.

"what exactly do you plan to do with me?" you ask, desperate for a clearer answer, even if you have to annoy it out of him at your own expense. "where the hell are we even going, and can i please just know what's going on?"

he sits himself down on the lone chair near the door, eyes burning into yours as if shooting lasers.

"you sure have a lot of questions, don't you?"

"well i suppose you would too if you were taken away from your home by some lunatic."

san laughs at the jab, a smirk overtaking the shape of his lips after.

"curse at me some more, don't you? it kind of turns me on."

him abducting you should be more than enough proof you're not dealing with a sane person, but this seals it.

"you're out of your fucking mind," you say under your breath in utter disbelief but barely making an effort so he doesn't hear it.

"call me whatever names or insults you want, but it won't faze me, dear. i've heard it all."

you roll your eyes. "oh, i don't doubt it."

a couple seconds of fuming silence goes by before he's the one to speak up.

"we're heading to scorched bay. we'll reach it in a day or two. any more questions, princess?" he raises a brow, his tone a combination of teasing and purposely provoking you.

"why did you decide to ruin my life? why me?" your delivery a bit sarcastic and bitter, bringing about a chuckle from san. but he wouldn't really just do it because he can as he so-called claimed, right?

"that's some strong wordings, but i did it because i like you, is that so hard to believe?"

the room goes even more quiet than before, because this man in front of you who did just about the last thing anyone would do to someone they like, is saying that's exactly what this is.

"yeah, i do find it quite hard to believe."

he shrugs, still unmoved and only proceeding to stare at you with something in his eyes--a challenge--going on to say something that makes you even more uneasy than before.

"well, stick around longer and you'll find i mean every word i say."

if san couldn't get any crazier, he definitely hit his peak when he thought you'd sleep in the same bed as him.

he surprisingly didn't put up much of a fight when you obviously refused, but now you're starting to think he did it on purpose because he knew how uncomfortable the floor is, and that eventually, you're gonna end up regretting the choice.

"changed your mind just yet?" his voice in the dark making you jump slightly, but you try your best to maintain the composure.

"no," you say stubbornly.

because even if the wood flooring is hard and rough on your skin, you'd rather have that than spend the night sharing the same bed with a man you barely know.

"suit yourself."

you squeeze your eyes and force it shut, because if you can fall into darkness, this will all be over soon enough

--

san doesn't let you leave the room even the following day, only bringing you food when it's time so you'll have something and not die off--though you'd much rather prefer that at this point.

the only good thing is he isn't with you most of the day, always out and about and only showing up once in a while to warn you again, or get something before leaving for hours.

occasionally you'd listen to the conversations outside that's within earshot, none of them too interesting or important until you hear one concerning the ship's arrival in scorched bay by tomorrow morning.

you can't seem to trust san's words for now and you don't want to considering the person he is, but it only makes sense they're going in order.

after scorched bay, port cove would be up next.

you know you probably shouldn't entertain the idea, but you go to sleep tonight on the hard wood flooring with hope comforting you in your dreams and that tomorrow, there's a chance you could be free from this prison.

--

you're woken up by the much louder chatters foreign to a ship with a relatively small group of people, when the revelation of yesterday hits you, sitting up immediately only to see san raising an eyebrow at you while sitting on the edge of the bed shirtless.

"excited to wake up today, aren't you?" the way he says it, as if trying to get under your skin, but if you really want your plan to work, you have to go just the extra mile to stay on his good side.

you smile in return instead. "i've just always wanted to see scorched bay."

he smirks, shaking his head before standing up to look for his shirt.

"you're not going anywhere," he says, the same time he throws that same turtleneck over his head.

you already knew that but you still can't help but to feel a little dejected at the reminder.

"so what am i going to be doing for the meantime?" you ask.

he shrugs, grabbing for his coat on the rack near the door.

"you don't try to do anything stupid before we return, which should be before it gets too dark."

you fume lowly at the response. it's like every time you try to talk to him like a normal human being, he always has a way to make you feel less in return.

"i'll be back," he tells you and storms off.

you sigh as soon as the door closes. you need to do it quick and fast before he leaves. that it needs to be believable and there's a big chance it might not work but you need to try.

scorched bay is the closest to dune and the further the ship drifts away, the harder and longer it will be to get back to your father and minsoo.

you make yourself more presentable during the time he's gone, waiting in apprehension because as soon as he comes back, you have to strike immediately.

when the door finally creaks open again, you jump up so fast, san might think you're just that excited to see him again.

"what do you want?" he asks, already able to tell from your body language you want something.

"san," you roll his name off your tongue, making sure you sound soft and sweet, watching the way he blinks at such a tone, "i really need to use the restroom."

"go in the bucket," he replies coldly.

"no, but, i-i'm not used to it yet. can i please just go out to use the restroom? just this once? i promise i'll return as soon as i'm done."

he exhales in annoyance, unable to believe you're doing this right now.

"please?" you try again, even more desperate this time. "i also want to see scorched bay just once. i've never been out of dune. i-if i try anything, you can do whatever you want to me."

you say the last line a little too boldly though a little regretfully, the consequences of the words slipped not even in your mind at the time you said it.

"anything?" he repeats after, a smirk creeping onto his lips.

you nod hesitantly, feeling yourself shrink when he steps closer to you.

"remember your words, princess. because if it turns out you have other things in mind, don't say i didn't warn you."

--

it was obvious he wouldn't send you alone, but you were surprised he didn't go with you himself and instead sends one of his men.

he's trailing behind you, eyes burning into the back of your head and never failing to remind you that he's watching your every moves.

you walk through the crowd of townsfolk, able to see mountains and trees peaking from behind their heads, and shops and stalls everywhere.

the place similar to dune but much livelier and spacious if judging by the amount of people there are compared to the small town square back where you came from.

you find yourself smiling and stopping in place to admire the new but almost familiar setting, the hit of nostalgia already through the roof even though you haven't even been away for that long.

it makes you miss the place, and more importantly, it makes you miss your father and minsoo.

"hey," the voice from behind knocks you out of your thoughts.

you snap your neck around to san's man's stern gaze as he ushers at the road ahead.

"no looking around. we have to get going."

"i was just admiring the scenery," you reasons, much to the continuously cold shoulder.

"doesn't matter. now go." he slightly nudges you by the back to keep walking and you scoff at the physical force.

what the hell is wrong with all these men and their need for aggression?

you avoid the hair raising at the back of your neck and keep walking until you finally spot a public restroom, turning around to tell him you'll be back.

"make it quick," he says rather harshly and a bit annoyed, much to an eye roll from you as soon as you turn the other way.

the women's restroom is a small four stalls with tan brick walls, your eyes scanning every corner for an escape route--immediately landing upon the lone window sitting at the very top of the biggest stall.

it looks like it could barely fit you but you think you might make it. you have to try. you just need something to help you get up there first.

thankful that no one's here to see such madness, you step inside the biggest stall and of course, there's absolutely nothing here that could help you reach that height.

you bite at your bottom lip, trying to reframe from panicking and pacing around the open space of the stall when it clicks.

you can just use the toilet itself as a stepping stool. it's not high enough, but it's a start and you'll be able to open it up from where you are.

the rest is up to your perseverence and whether you can really push yourself up and through such a tight opening.

there's no time to think the plan more through or pick out the flaws, because the longer you're in here, the more suspicious san's man will get.

you step on the toilet seat before moving up onto the tank, reaching your arm out at this angle and easily pushing the window open by the handle as you can hear the glass thump quietly against the other side of the wall.

on your tippy-toe, you grab the other side with both arms and grip it with all your strength, scraping the walls with your feet to help your body over it.

the good thing is that it's grass you'll be falling into. the part where you didn't think through is that you'll be falling face and head first.

thankfully, it's not too high but there's no way you'll make it out without getting some form of injuries.

you probably just stare at it for a few seconds, contemplating just about everything and if you really wanna do this, until the loud knock at the door with your name echoing from the other side reminds you just once again of how much you'd rather break a neck or a leg than to be stuck on that ship for who knows how long.

the pain is quick at first, your arms having covered your face as you brace the fall and land hard against your back. it doesn't really hurt till it settles in, the ache and burn on the surface of your skin that has been scrapped on the way down.

the amount of trees luckily covers the scene, and though you're still sore and hurting from the fall, there's no time to waste as you stand on your feet and limp away the best you can.

that if you can get far enough; if you can stay in hiding for a while, you'll be free again. you can go back to living the life you once were and be able to return to your father.

the townsfolk are probably only able to help you as much as the people in dune can--as in they're completely powerless when it comes to a crew like halateez so it's best you don't trouble anyone.

the best bet for now is to stay in hiding until you're safe and then go from there.

you manage to make it to another public restroom, using the crowd and scenery to blend in, running to the men's this time because it would be harder and unpredictable if they were to try to find you.

you breathe an air of relief when you finally sit down on the toilet seat, your back and just about every bones still sore and hurting but you're just so happy to have come this far.

the front of your hands and elbows are bleeding, using the toilet papers to quickly mend away the pain for now until you can get actual help later on if you make this.

then you wait and wait, each steps whether loud or quiet into the restroom making your heart jump in uneasiness, until a ruckus outside takes you and what sounds like about everyone's attention.

that must be them--san and the rest of his men doing what they do best; doing the same thing they did to the people of dune.

the voice confirms your suspicion, though it doesn't belong to san, the familiarity still rings a memory so clear.

"listen up! we want a thousand coins from each house within an hour! if you don't have it, you better find a way!" the man threatens, his right hand holding a gun that sits on his shoulder so smoothly.

you hate them so much. every one of them.

what rights do they think they have by taking away from others and playing god?

you wish you could do something but the hard to swallow truth is you can't. if you could, you wouldn't have been in this position in the first place.

you're no different than anyone currently being held hostage and threatened by these stupid pirates.

so you wait some more. wait so long that you've lost track of time and the night has gone so quiet, you haven't heard a single footstep or any signs of life nearby for a while now.

maybe you should wait it out longer until the sun comes up at least and increase the chances of being in the clear, but it has very certainly turned dark quite a while ago and probably past midnight.

you can feel the goosebumps on your skin raise from just the realization that you're alone in the restroom at night in a town you have little knowledge regarding.

it's way too quiet and late for halateez to still be at the dock.

san said they'd be leaving before it gets dark, and surely you don't mean that much to him just yet that he'd make the ship delay their route when he hasn't even known you for a week.

you can probably make it to the town hall, recalling seeing it on your way and maybe ask if the mayor or anyone can help.

you don't know if you can bear staying here for another hour.

quietly peeking out the stall, you walk with cautious steps and a conscious fully alarmed when exiting the restroom, ignoring spine-chilling sensation you get from the setting as you make your way to the town hall following a path you believe should lead you there.

the closer you get, the smaller the anxiety brewing in your chest becomes, feeling as if safety and security is only so close, you can reach it if you just walk a little faster.

your pace picks up and for a second there, you see the light. your heart beating faster and your breath harsher from the distance traveled here, because just a little more and you'll make it.

all it takes for your dreams and such a bright future ahead to be crushed is the sudden hand that appears out of thin air and latches onto your wrist at such a speed you can't even react to as it flings your body to the side and drags you away.

you think the same man san sent found you, when the figure comes to an abrupt stop and turns around, wishing that it had been him instead of san himself.

you swallow in fear, never in your life have you ever felt so scared before.

he stares down at you still in his disguise except the mask that has come off, a burning look of anger in his eyes and you can't predict what he's gonna do at all.

you fucked up. you officially got caught and ruined probably your only chance of ever escaping.

god, you feel so hopeless.

"what did i fucking tell you?" he growls lowly into the night, feeling his grip on you get tighter with every spoken word. "i warned you, didn't i?"

you're in such shock, mind out of ideas until the only thing you can think of in the moment to still possibly salvage the situation is to immediately scream for help.

you barely get more than one shriek when san pulls you toward him, flushed against his chest and one hand gripping at your jaw to shut you up.

"if you know what's good for you, you'd shut up and go back nicely. besides, what can these pathetic people do for you? you'll end up right back in my arms either way."

you spit in his face, pushed to your absolute limit and way past the point of caring.

"fuck you," you curse at him. "i will never like you. i hate you. hate you, you hear me?" you deliver your words with such boldness and resentment despite the tears starting to brew.

you almost expect him to hit you, but instead, he hurls out a deep and sinister chuckle, wiping the spit off with his free hand and angles you to look up at him with the grip he still has on your jaw.

"since you love spitting so much, i'm 'oughta teach that mouth of yours some respect."

you have no idea what he means until he suddenly crashes his lips onto yours in a swift motion, allowing you no room to breathe except to stubbornly close off your own lips and deny him any entrance or satisfaction.

though you're desperately trying to fight back, both palms at his chest trying to push him away, he barely moves from his spot because he's so much stronger than you.

not only have you ever felt so hopeless, but now also violated as this person who's already stripped you of your future is trying to take ownership of your body, too.

it's the longest few seconds of your life when all you can focus on are the sloppy movements of his tongue, finally able to free yourself when he loosens up, pushing him away as you weep quietly into the night.

you don't get the time to mourn or cry about the fact this man just took your first kiss by force given he has no sympathy and only seems to care about himself.

"if you wanna make it through the night, you better keep that mouth shut and rethink any other ideas you have in mind, because trust me, i can do much worse."

you absolutely don't doubt he can, which is why you keep your sobs quiet while he drags you by the wrist to that godforsaken ship you thought you would never see again.

"san, it hurts," you try telling him plenty of times throughout the trip back only for your pleads to go in vain.

he doesn't care how tight he's holding onto you or how fast he's walking and that you're unable to keep up. this is your punishment for what you've done and he's gonna make sure you feel the wrath of it.

when you guys finally aboard the ship, he drags you through the few people watching just as harshly.

some wearing the same outfit as him but with masks on and some without--one of them you recognize as jongho, and then the rest in much casual attire similar to the man san sent with you in the first place.

you meet jongho's eyes briefly and you can't tell if it's sympathy that's present in them due to how fast san is moving until the door to the cabin you've been trapped in for the past days is standing in front of you.

with a quick unlock, it all happens so fast you can't even process san tossing you onto the bed until you're planted face first, turning on your back only to cower away in fear of what he's gonna do--especially now that you two are actually alone.

you're able to make out his features better in the ship's lighting, a look of unamused and anger crossing both at once that makes you regret the events of today.

he gave you a clear warning and you defied it. there's no way you're coming out of this unscathed.

and you don't wanna think about what could be even worse than forcefully shoving his tongue down your throat.

there's a few seconds of stare off as you try to predict his next moves.

"you're sleeping in the bed with me from now on. i don't wanna hear it," he tells you sternly.

you keep your mouth shut, knowing that continuously pissing san off is probably the last thing you wanna do right now, especially after having annoyed him enough for today.

"did i make myself clear?"

when you don't say anything, he walks closer that you can barely stutter out a, "y-yes."

"great. when i come back, i better see it."

and he walks out, the aftermath of the door shutting is the first peace and relief you get after being in the presence of him.

you really don't wanna do it but there's no other choice. you've ran yourself into this corner and the only way out--at least for now--is to abide by his rules.

you finally hop into bed after a few minutes of mentally battling yourself.

being able to sleep on an actual bed for what feels like a while is the upside, so it sucks that you're gonna have to share it with what is basically the spawn of satan himself.

you just hope to fall asleep fast enough so you won't have to deal with it when he actually comes back. praying that when you wake up the next morning, he'll also be gone before you know it.

but too much is going through your mind; your thoughts absolutely consuming, that before you can even black out, you hear the fidgeting of the door handle and then the opening of it, much to your disappointment.

you force your eyes shut, pretending to be asleep but the smallest curiosity has you opening just one eye to see what he's doing, having to keep from reacting when you can make out his shirtless torso.

when he senses some movements and suddenly snaps your way, you have to keep up the act of being asleep although the sounds of his clothes hitting the floor makes you extremely uncomfortable.

it gets harder to keep it up the second he starts crawling onto bed, pulling up the blanket to situate himself under and then next to you, his chest now flushed against your back and you just wanna kick him off already.

you think it can't get any worse but he proves you wrong by snaking an arm around your waist and practically crushes you with his own skin until you can feel something hard rubbing against the back of your thighs.

"i know you're not asleep," he whispers into your ear, the surprise making you flinch as your eyes open fully to darkness.

you can't see him but you can hear his genuine and amused laughter, immediately attempting to pry off his arm much to no use.

"shhh. don't try to fight it."

and maybe the weight of today finally hit you, because you don't even have the strength to fight him anymore. between sleeping in the same bed with san and him occasionally placing small kisses at your neck, you eventually manage to fall asleep.

the next couple of days goes by with you holding your breath every second you're with him.

he has become stricter; although he didn't let you out of the cabin before, he's now made it an official rule you cannot go out unless he gives you permission.

if he has to leave for his daily business, he makes one of his men guard the door outside and practically has you on watch 24/7.

if he can't bring you food himself, he'd also leave it to them. your whole entire world is basically the perimeter of this room at this point.

you have become so bored (though you've rather be bored and not have him here than be alerted with him), you begged him to let you do something or at least give you something to do.

he dropped off a bunch of books and told you to "do whatever you want with it."

he also tries to treat your injuries at one point despite your stubbornness that finally shows its head again after some time--a stubbornness that only gets worse when you discover something.

because just when you think san's already cruel enough, he goes even further to really show you just how much of an asshole he really is.

the first argument after your little attempted escape happens the night they return from port cove, when you happen to see the man who accompanied you that day to scorched bay when you needed to "use the restroom".

him and someone else were assigned to keep watch on you while the rest were out doing what they do best to the new place they just arrived in, and you just so happened to see him all bruised and battered through the small crack of the door window, or at least in a recovery state where you can still see very clearly the marks made on him.

you confront san as soon he walks into the room and starts his usual undressing for the night.

"were you the one who did that? to the guy that was with me at scorched bay?" you ask, sitting at the edge of the bed.

he almost has to do a double take, the question catching him offguard but not more than the fact you're even talking to him. you usually never do.

"yeah?" he answers, more like a question in return because why are you asking.

an inaudible gasp leaves your mouth at that, the reality setting in that this is who you're really messing with.

someone capable of inflicting physical harms onto others without an ounce of regret or sympathy.

"why?" he adds, his tone starting to sound more taunting. "you have something to say about it?" his head tilts at you mockingly, his hands stopping short at the waistband of his pants.

you gulp before speaking, "i-i just don't think you should've done that."

"and why not? he's one of my men. shouldn't i discipline him if he fails to carry out an order?"

"but it wasn't his fault."

"then whose fault was it?" he tests you, mirth in his eyes and if you could, you would punch him.

"m-mine," you stutter out.

he moves closer to you, your body naturally shrinking and your throat feeling tight.

"then should i punish you instead?" he bends down to look you in the eyes but you're quick to avoid his gaze, grabbing a pillow to stand up and head for the floor at the end of the bed.

"just being with you is already enough of a punishment," you mutter to yourself but you know he hears it, if the chuckle from behind means anything.

"i'm sleeping on the floor tonight," you tell him, setting the pillow down and immediately laying flat, regretting starting the conversation and now just hoping he'll leave you to be.

surprisingly, he shrugs it off and doesn't fight you on it.

"your choice. but if the waves ever gets too much and you wanna hop in bed again, know i'll always welcome with open arms."

the way he says it makes your skin crawls, feeling more annoyed than ever and just wanting to fall asleep for the sake of it all.

"goodnight, love," he coos the same time the bed creaks from above, your only response is to let out a slight puff through your nose.

you probably haven't said more than three words to san in the past couple of days, going out of your way to avoid conversations and only giving him the cold shoulder whenever he's around.

you still haven't slept on the bed since and he doesn't seem to care about it despite making it one of the rules you have to follow.

maybe he's so relaxed about it because he knows you can't do anything even if you act as tough as a nail; at the end of the night, you're still stuck in this stupid cabin with him.

on a day you're passing time the only way you can, he busts into the room earlier than usual and knocks you out of the page you're reading.

"get dressed," he demands out of thin air.

"what?"

"change into something more fitting, i'm bringing you out to meet the rest of the guys."

the book in your hands is forgotten, the mere idea of finally getting the hell out of this tiny cabin more enticing even if you're gonna have to meet a bunch of other guys probably like san.

you're just happy to catch some fresh air in what feels like forever.

"what should i change into?" you ask, watching him walk over to the top drawer as he pulls something out, turning back to extend an arm.

you look down at the fabric and see what looks like a white dress, taking it from him with slight hesitance.

you're about to ask more questions but he's already walking past you, only muttering out, "come out to the deck when you're ready." and leaving you with no choice but to follow his order.

you inspect the piece more closely after, seeing it's a white square neck midi dress and just wondering where does san even get these things from before eventually changing into it.

--

even if you don't know the ship too well, it's not hard to find where exactly san wants you to be; the noises hard to miss and coming from one direction only.

you've never gotten a proper look at the ship considering the only times you had the chance to, san's quick to rush you through it, you've never even realized just how detailed and cluttered everything is.

ropes and barrels almost everywhere and the sea smells much saltier out here, watching the way waves crashes against each other in front of your very eyes just under your feet.

when you make it out to the deck and feel the first pair of eyes on you, it's as if everyone else follows and you suddenly become the center of attention.

the once loud chitters comes to a stop the second you arrive and all you can hear is the background music, scanning the surrounding and seeing jugs of alcohol and men of all kinds standing around with smiles on their faces moments just before you arrived.

you swallow the knot in your throat and look for anything to detract the attention--a familiar face maybe, spotting san at a table a few feet away with two other men before noticing jongho just mere inches from you and alone.

you've barely spoken to jongho but he's the only other person here that you know. and frankly, you feel a lot safer with him given he has shown to have at least some sympathy towards you.

you walk quickly and sit yourself down just right across from him; such choice taking him aback before he eventually breaks the ice.

"don't feel like sitting with san?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"don't feel like ever doing anything with him, to be honest," you let slip even though it might not be the best idea to bad mouth him in front of his people, but jongho just laughs it off.

"why are they all even looking at me?" you add, evidently bothered by all the stares.

"they're curious about you. we all are."

you sigh and roll your eyes at that.

"you all want to see the poor soul he has under his grip?" you say sarcastically despite the lack of animosity and that jongho actually comes off quite genuine.

"no. he just has been talking about you a lot. nonstop. aside from me, yunho, and mingi, none of the other guys and seamen on the ship has really gotten a close look at you. san's a bit stingy."

"stingy is an understatement."

jongho snickers lowly.

"it took a lot of convincing to get him to finally let you out here. hongjoong said it isn't good to keep you in one place for too long... that you might start going crazy."

"well, hongjoong would be right. whoever he is."

"hongjoong's our captain," jongho says, nodding off to a direction you follow, unexpectedly meeting san's unamused gaze. "the one on the left of san. and then to the right would be seonghwa, our quartermaster. when hongjoong isn't around, he takes the lead."

you raise a brow, quite unfamiliar with all these pirate terms but you're learning.

"and you guys steal for a living?" you quip, relieved everyone has gone back to chit chatting and minding their own business as more music and voices fill the background.

you can see the conflicts written all over his face. from what you've known of him so far, jongho seems like a rather decent person it's almost hard to believe he's one of the pirates currently posing a threat to the citizens of wonderland.

"we don't steal because we want to, but because we have to. i know it's hard to believe but it's the truth."

"you guys surely don't seem to feel very bad about it, though..."

jongho is silent, a part of him knows that you're not entirely wrong. but also not entirely right.

"some of us manages to stay true to ourselves despite the circumstances and some loses it along the way. just all part of it, i guess."

it's almost as if he's talking to himself, the bittersweet tone in his voice and the sadden smile, his eyes kept to the table until he finally looks up to you again.

"i know it doesn't excuse his behaviors, but san's had it quite rough before we eventually accepted him as an official member. always been a little fucked in the head but he's reliable and gets things done, which is why hongjoong made him the gunner. his violent nature has benefitted us more than not."

you visibly grimace at such information, or maybe it's just the mention of san himself.

