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xlovellydreams · 2 months ago

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Reuniting

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 ⟡ ☾ ⟡ 𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃

˚˙⋆.☾.✮.˙˚ Pairing: Rhysand x Reader

˚˙⋆.☾.✮.˙˚ Summary: Reuniting with Rhysand after Under the Mountain

˚˙⋆.☾.✮.˙˚ Words Count: 4.7k

˚˙⋆.☾.✮.˙˚ PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

Note: Hi guys! So, as you can see, this is my first work here – and the first one that I do post fully in English (mhm, as you can guess, English is not my first language, so let me know if you find any mistakes so I can correct them quickly). Anyway, I hope you will like it, and let me know if I should maybe do a part 2?

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 ⟡ ☾ ⟡ 𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃

It had been fifty years. Fifty years since you last saw Rhysand. You slowly started to begin thinking that you’d never see him again. That you’d never touch him again, hear his laugh, see his smile. You were drowning yourself in expensive wines, just for distraction between mourning his absence and taking care of the Night Court.

The morning was rough for you. Waking up early after drinking so heavily with Cassian last night made your head spin, and your eyes dry and red. You decided to wake yourself up a little. Wrapped in one of his robes you walked out of your room, right into the balcony.

And then, so suddenly he appeared in front of you. Just like that.

You and Rhysand just stared at each other in silence.

His skin was so pale, nothing left from his beautiful tan. On top of that sickeningly pale skin, the dark shadows underneath his dull, violet eyes made him look like he hadn��t slept at all for the last centuries. Those violet eyes, that you knew so perfectly didn’t shine like they used to. No spark in them.

You didn’t know what Rhys had endured Under the Mountain. Didn’t know what Amarantha had forced him to do. You were just standing there, shocked.

“Y/N…” Rhysand finally broke the silence.

You took a small step back, shaking your already spinning head. Your eyes were wide, and you needed to blink rapidly as you just could not believe it.

Rhysand took a step forward. You could see that he was trying to hold back his emotions. His eyes looked pained, so so pained.

“Don’t run from me, please… it’s me. It’s really me…” his voice was shaky.

“Gods” your voice cracked as you shook your head again. You did not even care about that headache anymore. “I shouldn’t have drunk with Cassian. Gods, I am hallucinating.”

Rhysand chuckled under his breath. It sounded hollow, humorless. He took another step closer. He was standing right in front of you now, his tall, lean body mere centimeters away from you. He was so so close to you. You could smell him. He smelt the same. Just like you remembered. Citrus and sea, and you were slowly breaking.

Rhys reached out a hand, carefully taking one of your own.

“Does this feel like a hallucination?” His voice was soft like silk. The voice that you had always known.

You choked out a small cry, tears in your eyes already building. “Holy shit, that wine was freaking strong” you mumbled, brushing your fingers against his. Not believing that you were touching him again. After so long. You honestly were not sure if you were not hallucinating.

Rhysand laughed. That same warm, rich sound that would melt your insides. He took another step closer, his body against yours and he wrapped his lean, strong arms around you, crushing you against his broad chest, burying his head into the crook of your neck. He breathed in your scent and sighed deeply.

“Gods, I thought I would never get to hold you again.”

You shattered.

A loud sob escaped your lips as you immediately wrapped your hands around his neck. Hugging him, holding onto him as your knees buckled and you were sure you would have fallen to the floor if he was not holding you. But he was real and he held you up, not allowing you to collapse.

He was real. Not a hallucination. Not a dream.

Rhysand’s arms tightened around you as you began to cry. He held you as close as he physically could, and he had to bend down so he could bury his head into your shoulder. He pulled you even closer, his body shaking with emotion as he breathed you in. You felt his mouth on your shoulder, his lips pressing into you, a silent apology.

“I missed you, I missed you, I missed you…” Rhysand repeated over and over again between ragged breaths.

“I won’t drink with Cassian again. It feels too real” you sobbed into his neck, holding onto him for dear life.

He laughed.

A weak laugh was huffed against your shoulder. “Please refrain from drinking with my brother if it’s going to affect you this much” he sounded so much like Rhys you knew. Gods, you had missed that so much.

His body was shaking violently, his emotions overflowing. But it was as if he was desperately trying to appear strong. He slowly pulled his head away from you, pulling back far enough that he could look at your face. His hands came up to gently cup your face, his fingers wiping away the tears that were still falling down your cheeks. He examined you with his violet eyes, taking in your face, your eyes, your hair. He was drinking you in.