"so you guys just let him run loose and do whatever he wants?" like stealing the future of an innocent girl.

jongho recognizes your anger, knowing you're in the absolute right to cry, kick, and scream about this.

"hongjoong did advocated to let you go when he found out but san said you already saw his face and mine and that it would be too dangerous to let you go. i'm sorry."

you certainly wanna cry about just being let go and you won't ever tell on them but you know it's not even worth it.

"so what do you do? i mean, everyone else seems to have a role, you must too, no?" you switch the subject.

he chuckles, a soft smile on his lips after.

"i thought you'd never ask. i'm the crew's navigator. no one knows the ins and outs of wonderland better than i do. at least no one on this ship."

"really?" you beam, the first time you ever felt true and pure excitement ever since stepping foot here. "like... you also have a map?"

he nods.

"can i... can i see it?" you ask shyly, to a genuine giggle from jongho.

"yeah, of course. i was just gonna work on it."

you watch in amazement as he turns to his side to fidget at something before pulling out the rolled up map in the palm of his hand, spreading it out on the table as your eyes go wide.

"wow," you sing, one finger tracing along the drawn islands, towns, rivers, and just about everything with names labeled on each. "this is amazing."

jongho hums along, nodding.

"sorry," you apologize, blushing lightly when you realize just how excited you might've come off. "it might sound silly but it was always my dream to make my own map of wonderland."

"is that so?"

"yeah... i've studied charts, currents, winds, coastlines, and read just about almost everything from the local library regarding the geography of wonderland. of course, nothing beats actually seeing the places for yourself. i hear each maps are always a little different. some more detailed than others. still, i think it'd be fun to create one of my own."

"you can!" he says just as elated as you. "how about... i give you some papers and pens to start with? i mean, it's a start, right?"

"that'd be awesome. it would also really give me something to do in that tiny cabin."

you're actually having such a good time with jongho as he tells you about his finding, walking you through every little thing on the map until you're both joined by the addition of yeosang and wooyoung, two other official members of the main crew.

you learn yeosang is the officer, usually in charge of giving everyone else not on the main crew their daily tasks, and then wooyoung is the cook--the brilliant mastermind behind all of the meals you consume.

the three are so much more lighthearted and easy to talk to compared to san and the other two you had the displeasure of meeting first, you almost wanna be in denial that they're even remotely on the same team.

you might've gotten a little too comfortable and carried away by the presence of the three that you have forgotten about san and completely misses his disapproving gaze the entire time.

it's only when wooyoung suddenly stops mid-sentence and gulps down nervously that you ask what's wrong.

"it's probably best you return to san. he doesn't look very happy."

you glance his direction again and can feel the hostility from the distance, the way he chugs at his drink and loudly slams it down on the table after, the sight already making you dread having to be alone with him.

maybe you should've just sat with him. but then again, he did say he wanted you to meet the guys... which you did, a couple of them at least.

you frown at wooyoung's suggestion, your expression already enough of a response that you'd rather much stay here but you don't say it, instead opting to watch san get out of his seat and laser you a glare before storming off.

you just roll your eyes in return, hoping to resume whatever conversation you were having with the guys and not have to worry about what awaits you after all this.

the rest of the night goes by and you probably feel the most relaxed you've been in a long while, only trying to enjoy the small moments and not think about what horrible things these guys are capable of in spite of actually being quite nice to talk to.

hongjoong and seonghwa shortly introduced themselves after san's departure, and the longer you're with hongjoong the more you can understand why he's the chosen captain.

something about him; the way he talks and presents himself, an aura so strong that you can feel it by just briefly locking eyes for a few seconds.

he controls the topics and knows exactly what to say to keep it going.

seonghwa is a lot more soft-spoken on the other hand, the kind to let things flow and let the people around him talk rather than take charge.

point is, you had a much better time than expected, you don't even wanna go back into that suffocating cabin if not for the night slowly coming to an end.

you bid farewell to the guys and make your way back to the cabin with a tight throat, every second closer to the door makes you wish you could turn back the other way.

you can see from the small window it's pitched black, knocking twice quietly with baited breath before just twisting the knob and finding it unlocked.

keeping the door opened while you reach for the lantern on the side, you jump the second the room lits up and you're finally able to make out san's eyebrows creasing together and with a gaze that could kill while he's sitting on the end of the bed with hands planted onto the sheet, having waited for you the entire time and not asleep like you thought he was.

"had your fun?" he speaks with a tone you can't quite read into, head lowering to the pen and parchment paper jongho had given you.

you clear your throat, shutting the door behind and setting both of it down on the free space shared with the lantern.

"yeah," you answer casually, unaware to the bubbling tension and that such carefree attitude might just be making it worse, walking past him to head for your clothes sitting on top of the drawer. "the guys were a lot more tolerable than i thought."

you mumble the same time you grab your clothes, "i'm gonna change so if you can--" your words dying in your throat midway when you barely spin around and san's already standing tall in front of you, you're literally only centimeters away from bumping into his chest.

"--go out," you finish off awkwardly, the way he has you cornered suddenly shifting the atmosphere--or maybe you just haven't noticed.

"thick-skinned of you to be acting so modest now when you were just throwing yourself at everyone earlier," he accuses, that same look of anger showing but now with something else as well. jealousy.

you retract, offended at such false claims.

"what the hell are you talking about? you wanted me to meet them and i did. that was all that happened."

"all that happened, huh? well you seemed to really enjoy yourself out there with all the attention."

you're in complete and uttter disbelief, you're not even sure what to say; only feeling smaller with his voice raising over you with such ridiculousness.

"whatever, san. think whatever you wanna think, but if you can leave for just a minute so i can finally--"

the clothes fall out of your grasp when he roughly grabs at both your wrists and cuts your words short due to the shock.

"you know what i hate more than a disobedient little bitch?" he growls lowly in your face, the goosebumps on you raising at that. "a disobedient little bitch who's also a whore."

he throws you onto the bed so fast you can barely process it, your worst fear coming to life when he crawls on top of you and traps you in between his arms.

your breathing becomes hitched and you try with your utmost strength to push him away but the effort goes to waste, his hands going to restrain your own as he pins them down onto the sheet beside your head.

and as if you haven't learned your lesson the first time, you spit right in his face again and he's expectedly pissed off about it... more than he already is.

he lets go of one of your hands to shove it under your dress to your protest, kicking with your legs and pushing with your free hand so he doesn't reach the place you're most afraid he would.

"san, please... stop," you cry, all you can do is hit his shoulder pathetically with whatever strength still left in you, but of course, he doesn't listen.

you feel his fingers sneak past your undergarment and to the very spot you've always thought only a lover should feel and see. not someone like san.

the warmness of his fingers running along your flesh has never made you feel so dirty in your life, but when you look into his eyes and see the sinister smile plastered so smugly on his lips, all you can feel is hatred.

his fingers entering you makes you shutter in disgust even if you arch your back slightly and let just the smallest moan slip, you realize in this very moment where you're powerless, the only thing that still holds some of that power are your words.

so you aim to hurt.

"i don't care. you can take my body, you can take whatever you want, but you'll never take my heart. i hate you and i always fucking will!" you shout at him, some of the smugness disappearing slowly at that.

"shut the fuck up!" he curses back, his speed picking up with his anger, but you just keep going.

"you ruined my life! i was doing just fine before you came along, and i already have someone i love! if you didn't take me, i would still be with him!"

that seems to about done it, his fingers stopping the same time his chest heaves in and out with fumes brimming under his nose.

"you think i give a fuck about that? about him? about whether you two loved each other?" he gets in your face. "you're mine now and i can do whatever i want to you."

you're just about to bite back when he roughly takes your lips in for a messy kiss and his fingers in your core goes back to pumping in and out at such a pace that has you almost squirming.

you shouldn't feel like this. you should only hate everything about this but your body has a mind of its own and you can't deny the pleasure overflowing from the work of san's fingers.

he's kissing you too roughly--biting, pulling and tugging, you have to brace your hold onto his shoulders just to keep from falling out of place.

"you act like you hate it, but you actually fucking love it, slut," he pulls from the kiss briefly to say, not allowing a response from you before crashing his lips onto yours again.

it all goes on for a while too long until you feel the walls of your vagina close in on his fingers and he finally pulls out with a plop the same time he breaks the kiss.

you feel dirty, used, and pathetic after. especially still laying in bed trying to catch your breath with your core still soaking wet, watching as san says nothing but gets up and leaves the room with a slam of the door.

you haven't seen san since he stormed off two days ago after such an experience that you'd rather forget about.

every time thinking back to it, you feel disgusted with yourself for even finding the slightest pleasure and enjoyment in a moment where you shouldn't--the guilt building in your stomach whenever the scene plays out again, and all you can think of is minsoo.

it's as if you've betrayed him--letting another man touch you in ways he shouldn't be allowed to.

different people comes in and out through the day to bring you food, each of them you cannot put a name to.

it's usually at 7 p.m. where your last meal is delivered, expecting for another nameless face to show but is taken aback when you see it's jongho himself.

he has a plate of cooked fish and water on the side, greeting you with a thin smile as he steps into the room and sets the food aside.

"how's things going for you?" he asks, voice a tinge of pity already.

you've been busying yourself with the same parchment paper and pen that jongho gave you, having drawn the cardinal directions and just about almost every islands belonging to those areas that you're aware of--its existence at least.

"i'm... alive, i guess?" because you're not really living. at this point, you're merely just breathing and coping. "how about san? i haven't seen him in two days."

it's not that you care. you much rather prefer it this way, but you just wonder what else he could be doing.

"he's upset."

you scoff, genuinely surprise someone like san can even remotely feel such an emotion.

"about what?" you ask dryly because you're failing to believe it.

"he wouldn't tell us all of it, but something about you having another lover already."

you keep quiet out of incredulity, because he can kidnap you and force things against your will, but dare you say something back that holds some truth and he's like a wounded animal.

"he said he'll be coming back tomorrow," jongho informs, seeing the irritation mixed with horror that crosses your face the second you hear those words.

"listen, y/n," he continues, voice still full of that softness you know jongho to sound like, but it's similar to the first time he met you in this cabin again, almost as if he's lecturing you. "i know it sucks."

"yeah, it does suck," is all you say, at this point derived of pretty much all hopes and chances of leaving this ship.

"but if you want to raise the odds of getting out of here, you have to stay on san's good side."

just jongho saying that feels like the first slip of sunlight you've gotten in ages; the revive of hope, even if only slightly. your eyes go wide and you can only stare before blurting, "you mean it?"

he still looks hesitant but eventually nods.

"we're now heading west... we've been for a couple of days now. i'm sure you're somewhat familiar with the myths regarding the seas surrounding the west. they're bigger, more dangerous, unpredictable... especially rocky port."

you only nod and continue to let him speak.

"it's the one place the guys want to avoid, though i've been trying to convince them we should try for it. i've been studying the currents and tide surrounding the area and i think we can make it there safely if we go at certain times but they still think it's too risky. lots of pirates and sailors are known to not make it out of the area."

"my point is," he adds, shaking his head as if going off on an unrelated tangent, "you have to convince san to head to rocky port. if he's with it, he might be able to get the rest to reconsider. and if you do make it happen, i'll help you escape."

your throat closes up, too much information to process and so many questions at once, but at the same time still able to feel the thrill from just the possibility of being free.

"how exactly is something i'm still working on, but i know all of their schedules; when san goes in and out of the cabin. i'll be the one to bring you food when most convenient and when i eventually think of something."

"but how am i gonna be able to convince him?" you ask, probably the part you're most confused about.

conflict is written all over his face before he answers, "you have to win his heart. whatever you have to do, it's the only way to gain his trust."

he looks over his shoulder to the door. "i have to go. i know this is asking a lot of you in return but there's no reward without risk, and we're both gonna be taking pretty big ones, so think of it as an exchange of favor."

when you don't say anything, he excuses himself, his back facing you.

"wait," you stop, just short of his grip on the door handle. "why are you helping me?"

you can see his smile from the side, his head only slightly turned back to look at you.

"because i think you deserve to choose your own destiny, don't you also?"

and even though he phrased it like a question, it's more of a statement because he doesn't let you answer, bidding you a goodnight and walking out leaving you to digest what happened just now.

--

you don't fully grasp the meaning of jongho's words until you're left to your own devices moments later, tossing and turning in bed.

“but if you want to raise the odds of getting out of here, you have to stay on san’s good side.”

“you have to win his heart. whatever you have to do, it’s the only way to gain his trust.”

the comprehension makes your skin crawls and you feel dirty all over again, similar to the last night you saw san.

but the cold, hard truth is that this is the world you're living in now. a world that you cannot survive in unless you strip yourself bare of any ounce of dignity and self-respect you have.

that if it's the only way you can possibly make it back to your father and minsoo again, you might have to take the chance.

betray who you are and lie in the face of the person you hate the most just to have your life back in your hand, though it should've never been taken in the first place.

san returns the following day just as jongho said he would; a creak of the door while you work on correcting details of the map, unmoved from your seat all day.

you look over your shoulder and merely meet his eyes but neither of you says anything before you pull away to look back down at the map.

there's a minute of silence just listening to him shuffle behind you, the small room allowing you to feel his presence not far away, glancing back as discreetly as possible to see he's unbuttoning his now white shirt.

if you have a choice, you wouldn't do it. but jongho's words ring loudly in your ears and all you can hear is the mission you're out to fulfill and the freedom that might come from it.

you take a deep breath and brace yourself for whatever's about to happen, sure enough that you've thought it through after a night of restless sleeping.

standing from your seat, you walk over to san and you can tell even he's surprise when your hands suddenly overtakes his on one of the buttons he's working through.

he glares at you, raising a brow in response.

"what?" he says coldly.

you clear your throat before speaking. "i-i just want to help you... as an apology for the other day."

you can barely look at him, afraid that he just might be able to see through you--and as much as you hate his guts, you have to admit he's attractive with very prominent features that complements the work he does.

he smirks at your answer because for someone like san, nothing strokes his ego more than thinking he's in the right; feeling your heartbeat multiply when he slowly pulls you in closer.

you thought you were ready to sacrifice anything but every inch of space closed off between you two, the doubts start creeping up if you truly are ready, given how much you actually wanna run.

"is that so?" his breath ghosts against your skin, proceeding to lift your chin up to lock eyes that has you blinking in apprehension; just the way he's staring at you sends a jump of butterflies to your stomach.

you only nod, trying to keep yourself from faltering on the spot when he goes to guide your fingers with the last three buttons, unclasping them one by one with a tension in the air that only grows when the last one comes undone.

his naked torso sits in front of you, and though you've seen it a couple times by now, you don't think you ever truly want to admire it more than right now, tracing the lines of his abs and rubbing over the bumps tenderly by your own doing.

soon, you take it upon yourself to pull the shirt off as it drops to the floor, the sight in front of you almost too delicious but wrong at the same time.

still, you have to get on his good side, staring up at him and biting at your lips like he's the only person you're ever gonna need for the rest of your life.

he's quick and fast to fulfill the look in your eyes, pulling you even closer by your arms until you're flushed against his bare chest and now trying to hide the fear despite knowing it's too late to back out now.

"how sorry are you, exactly?" he teases, eyes lowering to mock you.

"r-really sorry," you stutter out, attempting to keep the composure.

"then show me." he almost growls but it actually comes out a lot more mellow, his head dipping in for an immediate kiss that unlike any of the ones before, you don't fight it.

instead, you wrap your arms around his neck and return the kiss like you mean it. like you don't actually loathe his guts and wanna throw him overboard.

clashing your tongue along with his and continuing that even when your back hits the sheet of the bed and he's hovering over you before pulling away, a look in his eyes never so hungry and desperate in his life.

you watch as he unbuckles his pants and sees the bump protruding from his underwear, time seemingly passing by so slow and torturous you just wish for it to be over with.

and after a couple more minutes of passionately making out (at least that's what it looks like) where he undresses you in the process, he sends his fingers down the same way they were in before the last time you two were in this position.

moans and cries of pleasure escapes your lips against your will until your vision fills itself with only stars, your skin also betraying you and shuttering when he whisper words of insults into your ear.

"you look much better like this. under me where you belong."

and when he finally spreads your legs and rules over your body the only way he can--a squirm leaving you when he buries his entire length inside your cunt, the conflict swirling in your stomach reaches its height.

you've ever only imagined doing such a thing with someone you love, your heart clenching and a lone tear escaping at the fact that won't be happening anymore.

despite still having your arms around his neck and displaying no signs of resistance, you think of minsoo and your father to get through with it.

that you're doing it for a greater good; a chance. and one day, it will be worth it, even if it doesn't seem like it currently.

--

you learn what it means to really get on san's good side. that only when you throw away any ounce of respect you have for yourself, that's when you get his in return.

he's nicer to you and talks nicer to you, a sweet tone always on his tongue every time he tucks a hair behind your ear or every time he meets your eyes--staring at them so lovingly like he wasn't the one bringing out tears from them not even that long ago.

but you go with it. of course you do. stare at him right back with blinking lashes and return the same sweet words you don't even mean, all because he finally lets you out of the cabin.

not only allowing you out when he says so, but whenever you want. whenever you wanna get some fresh air or just walk around the ship, he said.

doing so has led you into the two other boys you haven't properly met up until this point--yunho and mingi, who were almost as responsible as san for your capture, and who doesn't seem to be as approachable as the others, always with a cold look on both their faces.

it just makes sense they were the ones to help san.

but on the bright side, sometimes while on the deck, you'll catch jongho coming from his cabin or already at a table, always sending you a smile and a knowing look.

though san lets you roam freely, a luxury you've still haven't earned is being able to talk to anyone.

he doesn't seem to trust you regarding that just yet, or maybe because every time you bring it up, there's still always that tinge of jealousy present similar to the first night when you finally met the other guys.

luckily, you don't have the need to talk to anyone but jongho, who does so as he said he would--sneaking an appearance in one day when it's time to eat.

it's also the one thing you told san you'd be okay with still doing in your room even if he gave you permission to go out with the rest. all so you can get the chance to speak one on one with jongho to know where exactly the plan is heading.

"how are you doing?" he asks, sitting across from you in the spare chair as you make the end of the bed your home.

to be in your position is tough. he knows this. he didn't wanna say it. tell you what you really have to do to get someone like san to even remotely look at you as a person of your own.

"it's been alright," you answer, doubting for second if it's the right one.

if you truly have been brainwashed, used to being confined down here like a prisoner all day that even being able to go out and catch some air is considered a privilege.

you should be more bitter and spiteful because in the end, no matter how high the highs are, it's still at the cost of yourself.

"i'm sorry again. for making you do this. it's... the only way i know how to get you out."

you shake your head, again with the half-baked lies you're feeding yourself, but you need the push to keep going so that the reality doesn't set in. something positive in all of this mess.

"it's fine, trust me," you tell him, as much as you're trying to tell yourself. "i'm okay. as long as we go through with it, it won't be for nothing."

because san's actually quite tender and loving after sex; his temper and need for aggression seemingly having died down after the first night and you're at least glad for that.

jongho stays silent, maybe a part of him already knows how you're feeling even if you don't say so.

"we'll be hitting up mist island tomorrow. it'll be the first place from the west. shortly after should be rocky reef. you have about four days from now to convince san. after reef, if we don't head for port after, the guys will make a detour and it'll be too late."

"also," he adds, "it's best you don't wander while we're still in the west. again, the waves are more aggressive here and it's gonna be pretty hard on the ship for the meantime."

you nod understandably.

"no chance of us flipping over or anything?" you let the joke slip as an attempt to lighten the mood.

jongho snickers lowly.

"i hope not," he replies with the same lighthearted tone. "no, but really. we'll be fine. i've advised them to take a less taxing route."

you smile at that, though the idea of the ship overturning doesn't sound too bad, especially if it takes san with it.

jongho goes on, "by the way, just so we're clear and you're not thinking why i didn't help you sooner, if there's a place that you'll have the best chance of successfully fleeing, it'll be rocky port. i heard they have one of the best systems, as well as some of the best sailors and navigators to know the sea due to having lived in such a rough area. it will be your best bet back to dune. plus, you said your father is sick?"

"yes."

"they have good medicines. plants known for curing diseases no man was able to. if you do return, it might help your father."

you've never felt happier (at least in the entirety you've been on this ship) that you might not only be free from san's grip but that there's also a chance you'll be able to help your father if he already hasn't gotten better.

"if i'm able to convince him, how would we go at it if we do get there?"

he quirks his lips slightly. "you make up some kind of excuse and i'll fight to be the one to escort you, whatever it is. from there, i'll give you all the coins you'll ever need to get someone to take you back to dune, along with any medicines you need for your father which i should be able to acquire considering we usually tour the places out of disguise beforehand."

"and if san comes looking for me?"

"he won't. i'll make sure he won't. just stay in hiding and don't even come out until the crack of dawn. our ship should be leaving by then and i'll also make sure of that. we also won't be stepping foot into any of the south seas again and if san tries, you can put your trust in me i'll do everything that doesn't happen."

you don't know whether to be impressed or scared the fact jongho seems to have thought just about everything through.

"thank you, jongho. really." your voice full of gratitude you can't express enough in words.

he smiles in response.

"no need to thank me. i'm just trying to do the right thing, i guess."

there's a few seconds where you guys just embrace the comfortable silence until jongho speaks again.

"i have to go. stay any longer and the others might start raising an eyebrow. good luck, okay? i'll talk to you soon."

you nod. "you, too. good luck."

it sounds like enough of a thorough and executable plan, right?

you can tell san's in the mood based on the first few gestures he makes when he gets in bed, usually whispering into your ear and running his fingers under your shirt if he's up for it--and delivering just a short kiss to your cheek and goodnight if he isn't.

when he sends a quick peck to your cheek, you're not surprise he doesn't want to tonight.

they'll finally be landing in the west tomorrow so the guys must've had quite a hefty discussion considering he was gone for most part of the day.

"san," you call his name quietly in the night, taking it upon yourself to start a conversation and shifting on your side to meet his eyes in the darkly lit room.

"yeah?" he replies.

he looks so calm in such a setting, his face deprived of any malice and signs that tells of the actual man he is.

"we'll be landing in mist island tomorrow?" you ask with feigning innocence.

"yeah."

"i-is it okay if i go out tomorrow? for a little bit? i really wanna see the place." you put on your sweetest tone because it's a genuine question. you do.

you've always wondered what islands, towns, and cities beyond dune are like, but even more so what's beyond the south seas. you hear they're more prosperous; filled with riches and buildings you won't ever see down in the south.

even the people are different.

but when san is seemingly unfazed, his thumb going to caress one side of your face instead, you already know the answer.

"sorry, dear. can't just yet. not until we get to the north at least. you'll be able to roam more freely then."

the north. you think of how nice that sounds. finally seeing for yourself what you've always dreamed of, as if places from fairytales you've been reading since you were a child coming to life.

but for once, you wish you won't have to see it. wish that the west--that rocky port is as far as you make it.

you take a deep breath, sighing into the night. "fine."

at least when they're gone tomorrow, it'll give you time to really think through a believable enough lie that'll get san and the rest to where you need to be.

--

the spot next to you is empty when you wake up, your head slightly throbbing whether from how the ship fought the sea of the west last night, or maybe it's the new chatters and voices of the morning.

one of the biggest signs of being close to land are the presence of other people.

the event of yesterday hits you, recalling the ship should now be in mist island, you're quick to peek outside the small window of the door, only able to see crates and maybe the heads of a few passersby.

it doesn't hurt to just get a glance, right? it's the least san should allow you to do if he isn't gonna let you out.

you twist the knob of the door, pushing it forward only to come face first with one of san's men standing outside. of course.

but the smell... it's fresher, your nose sniffing the air like a fish fresh out of water and the cold that grazes your skin along with a breeze is different.

you're not very used to such weather and condition because you grew up in the south where it was basically summer all year long--the reason why most of the places there are named either after the sun or the heat.

"you can't be out here," he tells you sternly that you almost wanna roll your eyes to.

"i know. i just wanna look for a bit."

you quickly scan the area (at least the parts you can see) with awe, noticing along the way the light fog that seems to grace the place permanently and sticking to its name of mist island.

the buildings isn't rundown or made of bamboo and whatever woods they could find, and though it doesn't hold the familiarity of dune and the south seas with townsfolk running all over the place, citizens still populates the sidewalks and talk to each other... in a more calm and tame manner.

no running or fooling around, a certain grace in even the way they stand, but especially in the way they dress.

no clothes that looks worned or unwashed, the fabrics clean and polished to the eyes.

"ma'am?" he breaks your train of thoughts, to which you really roll your eyes in return this time.

"i know."

you give the place one last admiration before stepping back inside the cabin of doom, jongho's words playing in your head.

"you have about four days from now to convince san. after reef, if we don’t head for port after, the guys will make a detour and it’ll be too late.”

you only have three more days. tonight, they will leave for reef and you're gonna need to strike as soon as possible--pacing around the room to think of anything you can possibly use against san.

he's an asshole, but he isn't stupid.

and after a few hours of going in circle, you think it just might work.

“they have good medicines. plants known for curing diseases no man was able to. if you do return, it might help your father.”

--

it's the next night after mist island and before they can even reach rocky reef. you figure the time is as good as now, giving san at least two days to think it through instead of stalling and only having one where he could possibly rush the decision.

his chest is pressed up against your back with his hard-on rubbing at your thighs, his fingers slowly sneaking under your shirt.

he's more likely to be in the mood on days where he does very little and has more energy reserved at the end of the night. you also made sure to be extra sweet to him today since you planned this out, but now going on to stop his hand short of reaching your breast.

"san," you call, similar to the other night.

"what?" he answers boredly, at this point already accustomed to you only calling his name when you need something, which you admit you're guilty of.

you turn to face him, holding your breath before spewing the first few words of the lie you've been brewing, having thought out every possible scenarios and responses ahead of time.

"i'm not feeling too well."

not only did you make sure you were on your best behaviors today, but you also made sure to act sick whenever he was around--coughing, sighing from time to time, lower energy, and maybe be a bit dramatic so he'll notice.

it doesn't seem like he did, or maybe he just doesn't care. but he won't have any reasons to doubt if you bring it up.

"i think it may be that i'm not used to the cold or maybe i caught something, i'm not sure," you add onto the lie when he doesn't say anything, only slightly raising a brow in response.

"and how long have you been feeling like this?"

"starting yesterday. i thought i was just feeling a little under the weather and it'd go away but it seems to have gotten worse today."

you wait in anticipation, not wanting to jump ahead of yourself. it's better you be patient and calculate the responses when the timing is right, but the way he looks just permanently stuck in a trance of thinking is slowly starting to tick you off.

"it shouldn't be too bad. it'll probably go away after a few days, and if not, we're reaching reef tomorrow and can get you something there."

well, he sure does have a way to disappoint.

"but what if it doesn't?" your pitch grows higher, even turning your lips downward for a pout. "c-can we go to rocky port after reef?"

you have expected the confusion to cross san and it's exactly what happens. but you also know that as much as san claims to give a shit about you, that reason alone isn't gonna be enough to move him.

"plus, wouldn't it also be good for you guys to go there? skipping an entire island means losing an entire island's worth of coins, goods... they also have advanced medicines and remedies. you guys can take some for the journey."

you can't tell if it's annoyance crossing him or he's just in deep thoughts trying to digest your words and weighing all the pros and cons of it.

"i'll think about it," he finally says after some time, much to your relief and joy.

it's a good start. not a definitive answer but at least he isn't dismissing the idea entirely.

"i'll have to talk it over with hongjoong and the rest first," he adds, to a nod from you and a smile he doesn't fully see in the dark. "if you're not feeling well, then get some rest . i'll talk to you in the morning."

he places a kiss to your forehead before pulling back to your blinking eyes.

"goodnight, san," you coo.

"goodnight."

--

you wake up a couple times throughout the night due to the harsher ripple of water, most of them to san staring back and attempting to calm you to sleep again.

for your final wake, he takes you into his arms and cradles you, resting his chin on top of your head that's buried into his chest as you close your eyes and let the drowsiness take over.

it's almost weird how safe you can feel in the presence of him in a situation like this.

--

the arrival to rocky reef is no different than before; only thing different is the time much later in the afternoon, allowing for you to spend some time with san, proceeding to ask him briefly before he leaves if you can take a look at the place from where you are.

he says to not make it too long, taking his official leave and sending one of his men outside the door again in replacement.

and if you think the people and buildings in mist island were nice, rocky reef is even nicer. it's plausible that at this point, the further you head north, the more sophisticated it will only get.

the entire time he's gone, you keep your head straight so you don't lose focus on your initial goal--that tonight, san has to make the decision or else it'll be too late.

"i got these for you," he says, handing you a bottle of pills after returning from the long day, his black attire still stuck to his skin. "you feeling any better?"

you shake your head, quite desperate at this point. you really need it to work or else you'd have to face jongho with the news of failure.

"not really," you answer, voice timid and sick to the best of your ability.

he doesn't say anything while he changes out of his shirt, facing you again when it's off--a look on him like something dying to leave his throat.

"i talked to hongjoong and the rest."

you keep calm and let him talk even if you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

"they said it'd be good to give it a try. rocky port... jongho's also talked about it before and knows a way around it."

"r-really?" your heartbeat seems to get louder, but this time out of relief and an excitement different from any before.

"yeah," he confirms, the smile on him morphing into a smirk at the state of you. "a bit esctatic, aren't you?"

you gulp. "well, yeah. i mean, i-i wasn't sure if it was gonna happen at all."

"it's gonna happen, and you have me to thank for."

the next two days are a mix of anxiety and thrill, now that you've set the course, all there's left is to execute it.

jongho shared a knowing nod just the other day when you passed by the deck, casually and naturally starting a conversation with you before quietly slipping a note that you opened only when you were alone.

i'm glad you followed through. i appreciate it. i haven't been bringing in foods because i want to avoid any attention and suspicions for when we do eventually arrive at port. i hope you're taking care of yourself in the midst of all of this. when we're there, i'll give you the sign and just follow my lead - jongho

you still carry on your performance of being unwell so san knows whatever he got you from mist island didn't work; the pretentious state serving you more benefits than you would've thought.

other than kissing you a good morning and good night and cuddling you from behind during sleep, he doesn't initiate any other forms of intimacy, you honestly can't believe you haven't put up the act sooner.

but even if he does, you console in the hope that in just a day, you'll be free from his grip forever; that you'll do anything in exchange for freedom even if that's spending another night with san, body tangled and having to catch your breath under him.

everyone has been warned to keep off the deck aside from jongho who knows the route more than anyone, so if san isn't stuck to the bed flipping through pages of whatever he's reading, he's sniffing the hair down your neck and taking interest in the progress you've made on the 'map' so far.

--

it's the most restless night of sleep you've ever gotten, having to reframe from tossing and turning due to your back being practically glued to san's chest, but you still stare into the darkness with a heavy heart.

everything you and jongho did is for this very moment. a part of you thrilled, of course, but another is also filled with doubts with just the smallest possibility of it going wrong.

what would san do to you if he found out? if he caught you in the midst of the plan and realized everything that has been going on. what would he do to jongho?

and exactly what sign is jongho gonna use? what if you miss it? your mind races with uncertainty, scaring yourself into sleep because you wouldn't want san to suspect why you're still up and about and with a heartbeat that's about to burst.

the morning after san leaves as he usually does, you pace around the room biting your nails in apprehension, eventually deciding to fold the map you've been working on the smallest you possibly can and shoving it into the pocket of your pants.

it's the only thing in this room worth bringing if you have to make a run for it now.

the voices outside seems to only get louder the more hours go by, and just when you're thinking when jongho's gonna give you any sort of sign, the knock at the door takes your breath away.

it's jongho, his expression neutral and eyes skimming past your shoulders into the room before uttering a "come with me".

you follow behind him to the rest of them on the deck, all their heads turning at once, but you especially don't miss san's--a rather unamused look on his face that makes you swallow the knot in your throat.

"i told you, i can take her myself," san says, glaring straight at jongho.

"no. hongjoong and the rest need you. it's best you stay here. we'll be back before you even know it," jongho assures, the way he talks full of confidence and you could almost believe him.

san fumes, annoyance written all over him, but before he can object again, seonghwa beats him to it.

"jongho's right. it's best he takes her. he knows the place better, and plus, we'll need you here in case anything happens."

you watch san struggle with himself, a word on the tip of his tongue not coming out and sighing in irritation until he eventually gives in.

"fine. but no later than evening, or else i'll come to scrounge these ground myself."

a calm smile rest at jongho's lips, his body bending forward to bow slightly. "of course."

as you follow jongho off the ship, you sneak a brief glance at san because if everything goes as planned, it'll hopefully be the last time you see him.

"what did you tell them?" you ask, when at a safe enough distance from the watchful eyes of the others.

"that it's best you go see a doctor," he explains.

"and where are we going exactly?"

"somewhere far enough from here," is all he says. you don't question him or even have the time to admire the scenery, your mind too entirely occupied by a single goal.

you just keep walking, not sure for how long but when jongho finally stops for the first time, your know your legs are gonna be sore tomorrow.

"here," he says, taking off the pouch that has been sitting around his waist the entire time and handing it to you. "it has all the coins you need to get someone to take you back and extra as well for anything else. i also dropped by the pharmacy as soon as we arrived and got what i could."

you're speechless, staring at the pouch a little too long. the moment bittersweet like saying goodbye to a lifelong friend.

"thank you, jongho," you tell him the same time you take the pouch, throwing it over your head and onto your shoulder like a crossbody bag. "i don't know how to thank you enough."

"there's no need. i already know, trust me," he comforts you with a smile. "you remember what i said, right?"

you nod, repeating the words he said to you last time, "stay in hiding and don’t even come out until the crack of dawn."

"good. i'll be on my way now."

you're surprise when his back is already to you and feet about to start walking away, your voice raising to stop him for one last time.

"jongho..."

he stops in place and turns to you only halfway, "yeah?"

"how are you gonna deal with it when san finds out?"

he smiles and proceeds to tell you calmly, "don't worry. i have my ways. good luck, y/n."

you take a short breath, choosing to believe in him.

"you, too. good luck, jongho."

6 months later

at the time, you weren't sure if it was gonna work; the chances of it all crashing down higher than not... but it did.

you stayed in hiding on a hungry stomach and barely any sleep even past the crack of dawn, the ship probably already gone for hours by the time you finally peeked around the corner, each steps bolder and closer to the dock to confirm the departure of the ship that filled your head with mostly negative memories.

from then, with the money jongho had given you, you were able to get someone to take you back to dune--the look on your father's face when you returned as vivid as the day it happened, as if you came back from the dead.

it's the same look minsoo and a few other townsfolk gave you, none of them able to accurately explain your disappearance; only that it happened the same day the pirates raided.

some thought you were dead, or worse--sold off somewhere, because there was no way a girl like you would be able to survive out in the seas with a group of thieves and possibly murderers.

they all considered your return a miracle, and so did you--the first couple of days bombarded with questions of your exact whereabouts and you remember not even knowing where to start.

you remember still processing everything and mourning for the life you thought you had lost; as if given another chance at it again.

everyone you told asked if you saw the faces of the pirates that took you, but you simply lied and said you didn't. you just think everything is better left in the past, not having to dwell on it or to want some kind of retribution for what happened.

you feel that somewhat and somehow, jongho must've known this; the fact you wouldn't rat them out.

but the event gave you a new outlook on life, how you used to want to get out of such a small place but now you have no other desire but to stay here with the people you love for as long as possible.

it taught you to be grateful for what you have because in any given second, those things could be taken away.

minsoo had been caring for your father during the time you were gone, and with the remedies and medicines jongho gave you, your father was able to recover within just a matter of days.

now, you've gone back to the routine of tending crops and animals with your father to make ends meet and you wouldn't trade it for the world--life seemingly back to just as it was before. safe and secure.

you spent the first two months in paranoia, afraid every single day that just by chance, jongho would break his promise or knowing how san is, he'd find a way back somehow.

only until you realized you were wasting more time worrying than living life did you learn to give it up. if he wanted to find you, he would've already.

but just because he wasn't next to you anymore didn't mean he still didn't hold some sort of power over you, ever since sleeping with him and doing things only lovers did, you no longer wish to do any of those with minsoo.

even if you hold great feelings for minsoo--feelings you can't ever hold for san, you can't help but to think of him at any thoughts of intimacy.

there isn't a single thing you're unable to talk about with minsoo, the boy the least judgmental person you know, but you won't ever tell him what you had to give up in order to come back to him.

--

the view from atop of the hill is the same as you remember, a few months ago your breath taken away when you finally saw it again for the first time in a while.

ever since, you and minsoo has been making it more of a habit to show--even more than before.

when you look out far enough, you can still picture all the other islands, towns, and settlements--most of them you've actually been to yourself. but now, only the mere idea of it sounds good.

you like being here, exactly where you are.

"so, you ever think of finishing the map?" minsoo would always ask, and you'd always tell him 'maybe'.

he thinks it's impressive but you wish he had seen jongho's work. sometimes, you get the urge to tell him about jongho and how much he helped you. but again, it's all things you wanna leave behind.

on the way home, you pick up a couple groceries to make soup for your father, learning new recipes a hobby of yours lately on top of picking up new books.

you've adapted to the routine even if it's repetitive, making sure your father eats before sending him off to bed so you can occupy yourself with whatever book you managed to find from the library this week for the next hour before calling it a night.

you're just about to sip on your tea when the knock at the door at such an odd hour takes your attention, placing the book down on the nearby table immediately and getting up from the seat.

if it's not minsoo, you don't know who else. unless one of the neighbors wanna complain again.

you fling the door open, a snarky remark already slipping because you're so sure it's minsoo. "why are you--"

but all you need for confirmation it's not him and that life really is so cruel and unfair, is for you to come face first with that stupid tattoo that is every reminder of the hell you thought you were free from.

that black ink on his chest in the shape of an ‘a’ and a circle you wanna scrape off just as much as the equally stupid smirk on his face.

"miss me, princess?"

a/n: story has been in my drafts for over a year now & iomt san rlly helped in finally making it happen. literally got most of my pirate knowledge from the one piece live action lmfaooo

[alsofoundinpeas]

I Don't Need To Know

Summary: Spencer Reid has no choice but to watch the love of his life fall in love with another man. 

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Major character death. HEAVY angst. Bittersweet ending? Graphic depictions of violence (for maybe two lines). Fingering (f receiving). P in v sex/unprotected sex (in terms of a condom, birth control is mentioned). Loss of virginity (both m and f). Creampie (god I hate that word ugh!!). Slight age gap (roughly five years). Argument scene that may be triggering for readers that have experienced SA or manipulation from a partner (nothing of that nature actually happens, but just in case).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: This is inspired by Will He by Joji, so I highly recommend listening to it while reading. I cried several times while writing this, but I felt it needed to be done so here it is. :’) Please tell me what you think! If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all :) (I also ask that my work not be uploaded to other platforms or translated without my explicit permission. Thank you!)

I got knots all up in my chest… Just know, I’m trying my best…

Spencer had always found the saying “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” absurd. He couldn’t fathom willingly letting go of something he loved on the off chance that it would come back to him. Not after having everything he’d ever loved ripped from his clutches throughout his lifetime. To him, love wasn’t about releasing someone to see if they’d return. It was about holding on as though his very survival depended on it—like a feral cat finally finding food after days of hunger, sinking its teeth in and never letting go, no matter the cost. 

It wasn’t until today that Spencer finally understood the meaning of that stupid phrase. And he wished with every intricate thread of his being that he didn’t. 

Five years. Five long, agonizing years had passed. So why was he here now? Why, after what felt like an eternity of pleading for just one more moment with her, did the universe decide now was the time to give him what he wanted? 

Ironically, the timing only drove home another phrase he’d always hated: “Be careful what you wish for.” 

There she was, as beautiful as the day he’d met her, sitting in the corner of what had once been their favorite café. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches on her ring, the enticing glinting of the jewelry drawing his eyes away from her face momentarily. His heart is in his throat. She’s still wearing the wedding ring he’d given her, twisting it in the same nervous fashion she always used to. 

And there across from her is a man that isn’t him making her smile. 

‘Cause when you look… When you laugh… When you smile… I’ll bring you back…

Spencer Reid had never been a particularly angry man. He had his moments—who didn’t?—but he usually considered himself level-headed, patient. But now, watching Y/N hide a bashful smile behind the rim of her mug as she gazed at the man across from her, all Spencer could feel was rage. Raw, unbridled rage. It flared up inside him as her head tipped back, the sound of her laughter crashing over him like a tidal wave, stirring his veins with a violent rush. The same sound he’d yearned to hear again for five fucking years. And it was all because of him—Ben. 

That was his girl. His perfect, beautiful girl. The love of his life. His angel. 

All Spencer could do was stand there, feeling every broken shard of his non-existent heart pierce his chest. 

And now I’m sad… And I’m a mess… And now we high… That’s why I left… That’s why I left…

It wasn’t meant to be like this. Spencer had never wanted to leave her. But that choice wasn’t his to make. 

That cold, cruel September night six years ago had robbed Spencer of his very existence. 

Everything that could have gone wrong during that case did. The bullet wasn’t meant for him, but he took it anyway. He had traded his life in exchange for JJ’s. It wasn’t even meant to be heroic. It wasn’t done out of love. It was just instinct. It’s who he was as a person. 

Was. 

The word leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Because that’s his reality now. He was a person; an agent, a professor, a son, a husband…

Now he’s… well, that he didn’t quite understand. As a man of science, Spencer was stumped by what he could even call his existence now. Calling himself a ghost felt silly—he felt as alive as the day he’d died. And yet, that was essentially what he was. A whisper of the person he’d once been. A soul caught between worlds. 

Spencer could still feel the exact moment his soul wrenched free from its physical tether to the world. Even recalling it sent a shiver down his spine. It hadn’t been peaceful, as so many people claimed in interviews. No… it had been agony in its purest form; white hot and searing as his very essence clawed its way out from his ribs. There was no light waiting for him to step into it and find peace.

Instead, he had watched helplessly as the team he called his family swarmed his dead body, uselessly screaming for a medic as the crimson puddle underneath him grew and smeared beneath their hands as they knelt beside him. He had watched Y/N swing open their door that fateful night, the excited grin on her face vanishing as she came face to face with a tearful Emily instead of the husband she’d been eagerly waiting for. And he had watched the guilt eat away at JJ as their eyes met at his funeral, the hatred on Y/N’s face so raw it made Spencer’s own stomach twist. 

Despite the Bureau's insistence, she took charge of every detail—planning his funeral in a way that honored everything Spencer would have wanted. Y/N held Diana as she wept over her baby boy's body. She delivered a eulogy that left even Spencer in shambles. She was the first person to arrive and the last to leave, waiting until everyone had left to sink to her knees beside his casket and howl her grievances. 

For that first year, Y/N was as strong as she could be during the day. She handled everything that needed to be done, as long as the sun was still up. But when night fell, and the suffocating silence of their empty home settled in… that’s when she’d finally let herself break. 

Spencer had never been a religious man, but the year after his death felt like an endless descent into his own personal hell. He would never escape the sound of those gut-wrenching screams. He cursed whatever force had condemned him to an eternity where he could do nothing but watch, powerless as Y/N crumpled to the floor night after night, her wails so desperate it seemed as though she thought breaking the sound barrier might somehow bring him back to life. 

All he could do was stay beside her, silently pleading for his touch to somehow reach her, his hands brushing over her again and again, unnoticed and unfelt. 

Time was no longer a concept to Spencer. 

The limits of his existence perplexed him. He couldn’t roam freely, couldn’t go where he pleased—he could only follow where Y/N went. It was as if his very soul was bound to hers, linked by some invisible string that kept him tied to her even in death. It brought him both joy and sorrow: joy in the fact that he could still watch her, still admire the way she carried on, and sorrow because she would never know he was there, silently urging her forward, so incredibly proud of her strength. 

The longer he lingered, the more control he gained over his abilities. It started with the smallest things—a strand of hair lifting with the brush of his fingers, a faint chill against her skin as he cradled her face while she slept. But soon, it became more. Doors creaked open as he stepped into rooms behind her, and objects shifted ever so slightly from their places when he pushed with just enough force. 

There were times when she seemed to sense him—moments Spencer cherished more than anything. In those fleeting instances, it felt as though she could see him, even though he knew she couldn’t. Every day, rain or shine, she visited his grave, and when she spoke to him, her gaze would drift forward, as if she were looking into the honey-colored eyes she once loved. Her hands would rest open in her lap, as though she knew he was holding them. When she was home, she’d speak aloud every thought that came to mind, as though she knew he could hear every word that fell from her perfect lips. And he always responded as if she could hear him in return. That was their new life for the first year after his death. 

After a year and one day, he was gone. 

That’s where his understanding of the phrase “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” came from. It was because she had set him free. 

One whole year had passed. The hardest year of Y/N’s life. She had knelt by his grave, laying fresh flowers with trembling hands, her tears falling freely for hours. When she finally stood to leave, her legs unsteady beneath her, she pressed a soft kiss to his headstone. Through her tears, she whispered how much she missed him, how he never left her thoughts, and how she’d never stop loving him—but above all, she wished he could be at peace. And on the night following the anniversary of his passing, her wish was granted. He had faded into nothingness, existing only in her dreams and memories for five long years. 

But now, he was back. Because he had always been hers. 

Will your tongue still remember the taste of my lips? Will your shadow remember the swing of my hips? 

Spencer remembered their first time like it was yesterday, though he wasn’t sure if he could thank his eidetic memory or the fact that it was because of how remarkable it had been for the memory lingering so vividly...

“You’re lying! You’ve really never had sex before?” 

Y/N squawked the words incredulously as she sat atop Spencer’s lap, grinning down at the stammering mess of a man beneath her. Spencer’s hands flexed against her hips, unintentionally squeezing as he took a deep breath to calm himself. 

They were inside Spencer’s apartment, having enjoyed the museum and dinner but still craving each other’s company too badly to end the night there. What started as sweet, innocent pecks pressed up against the kitchen counter had quickly devolved into ravenous, passionate kisses that had them stumbling towards the couch. It was going so well… until Spencer panicked after Y/N had whispered into his ear asking how far he wanted things to go. 

That resulted in him spewing out the fact that he, at twenty-six years old, was a virgin.

“No, I haven’t! Why is that so hard to believe?” Spencer huffs, his small smile belying his annoyed tone. 

It was their sixth date total in a span of four months, but it was their first date as an actual couple. Spencer had reluctantly agreed to let Penelope set him up on a blind date after his failed attempt at taking JJ out had shattered any of the confidence he’d built up, leaving the man petrified of taking his chances romantically again. He suspected Penelope’s pity for him was why she was setting up said date to begin with, but he quickly found himself grateful that he went. 

Y/N had been friends with Penelope for years, having bonded online over some indie punk rock band that was no longer around and developing a close friendship from there despite their age difference. When Penelope found out Y/N had moved to Virginia and was single, she couldn’t resist setting the two up. 

It’s Y/N’s turn to stammer as she quickly thinks of a response. “I, uh… you’re just so handsome that I naturally assumed you’d had sex before.” 

Spencer blinks up at her skeptically, trying to detect even the faintest clue that the otherworldly woman in his lap was lying to him. All he found was nervous adoration as she stared back down at him, her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink. It suited her. He wanted to cause it more often. 

“I had, um… I graduated super early from both high school and college, so I didn’t do much dating.” 

Instead of the judgment Spencer expected to see spread across her face, Y/N simply just hummed in understanding, her eyes curious as they watched him. He’d elaborate more on his unfortunate (for lack of a better term) adolescence later. For now, he just wanted to keep from scaring the poor girl off of his lap so he could taste her sweet chapstick again. 

“I see…” Y/N murmurs before continuing, shifting forward slightly with a smirk. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m also a virgin.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened almost comically as he gawked up at her. His heart stutters in his chest, his mouth going dry. His tongue pokes out in a meek attempt at wetting his lips, his voice cracking as he responds. 

“Et tu, Y/N?” 

Oh fuck. Spencer hadn’t meant to let the lame reference slip from his mouth. She just made him so nervous that he couldn’t think straight, and Rome had been heavily on his mind since she had perched herself in his lap. Specifically Roman goddesses, because she looked like she should be amongst them on their thrones. Surely she was going to leave now—-

Loud, genuine laughter bubbles from Y/N’s lips, the noise startling Spencer as she tips her head back and her hands grip his shoulders to stabilize herself. She thought it was funny. She thought he was funny. 

“That’s, like, the last thing I expected you to say,” Y/N managed once her laughter had simmered down into giggles. “But, to answer your question… I too have really never had sex before.” 

Spencer knew that it wasn’t due to a lack of suitors. The woman was sex personified; the archetype of beauty and seduction wrapped into one perfect being. The twitching in his pants brought his attention back to the situation at hand. He could ask her later why that was. For now, he brought his focus back to her. 

In an uncharacteristically bold move, Spencer tilted his head up to brush their noses together. “Would you… would you want to?” 

It didn’t take a profiler to notice the hitch in her breath or the almost imperceptible squeezing of her thighs around his hips. Her pupils were already blown, her lower lip trembling from what Spencer prayed was anticipation and not regret as his question settled over her. The silence stretched between them, the seconds feeling like hours in Spencer’s overly anxious mind. 

He’d done it now. He’d gone off and opened his stupid mouth and frightened the one woman he could actually see himself having a future with because the head straining against his zipper overruled the head housing his supposed genius level IQ. The apologies were already forming in the back of his throat, but they weren’t needed because she— she was kissing him? 

“God, yes. Please,” Y/N murmured eagerly against his lips, effectively clearing every cohesive thought from his brain. 

If Spencer thought her words were enough to bring upon his undoing, he was sorely mistaken. The grinding of her hips against his erection ignited something inside of him that he had no idea existed. It was feral, drowning out all of his other emotions and replacing them with one thing: primal, unfiltered desire. 

Spencer understood now why men used to start wars over women. 

With each gasp that fell upon his ears, Spencer pledged his allegiance to her. Every stuttered moan that came into existence from his hips rutting up into her clothed core fueled his devotion to her. It was animalistic, the way his hands gripped her ass and pulled her tighter against his body as his mouth devoured her now, every cell swimming through his veins screaming for more. More of her touch, more of her taste, more of her sounds... God, those heavenly sounds that had Spencer finally believing in salvation, if only in the form of her skin against his.  

Tongues danced together as layers were hastily stripped away. Layers of insecurity. Layers of self-doubt. Layers of uncertainty. Their clothes fell to the ground as though the fabric burned them, clumsy hands fidgeting with buttons and tugging at zippers with a vendetta. 

Those layers that had crumbled so easily were replaced instead with the firm knowledge that this was exactly where they were meant to be: in each other’s arms, trembling and panting as their world’s trajectory tilted so violently it uprooted them from their upright position, knocking them down against the leather cushions as their bodies attempted to mend their separated souls back into one. 

Spencer choked on the words he wanted to worship her with, so instead he used the most primitive sense he could to get his message across: touch. His lips sucked purpling reminders into the crook of her neck of what they both knew to be true now: He is hers just as much as she is his. Lithe fingers tugged the soaked fabric of her lace panties down until they landed in a heap with their other clothes. Those same fingers pause at the crest of her most intimate spot, his eyes meeting hers with a silent plea. 

Y/N found herself in the same position, her words failing her as they were strangled in her throat by the overwhelming adoration she felt for the man hovering above her. Instead of chanting her desire for Spencer to please touch her, she canted her hips up in approval. 

Her moans were swallowed by swollen lips that claimed the sound straight from her body as nimble fingers dug themselves into the deepest parts of her. Their rhythm was clumsy but steadfast, her hips bucking against his hand in jerky movements as the palm of his hand pressed against her clit. Spencer’s own hips ground against the bare skin of her thigh, shielded only by the immature fabric of his equation-covered boxers. 

Spencer hadn’t for a second thought the night was going to go like this. If he had known he’d have the definition of art itself clawing at his shoulders and panting into his mouth while he made her legs tremble beneath him, he wouldn’t have worn what he deemed his lucky boxers. At least they had done their job, he supposed. 

Their lips separated completely as a guttural moan wrenched its way from Y/N’s throat, her body beginning to thrash wildly underneath him as the tension in her lower belly coiled tighter. Spencer wouldn’t allow her first time to happen on his couch. She was much too precious for that. But he’d already made the decision to unravel her at least once while they were there, to bring her over the edge before taking her into his bedroom so that he could experience the glorious sight of her falling apart more than once tonight. 

Spencer was a virgin, not a prude. He’d seen porn before. He’d read erotic novels. Anything he could use to try to prepare himself for the real experience, he did. But nothing could have prepared him for the downright visceral reaction Y/N had as his fingers curled and brushed against the rough patch of skin inside of her that caused the tension building in her body to snap. Her cries of pleasure tore through him as her pussy clenched around his fingers, his free hand leaving its place beside her head to keep her thighs pried open. He quickly shifted up onto his knees to watch her taking his fingers as she came, taking the pleasure he inflicted upon her. 

He sang her praises while slowing his pace, cooing softly at her as he stroked her hair and worked her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. Only when she was squirming and whining beneath him did he finally remove his fingers, sucking them into his mouth greedily. Y/N’s mouth gaped open as her chest heaved, her eyes locked on Spencer as his tongue lapped over his fingers, enjoying her essence with a groan. Her body sagged into the couch, a delighted laugh spilling from her exhausted frame as she smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling in the dim light of his living room. 

“Do you still want to keep going?” Spencer breathed as he gazed down at her, his cheeks flushed and eyes full of something that made Y/N's heart flutter. “B-because we can stop there if you want. I just… I want to do what makes you happy.” 

Above her was the man she’d recognized, soft and timid, but now with a newfound air of confidence in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Above her was the man that she wanted more than anything. Above her was the man that she knew, without a shadow of doubt, would be her husband. 

“Spencer… if you don’t fuck me right now, then I’ll die a virgin, right here on your couch... and it will be all your fault.” 

Spencer’s hearty chuckles filled the room, his nose twitching as he grinned down at the dramatic woman. He simply couldn’t let that be her fate, could he? 

Shaking his head, he stooped down to press a gentle kiss to her nose before standing from the couch, offering her his (clean) hand. Y/N’s face twisted in confusion as she stared up at him, still reeling from the earth-shattering orgasm surprisingly given to her by the same man who’d eagerly rambled about the lore behind Doctor Who on their first date when she’d mentioned she hadn’t seen it. 

“Not here, silly girl. The bedroom,” He whispered. 

He guided her down the dark hallway as though he were escorting the most priceless treasure known to man to his bed, and in his eyes, he was. His hand stayed steady on her hip as she swayed lightly, her body pressed into his side as he opened the door with shaky hands. Any confidence Spencer had managed to muster throughout the night vanished as they crossed the threshold into his bedroom, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip gently as his courage began to crack. 

In an almost startling display of being seen, something Spencer had never experienced before, Y/N looped her arms around his neck and tugged him into a kiss that simultaneously stole the breath from his lungs and filled him with the air he needed to breathe again, effectively calming his nerves.

“It’s okay,” She reassured him against his lips. “It’s just me.” 

She walked them backward until the backs of her knees pressed into his cool comforter, taking over where Spencer so willingly handed her the reigns while he regained his momentum. She sat on the edge of his bed, her hands pressed into his hips to keep him from following after her. Her eyes met his, the moonlight streaming through his bedroom window illuminating her as though she were a vision, a figment of his imagination that he’d conjured up in the dead of night, ready to haunt his every waking moment once he inevitably woke up to an empty bed. She was too good to be true. 

Spencer’s hands fell to rest on her shoulders, just to give himself proof that Y/N was real and that he hadn’t dreamed her up or somehow followed in his mother’s footsteps and succumbed to early onset schizophrenia. 

She was real and she was here, eye level with the tent in his boxers and naked as the day she was born, her warm breath fanning across the smattering of hair trailing down from his belly button to below his underwear. His muscles tensed and twitched as she smirked up at him, pressing a tender kiss to the head of his cock through the thin fabric. His entire body flinched from that one touch, his brows furrowing together as he hissed quietly. 

“N-not that I wouldn’t love to feel your mouth on me—“ Spencer’s pitch raised as her hands found the elastic of his waistband, pulling his boxers down his legs. “But I… I won’t last if you do.” 

The fondness in her eyes quelled any humiliation he felt from having uttered those words. 

Placing a kiss to his hip, she nodded in understanding before shuffling backwards to lay in the middle of his bed, with him kneeling onto the mattress after her. The sight of her— stretched out and languid and looking at him as if she wanted to ravage him— had him sending up a silent ‘thank you’ to whatever in the universe had deemed him worthy enough of having this divine of a woman in his life. 

As Spencer reaches for his nightstand to grab a condom, Y/N stammers, grabbing his attention. He watches for a moment as she flounders over her words, his brow furrowing in concern at her sudden diffidence. 

“Are you sure you still want to do this?”

“I’m on birth control if you want to skip the condom!” 

Spencer inhales sharply at the same time she smiles sheepishly up at him, her blurted words almost making him finish before they’d even started. He holds her gaze, tracing her irises for any hint of hesitancy. When he finds none, he nods once, swallowing hard. 

“I— uh. Um...” 

It was rare that Spencer Reid was rendered speechless, but Y/N had managed to do it with just eleven words. He clears his throat, trying again. 

“Yes. Yes, I would like to skip the condom. Only if you’re absolutely sure that’s what you want.” 

“Yes. It is. I pinky promise.” 

Y/N holds up her pinky for him, the sight so endearing he can practically feel his heart melt away, dripping in a sticky mess inside him. He just grins, linking his pinky with hers before he moves to settle over her once more. 

Her fingers tangle themselves in his hair as his elbows dig into the mattress beside her ribs. The flushed head of his cock bumps against her clit as he reaches down to line himself up at her entrance, a small whine leaving her lips at the sensation. He repeats the action, dizzy from the sound of her soft noises. She was still soaked from their time on the couch, a small feeling of pride welling in Spencer’s chest at the knowledge that not only did he make her cum, but he’d kept her wet while they made it here. 

His lips meet hers in a searing kiss, the both of them quivering with anticipation at giving themselves so intimately to someone for the first time. He was happy it was her. And she was happy it was him. 

Spencer couldn’t remember a time where his mind had ever been quiet. All he knew was incessant thoughts and worries, unable to put a halt to the chaos jumbling around his brain. But as he pressed forward and sunk into Y/N for the first time, his entire mind went blank. White static crowded the spaces where various facts and tidbits of information had been stored, the only thing he was able to focus on now being the sheer ecstasy coursing through his body from being inside of her. 

His mouth hung open as his eyes rolled back into his head, his hips stilling as they pressed flush against hers. She mirrored his response, squeaking out an “oh!” as her walls fluttered around the intrusion instinctively. He throbbed in response, his head dropping to rest in the crook of her neck, unable to stop the pitiful whimper that escaped from behind clenched teeth. 

She was so tight. So wet. So warm. 

Sparks of pleasure zinged up and down his spine as he remained still, waiting patiently for Y/N to adjust to both his size and to the feeling of being filled for the first time in general. He’d wait as long as she needed him to. All he wanted was for her to feel good. To enjoy this as much as he was. 

He was a humble man, truly. But even he wasn’t too shy to admit he’d been gifted with a size that was bigger than average. Not necessarily just in length, falling just shy of seven inches, but in girth as well.  

Spencer peppered soft kisses up and down her flushed skin, feeling her rapid pulse beneath his lips. He was sure she could feel his own heartbeat pounding against his ribs from where their bare chests were pressed together. Her nipples were taut, pressing into his skin enticingly. He wanted to touch them. Taste them. But he’d wait until she was ready. He didn’t want to overwhelm her. 

At her gentle nod, Spencer lifted his head to press his forehead against hers, their lips brushing together as he pulls his hips back. The sensation of her grip tightening in his hair as he pushed forward does more to him than he’d care to admit, but he still lets her hear just how affected he is by her. With a shaky moan, Spencer repeats the motion, easing out of her before gently rocking back into her. He keeps this up for a few minutes, her sharp breaths dissolving into muted moans of her own. 

“You can— you can move faster if y-you want.” 

Spencer’s eyes flutter shut at her words, and he’s pressing a fervent kiss to her lips before he begins to really move. The sound of skin smacking together begins to fill the air as he ruts his hips into hers, his walls bearing witness to every pleasured noise that spills between them. His pace is frenzied, his rhythm stuttered, but it feels so good that neither of them really care. 

Y/N’s nails roamed his body now, alternating between dragging harsh lines into the planes of his back and burying into his shoulders to leave little tender half moons in their wake. Spencer yearned to pull every single noise that he could from her throat, planting his hands beside her head and hefting himself up for better leverage before his lips wrapped around her right nipple. He sucks harshly at the pert bud, reveling in the desperate whimper it causes. 

Spencer grunts when she clenches around him, letting his mouth glide over to her neglected breast, his hips hammering into hers now as she cries out his name over and over. He was close… so, so close. But he needed to make her cum one more time before he’d allow himself to. He needed to know what it felt like for her to fall apart around his cock. With every ounce of willpower he had, Spencer slows his hips to a stop inside of her. 

Y/N whined her discontent at his sudden pause, her eyes opening to blink hazily up at him. “Why’d you… why’d you stop?” She panted, her fingers finding and twisting her own nipples as if she couldn’t help but to touch herself. 

Spencer muffled a curse at the sight, sitting back on his haunches as he stared down at the woman beneath him with reverence. 

“Flip onto your stomach for me, angel.”

She does as instructed, wiggling her hips coyly as Spencer grabs a pillow from the head of the bed and stuffs it underneath her hips to prop her up better, ensuring she’d be comfortable. Once she’s settled on her front, Spencer wasted no time in pressing himself back into her, both of them releasing a moan so loud he’s surprised the walls don’t shake. Thank God he didn’t have neighbors right now. 

He eased himself down so his chest is pressed to her back, lavishing her neck and shoulder in open mouthed kisses while his hips drilled into her. This angle was deeper, allowing him to plow directly into her g-spot as she writhed and begged incoherently beneath him. He laced his left hand with hers, shoving them into his mattress. His other hand stuffed itself between the pillow and her wriggling body until the pads of his fingers found her clit, his breath coming out in sharp pants into her ear. 

Y/N felt delirious with pleasure, bucking her hips back in a feeble attempt to meet his. He began whispering into her ear about how good she felt around him, thanking her for allowing him to fuck her, praising her for taking him so well… 

His words paired with his fingers circling her clit have her second orgasm ripping through her body with so much ferocity that tears begin to fall down her cheeks, her eyes squeezing shut and her hand clutching his so tightly her knuckles whitened as she wailed into a pillow, gushing around him. 

Spencer let out his own guttural moan at the feeling, spilling into her with a shout as he planted his head between her shoulder blades, his hips weakly thrusting into her as they rode out their climaxes. 

He held her until her tremors stopped. He kissed her forehead before he darted off to the bathroom to get a warm rag to clean her with. He thanked her in soft whispers as her eyes began to drift shut before he’d even finished cleaning his mess between her thighs. 

And he knew, watching the gorgeous woman before him sleep so soundly in his bed after they’d just defiled each other’s innocence, that he was looking at his future wife. 

Will your lover caress you the way that I did? Will you notice my charm if he slips up one bit? 

The air was thick with tension as Y/N stared at Ben, her chest heaving and eyes watering at the hurt look on his face. Spencer watched from the corner, his concern for his wife outweighing the jealousy he had previously felt when he watched the couple slip into her— though he still selfishly thought of it as their— bed. Y/N had been dating Ben for three months now. That made for three months that Spencer ached so heavily he’d sometimes wish he could fade back into nothingness if it meant he didn’t have to watch the love of his life with another man. 

The furthest Ben and Y/N had gone physically was a few pecks here and there, with Y/N always being the one to draw away and cut the kisses short. Ben had played the nice guy act, reassuring her that he understood her hesitance and that he’d be okay doing whatever she was comfortable with. Spencer despised him. He could see right through Ben’s facade, and if he could do more than nudge a door open, he’d make that hatred known. But he couldn’t. 

Spencer watched on with furrowed brows as Y/N reached a shaky hand over and turned the lamp on her nightstand on, illuminating the dark room in a soft glow that contrasted with the dark energy that began to cloud the small space. Spencer could see it all on Ben’s face: hurt, betrayal, anger. He could see the fear, guilt, and shame on Y/N’s. 

This was the first night Y/N had tried to push past her discomfort so that she could offer Ben more than just false promises of physical intimacy. It started slow, with soft kisses that dissolved into hungrier ones as they laid together in the dark. But the second Ben went to roll on top of her, sliding a hand down her body to pull her hips against his, she panicked. Her body jolted, and her hands had shot out instinctively to shove him off of her, leaving them where they were now in some sort of silent standoff. 

Spencer knew as soon as it had happened just why it did. She had thought of him. His guilt overruled the smug pleasure he’d felt as he watched it unfold. As painful as it had been watching Y/N move on with her life, all he ultimately wanted was for her to be happy. Spencer had been barely thirty-five when he passed, and she had only been thirty. That left almost an entire lifetime ahead for her, and even though he so desperately wanted to have lived that lifetime with her, he had to accept that that wasn’t what fate had in store for them. 

“I-I’m sorry-”

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

Spencer’s jaw tightened at the same time Y/N’s dropped. 

“Excuse me?” Y/N leveled Ben with a narrowed glare, rage flashing in her eyes in place of the shame that had just been there. 

“I get that you have a dead husband. I’ve tried to be patient with you. But fuck! It's been six years, Y/N. It’s time for you to move on,” Ben seethes, his face reddening with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I can’t even touch you without you flinging me off of you!” 

It’s as though Y/N is the exact physical embodiment of Spencer’s own emotions, physically reacting in the way that he can’t. She was out of the bed before Spencer could even blink, marching over to the bedroom door and yanking it open. Ben watches in bewilderment, his mind clearly not catching up with what was happening. 

“Get out of my fucking house.” 

Y/N’s voice is cold as she stares menacingly at Ben. When he doesn’t move, she speaks again, her voice louder. “Get out of my fucking house, Ben!” 

Ben stammers, standing from the bed and attempting to plead his case. “Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, I just-”

“I don’t care. Get out of my house,” Y/N repeats herself, cutting off his pathetic excuses. 

Spencer smirks proudly from beside her.

 That’s his girl. 

Ben sighs, hanging his head and scrubbing his hands frustratedly across his face. 

“If you kick me out over some guy that’s been dead for six years, then we’re over. For good.” 

Spencer cackles at Ben’s proposition, though it can’t be heard by either party in the room. That was his attempt at fixing things? Seriously? Good riddance. He’d drag the guy out of there himself if he could. 

“If I haven’t made myself clear, we’re already over. No one talks about my husband like that. Now get out before I call the police and have you escorted off of my property.” 

It doesn’t take long after that for Ben to tuck his tail and leave, slamming the front door on his way out. Y/N’s steam runs out the second his car pulls out of her driveway, tears streaming down her face as she curls up on her couch. 

Spencer’s own chest twinges uncomfortably as he sits beside her, stroking her hair despite her inability to actually receive the comfort. He didn’t know what hurt more; watching his beautiful, broken girl sob and not being able to stop her tears, or being the cause of the tears himself. He had to do something, anything to let her know he was still there and that he still loved her beyond death. 

The same time Spencer stands is the same time Y/N’s tears pause, a hiccup rocking her frame before she glances up. 

“Spence?” Y/N calls softly. Spencer’s heart would have stopped right there had he not already been dead.

Spencer turns slowly from his place at the end of the couch, his eyes wide and hopeful as he responds. “Yes, angel?” 

His hope fades as he realizes she isn’t looking at him, rather her eyes are just darting around the room. 

“Spencer I… I know it’s been awhile since I’ve talked to you. And for that, I’m so sorry,” Y/N starts, her voice cracking. “I don’t know if you can even hear me. Or if you ever could. But I miss you. I miss you in my bones. I just… you were— are my everything.” 

The lump in her throat grows as the tears begin to stream down her face again. Spencer’s own eyes sting with tears that she’ll never see drip down his face. He swallows hard, making his way over to their— yes, their— bookshelf. 

“I’d give anything to have you back in my arms… I should have begged you to leave the BAU and just teach full-time if it meant I could still have you here, safe and at home. It’s not even a home without you.” 

Y/N sobs freely now, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them before she buries her head into them. 

Every ounce of grief, guilt, sadness, and anger from what his death has done to his precious girl fuels Spencer to do something he deemed impossible: he yanks the leatherbound notebook holding their vows inside of it off of the bookshelf, sending it tumbling to the ground in a desperate attempt to show her that he’s still there and that he still loves her. 

The noise causes a yelp to slip from Y/N’s lips, her head jerking up as the book hits the hardwood floor with a loud thump. It had fallen open exactly to where Spencer wanted it to: the page starting his vows to her.  Y/N crawled from the couch to the book, her trembling hands lifting the journal so that she can read the words her husband wrote to her ten years ago. With a deep exhale, she sits cross-legged on the hardwood floor, reading Spencer’s chicken scratch he called handwriting with a heavy heart. And for the first time since his casket closed, she feels a sense of peace wash over her. She was going to be okay, despite it all, because he was hers just as much as she was his.

Continued A/N: Ahh!! Ghost!Spencer my beloved. :') JUST TO CLARIFY: I am not a JJ hater!! It just fit better for the story to have her be the one this all happened for. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this fic just as much as I enjoyed writing it. I look forward to sharing more in the future with you as my blog grows <3

K <3

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Force in Nature | Platonic Yandere Trey Clover x Toddler Reader

Part 2

Being a child, in your experience sucked. Even with a developing mind there were constant reminders of all your faults. Short, weak, disadvantaged and constantly at the whim of adults. Most children wouldn’t mind so much, considering that the adults in their life mean well but not you. Never you.

“(Y/n) don’t give those fat brats anymore then that. They’re already eating us out of house and home.”

The drivel of your mother rings like a bell in your head. Always chastizing, always negative. It had gotten better now that she had found your father but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. In her mind she figured his children were the only obstacle left between her ‘happily ever after’ with your father. 

“Ace! Deuce! Did you break into this pantry again?!”

It didn’t help that the twins were rambunctious spitfires that were prone to trouble anyway. Which meant they were often forced to reach out their hands to suffer the wrath of the ruler. Their father was a popular man, often more focused on updating the town’s bulletin boards than disciplining his children but it was clear he loved them. 

But love was never enough to save the duo from your mother’s accusations.

At least once a day, your mother would report the twins for doing or saying something awful. It would always lead to an exhausted sigh before stomping over to the children to give another lecture and dish out some chore as punishment.

“This so unfair, we didn’t even do anything this time.”

“Well I know I didn’t. Maybe you did something Ace.”

“What!? How dare you blame me! Don’t you believe me, (Y/n)?”

You usually were a witness to their innocence, often spending your time with them anyway. But for whatever reason not being able to speak meant your written testimonies were invalid. No matter how many times you wrote in you’re book and presented it to your father it never seemed to work. 

“You’re so sweet (Y/n). Trying to save your big brothers; you know that lying doesn’t help their case anymore.”

It was fine when it was only that. Baseless accusations and then the punishment of simple chores. Every now and then a prank in return for their suffering but then the chilly warning of Autmn came around. While the likeness that the snow would pile too high was low, the scarcity of food was a guarantee. Already aware of the set portions you’d receive suddenly decreasing and the way your father didn’t dare eat with you all any more spoke volumes.Unfortunately your mother wasn’t all too fond of cutting material costs.

“Cater I’m telling you, we’ll never get to eat if we have those kids in the house.”

“But love (Y/n) would never survive the trip into town.”

“Not them you idiot! They hardly eat more than a rat! It’s those boys of yours! They’re so big they ought to be hunting for their own by now.”

“The boys…not them they are still children too.”

“Stop whining. I’m going to take them out tomorrow, to learn how to hunt.”

“You?! But you’ve never—”

“Shut-up! Maybe then I can get those kids to do something worth the wasted meal.”

Reporting to your brothers the plan for the day felt like being the espionage detail for a secret operation. It made you proud when they used their information to concoct their own plan. They deduced that she planned to ‘lose’ them during her hunting lesson. Thus Deuce’s genius-plan to leave stones leading to the house was born. It was a shame that this plan didn’t involve you in any way but you were happy to see Deuce leaving stones behind as your mother led him into the forest. 

Trying to comfort your father for a decision he didn’t protest felt odd. Of course, you wouldn’t understand the emotional struggle of his love life and the love of his trouble-causing twins. You are a kid, you aren’t supposed to know. Still, you let him hold you, mumbling curses to himself about cowardice as your mother opened the door. She huffed and puffed about him not greeting her before going off to prepare dinner. 

Unable to resist the urge you settled on the chair beneath the window. Watching the opening into the forest being led to by the stones. Sure enough, before the sun had set and the fourth time your mother had called you for dinner they were there. Appearing slightly dirty but determined they came just in time, much to your mother’s dismay.

Of course, what followed was a new plan for tomorrow.

“I’ll take them deeper in! And I’ll make sure to kick all those pebbles away”

“Please let’s just–”

“Starve!? We’ll barely have enough for dinner tomorrow! They must go!”

“But it’s so cruel.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

The silence from your father was telling and like before you reported to your brothers. They took your notes with just as much urgency as the last, instead trading their stones for crumbs from the sliver of bread they’d be given for lunch. At the time it sounded like a great idea.

But as the sun set and the critters of the forest picked at the crumbs left behind, it dawned on you. 

This was a terrible idea.

With a quickly scribbled note left on the window sill, you took a ball of yarn tying it to the bush near the forest opening. Following the disappearing trail of critters, you were walking in the direction your brothers went finding that it stopped in a clearing. From there the moon could no longer illuminate the crumbs still left and the critters weren’t leading you accurately anymore. 

It was getting colder. The woolen sweater and mitts are your only comfort. With a rumbly tummy and the heaviness on your eyelids increasing, you settled into the dirt. Promising you’ll find your brothers when you wake, staving off the fear from your shrunken spool of wool.

When the sun rose again you woke with renewed vigor. The pain of hunger leaving you for the time being you set your gaze to the ground. Of course, the crumbs were gone but vague indents in the dirt gave you enough of a guide. During your tracking you start the game of letting your smaller shoes take a fraction of their tracks following along as you replay a song your father would sing.

Eventually, the tracks stopped at a paved pathway, it smelled sweet like a candy you’d seen the twins eat. It made you curious but you trusted your judgment to ignore your hungry thoughts. The tracks didn’t continue past the pavement and knowing your brothers they’d certainly gave the brightly colored path a try.

The grumbling desires of your stomach weren’t spoiling your resolve— or that’s what you were telling yourself. Going down the hill the path led over it’s destination led you to a place you swore shouldn’t have existed. In a clearing, the candied path led to a gingerbread house, decorated with various frosting, gumdrops, and red vines. The fence around it was peppermint canes surrounding the sugary house invitingly. A perfect garnishment for an already delectable house. Your stomach agreeing you found yourself closing in on the gingerbread foundation perfectly level with your small mouth. 

Before you could dive in, you stopped. Thinking back to nicer days in the forest you remembered thanking the squirrels buried in the trees surrounding your cottage. Instead of burrowing inside your warm, inviting home they kept to their holes in the nearby trees. Of course, your young mindset wouldn’t have comprehended why animals that wanted to survive avoided the cottage. But that was beside the point. 

Your manners for the owner of the candy house would not be affected. Even though your stomach churned almost painfully at your denial. To make it easier you turned away from it crouching down to hold the grumbling organ. Repeating that you could eat when you returned with your brothers to share—no matter how little was left. 

“You are allowed to eat you know.”

The sultry voice of a man stopped your internal thoughts, peeking your head over your shoulder to look at the interruption. In the doorway of the house was a tall and handsome man, he reminded you of the young bachelor in town. Wearing a tight black long-armed shirt lined with rhinestones, your mother would envy. The dangling sparkles matched his pants which were long and wide at the ankles. His attire was interesting because you’d never seen it before, the man’s face was just as alarming. Hair as green as the surrounding trees was flowing to his waist contrasting his black outfit in a ragged but neat look. It was like a halo of green against his pale skin, golden eyes, and pink lips.

“You look hungry, why don’t you take a bite?”

The way he said it was hypnotic. An inviting and comfortable thrum of a voice that started to pinprick into your morale. You shook your head as if that would expel the greedy thoughts threatening to take hold. You hurriedly pulled out your notepad writing as neatly as you could. Holding up your notepad, you hoped he could read.

'It’s your house…that’d be mean.'

He leaned in to see what you wrote, retreating back to the arch of the gingerbread door.

“I was the one who chose a candy house. It just comes with the territory.”

He flashed a smile, white as milk. You licked your teeth beneath your mouth, feeling the plaque build-up that you’re sure makes your teeth yellow. Thinking of brushing, your memories trickled the moments you’d had with your brothers. The excitement that came with using your toothpaste for anything but. It reminded you of your real objective.

'Have you seen my brothers?'

The man tilts his head. You proceed to draw them to the best of your ability; trying to use the charcoal to detail the colors of their hair, and their height compared to your own. It’s hard to tell if he knows anything as his small smile hasn’t waivered. But as you scribble and point you worried he’d stopped listening.

“How about you come inside, have a bite, and I can help you find your brothers. That sound like a plan?”

You nodded. Standing up, you rushed to his side to grab his extended hand letting him lead you inside.

'My name’s (Y/n), what’s you’re name?'

“Trey. You can call me: Trey."

'Nice to meet you, Trey!'

“Likewise.”

______________________________________________________________

Trey Clover loved to eat children. It was in his nature to come from a long line of baking witches. It wasn’t a trade secret that children extend your life and beauty; the real secret was how to craft the potions with the children to make delicious desserts. Forest animals and pesky adults were fine ingredients but nothing was more fulfilling than a child’s soul. They were also much nicer to have as victims. They cried sure but they were dumber, more gullible, and so much easier to fatten up. But for all the children he’d consumed over the past century, there was something Trey could definitively say was the truth.

That Trey Clover loved children. His family ruled him as demented for such a thought but it was the truth. For all the fulfillment he’d have after his rejuvenating meals, there was still a resounding sorrow that nothing he could make would overshadow. Nothing but the shining presence of another child. 

Trey rationalized that he wasn’t crazy, humans had pet pigs all the time. He’s no different in that way. That every now and then the thought of keeping one crossed his mind, diminished at the thought of one thing or another. Whether it was a spark of brattiness that was hidden behind a sunny demeanor or just the undisciplined actions of a bully in the making. It reminded him why he’d never let himself feel too bad as he tossed their belongings into the basement after a satisfying meal. He figured it was natural selection. Like any other predator, he looked for the weakest, the slowest in the pack to pick off and sustain him for another ten years. 

But he’d begun to waiver with such an innocent soul in his grasp.

“How was that? Was it good?”

'But my brothers–'

He'd close the pad before the question was asked.

“Your head is so warm, I think you’re coming down with a fever.”

Cradling the young child, he settled to swaying them to sleep. His usual victims were not so young, often much older and more defiant. That is why it was such a treat to have a well-mannered impressionable little toddler to care for. With a resolve to their mission that was unavoidable, it still was nothing against the bedtime routine he’d been taught long before. He couldn’t remember if it was his mother or one that he’d eaten but she detailed the way to care for small children with such pride. In his heart of hearts, he’d admit to having eaten her out of envy. But now she proved more useful than her bones as he ran a bath for the yawning toddler.

Distracting them with talks of nothing as he gently wiped the grime off their little body. He had to refrain from frowning at the signs of a rash on their back. He was blankly staring at the untreated patch, cursing the adults who’d allow a sick toddler to run through the woods. But from their other children’s stories, they weren’t all that good to begin with.

The sound of a sneeze reminded him of his task.

“Bless you. After your bath I’m just rub a little ointment on your back before you settle down okay?”

They tiredly nodded, Trey resisted the urge to coo.

“You’re doing a good job staying awake. Let’s finish up before you fall asleep, okay?”

His parents were completely right about him. What sane witch would have a room decorated for a toddler already made, already infused with sleeping herbs that’d erase the thoughts of the past? 

“Goodnight, my sugar cube.”

The notepad had been abandoned long ago. The urge to burn it was growing.

“Tomorrow we can look for your brother.” 

The demanding sign of '2 brothers', made him laugh. Not after today you wouldn't.

“Maybe one day sugar cube, sleep tight.”

Kissing (Y/n)’s head and waving as he closed the door, Trey was elated. It was difficult to wipe the smile off his face when he unlocked the basement door.  

It wasn’t just as he left it per his instructions to the bratty boy. Ace was far too skinny to be worth a good meal and from what Trey could tell a decent worker under stress. Trey figured it’d be hard to break his spirit if the other boy was around. Of course there was a chance it'd return with his little one. Trey would bet on fear and duty overwhelming him and he’d fall right into place.

“I see you’re working extra hard. Good.”

______________________________________________________________

Ace stopped sweeping, his little knuckles white as he fought the urge to scream at the witch. He only wanted to see his brother. After the first night, he knew rebelling would get him nothing but trouble. 

“Can I see my brother now?”

Trey hummed closing the door behind him, he didn’t bother to lock it. He knew the boy wouldn’t want to leave. He took the ring of keys from his belt twirling around his lithe finger as he stepped deeper into the basement. Ace stuck close to his side, waiting anxiously to see his brother again. 

The last time he saw him, his face was wet with tears. His hands were still sticky from the treats they’d gorged on, angrily shaking the unmoving metal bars around him. Ace couldn’t sleep if he tried. 

“Before we go in, you two have a younger sibling. (Y/n) was it?”

Ace’s already sped-up heart-rate, went seconds faster. The collection of little papers in his hands with a tattered cover was far too familiar.

“They sound so determined to find you two.”

“What did you do to them!?”

When Trey turned his head over his shoulder the sneer he gave, bore into Ace's soul like a needle. Flashes of the suffocating pain the night before demanding he fix his demeanor immediately. 

“Quiet boy.” The command was like a heat rod, sweltering from such a short distance. He looked away from those golden eyes for his own sake. “I won’t be doing anything to them if you behave.”

The final warning hung in the air with the door now unlocked. The metal door swinging open was a cruel mirror of when they first accepted the invitation to eat some more. There were tables of sweets and pastries along the cracking walls of the room. A table with a checkered tablecloth and a painted chair were placed off to the right side of the room; waiting for someone to enjoy the decorative plating on its surface. But unlike the day they first arrived a metal cage was hanging from the ceiling and his brother Deuce was in it. 

“I’m glad you ate. At least hunger won’t be the last thing on your mind.”

Trey’s off-handed comment was ignored as Ace ran to clutch at the bars separating him from Deuce. As best as they could they hugged one another, the cold and rusted bars a constant reminder of their unfortunate circumstance. 

“Deuce I can’t let this happen! I have to do something!”

Deuce shook his head,” No, if you do anything bad he’ll eat you too! You’ve got to get back home and find Dad!”

Ace pulled at his orange strands, “I can’t he has (Y/n).”

Deuce’s serious face, quivered. His brave instructions became mute as he imagined their youngest sibling unknowingly falling into the same trap they did.

“You have to protect them. Please, Ace.”

The blue-haired boy couldn’t speak anymore his nose running and tears falling again. All he could do was clutch at Ace’s hands, attempting to put his forehead against the bars to feel his brother's. Ace was crying too, barely standing as he held onto his brother.

“Are you done? I’m not getting any younger over here.”

Trey's snide remark was not appreciated, nor was his giant hand pulling at the rags of his clothes, shoving him toward the oven. Ace didn’t need to ask for Trey to point at the brush and pan on the floor.

“Clean up the oven. The metal earrings from my last meal will make him taste worse.”

Ace murmured his distaste as he opened the oven door. Looking into the deep black mouth of the oven, it amazed him that whole people could fit in there. 

It also gave him a devilish idea.

“Uhm I don’t know how to.”

Trey turning towards him was frightening, the black coloring around his eyes flaring with such disgust. 

“Are you troubled? You just go in and sweep the ash at the floor of the oven.”

Ace pretended to look into the oven before jumping back, “Are you sure there’s not someone down here?”

The witch was prepared to punish the boy but he thought of the toddler upstairs. He had dreamed of the day, he would be called to check the closet for monsters. He figures if he’s keeping the defiant one, he should show some of the same care that he’ll be showing for (Y/n). 

It’s all too easy for Trey to climb inside, having done so on his own, hundreds of times before. Crawling to the back he felt the child coming up beside him, immediately making him grab the head of the boy. 

Ace felt his stomach flip. Had he figured him out?

“We can’t go in at the same time, wait ‘til I’m done.” 

“O-okay.”

As instructed Ace crawled back out, watching how the witch's body fully disappeared into the oven. Once his feet passed the threshold of the oven’s opening, he didn’t hesitate to close the oven door. Jumping up to flick the lock closed, Ace ignored the angry banging as he pulled at the red-colored lever to turn on the oven. 

The feeling of the heat flickering to light brought a successful comfort to the orange-headed boy. The frantic banging from within the oven was as frightening as the demonic screaming from within. 

“W-wait but the keys! He still has them!”

Ace assured his brother with the jingling object in his hand. Deuce pulled him into a teary hug once he’d been freed from the metal cage. The smell of sweat and burning flesh, never being so enticing. The moment between the two stopped as the banging became more and more apparent; the lock clicking as it held the oven closed.

“Let’s get out of here before he breaks out of there.”

“I agree.”

Deuce is the first to run through the door and out the basement; likely because of his time in the metal cage. Ace on the other hand faltered, snatching an armful of the pastries lining the room. He flipped the bird at the furnace and ran to lock the door to the basement door. Before he did, he took a moment to pay his respects to those before him. Bowing his head at the rows of shoes and belongings he’d organized, he apologized again before snatching a satchel. With the final locking of the basement door, Ace lets Deuce run up the stairs to search for their little sibling. 

Allowing Ace to have free reign of the upper floor that had deceived them before. He was never considered a good kid but he hardly saw the appeal when he had no qualms about breaking whatever he couldn’t take. 

“It almost makes this all worth it!”

Deuce, on the other hand, found you easily. The room had a distinct smell that almost made him feel safe. Going out on a limb he found his baby sibling curled up underneath a fluffy blanket. He easily tucked his arms underneath to carry them, he stopped to notice the spool of wool falling from their hand. Deuce put two and two together; smiling at the sleeping toddler in his arms. 

“Thanks to you, (Y/n). We’ll all get to go home.”

The trip back was like a minor stroll. The original dangers of the forest were diminished to minor nuisances in comparison to the horrors they’d endured. Of course, the two still had other things to worry about when they did return home.

“What are we supposed to do about the step-lady?”

“Hm, I don’t know maybe we should push her into the oven too.”

Ace laughed and usually, Deuce would scold him for the macabre joke. But Deuce didn’t really consider that a joke nor was he completely against it. The brothers had plenty to think about as they each took turns holding their snoozing sibling. 

It’s probably best they didn’t look back at the candy house. 

For they might be filled with dread at force they awakened.

[jaal-ama-daravv]

dissecting the alternate emmrich romance path

dissecting emmrich graveyard scene dissecting the argument scene (lich path) dissecting the emmrich romance scene (lich path) emmrich x rook cinematic

Emmrich Romance | Choosing the Lich Path

we begin -

please do

oh this line. oh this line has to be my top 3 favourite in the game. the delivery is beyond perfect. Not only is Rook being direct with Emmrich, which he desperately needs in this moment, it encourages him and instills confidence in him. as emmrich is established as a bit of a coward, this is so important to me.

Rook once again inspiring and encouraging Emmrich to achieive his dreams of lichdom, even at the cost of our precious son, manfred. I do believe Rook is setting their feelings aside here and is being the person Emmrich needs in this moment.

okay vorgoth

as stated in my previous post, desire becomes a big part of this romance. emmrich becomes concerned that Rook will no longer find him desireable or attractive once he turns undead.

case and point as above

should also note that emmrich is predisposed to believe that Rook does not feel as strongly about him as he does, which doesnt really get resolved until Act 3. despite him being so wrong, imo this has alot to do with Emmrich being so blinded by love that he can't see past his fear at the moment, which again changes after the point of no return.

and here we have rook reassuring Emmrich that they do in fact love them an absurd amount. im teling you, its the equivalent of soulmates for necromancers.

man i love this part so much. 'we'll figure out the rest'. is just another way of saying 'our love knows no bounds'

At the end of this scene Emmrich tells Rook that he will never be too busy for them, inferring that Rook is a priority despite his yearning for lichdom.

chosen witness excuse me i have goosebumps

so you're saying, there's a chance that the Lich lords will notice rook later on - i am delusional, or am i

i am dead. at this point I just sobbed. uncontrollably sobbed. 'You are the most magnificant thing to ever happen to me"

no notes, perfect. emmrich establishes that rook is the best thing to ever happen to him. this man loves rook so much. so much it hurts him. he needs to tell her this before it is too late.

the first i love you for them. and of course its the 'in case you die love you'. this is such a huge moment for them. rook reaching out to emmrich for a final goodbye, the fear in their hearts must of been weighing something heavy. knowing that he may not survive - as we go on you can see that there is a moment of uteer grief that washes over rook - the 'what if he doesnt come back'. heartbreaking.

its no wonder they poured their souls out in this moment, even rushed, they needed to say they loved eachother, because despite fear, it was true. and in true, soulmate fashion, you just cant help yourself from falling and going all in, no matter what. youll see what i mean in later dissection posts.

the fear in their eyes as they say goodbye. because they both know this is something emmrich has to do, rook can do nothing but be supportive and hold it together as usual

rook, waiting to see if her love makes it out alive - will she get her love back

the delivery, the emotion, the choking in their voice. 'do you still love me, please still love me'. rook is terrfied in this moment.

sobbing. the relief.

I feel an incredible amount of grief and joy over this romance, it is, I am almost speechless for how meaningful it is.

I know Emmrich's romance isnt as full bombardement of an emotional warcrime like Solas was on us, but Emmrich's is so, so full of angst. and regardless of that dread, it is real, for both of them, forevermore.

bonus:

see you soon for the dreaded argument scene and then the romance scene breakdown

[elicypher]

i once held the sun — louis j. moriarty x f!reader

: afraid of losing you too, louis decides to push you away first. but things change once his brothers return. he finds himself doing everything in his power to try with you once more. what he doesn't know, is that, after his absence of three years—another presence, a little one had been budding besides you.

: okay i did not expect to stretch this out for so long 😭 i'm sorry for the wait, but here's your fic @crouchingapple :) when i first started this i didn't write it with the intention of writing this long, but i hope you'll like it 🗣️

: 4k+ words. damn....

: louis james moriarty x f!reader, angst, divorce, louis tries to win you back, mentions of death and terrorism, ambiguous ending. i think that's it?

if anybody asked what louis's deepest fear was, you'd—or anyone else really, joke about how it could range from 'finding suspicious marks in the laundry' or 'wilted greens in his cooking'.

but if you delved deeper past the high walls he puts up, looked at the core of the hollow space he could call his heart, it would spell one thing only 'abandonment'. for as long as he knows, he's been bestowed the gift of life, promoted by his brothers' protection. yet, has anybody, in all of the years of his life really asked him if he wanted this? a chance at life and once again?

"good mornin'...." your slurry voice pulled him back from his thoughts, well—most of them. some still lingered in the back of his head. on most mornings, louis simply spends a long time in bed getting ready to exist for the day. his existence is heavy.

the surgery that saved his life, then the protection of his brothers that lasted up until his older brother fell from the bridge and his eldest brother was prosecuted for the crimes that they all committed, that they all were a part of. why is he the only one left behind? why is he the only one that survives?

and yes, perhaps he should be grateful—but what use is a gift he does not want? what use is a life where his family isn't together?

"good morning, (name)." he pulled your body closer to him, embracing the warmth that your body provided. you were so soft early in the mornings, and felt nothing short of heavenly to touch and simply be with. "did you have a good sleep?"

"i did," you smiled at him—lazy and sleepy all at once. it was an endearing sight. louis vowed to protect you in his mind. no matter what it would cost him. after all, you were the only alive presence in the walls of this house. "did you?"

louis nodded. "more or less." and then the telephone rang.

he, quickly alerted, propped himself up on his elbows, picking the telephone that was on the nightstand beside him. both you and him knew who would call so early in the morning.

"yes.... yes, of course... alright then, i will be right there." he would answer back between every few pauses, the caller speaking between them. eventually, he put the telephone down and looked at you, shooting you an apologetic glance.

he'd planned to take the day off and spend the entire day with you, and with that in mind, you'd taken your day off at your job too. but duty calls. perhaps at the worst of times.

"it's okay, louis." you said to him, sending him an encouraging smile. with a hand gesture, you dismissed him. "i'll be fine. at least i'll have the day to spoil myself. you go on."

with furrowed eyebrows, he got off the bed, changing into his outdoor clothes. he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "i'm sorry." he mumbled anyway. "i'll see you later this evening. i love you."

"of course." you answered back, although your voice was slightly tighter. monotonous. rehearsed. you both knew he was lying when he would say he would come home soon or anywhere around the evening/afternoon during job days. "i love you, too."

the door clicked shut.

"absolutely not." louis exclaimed, but you would not listen to him. he was feeling frustrated. infact, why should you? nobody gets to dictate what things you do or how you do them.

"are you even listening to yourself?" you shot back. you gestured towards his body, which was a bandaged, bloody mess. crime rates had risen after the fall of the lord of crime, and crime syndicates and organized crime would often fall into wars—with the M16 trying to eradicate the groups and ease the fear that had been simmering in the minds of the people of britain.

and this was the outcome of it—a terrorist attack.

"you can't go out there again," you were firm. it was one of the things that made louis fall in love with you. "not in this state."

"i have a job to do out there, (name). lives are at stake. it's dangerous out there. people are dying." louis huffed.

"i understand, i do, but you're not in the state to lead M16 right now. i have experience with this, i've done this with you and the others before. i can do this, louis. please. trust me, won't you?"

"it's not about trust, god— it's—" louis snapped his mouth shut. you shot him an inquisitive look, raising an eyebrow, waiting for him to say something. but he didn't. how could he say anything to you at all? you were right. you were capable in every sense, you were smart, had a good relationship with everyone else.. it's almost like you were perfect for the job. he was just afraid.

afraid of something happening to you. to you, of all people. terrified, absolutely terrified you would leave him as well.

"well..?"

louis sighed, resigned and tired. he'd been out there for 24 hours. the wounds and the fatigue was getting to him. "alright..."

"i'm glad!" you squealed, hugging him (perhaps too tightly) and forcing a pained groan to leave his chapped lips.

the fluorescent lights of the emergency shelter burned into your eyes as you sit on the edge of the bed. it's too bright here—too clean. too still. you can still hear the dull hum of the explosion.

that constant ringing in your ears, as if the sound had been carved into your skull. you can't shake it. it won't leave you. it's all you can hear. the doctor is speaking to you, but her lips are moving like she's underwater. the words don’t reach you, just echoes in the distance, hollow and thin. incomprehensible.

"can you hear me? hello? blink if you can hear me."

you look down at your hands, fingers trembling. the blood on your shirt isn’t yours—at least you don’t think it is. everything around you feels strange. the fabric feels sticky and damp, clinging to your skin. you're shaking violently. you can't feel it.

everything that was said was a low hum. the doctor spoke to her nurses in a quiet yet determined manner. "patient’s non-responsive. let’s check for any signs of head trauma or further shock. we may need a sedative or anything to stabilize."

the doctor waved a hand in front of your face. "can you try to hold my hand? anything at all to tell us you're aware?"

she’s checking your vitals, but you're not here. you're back there. in the smoke. in the chaos. among the dead bodies.

"(name)?!" your name was being shouted at the top of somebody's lungs. familiar, you think. there's panic in the voice. great horror and fear. desperation. hope. "(name)— where are you? (name)! please, please tell me where you are!"

you want to call out but your tongue feels heavy.

the new voice finally cuts through the static. you blinked and saw the doctor, her face blurry at the edges. her words slowly filtered in, but you didn't understand them. you see, but you don't register. the doctor turns to face a new face. it's louis. they exchanged a few words, he turns towards you and—

"thank god— thank god you're safe," louis was clutching tightly onto you, as if you would be gone forever if he let go. his face was buried into your neck, shuddering breaths leaving him. tears from his eyes pool down the length of your neck. "(name), i was so worried, i— i thought i would lose you.."

and suddenly it clicks. you're pulled back from the depths of your mind. and the memories come flashing in bursts; screams. crying. wails of injured stray animals. smoke. the rush of people, the press of piles upon piles of bodies trying to get away, the chaos swallowing them whole. you think you saw several people go down, but everything after that is a blur. there was no time to react, no time to process. just running. just trying to survive.

a tear trickles down your cheek. your throat feels tight. then more tears: an incessant waterfall that refuses to stop. the moment his hands touch you, something inside you snaps. the numbness, the disconnection, all of it shatters, and you feel everything all at once. overwhelmingly so. your body collapses into him, shaking uncontrollably. you don’t even realize your fingernails are digging into him, but you can’t let go. you can’t.

"louis— louis i was so scared, i— there were so many bodies. so much blood. so much gore," everything rushes past you like a broken dam. "i should've known! i should've done something! i should've been able to save all those people— i failed! i failed!"

"nonono— please, pretty, it wasn't your fault. none of it was. it never will be." louis says hurriedly, brows furrowed in worry. his breath hitches as he holds you, his own panic simmering beneath the surface — but he tries to stay steady for you. "oh, (name)..." he whispers, voice breaking. "shhh.. you're okay, you’re okay now, (name)… you're safe here. i'm here with you, shh..."

you should feel relief, right? you made it out. you're alive. louis is right here, holding you. but instead there’s this emptiness, this strange void where the emotions should've been. maybe this is what shock feels like. maybe this is just how it is now. you wonder if you'll ever hear anything besides this ringing again.

survivor's guilt is an all consuming thing.

you could have never in a hundred years prepared yourself for the news he dropped on you friday night. you knew he had been acting strange for some time now: tense, heavy and conflicted. but you certainly never would've expected this, of all. he was terrified. terrified of something happening to you, especially after what happened only a few weeks ago.

"mr. louis wishes to file a divorce with you," the lawyer placed the divorce papers on the table in front of you.

"what?" your tome of voice was sharp. unbelieving. the very notion of divorce seemed absurd to you. "divorce? please, i don't like jokes like these— where's louis? i want to meet louis."

"my client does not wish to talk to you, mrs. (name)." his lawyer looked at you, unfeeling and cold, as if you were some sort of unworthy pest. "all we require from you is your signature," he tapped at the lower end of the page. "....right here."

you could feel tears pooling at the corners of your eyes. how could he? rage and anguish were a heavy combination and you, standing, had to grasp onto a chair to ground yourself. he didn't even bother coming here himself? was he ever such a coward?

after a rather lengthy talk with louis's lawyer, you finally relented and picked up the pen he'd passed to you. your tears had dried long ago. now all that remained was numbness. "fine." you said flatly, voice hoarse, and imprinted your signature on the paper.

"should we get more apples?"

"damnit, we've been walking around and buying things all day. this wasn't why i accompanied the two of you, ya know."

fred and louis exchanged glances amongst each other, then shrugged, nodding amongst themselves. louis had sworn to himself that he wouldn't return to this part of the city again, but the venue was already set and he didn't want to inconvenience his reunited brothers. "you're right... perhaps we have been buying a little too much."

"thank god for common sense," moran exclaims, sarcastic yet grateful.

"it's just... my brothers have come home after years. i thought we could have dinner together. like the old days." louis muttered.

moran slung an arm around louis's shoulder, to which the blond flinched, visibly annoyed—but held his tongue. fred smiled. the three chatted amongst themselves until moran pointed something out. "hey, wait.. hold on. ain't that your ex-wife?"

but perhaps he shouldn't have, because he watched the subtle, barely noticeable smile on louis's face drop, eyes widening.

there you were, after three years—strolling around the afternoon market as well. you looked more tired than before. aged. but yet there was still a smile present on your face. softer, but heavy.

"please put these in the bag as well.." "of course, miss."

what hit louis harder in the guts was when a little girl, not older than three years came rushing up to you and wrapped his little fingers around your index. "can we go home please?"

"alright, my dear," you ruffle the girl's hair a bit and smile down at her. "i'm almost done here, okay? and we'll go home."

the world shifted for louis. his pulse roared in his ears, drowning out the bustling sounds of the market. his heart was beating unusually fast. this child, there was something about her that took louis's breath away from a suspicion.

"louis?" moran’s voice broke through the haze, but louis didn’t respond. his gaze stayed fixed on you, on the child. your back was turned as you carefully handed the grocer another item, a calm smile still gracing your face, but your shoulders were tense—always ready, as if you were carrying something heavier than the bag you clutched. and louis couldn’t look away.

"fred—do you see this?" moran murmured, his voice hushed.

"she has a kid." fred frowned, stealing a glance at louis before muttering, "we should go. louis—" but louis stepped forward, barely hearing them. his legs moved on instinct, his heart in his throat. he'd practiced this speech several times, the apologies he'd say to you, the amends he'd make.. but now that you're all of a sudden infront of louis, louis's words fail himself too easily.

"(name)..?"

your name came out hoarse, like a breath dragged from his chest. you froze. slowly, you turned, the smile slipping from your lips as your gaze locked with his.

your eyes widened, then narrowed slightly, guarded. "louis." the girl tugged at your hand, looking up at you with innocent curiosity. "mom? who’s that?"

mom.

the word sliced a blade of guilt through his ribs.

"just... an old friend, darling." your voice was steady, but louis didn’t miss the slight tremor underneath. you smoothed the girl’s hair gently before straightening, pulling her just a little closer.

"is she—?" louis started, but his voice cracked, and he couldn’t finish. the question hung between you, heavy and unspoken.

"don't." you whispered sharply, the softness in your expression replaced with something colder. protective.

louis swallowed hard. "why didn’t you tell me?" you stared at him, and for a moment, he thought you might break—that you’d shout, cry, something. but instead, you took a steady breath.

"i didn’t know," you said quietly, your voice laced with exhaustion. "not until after." the weight of your words hit him like a freight train. he stumbled back a step, his hands trembling at his sides. three years. three years of absence. three years of her growing up without him. without knowing who he was.

"i—" he tried, but you shook your head.

"it doesn’t change anything, louis."

"but it does," he croaked. his gaze fell to the little girl now peeking curiously from behind your leg. his daughter. his daughter. his chest constricted painfully. "what’s her name?"

you hesitated, as though you didn’t want to give him that much, but you sighed softly. "amelia."

amelia. it sounded so sweet and delicate, and the ache in his chest deepened. she glanced up at him again, her big, inquisitive eyes so achingly familiar—his eyes. louis blinked, his throat tightening. "(name,) listen, i..." he said softly, desperately.

"please." you tensed again, fingers curling protectively around amelia’s small hand. "louis..." there was a warning in your tone, but it faltered as you looked at him—really looked at him. and for a fleeting moment, he saw the pain you’d carried, the years that hadn’t been kind to you.

"please, hear me out. i.. i want to know her. and you, again. she’s not just anyone, she's my daughter." he whispered, taking another tentative step closer. "and you—" he took in a sharp breath. "you're the love of my life."

"you mean to say i was." you hissed. "and where were you, louis? how can you be so shameful?" your voice cracked this time, tears threatening to spill as your gaze hardened. "where were you when i needed you most? when i thought i was alone? you left me. you didn't even bother telling me yourself!"

louis couldn’t answer. he could only stare at you with pained eyes, shattered by the truth of it. he knew you were right. he hadn’t been there. he had walked away. like a fool. like a coward. and now, he had to face the cost. you pulled amelia closer and glanced over your shoulder. "we should go."

"wait... please—" he choked out.

"goodbye, louis."

louis didn’t see you again for weeks after that day at the market, but it was as though his entire world had shifted. every second, every thought, every sleepless night brought him back to you and to amelia. he could still see her curious eyes looking up at him, so achingly familiar, and it only made the guilt weigh heavier. he had to see you again. had to try.

it started small. a knock at your door one rainy evening startled you, and when you opened it, there was nothing but a basket of your favourite fruits resting on your doorstep with a note tucked inside. "thought you might need these. - L."

you stared at the familiar scrawl for far too long before shutting the door with a sigh, leaving the basket there.

a week later, he showed up at the market where you often shopped, hands shoved nervously into his pockets as he watched you from afar. you noticed him immediately—how could you not?—but you ignored him, pretending not to care as you handed amelia a light bag to carry.

"mom? that man’s looking at you," she whispered loudly. you shot louis a glare over your shoulder, and he had the decency to look sheepish.

"he’s no one, darling," you muttered under your breath, though your chest tightened painfully when amelia turned to give louis a small wave. "but you said he was your friend." "not anymore."

and so it continued. louis didn’t push, didn’t demand answers or try to force his way into your life. instead, he lingered on the edges, trying to prove himself in the only ways he knew how. he offered to help when he saw you struggling to carry groceries. he left small bouquets of your favorite flowers at your door—nothing extravagant, just thoughtful. he even fixed the broken hinge on your garden gate one morning while you were out, leaving behind no trace but a silent repair.

you wanted to be angry. you tried to be angry. but as the days turned to weeks, that sharp edge you’d held onto for years began to dull. louis didn’t ask for forgiveness. he didn’t demand anything from you. he just showed up, day after day, carrying the weight of his mistakes quietly, trying to make amends.

then one evening, you found him sitting on the stone steps outside your door, soaked to the bone from the sudden downpour. you let out a deep sigh. "what are you doing here, louis?" your voice was tired, but not sharp this time.

he flinched, then looked up at you—hair plastered to his forehead, eyes softer than you'd ever seen them. "i needed to talk to you."

"there's nothing to talk about," you replied, crossing your arms.

"please," he breathed, standing slowly. "i know i don’t deserve this. any of this. any of you, and her. i don't even deserve to be standing in front of you here right now. but i—” he ran a hand through his wet hair, words failing him as his chest heaved. "i need you to know that i’m sorry... for everything."

you stared at him for a long while, your resolve trembling as you caught the raw desperation in his gaze. "sorry doesn’t change what happened, louis. it doesn’t change the years we lost."

"i know, i know" he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. "i know it doesn’t. but i promise— i swear i’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right, if you’ll let me."

you swallowed hard, unable to look away as he stepped closer. you didn't know what to say, nor what to do. "and amelia?"

louis blinked, his expression softening even more at the sound of her name. "i want to know her. i want to be there for her, for both of you. i don’t want to miss anything else. i can't."

you felt your walls cracking. "it’s not that simple, louis."

"i know." he said, voice steady now but quiet at the same time. "i'm not walking away this time. you don't need to take me back, just... give me a chance to prove myself to you."

silence hung between you, heavy and uncertain. part of you still wanted to push him away, to protect yourself from the pain you"d carried for so long. but the other part—the part that had never stopped loving him, no matter how much you tried—wanted to believe him. "we’ll see," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "that’s all i can give you right now."

louis exhaled shakily, nodding as though you’d just given him the world. and perhaps you really did. he ran a hand through his wet hair. you were the sun in his life, the most bright and beautiful thing in it. and because of what he did, he lost you. and he knows. he knows what he did wrong. "that's more than enough."

your heart was thumping in your chest. you weren’t sure what the future held as louis turned to leave, but for the first time in three entire years, you let yourself feel something close to hope.

louis didn’t take your "we'll see" lightly. in fact, he treated it like a promise. a mission. from that day on, he made it his journey to prove to you—and to amelia—that he wasn’t the man he used to be. afraid and insecure. he wasn’t going to walk away again.

it started with the little things, because louis knew you well enough to understand you wouldn’t be won over with grand, material gestures. so he showed up in the ways that mattered.

one morning, you stepped out onto your porch to find a neatly packed lunch sitting on the steps with a note: "thought you might have a busy day. take care of yourself. - L." you rolled your eyes, but this time—you took it. inside was your favorite food and a thermos of your favourite drink, perfectly made—just how you used to like it. it was louis's cooking, you were sure. it'd been years since you had that, and it made you a little emotional.

another time, you came home from work to find your garden neatly weeded, the flowers you'd neglected blooming brighter than before. when you asked your neighbor if she'd seen anyone around, she only shrugged and said to you, "a blond man came by. seemed determined to get his hands dirty. i thought you knew him. should i stop him if he comes next time?"

you paused, then shook your head. "no... it's okay."

amelia noticed too. "mom, who fixed the swing in the backyard?" she asked one afternoon, gleefully testing the sturdy rope. you didn’t answer, though you had a pretty good idea.

"i'm not so sure, dear." you said as you gave her a push.

then there was the day he showed up again, not watching you from afar this time, but waiting with two bags of apples in his hands. you gave him a wary look. "you’re still at this, huh?"

"what can i say? i’m stubborn," he replied softly, a tiny smile tugging at his lips as he held out one of the bags. "for amelia. i hear she likes apple pie."

"did the neighbours tell you that?"

louis shrugged, keeping quiet.

"and you think you can win her over with apples?" you scoffed, unable to hide your own smile. you took the bag anyway.

"no," he said quietly, holding your gaze. "but i"ll try."

then he'd take you out to lunch, dinner—any meal he could take you too. any time you showed interest in any particular item, next thing you knew, he'd be whipping out his wallet.

what broke you, though, was the day amelia came home from school with stars in her eyes. "mom!" she shouted, dropping her backpack with a thud. "guess who picked me up today?"

your heart dropped. “who?”

"that man who always looks at you at the market. uh—what'd he say his name was..? oh right! louis!” she said excitedly. "he said he used to know you and that he wanted to help you out today since you were busy."

your hands froze as you held onto the dish you were scrubbing, water dripping off your fingertips. "he... what?"

"he bought me ice cream too." amelia added happily, completely unaware of the storm that's begun building inside you at that.

louis showed up at your door that evening before you could call him. "you overstepped." you snapped as soon as you opened it, crossing your arms and blocking the doorway. but he didn’t flinch. he looked earnest, as though he’d prepared for this. "i asked you not to meet her. atleast not yet. why don't you listen? why don't you give a damn about what i think?"

"you're right. and i'm sorry." he said, hands raised in surrender. "but you said you had an important meeting today. i couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. she’s my daughter too."

"she could've stayed at school with the teachers. they stay at least until five pm. i would've been done by then." your chest ached, and you turned your eyes away from him. "you don’t get to act like her father just because it’s convenient now."

"this isn’t about convenience." he shot back, his voice low, but steady. "it's about her. it's about you. i missed three years, (name). three years i can’t get back, no matter how hard i try. but i am trying. and i won’t stop."

louis's words hung heavy in the air. when you finally turned to look at him, his expression was softer, raw with emotion. "i don’t expect you to forgive me overnight." he whispered. "you don't even need to. but i want to be here... in your life. in her's. as much as you'll allow me to. but please, atleast for amelia's sake.. please try to give me a chance. even if just a little."

for a long moment, neither of you spoke. then, quietly, you asked, "why now, louis? why does this matter to you so much?"

he hesitated, searching for the right words. "because i still love you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "i always have. i was just too much of a coward back then. i.. i thought that if i continued to stay by your side, you'd get hurt. that something would happen again. i thought i had lost my brothers, (name). i couldn't lose you—not you too. never you."

you felt the tears sting your eyes, but you blinked them away. "but you did anyway. you lost me when you sent your lawyer to collect my signature on the divorce papers."

louis exhaled, furrowed eyebrows and nodding. "i did.. but i thought it would be much better than find you—" he couldn't even get the words out. so, he whispered. "dead."

"..." you paused. "love can't always fix everything."

"but maybe it's a start."

for the next few months, he took things slow, giving you space when you needed it, but always making sure you knew he was there. he learned amelia’s favorite bedtime stories and showed up to watch her school performances. he memorized your routine, leaving small, thoughtful surprises in his wake—fresh flowers on fridays, your favorite pastry waiting for you at the café. it wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t grand, but it was louis.

slowly, something began to shift. you let him walk you and amelia home from the market one evening. you let him sit with you on the porch while the little girl played. you even let him make dinner one night when you were too tired to argue. amelia beamed the whole time, delighted by the way louis taught her how to fold dumplings properly.

"he's nice, mom," she whispered later that night, curling into your side as you tucked her in. "and he makes you smile more too."

you didn’t have an answer for that.

the first time you invited louis inside on a rainy afternoon, he nearly dropped the umbrella he was holding. "are you coming or not?" you teased, raising an eyebrow.

louis was flustered, he didn't know what to say—the colour pink coated his cheeks. "i... yes— yes. okay. i am. i'm.. i'm coming in."

when you handed him a steaming mug of tea, his fingers brushed yours, and for the first time in years, it didn’t hurt to let him close. amelia came rushing in from her bedroom, excited to show a clumsy drawing she'd made of you, her and him. he took a small sip from his cup, and picked amelia onto his lap.

"we'll see." you'd said months ago. now louis let himself believe that maybe—just maybe, he was earning his second chance.

@ELIASORCHARD — do not steal, retranslate or repost.

[barbieaemond]

The King of Qarth I

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Qartheen f!reader (use of third perspective)

Warnings: angst, dubcon (but not really), handjob, fingering, p in v, hints at sexual trauma, self indulgent use of sorcery

Word count: 11k (i know...i'm sorry...)

Author’s note: The foreign words you’ll find are stolen from Greek. Second and final part coming in two weeks. English is not my first language.

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee @succnfuccubus @zaldritzosrose @kckt88 @venmondiese @miraclealignertlsp369 @ilikechocolatemilkh @credulouskhaleesi @bunbunbl0gs

He had taken each one of them. Dragons, power, the Crown. Snatched them from whatever divine plan the Gods had concocted, for others, never for him, and perhaps this was their punishment.

Death would’ve been a far too kind blessing, he would come to realise in one of those endless days spent wandering, roaming to find some meal, a softer clod to lie on, an identity.

Prince, Protector of the Realm, Rider of Vhagar, Blood of Old Valyria.

They were nothing more than shrouds. Once stripped of them, what was left was merely a man.

And a son. That’s what his mother saw when they threw him on the ground of the Throne Room.

Crawling on her knees like some commoner, she begged and sobbed until her voice became raw and her throat hoarse, chanting obsessively the same plea over and over like a mad woman.

"Please...have mercy in the name of the Mother… my only son...” she had bent so much as to graze the toe of Corlys Velaryon's boots with her face. “you took them all...you took them all...”

Whether she was talking to the Sea Snake, Rhaenyra, the Gods or fate, Aemond didn’t know. He didn’t know the woman kneeling before him, if he ever truly knew her. You cannot know ghosts, only walk through them.

He could not look at her. He turned his head and watched over that crowd of traitors looking down on him, as if they themselves had not looted, slaughtered, and burned more innocent than guilty.

Trained puppets they were, obeying like green little soldiers to Cregan Stark, a northern savage who had taken upon himself the right and duty to do justice. Corlys Velaryon knew it well, having spent days and nights in the dungeons as an accomplice in the poisoning of Aegon the Elder. And there they were, taking over the reins of a kingdom shattered and embittered by war.

But with the promise of Alysanne Blackwood’s hand in marriage, the Wolf had been tamed. He had stopped howling about trials and executions. Now, caution moved and bogged down their decisions. But one thing was clear as a law written in stone: there had to be peace, no matter the cost. Hence, a marriage had been arranged, between two children who, for no reason, had been taught to see the other as the enemy, whose eyes had seen too much death; orphaned and thrown like marbles into a game that brought neither smiles nor laughter to their sepulchral mouths.

She was looking at him, Jaehaera, and in her empty eyes Aemond could see Helaena climbing up the windowsill and letting herself fall.   

“What happened to Vhagar?” The Sea Snake asked “Kinslayer! What about your dragon?”

"Dead.” He lied, although he didn’t know for how long that lie would remain so. That rope in his heart had loosened, weakened, but it still held. She must have crawled off to some remote place, perhaps beyond the Neck, to recover from the injuries to her neck and right wing.

Then the Sea Snake had turned his back, consulting with his council of leeches. Exile. He heard them say. Essos. And then that word he hadn’t heard for a long time. Dragonless. A kinder word for useless. Powerless.

“Let him go, Corlys. He’s always been a spoiled brat. He won’t survive for long in those savage lands.” Someone said outside the cell they threw him in, shackled with chains on wrists and ankles like some rabid dog.

He won’t survive for long.

How he wished they were right. How he wished to look into the beady eyes of the Stranger.

Alicent would curse him, perhaps she would slap him as she used to slap Aegon for being so blasphemous, not to the Gods, but to her. Aemond was no father, and no matter how much he could try, he’d never understood the fierce, unforgiving grip motherhood had on a woman.

When he saw her for the last time before being thrown on a ship to Braavos, he realized it was the only tether that kept her alive. Him and Jaehaera.

“Just a little longer, please…just a little…” she pleaded to his jailers. With the arranged marriage, cruelties had softened, and concessions became more frequent. The Dowager Queen was granted to see her son for the last time.

“Mother!” he screamed as they dragged him away “Keep your fucking hands off me!”

He needed to speak to her. He needed her to tell him she was lying.  

“Mother, there’s a woman…”

“The Strong witch? Aemond, she’s…They captured our last allies from the Reach and…they said they found a woman in the woods but…she was in pain…and bleeding….”

The Gods’ punishment flowed through the long-cowled robe of the Stranger. And he took them all.

Aegon, Helaena, Daeron. Alys and the baby.

Alicent could not bear to see the last piece of her flesh and bones being cloaked by the cold shroud of the Stranger. And so, she crawled and begged to preserve his existence.

But that, that was no existence.

It was a limbo, a hanging life for the damned. And he was one, wasn't he? He killed kin, he killed innocent men, women and children, coming from above like a heaven banished God unleashing his wrath on the world. And even gods pay for their sins.

Only he would gladly have stuck his head in a noose or waited for the hangman's blade, a death worthy of a soldier, rather than wandering like a derelict, rootless and restless, with that rope pulling and fraying day after day. Or Weeks? Moons? He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d set foot in that limbo.

He seemed to be living in a slumber, a Milk of the Poppy hallucination. And yet, the ground was real beneath his exhausted feet, as was the heat, and at some point, the hunger.

The leeches had tried to appear civil and compassionate, lying to his mother’s face about the gold they would give him, to sustain himself once reached the East. But naturally, they didn’t keep their word. If he died of starvation, he was sure they would have lit a candle to each God in the Grand Sept. They probably prayed for that to happen.

Or maybe not. Maybe there was no greater gratification and source of amusement to know that the haughty Prince Aemond was tasting the everyday humiliation of having to steal in order not to starve, of not having clean clothes, feather pillows to lie on, the disgrace of not being able to give orders to anyone, but rather having to suffer them.

He stayed in Bravoos for a short time. It was too dangerous, too close to Westeros and too wary if anyone ever caught the color of his hair under the cloak’s hood. He remembered his history books quite well. It was the only one among the Free Cities that did not yield to the Valyrian empire; indeed, it was founded by a group of rebellious slaves fled from the tyranny of the Dragon Lords.

Volantis, on the contrary, worshipped the Old Empire. But in equal measure, they worshipped slavery. The city swarmed with mercenaries and slavers, peddling men and women like meat for slaughter, ready at every corner to steal children from the streets. And in Volantis Aemond understood that if he did not want to end up in some butcher’s hands, he had to be what he had always been: a soldier. For he realized that everywhere in the world, the most valuable currency was not gold, nor castles and titles, but blood.

This man for new fresh clothes, that woman for few gold coins and a mattress to rest his back, not to sleep. Sleep eluded him, as well as remorse. Unless his body shut his mind out of exhaustion, he lied there for hours on end, with blood drying on his hands, listening to all the ghosts floating around him, and trying to find a grip—something to hold on to. Duty had been the blacksmith who forged him and the altar to which he devoted himself. Duty to his family, his brother, the crown, the throne, even Alys, yes. For all her riddles and stumps of prophecy, he wanted her. He wanted that son.

But here, he had no high purpose to serve but himself. Stripped of all honors and many more curses, he fell into a daylong stupor, made of blood, humiliations and silent cries for revenge.

Until one day, the rope went taut.

Vhagar burned away the stupor. She had found him. For the second time, she had been his salvation. And on her back, he found a fragment of who he was, but who he was supposed to be remained a distant thing, clouded in smoke.

He flew south, over the ruins of Old Valyria, and then east, crossing all of Vaes Dothrak to the Red Waste, and by the time he realized he should've veered north or south, it was too late.

He was in the middle of the widest and driest desert on the eastern continent.

The Garden of Bones, as they called it, and with good reason. For in those few times that Aemond decided to land to allow Vhagar to rest, all his eye could see were sand, devilgrass and bones. But he didn’t care about the thirst, the dry and cracked lips, the white tow his hair had become.

Vhagar was his only concern. She was starving. She could not fly too high in the skies. And so, along with all the misery and humiliation, came the dread. For if Vhagar died, the last rope, the last tether, which had perhaps kept him alive up to that point, and perhaps kept her alive, would break.

But then, just as it happens in some book of adventures, or simply in dreams, a mirage, a true oasis in the middle of the desert, surrounded by the highest walls ever built in the history of men, guarding the greatest city that ever was and will be: Qarth.

“Hmm” she ponders, pursing her lips. “I’m not sure about this one. What do you think, Nyla?”

The young maid stops her morning chore and blushes. “I think it would match your skin wonderfully, your Highness.”

She hears giggling behind her shoulders, where two of her most trusted maids are braiding her hair after oiling them with mirrh and cinnamon. “You hear that, Nyla? They’re questioning your candor.”

“I am not, your Highness.” says Dora, one of the giggling girls. “But if you were looking for a less partial opinion, let’s say a more objective one...you should have asked me or Mysha.”

“Well, as it happens, I was looking precisely for a partial opinion. Look at her. She’s changing my chamber pot and still, she thinks that shade of purple would suit me wonderfully. Oh Nyla, I think you will soon become my favorite.”

“Is that a yes then, your Highness?” the merchant wastes no time to ask, standing in the center of the room with silk drapes of several colors resting along his arm.

“Yes, Jorio. Two yards of that purple silk.”

The merchant nods swiftly, too swiftly she notices. The man is acting awkwardly since the moment he stepped into her private rooms. Usually, he’s a big talker, a true born seller. He could make believe one could heal from Greyscale if they just wrap themselves in the soft embrace of his silks. But not today. He seems in a hurry. The exhibition of his goods too quick and excited. And then the sweat, lumped in a wet sheen around his bald head.

“Anything else, your Highness?”

Her forehead creases, acknowledging a thought, new but not quite, as if it has always been there. “Perhaps something green?” she ventures.

“Green?” inquires Misha “That’s a first.”

She shakes her head in a dismissing way. “Must be my father’s sorcery.”

The shadows, kóri, they speak to you.

“What do you have in green, Jorio?”

The merchant fumbles with his silks, a turmoil moves his hands clumsily until a few drapes of fabric flutter on the ground. He stoops to pick them up, only to drop the others still clinging onto his shoulder in a chaotic rainbow of colors on the white marble floor.

“Jorio, what is the matter with you today?”

“I—Nothing, your Highness, my apologies...”

“You know if you have problems with your trades, the Salt King and I would be more than happy to help you.”

“It’s not that—no. Must be all the fuss in town.”

“Pirates again?”

“Uhm—no, it’s the…beast outside the walls.”

“The beast? What beast?”

The man swallows, visibly. “A dragon, your Highness. A huge dragon, higher than the city walls.”

“But…that is not possible...” Misha tries.

“I’m telling what I saw with my own eyes. The Thirteen gathered outside the walls. I saw the Spice King along my way here. He said they were about to parley with the Milk man, see through his reasons.”

"Milk Men don’t ride dragons.” she corrects, standing from the soft cushions piled and spread on the ground. “This man’s hair…what color are they?”

“White as midday sun.”

"Your Highness! Come..."

The Salt Queen joins Dora on one of the brightly sunlit balconies overlooking the Route of Trade. There is indeed a great bustle in the town, a motionless bustle however, gazing with open mouths and bewildered eyes at the small procession moving up the street. The City Guard is leading, with their shields and spears to protect The Thirteen, rulers of the most important trading city in the world. They are all dressed in bright colours and precious jewels embroidered in their silk tunics, hanging from their necks, wrists and fingers.

If she narrows her eyes, The Salt Queen can swear she can see the gold ring her husband wears on his nose. What catches her eye though, is not gold or any other bright color, but black, and then white.

There is a man walking down the street with the thirteen, a tall man with plain dark clothes and a mantle of silver hair, white as midday sun.

“Wife, may I introduce you to our noble guest?”

A woman comes forward to greet him when Aemond enters a lavish hall with several windows adorned with colorful drapes of silk. He is sure he has never seen so much marble in his life, feeling even more inappropriate given the state of his clothes and his whole demeanor, shamefully far from the clean, soldierly appearance that left mouth agape.

“Prince Aemond of House Targaryen, from Westeros.” The Salt King declares as the woman stops just before him. He stands tall and imposing, no matter the misery of his shabby clothes, the state of his disheveled hair falling in silver tangles down his back. He is still a Targaryen, his chin is high and proud.

“More like from the Old Valyria.” She says raising an eyebrow, and sizing him up and down. “He seems to have just emerged from the Doom, miraculously unscathed.”

The Prince does nothing but seethe his teeth behind his dry lips, a distant shame in his eye that quickly turns into a focused and unblinking rage.

“Welcome to Qarth, my Prince. I’d trust your journey was uneventful but…I can see the Red Waste takes its toll, even on Valyrian beauty.”

Aemond takes a good, long look at her, inevitably lingering on her chest, dressed as the common Qartheen fashion dictates: one breast exposed. But a lot more of her is exposed. Her shoulders, her arms and legs, a glimpse of her hips, all crossed by swirling bundles of lilac silk.

If any married woman in Westeros dressed like that in the open, he’s sure any husband would lock her up. At least he would.

“You must excuse my wife, Prince Aemond, or rather, get used to her habit of speaking her mind.”

“Come now, Xavos. Surely Westerosi women can voice their thoughts?” she moves, walking past Aemond and her husband to reach a small table inlaid with gold to pour some greenish beverage into a cup. “I had a maid once, she was from…Rich Garden?”

“High Garden.” He sternly corrects her.

“Ah, yes. A delightful creature, always smelled so good.” She says distractedly “Anyway, she fled from your lands because she liked girls and not boys and she didn’t want to devote her life to being a brood mare sucking a flaccid cock until her hair had gone white.”

Her maids snicker somewhere past Aemond shoulders, stiffening his posture at the liberties those commoners are granted. “I should hope you Westerners listen to your women more than you do your horses.”

Aemond watches as she takes a sip and laces his hands behind, slightly tilting his head for a moment. “Where I come from, women do not possess such a sharp tongue. Furthermore, and fortunately, most of them have manners. They know how to address a Prince of the Realm.”

She turns to leave the cup on the same table and glances at Nyla. “Oh, he bites.”

“This is not Westeros, dragon prince.” She says turning to face him with a righteous smile “I don’t need to ask your permission to speak. The Salt King is my husband, that is why you will hear my maids and everyone else address me as Your Highness. So, you may lower that chin and stop waiting for me to bow down to you because technically my rank is higher than yours. You might say the only one meant to bow in this room were you.”

The silence that follows is so stark that the air the Prince quickly exhales through his nose sounds like thunder, alerting the Salt King. "Come now, wife. Don't wake the beast.” he says lightly, stiffening a smile “And I mean it quite literally. You should see the size of Prince Aemond’s dragon.”

“I heard.” she acknowledges “Jorio said he’s higher than the city walls.”

“She. And twice, than your city walls.” The Prince corrects her again, just as sternly. “She’s the largest dragon alive in the known world.”  His chin remains high and haughty, simply because he can. Because she knows he could raze the entire city to the ground just by snapping his fingers. So, she looks down and says “Since you will be our guest, it is my duty as matron of this house to make you feel welcomed. If you would be so kind to follow me, your Grace.” She forces her tone to be as much as corteous, but then she smiles “Is my tongue acceptably sharp to your liking now?”

“Where are you taking me?” he asks as he follows the Salt Queen along one of the corridors, made of the finest marble with high arches of white stone and gold glittering under the midday sun.

“Down and down, to throw you in the dungeons.”

Aemond stalls for a moment and she does the same. “I was joking.”

He gives her that stern, distrustful look she starts to think he has etched on his features since his first wail and huffs. “God, have you lost your humor in the Red Waste?”

She resumes her walking, and Aemond follows, glancing around as they pass through many people, some of them are dressed like maids and servants, some others with long tunics of silk and jewels embroidered in the fabric. They speak to one another, he notices, as equals. But they stop altogether upon seeing a living Valyrian walk among them.

“God?” he asks “Which one?”

“Whichever you want. R'hollor, the Many Faced…I’m not picky. It helps me sleep better at night to know I didn’t dump all my sins on one God only.”

He is sure from his education and his mother’s faith that religion doesn’t work that way, but he has more pressing matters at heart. “Will you meet my requests?”

“About your dragon?” she asks stopping before a large wooden door closed. “Can’t she hunt on her own?”

“In the Red Waste? In these barren lands? Perhaps you should put your pretty head outside the city walls and see with your own eyes how big she is.”

The woman smirks, seizing him up and down and furrows her brows. “You seem very keen on emphasizing how big your dragon is. I should hope it’s not a compensating factor for the lack of something else.”

She pushes the door open, not bothering to wait for Aemond who just stands there for a moment, a little dumbfounded by the salt of which the Queen's tongue seems to be made. His bewilderment is only destined to worsen as he crosses the threshold and looks around.

Right in the middle of the palace, amidst all that marble and white stone, stands a wild courtyard, wild and beautiful in its unspoiled nature. Climbing plants and fruit trees grow undisturbed around a large square pool, decorated with mosaics of a thousand colors, harboring the most crystal-clear water he has ever seen; small clouds of steam rise from the surface, pinching his nostrils with the unmistakable smell of sulfur.

There are people bathing together and, obviously, much to his dismay, naked.

“Do you not take baths in Westeros?” the Salt Queen asks, faking true curiosity at the puzzlement she can read on his face, slowly turning into repugnance as he looks at her with a cutting answer.

“We have decency, in Westeros.”

She does not bother to disguise the long sigh blowing through her lips and then she turns to clap her hands vigorously, three times.

“My friends, apologies for the interruption!” she announces as everyone in the pool and outside turns to look at her “I must ask you to leave the pool for the time being. Our…prude guest demands a little bit of privacy.” 

She can feel the Prince glaring but ignores him altogether to stop one of the servants.

“Priya, fetch some oils. And some silks, fitting for a prince.” She turns her head to look at him from head to toe, as if valuing a new drape of silk or a new sculpture to put in the Hall of Trade, but then she creases her forehead, as she often does when knowing. “Blue perhaps? To match the sapphire.”

The constant scowl seems to leave his features and she hears his question before he utters a single word.

“My father is a warlock. Magic runs thick in his blood, he says, as well as in the blood of his blood. Sometimes I sense things, bits of knowledge, and sometimes they happen to be right. But you don’t need to be afra—”

“I’m not afraid of sorcery.” He cuts her, his tone flat, his features stoic as ever and she looks at him, curiously, perhaps wondering what lies behind all that stone.

“Very well. Sapphire blue for Prince Aemond.” his name slips into his ears in a strange, liquorous way; vowels are more open in this part of the world.

When they’re left alone, she signals towards the pool. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

He hesitates for a moment, but it is not as if he has never undressed in front of one of his old servants. And frankly, he is too eager to get those filthy clothes off to be bothered by a foreign woman watching.

He throws everything on the ground without too much care, and she watches without too much shame, because that's not how things go there. Bodies, both male and female, they are not something to hide, but something to be displayed and worshipped.

Her eyes linger on scars, old and new, on a lithe body that once belonged to a prince and a soldier, now marked by misery, dirt and hunger.

“Everything.” she says at one point, when he’s left with only his battered cotton pants on.

Aemond thinks he heard wrong. But she only blinks, keeping her face blank.

“Is this the common way to welcome guests here?” he scorns.

“Actually, it is. At least after the incident with the scorpion.” she doesn’t bother to wait for a question or an eyebrow rising. “My husband’s great grandfather hosted a merchant from Yunkai once. He came here with gifts of all sorts among which was a poisonous scorpion, hidden in his clothes. The old Salt King died but so did the merchant. Fell face down in his chamber pot while taking a piss. Quite ironic, don’t you think? You have to be careful when handling such vicious creatures.”

He only looks at her, and she's the one to raise an eyebrow. “I could turn away if you like.”

Aemond sighs loudly, moving his cutting jaw at the umpteenth humiliation and then lowers his pants. She stares into his eye and surely, surely he thinks, she wouldn’t dare to wander down.

But a moment later her eyes sink past his snatched waist, and she smirks.

“I believe I owe you an apology.”

“What for?”

“Questioning your…natural gifts.”

Aemond blinks, running on the verge between scowling, raising his eyebrows and huffing a laugh.  Certainly, it never happened to him to talk so bluntly about his cock with any highborn lady barely met, let alone a supposed queen.

“I’ll leave you to your bath, dragon prince. The Salt King and I have much to discuss.”

“Such as?” he deadpans, not really interested while he dives into the clean water.

“Well, a Targaryen Prince is not an everyday occurrence.” She says following his every move, the way water glides on his skin, silver hair floating on the surface like moonblooms. “We’ll make sure to have a feast worthy of your noble taste this evening.”

“And then talk behind my back about what to do with me?”

“Undoubtedly. And I will tell him the truth.”

“Hmm.” He hums, settling on one of the underwater steps of the pool, resting his shoulders against the rim. His mood instantly improves, so he pins her with his eye and looks her up and down. “Do you believe to know my reasons? You’re quite sure of yourself…your Highness. Unless your father’s sorcery allows you to read minds, I dare say even rather pretentious.”

“I don’t need sorcery to know that you, in the first place, do not know what you’re doing here.”

“And what makes you so sure?”

She sees that chin tilting, lifting with a hint of challenge. And she takes it. She has the truth, and indeed, she doesn’t need sorcery.

“Because Qarth is still standing.”

She gets no answer, just that diffident stern look to which she darts the faintest of smirks and then leaves the pool, under his watchful eye that stays on the door for a moment longer, before he lets his head sink underwater.

The Salt Queen gives instructions for the most sumptuous room to be given to Prince Aemond. She sees to it that he is provided with several silk suits and that food is served to him immediately when he has finished bathing. She has observed his body with pleased eyes, so scrupulously she knows the Prince has not had a decent meal in weeks.

“Did he settle?” Xavos asks when she enters his private room.  

“In time, I’m sure he will. Valyrians have an impressive disposition to make their own what does not belong to them, do they not?”

She hears him murmur something in return from where he stands, on the balcony threshold that overlooks the city and its massive port. The Queen sits on a soft armchair and starts to twirl her hair around one finger, curling her mouth into a thoughtful pout. “I was thinking goose for dinner. Or salt beef? We should save goats and pigs for the beast. Apparently, poor thing is starving.”

In the silence that follows, she turns to her husband. “Xavos?”

The Salt King turns with one shoulder and a half-bitter smile. “We have a living threat who could burn us all to the crisp walking within our palace and our city, and you speak to me of geese and pigs?”

“It’s useless to cry over spilled milk. You let him in. You let greed lure you all like a piper with a flute. I’m wondering, on which tune did he make you dance?”

He walks to her with slow feet and looks at her after a long sigh. “Dragon eggs.”

“I should’ve known.”

“Cyril began talking of an opportunity of a lifetime. Of the Greatest City that ever was and will be becoming even greater. Think about it. With dragons…Qarth might become the center of the whole world. A newborn Valyria. If we play our hand right—”

“Quit the fancy words. What exactly are you asking of me, Xavos?”

She knows he is asking for something. She has known him for more than ten years, and he has asked, has demanded, a lot of her. She knows that when his voice drops a note, he wants something, as if whispered, it becomes less degrading.

He trails his index finger on her chin and lifts it. “To make him dance to your tune.”

“You overestimate me, husband. I cannot reason with a tiger when my head is in its mouth. Besides, he might be easy on the eye, but he’s as agreeable as a plant of spikes.”

She speaks smoothly—not a flinch or a blink at her husband's hand sinking between her lilac’s folds, and then between her inner ones. “Since when you are so reluctant about who’s allowed in your bed?”

“Don’t confuse me with yourself.” she says lifting her chin to look at him, unbothered by the circling his finger draws on her dry bundle. “I fuck who I want for pleasure, rarely out of boredom, but never to prove a point.”

Abruptly, he slips his finger deep inside, hurting her. “I should have taken your tongue as well.” 

 “And still…” she forces a smile over the painful grimace twisting her mouth “it would not have given you what you so desperately seek in every hole.”

His unwanted touch leaves her and he straightens, pacing lazily behind her seat. “He’s young. He’s had a rough time. Surely, he must’ve missed the intimate company of a woman.”

“For that kind of company, there are pleasure houses.”

“Don’t play dumb, now. You saw how proud he is. How do you think he will take it if we send a whore to his rooms?” Xavos grips the back of the chair and leans down slowly, speaking to her ear. “Listen to me. Cyril is right. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We must make him feel…important…coddled, even.”

“Even if you shackle his feet with gold, you cannot turn a dragon into a lamb, Xavos.”

The Salt King sighs impatiently, and his tone drops just as earlier. “Do as I say.”

Young Nyla interrupts her masters as she enters the room, and the Queen turns her head. “Nyla, what is it?”

“We have escorted Prince Aemond to his rooms, your Highness.”

“Good.” Xavos says, and then looks at his wife with a pointed stare. “Make sure he has everything he needs.”

The Salt Queen barges in and halts on the door, bewildered upon seeing her trusted friend Mysha on the verge of tears, staring at the ground as if she’s waiting for an execution.

“My deepest apologies, my Prince, I meant no disrespect.”

“What happened?”

“Uh—Prince Aemond asked for some herbs, your Highness. An ointment, for his eye.”

“Aye. I did ask for that, not for you to fucking touch me.”

The Prince is snarling, his eye wide and menacing like a hound on the brink of defense yet hunting for flesh. His face is clean now, the Queen notices, shaven; his hair is damp and pulled back, leaving his chiseled features, that infuriating chin, and high, prominent cheekbones in plain sight. Stupid as it may sound, she can't help but think of one of those marble sculptures she likes to buy from art dealers.

“You may go, Mysha. I will assist the Prince.”

“I don’t need assistance.” He hisses with threatening calm. “Leave.”

He caved in the pool, but he will not suffer another humiliation in front of these foreigners. At least not with something so delicate and private as his eye. But of course, he realizes with annoyance, this woman will not falter at any of his empty orders.

“Are you dismissing me in my own Palace?”

He looks down, sighing and fuming, and she beckons Misha to leave the room.

“You must understand, servants here are treated differently. They’re granted more liberties.”

“I see. As the ones you so generously grant to slaves.” he mutters, and starts to fidget with a tray offering ginger roots, turmeric powder, and eucalyptus leaves.

“Oh, spare me. Of all people, you Valyrians are the least entitled to give a lecture on morals.” she counters, watching his long, tapered fingers hover without touching anything. Clearly, he was used to servants doing it for him.

“May I?” she offers, but doesn’t wait for his permission to make room next to him. “There are no slaves in this palace.” she tells him "How can you expect loyalty from someone you bought with something as cheap as gold?”

“Cheap as the golden ring your husband has stuck in his nose? He looks like a fucking boar.” he says as his eye trails on her profile.

“My husband is an imbecile. This city did not become the greatest that ever was and will be with gold. Trade is our currency. We call it antallagí. Exchange.”

“A true-born merchant’s wife.”

“Or a boar’s one?”

He huffs, and she turns, feigning shock at the faintest of smirks curling his lips. “So you’re not made of stone after all.”

She studies him for a few moments—more than is deemed proper for a married woman, in Westeros at least—but she can't help it. She wonders how it is possible that exile and moons of misery have not bent this man; what drives that rigid posture, whether it is too strict an education or it is all a lie, masking an effort to keep control, to impose it on others but perhaps more on himself.

“Ointment is ready, your Grace. It may burn a little, ginger is a godsend, but it’s tricky. I could help—”

“I need no help. Leave.”

The stone is in place once more. But she won’t have it. 

She raises her eyebrows, biding all the time in the world.

Aemond chews thorns as he looks at her, swallows them, and tastes them again, piercing his tongue. “Please.”

“That must’ve cost you a lot. But it isn’t so hard, is it?”

His lips flatten in a thin line, and she smiles. “You are a second son, are you not? That’s the reason for that stubborn chin. You must stomp your feet to make anything yours.”

“Careful, woman. I’ve taken tongues for far less.”

“Why? Did you not see eye to eye with them?”

He moves like lightning, invading her space until he is a breath away from her face, and his mouth breathes fire. “Listen to me. I care not who the fuck you are or which title you make your slaves call you. I am not here to allow you to make a fool of me, Queen or no Queen. Mock me once more, and I’ll carve the word please on your vicious mouth.”

He waits for the fire to catch on, even though flames do not seem to touch her; she's unwavering and solid as marble.

“Get out.”

“I don’t—” she chokes on her words, on his hand seizing her jaw; cold fingers, leaving embers on her skin.

“I said, get out.”

That evening, the already lavish palace of the Salt King was polished and decked out duly to honor the foreign guest. The walls, lit by braziers of fire, stood like a beacon amidst a sea of marble and white stone roofs. The Hall of Trade was a treasury, crammed so full of gold that it looked like a pirate's dream. Pillows were piled on the floor, long tables held food of all kinds. A huge bowl of wine welcomed the guests, who were given a goblet they had to dip into the large bowl and drink, otherwise they would not be allowed inside. It was tradition, a sort of good omen.

It pinched Aemond's nostrils when he brought the cup to his mouth and, thankfully, drank it in small sips. Despite his prudence, by the second he felt his tongue on fire from how spiced it was. By comparison, Arbor Gold was wastewater.

He wears the sapphire blue silk tunic, with a silk belt cinching his narrow waist, but his hair is different. Mysha learned the lesson she asked, and when he gave his consent, she got to work and braided his silver hair. Most of them are loose, falling down his back in a curtain of white. Others are laced in one, two, three braids, softly meeting at the back of his head.

If he thought the Salt Queen’s hospitality was somewhat a little too forward and a lot more intrusive, he had to reconsider when he found himself cornered as soon as his silver head caught the eye of every guest. Men and women, old and young, flocked to him with eyes full of wonder, as if the Salt King had captured some wild and rare creature and called all his friends to make them look.

But they didn’t just look. They talked openly and freely, voicing thoughts that, in Westeros, would have stayed inside one’s head.

“Look at his hair! They seem like moon rays!”

“And the skin! Whiter than milk!”

“What happened to his eye?”

“If only my wife were here…she always wanted to see a Valyrian!”

He had just gotten there, and his teeth were baring.

“My friends, please! Let our noble guest breathe!” the Salt King chuckles as he comes forward among the bewildered audience, looking like the loot of some theft, for all the gold and diamonds and emeralds sewn on his orange silk tunic. “Come, my Prince. The first taste is yours.”

Aemond catches a movement on his right and there she is, the Salt Queen, in a crimson red sparkling like a bloodied dew given the little, tiny red stones woven in her silks. Her hair coils into an intricate bun crisscrossed by a paper-thin gold chain that crowns her forehead with small, rough rubies, like grains of salt.

For a moment, he’s so enthralled by her figure, and her eyes, even more piercing because of kohl, that he fails to notice the clay plate she’s holding, filled with fruits. Some he has never seen, except in books, but he has no time to take a guess.

“Your first taste, my Prince.” she chimes. “Sweet or tart?”

His gaze falls back to the plate, but not before stopping, again, for a blink, on that absurd fashion of one bare breast. “Tart.” He says tightly.

She smiles, as if she knew, and puts the plate down. Aemond watches her bejeweled fingers pluck off a grape and turn, her hand in midair but not quite outstretched toward him. He nothing but give her a pointed look, one that translates only into a stern and irrevocable I can eat by myself.

“My Prince. My wife means no offense.” the Salt King explains “In Qarth, it is deemed a great honor, given and taken, and an excellent omen for the guest's stay, if said guest is fed by the matron of the house.”

His throat bobs and the Salt Queen can’t quite decipher if the dragon prince is more humiliated or angered by the prospect of being fed by a woman like a baby who just teethed. At last, he sighs and leans in, but her hand withdraws a little, leaving him with his mouth slightly open, stretched forth like a beggar waiting for charity. It is not Aemond who bites the grape, but her who finally, after another straight stare into his eye, lets it drop into his mouth.

The crowd erupts in a cheerful clapping, as does The Salt King who goes to stand just between his wife and the Dragon Prince, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder “You see, Prince Aemond, this is one of the extraordinary gifts of Qartheen women. They know exactly how to hold...and when to let go.”

Aemond does not bother to look at him, he is too absorbed, annoyed and deep down, without him knowing it yet, enticed by the tranquil smile that curls her mouth and at the same time curls his pride, mocks it, strips it bare and outright laughs at it, goading everyone else to do so.

Behold, the pink dread!

 “Without further ado, let the feast begin!” The Salt King announces joyfully and in the same moment, a delicate and sweet melody fills the room, while Aemond chews what’s left of that grape, tasting his own bile.

An hour later, Aemond is fuming. Fuming because ruling the most important and influential city in Essos, he should’ve known the Thirteen were aware of everything that went on and was currently going on in the West. Perhaps even more than he knew. Did they know something about his mother?

He banished that thought from his mind just as he trained himself to do in all this damned existence.

They knew about the Dance, they knew about Aegon the Usurper, they knew of Rhaenyra the Cruel, the Storming of the Dragon Pit. They knew the kingdom was dreadfully impoverished and in the hands of a young boy.

But they spoke about it as if they were discussing the weather. Qartheens cared nothing about what was going on outside their impenetrable walls; whether it was a new king on a throne far away or a war that had killed thousands and thousands, it was all tittle-tattle to kill time between one cup of wine and the next. He was asked about this battle or the previous one without thinking that he had lived through that war; he made it, he carried it and perhaps he still carried it within him.

He was fuming for this, he was fuming for how women, and even men, gawk at him, for their bizarre custom of hosting a feast without a decent place to sit and eat like normal people do. He was fuming because no matter how much he tried to ignore it, a spool of crimson would always catch his eye.

Grabbing one more cup of wine, he decides to take a breath outside, standing on one of the marbled balconies of the Palace. Air does good to extinguish his fires, but it does not clear up his mind. Perhaps he should blame the wine, perhaps his head is still smoky.

Because you, in the first place, do not know what you're doing here.

As much as he loathed to admit it, the Salt Queen was right. He tricked himself into thinking the main reason for his coming here was Vhagar. She was weak, due to the wing's injuries as well as the old ones, and most of all, she was hungry. But with the promise of goats and pigs, came the clarity and the knowledge that he had no reason, no plan. He only knew he had leverage—a dreadful leverage made of talons and fire on these merchants and their city. But what to do with it?

He hears voices somewhere near, and once more, crimson pollutes his sight. The Salt Queen and her husband are talking behind a tall white pillar. He can’t quite hear what they’re saying, but she catches his stare almost immediately. The talking ceases, and Aemond knows they were talking about him, of course they were.

Xavos comes out of his hiding place with a placid and benevolent expression, walking right past him without a word. But she stays, and she looks, and then she walks to him.

“That will go to your head.” She warns as he empties the cup “I didn’t see you touch any food.”

The spiced wine burns his throat, makes his tongue sour and impatient. “Is your husband aware of your excessive concern about your guests? Or is it a thoughtfulness he has ordered you to reserve only for me?”

“I’m just being considerate since you’re a foreigner and not well acquainted with Qartheen tastes.”

“How exactly am I supposed to eat? Standing?”

She huffs a laugh and shakes her head trimmed with gold and red as she gives him a bemused, though genuine, look. “Good God, how spoiled you are? I thought misery made men humble, but clearly not men of House Targaryen.”

His jaw moves annoyingly, and he leaves the empty cup on the marble, but he doesn’t let go, holding it by the edges in a white-knuckle grip. She notices it as she leans against the marble, with her back to the city, and gives him a long, inquisitive look. “After all the misery you suffered, I thought you would’ve liked the attention…perhaps you do…perhaps…you want more.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” he asks boringly, and just as sourly, staring at the city.

“I must say, I’ve hosted so many people, from so many different parts of the world, and yet…I’ve never found myself before a face so full of contradictions.”

His eye pins her. “Need I remind you how you left my room earlier?”

“With your hand around my neck, because you couldn’t take a joke.”

“I don’t like being mocked. And I don’t like being played like a pawn. So, unless this is another one of your absurd customs, tell your husband to stop parading you around me like a whore. It looks bad when you insist on others calling you queen.”

“We all play parts, dragon prince. Sometimes, they blend. But in the end…it takes little to know the real you.”

Aemond chokes on his breath as her hand slips between them like water, cupping his crotch with a grip of steel, and fire, burning from her fingertips through the fabric. She holds it like a weapon, and his defense is low. She sees his throat bobbing down once, and twice, rejection curls his mouth, but not strongly enough to shove her hand away, to not start to harden against the flames of her fingers, brushing all his length until she cups it once more.

“Whore or queen?” she whispers, brushing his parted lips “Someone in there doesn’t seem to care.”

His grip on the cup loosens, a tremor runs down his spine, and he dawdles in the sensation, one felt before, elicited by other hands, and yet new. It’s been so long. The surge to touch, to clutch, to taste, drains his head of blood. But she eludes him, tilting her head to the right and then to the left to avoid the vise of his lips; her grip loosens, running the back of her fingers against his cock in a feathery brush, touching without touching.

He grinds his teeth to choke a whimper, but then she’s cupping again; she feels him go completely hard for her, and the knowledge washes over her like tongues of fire prickling down her back and between her thighs. The soft, slippery silk allows her to unleash her lunges more fiercely, to easily close her hand around his cock, and that same silk helps her to glide her hand deliciously up and down.

He's breathing hard, almost panting, brushing the tip of his nose against hers; her eyes are open, basking in the sight, the little twitches of his mouth as bends to pleasure, the breathing turning heavier and heavier, his hand that starts to flex. She imagines how those slender fingers would feel between her folds, how easily they would slip inside, and why, why is he not touching her?

“Do it…” she breathes. “Do you want me to say please? I would…there’s no shame in begging, dragon prince….it only makes you free…”  

“Your Highness, my apologies.” Nyla calls her Queen suddenly, and she stops her wicked ministrations, abruptly bringing Aemond back to his senses.

“The Salt King sent me after you.” The young maid says, apparently unfazed by what she clearly witnessed. “We’re playing kottabos.”

"Ah, yes, of course.” she tries to regain some control, although she was panting on the sole anticipation, and goes back inside.

Aemond stalls, taking a long sigh in the fresh air to try to stop the blood from boiling. And he follows.

Kottabos, he discovers, is quite a tricky game. The rules are simple: one has to throw the last drops of wine inside their cup to hit a white plate balanced atop a bronze pole. It requires a bit of dexterity, because the player must put the index finger through the handle of the drinking cup and throw the drops while sprawled on pillows, laying on their elbows.

The Salt Queen, it seems, is quite adept at this game. It takes her only two tries to hit the plate and she’s rising from the pillows, bowing her head to thank the cheerful audience. Aemond's eye bends as the crimson veils bend with her every movement; he slips between them and lets them wrap around him, even though he should not, even though he reproaches himself for letting the blood, the wine, the flesh, that has been starved of other flesh for too long, win.

“My closest friends know I’m very fond of sweets and cakes but…on such a special occasion, I choose a special reward.” She announces when the crowd has quieted down, and before she even turns around, he feels her gaze on him as if she had two more eyes on the back of her head. “A sweeter reward…or perhaps tarter.”

She moves towards him, and every step she takes barefoot on the marble is an unmasking. With every step she takes, it seems to him that she is touching him, as she did just before, and more; he feels like her fingers are slipping under the silk, setting fire to his skin.

She stops in front of him and yet, he still sees her moving, feels her moving like a sea creature and her thousand tentacles of crimson silk.

Maybe he should put the wine down.

Wine is not for you, brother mine, your mind’s too heavy. It’ll soak like a sponge and you'll fall into your own vomit.

What she does not put down is her aim, moving her hands diligently as she grabs his face and draws him close to kiss him on the lips, and tilt her head back to look at him, so close she’s breathing his breath. “This…is your first taste.”

“Good! The Queen has chosen her reward. Let us play another round, shall we?”

Again, Aemond does not bother to look at the Salt King, he looks at her and the faint twitch between her lips at her husband's words.

“Come.” She says taking his hand, and he doesn’t know what drives him to follow her, whether his mind is too soaked, or his flesh is crying out to be fed.

What is certain is that now her bare feet tread the marble of his rooms and he is closing the door.

“I hope you don’t mind if we do it here. I don’t take men into my rooms.”

“Why?”

“I’m jealous of my things.”

“Liar.”

“What?”

“So used to play parts and yet, you look down before lying. Disappointing.”

“I’m surprised you were able to look at anything above my cleavage.”

This time, he lowers his gaze, but not to lie. He knows he has looked, many times, and the excuse of not being used to such a custom starts to creak. She walks up to him and looks at him with that knowing smile that makes him want to clamp his hand on her mouth and wipe it off her face, and maybe stick his fingers inside.

“Are you a virgin, my Prince? Did you have a wife in the West? Children?”

He swallows, and her eyes fall on his throat.

“Is that guilt you just swallowed? Or sorrow?”

“Why don’t you listen to your father’s sorcery while keeping your hole shut?”

“I told you, I am no witch. Qarth is the center of the world. Do you think we don’t know what happens in the East, West, North and South?” she angles her head and whispers in his ear “We know everything… Kinslayer, Terror of the Trident.”

She speaks his war titles in that liquorose way, opening the vowels as if she is casting a spell, but he hears the mockery. It is the same that loosened the tongue at the Strong bastards, the same one perpetuated by Alys. But Alys' mockery was different. She spoke in riddles, visions and flames. This woman speaks in truths.

“Do you regret it?” she whispers, and her tentacles thread their way through the silk “All those innocents you have burned…all the ones you have lost.” lazily, she pulls at the laces of the blue tunic and he stiffens, flaring his nostrils. “See? I don’t need sorcery. The more you stiffen, the more cracks reveal.” She straightens her head to look at him with eyes darker than tar, wandering over his face and he feels branded. “I can see them around you…ghosts…why don’t you set them free?”

“What is your fucking game?” he wants to seethe, but she’s so close to him it comes out as nothing but a hiss.

She smiles again and this time the victory is full. "The game is over, your grace. I won, and you're my reward. I will admit I never had such a pretty one...care to show me that sapphire or are you still keen on playing the prude bashful prince?”

Aemond has no qualms about touching her, grabbing her face with nails digging into her cheeks as he pulls her close, turning her chin to spit anger and all his tumbled restraints into her ear “Perhaps I should shove my cock into your mouth to make you shut it, hmm? Is that what you want? What your husband wants? That I fuck you like a whore?”

She stiffens, thrashing in his hold that she may not have expected, and manages to turn her head just enough to look at him, scoffing. “Is this the only way you know to use your hands?”

A taunt, another one. It turns his eye pitch black and he leans closer to her lips, almost baring his teeth, almost as if he wants to bite the words—the mockery, the victory—off her mouth. But once more, she eludes him, tilting back and so, any reason burns and dies into his head.  

“D’you want to play games, don’t you? Let’s play, then.”

Still gripping her cheeks, he roughly pushes her into the room, letting her go for only one fleeting instant of freedom, just long enough to grab her shoulders and force her to turn around. A gasp escapes her lips, but the next moment she’s bending on the table, he’s forcing her to. A thrill spills into her blood, making her insides clench with anticipation, and dread.

He traps her, planting his feet between hers to stop her from closing her legs. She tries to pull herself up with her back, but he scowls, pushing her head down to keep it firmly glued to the table. She whines as his long fingers pull at her hair, tearing the gold and red chain off, and she can hear him fumbling with the silks, the other hand hiking her crimson gowns up.

“My Prince, please—”

“Begging already?” snarling, he spits into his palm and gives a few quick tugs to his cock, hard and aching “I wonder who’s coming from. The whore or the Queen. Either way, you’ll get your reward, your Highness.”

“Wait—” she whimpers as she feels the head of his cock teasing against her folds, something coils in her belly, and something else, something cold, grips her heart. “Not like th—”

She chokes on her tongue as he slips inside her, easily but painfully, all the way in. Hissing, his hold on her hair tightens, a coarse exhale coming out of his parted lips as he adjusts to her walls, hot and wet, but tense. She’s tensing all over.

“Why are you fighting me?” he pulls her up by the hair, leaning his face close to hers “You wanted this, did you not? You have been teasing and mocking me since I set foot in here.”

“I—”

“No. I’ve had enough of your talks and taunts. Here’s what’s going to happen, whore queen. You will keep quiet and take it. And if I want to fuck you again later, I will. You are not in charge here—not you, not your husband, not all the fucking Thirteen. So don’t fucking push me, unless you want to die with fire skinning you alive.”

Without too much grace, he forces her back on the table and starts a relentless pace, fisting the crimson fabric and pulling to keep her low back flushed to his crotch. His pants mix with flesh slapping harder and faster as he tries to pour on her, and into her, the grief and rage, the misery and fire he’s made of. She writhes beneath him, arching and crumpling against the wooden with violent gasps; she feels like burning but inside, she’s torn in two.

She clamps her hand on the wood to grab onto something, just like that evening. She feels her, and his, arousal coating her thighs, just as blood did that evening.

The little girl wants to run, but the Salt Queen doesn’t want him to stop.

She’s sinking in her mind, but burning in every corner of her body and soul.

She can only moan, her mouth agape and dry, leaking saliva on the surface as her head bounces at each wild rut, hitting that inner spot over and over.

“Look at you, hmm?” he taunts her with purpose, perhaps vengeance “Fucked so good she lost her wits.”

Look at you, little whore. Bet you like it, eh?

Squeezing her eyes shut, she finds a raw voice hidden somewhere. “Harder—”

“What?” he slurs with a heavy-lidded eye, the braids are almost loose, dangling on his face at each thrust.

“Harder—” she pleads with her eyes still shut.  

“Greedy wanton thing—” hips start to snap brutally, in a hurtful way, just as she wants, even if it’s hard to even breathe. Pleasure overwhelms her, drives her up towards the peak. But she finds she cannot climb; her mind is holding her down.

He grunts with each snap and curses in some foreign language she’s not aware of, and she doesn’t care; she’s too focused on letting herself burn. But it’s like sitting in front of a fire and barely feeling the flames.

And then his hips jolt faster, once, twice, and he halts, gripping her hips firmly, coming inside her with a long, satiated groan.

Completely spent, he slumps on top of her, resting his head on her shoulder blades to catch his breath. However, she is quick to slip from the scorching alcove, to slide out the door with her mind drowned but her heart pounding out of her chest.

"Your Highness!" Dora wakes from her slumber, and reaches for her Queen.

"Nothing, Dora." she says in a voice still hoarse, almost scratching. "Draw me a bath, please. And fetch mint and wormwood." Moon tea.

She starts to undo her silks and feels a distant smell of smoke sticking to her skin. Like one who has bathed in fire.

The morning after brings no clarity, because truthfully, Aemond does not need clarity. Everything is drastically simple. He is no coward. However his mind was less clear than usual, he could never blame wine for how he behaved a few hours earlier. And why would he?

Whether she was acting on her husband’s orders or not, she wanted him. And he wanted her. He could concede that he'd acted in a harsher way than usual, that he’d let rage and grief guide his purpose. It was not the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. But it all worked in his favor. A demonstration, a shift in whatever power game the Salt King and the other merchant Kings thought to play out. He only made it clear that he was not some precious pet to be coddled and ridiculed.

She had teased and mocked him at any occurrence. He’d only showed her the price of playing with fire.

His blue silks are fresh and clean when he sits down to have breakfast with Xavos; his long silver hair is tied up in a single low braid that starts from the center of his head and gathers lazily down his shoulder.

He has yet to get used to this strange Qartheen custom of sitting on pillows to eat; at least, however, he regains his appetite when he is served dishes once familiar to him, and less exotic.

"I took the liberty of having you prepare a breakfast akin to your old habits.” Xavos says chewing bread with olives “Ham, cheese, venison. And we have fresh fish every day. Blessed be the trades."

The Prince is sincerely grateful, though he would be a lot more grateful if the Salt King were able to shut his mouth when the sun is not even high in the sky. He goes on and on about the supposed trades, and then about the salt he so proudly sells to every corner of the world. He is just about to go on another monologue about the Thirteen and their hopeful wish to receive the Dragon Prince in their Palaces when he stops, frowning at the young maid clearing the place set next to the king. “What are you doing?”

“Apologies, Your Highness, but the Queen will not attend breakfast. She feels indisposed this morning.”

Immediately, Aemond glances up at her and she’s brave enough to hold it for a bunch of seconds before looking down and making her way to the door.

“Maid?”

She halts upon hearing the Prince and turns around.

“Tell your Queen I was promised something. She said she would see to it personally. And I expect her to keep her word.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“Wait.” he stops her again, his tone almost bored, and slips a hand into the folds of his blue silks, pulling out a gold and red chain. “Take this. She left it in my room last night.”

He throws the jewel on the table and resumes his knife and fork, not bothering to look at anyone, certainly not at the Salt King who is indeed looking at him, looking as pleased as ever, like the cat that caught the mouse.

The Salt Queen did not in fact forget her word. She promised him she would see to Vhagar’s condition, ordering to save goats and pigs to feed the beast, put them on carts and send someone with the Prince to reach the desert, where the dragon was resting.

However, she should've probably assumed that such an apparently simple task would've turned out to be a lot harder to carry out.

She’s just about to finish her late breakfast with Mysha and Dora, when Nyla breaks into the parlor with quick feet.

“Your Highness—uhm—Prince Aemond is at the door, he asks to be received.”

“What is it now? He doesn’t like how the sun rises here?”

Mysha and Dora giggle, but the Queen stays serious and turns to Nyla. “Tell the Prince he will have to wait. I am sure that even in Westeros, barging in during meals stands for bad manners.”

Nyla leaves, but it’s with even quicker feet that she returns to her Queen in barely a minute.

“My Queen, Prince Aemond is quite adamant on being received immediately. He…also says that…keeping guests at the door is a synonym of bad manners in Westeros, as he is sure, anywhere else in the world.”

Tapping her fingers on the table, it takes her a minute to sigh loudly and stand up, throwing the kerchief on the table.

“My Prince.” She greets him as she stops at the door.

In his usual soldierly stance, he looks past her for a moment before locking her blank gaze. “Still adamant on not letting me in?”

“You were not that drunk last night. I believe you heard me just fine when I told you I don’t take men into my rooms.”

“Hmm. But you did take me, and quite eagerly, if memory serves me right. Are we not past such formalities?”

“Gloating like some common man is not very royal of you, your Grace—"

“Tis’ not gloating. And I might say, not very royal of you either to beg me to fuck you harder, your Highness.”

“You’re right. Fucked me so good I didn’t come.”

The proud mischievous smile that kept stretching his mouth vanishes in a blink, and she has to sigh to stifle her own. “What is it, my Prince?”

“You gave me your word.”

“Indeed. And I kept it. What is your complaint now?”

“Your slaves refuse to escort me in the desert.”

“Well, I can’t blame them. Can’t you feed your dragon on your own? Or are you too humiliated by the prospect of carrying a cart of dead pigs?”

From the way he is staring at her, and having already tickled his pride when the sun is not yet high in the sky, she knows he will not yield on this matter.

“Fine. I’ll go with you.”

“My Queen, it is not safe.”

“Do not worry, Dora. I’ll take the Sorrowful Men.”

Aemond almost laughs to himself as he stands on the left edge of an enclosed inner courtyard of the palace, resembling the training yards of Westeros. There are men intent on training with spears and swords, dressed in strange uniforms made of blue drapes and a strange golden mask on their faces. The carving makes the mask weeping, with a single tear embossed on the gold.

Aemond has no idea how they can see, as there seem to be no holes in those eyes of gold. But his gaze returns at once to the Salt Queen, talking to one of those men, with a large turban on his head. Some kind of commander, he assumes.

He bows to her and then six of these mysterious men march forward and surround the woman.

The Prince glances at each one of them, standing tall and proud as ever with his hands laced behind, seeming unperturbed by these safety measures. In fact, he says “Truly there’s no need to trouble these men, your Highness. What do you expect me to do? Feed you to Vhagar as soon as we are in the desert?”

“These men are not a safety measure for me, but for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. To prevent you from having certain…Targaryen ideas.”

“Six armed men against the largest living dragon seems like a somewhat unequal battle.”

Narrowing her eyes, she watches as the same placid arrogance bathes his features, but she thinks now it’s the right time to wipe it off, and she knows exactly how to do it. “Sorrows bring sorrows.”

All at once, the Sorrowful men move, drawing their spears with impressive speed and aiming the sharp points at the prince. His whole demeanor changes, becomes menacing, she notices, but he does not flinch. She walks among the weeping men avoiding the spears until she stands in front of the prince and snatches the mask off his face, to wear it herself.

“Listen to me. These men live to serve me. They were slaves once, bought with something far more valuable than gold: freedom. And they chose to stay by my side. If I told them to take the only eye you have left, right now, they would do it. If I told them to cut your cock and bring it to me right now, they would do it. A shame, I will grant you that. So, you’re right, you may be in charge here…but if you push me…you will be dead before you have the chance to say Dracarys.”

Whatever cutting remark the prince has in mind, he does not have time to say it, as he is suddenly distracted by a strange sound, a whistle, like the cry of a bird.

Aemond turns his head and the Queen does the same, recognizing that sound at once. The Sorrowful Men lower their spears and a man steps forward, dressed in a strange purple robe. Aemond stares at him warily, wondering why, in the name of the Seven, this man’s lips are blue, like a corpse.

“Father…” the Salt Queen greets him, taking Aemond by surprise, but sounding a little surprised herself to see the blue-lipped man.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t answer to his daughter, because he can’t. He starts to move his hands in strange signs, circles and lines. And Aemond is grateful for his strict education, for he knows what that man is doing. Sign language. He is either mute, or tongueless.

Unfortunately, he cannot understand what he’s saying, but his daughter can.

“Kóri. Will you not introduce me to your noble guest?”

The Salt Queen sighs, casting a brief look at the Prince, and then she introduces him. “Father, this is Prince Aemond, of House Targaryen.”

The blue-lipped man looks at him with wide eyes, charmed to the point of looking unsettling. And then he bends into a long bow. Not even when Aemond sat on the Iron Throne, someone had bowed so low before him.

He tilts his chin down to greet him, and sees the warlock’s hands moving. “On behalf of the Warlocks of Qarth” the Salt Queen translates “I welcome you, your Grace. It is a great privilege to see a descendant of Old Valyria in the flesh. Your blood is as ancient as our beloved great city.”

Aemond cannot stop his eyebrow from raising, nor his tongue. “It seems at least one member of your family knows good manners.”

“You must excuse us, father, we have to go.” she hastens to say, but as soon as she takes one step, her father grabs her arm.

“Don’t run from me, kori. You have been knowing, yes? More than usual.” and then his hands rise and fall once more. “Trees wail. Leaves are bleeding. The doom, kori. The doom is near.”

PART 2

thank you so so much for reading!! 💕 💕