“You’re more beautiful than I remembered.” Rhys breathed.

Those words snapped you back into reality.

Rhys was really here. He was really back after fifty years, after disappearing so suddenly.

Within seconds you feel the same anger you had felt that day. You gathered your strength, pulling yourself to stand straight and free yourself from his arms. Without thinking twice, you turned, reaching for one of the pillows from the small armchair you were always using while sitting on the balcony. And you threw it at him, hard.

Rhysand had relaxed the moment he saw recognition in your eyes. Then, before he could register what was happening, you’d freed yourself from his arms and swung a pillow at his head. Rhys stumbled backward as the pillow smacked him right in his face. He let it fall to the stone floor of the balcony, looking at you surprised, a small frown appearing on his face.

“What in the Cauldron was that for?”

“What in the Cauldron was that for?!” You snapped angrily, reaching for another pillow, throwing it at him again.

Rhys managed to catch the second pillow you threw at him before it hit his face. Again, he dropped down the cushion looking back up to you.

“You couldn’t have just said ‘welcome back’ like a normal person?” He sighed when he saw you reach for ANOTHER pillow. “Come on, put the pillow down.”

“Idiot! Prick!” You threw that pillow, the one he told you to put down.

Each pillow that hit him, Rhys caught with ease. And each time he caught a pillow he looked at you with a scowl on his face.

“Idiot? Prick? Bit harsh, don’t you think?” he grumbled before another pillow hit him in the chest.

But you were too angry, your eyes filled with tears, as you kept throwing pillows. You were a little glad, that you had spent a lot of sleepless nights on that balcony, buried in blankets and pillows, talking to the stars, praying for him to be back.

“How about you stop throwing things at me and we talk?” He tried to reason with you, but you were having none of it.

“Stupid. Selfish. Thoughtless bastard…” you muttered as you picked up another pillow.

“That’s it. Enough is enough.” Rhysand growled and he stalked towards you.

The next thing you knew, he had wrapped his arms around you and he picked you up as if you weighed absolutely nothing. He was now carrying you off the balcony and into your bedroom. He walked over to the bed and flung you down on it, your body landing on the soft mattress with a thump.

You groaned softly, immediately sitting up, and reaching for a pillow from your bed but his hand stopped you.

Rhys quickly straddled your thighs, using his hands to push you back down onto the bed so you couldn’t get up and grab the pillow. His knees on either side of your legs and, with his hands on your wrists, he pinned your arms above your head. He was above you, looking down at you with an intense expression.

“Do I have to tie you down?” Rhys threatened, narrowing his eyes.

Looking up into his violet eyes you slowly calmed down, taking a deep breath, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“Let me sit up” you murmured softly after a few minutes of silence.

Rhysand watched as your breathing started to level out, your chest slowly rising and falling. He still held you pinned to the bed, your wrists still in his firm grip. He didn’t respond right away, he just silently took you in. He could feel you calming down beneath him, the anger and frustration that had been in your chest earlier now starting to ease.

Finally, he released your wrists. “No more throwing pillows at me,” he told you firmly.

Instead of throwing a pillow this time, you threw yourself, burying your face in his neck, letting out a small sob again.

Rhysand’s arms immediately wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He felt you bury your face into his neck, your tears staining his shirt. He held you against him closely, his arms like a vice as he practically crushed you to his body. He buried his face in your shoulder, his own body still shaking from emotions.

Rhys was finally holding you again after fifty freaking years.

“You are so pale” you sniffled into his neck, not letting go of him.

Rhysand chuckled at that, though it was humorless. “Fifty years in the darkness of the mountain will do that to a person” he tried to joke, but the humor seemed to be lost when he spoke.

He held the back of your head with one of his hands, his other hand resting on your lower back. Pulling you even closer if it was possible.

“I’m sorry-”, he whispered into your shoulder, his lips pressing against your skin. He repeated it over and over again like a mantra. His body shook with emotion as he continued to hold you tightly to him. After fifty years of hell, he was finally home. He could finally hold you again.

“Don’t apologize” you tried to stop him, but of course, he was not listening.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Rhys’ words were a whisper. He was breathing you in, his nose buried in your shoulder. “I’m so sorry you had to spend fifty years not knowing what had happened to me. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to hold you or comfort you or laugh with you or dance with you or do any of the things I was supposed to do…” Rhys’ words caught in his throat and he shook his head slightly.

Rhysand didn’t listen when you kept telling him to stop apologizing. He had spent fifty years in the darkest hell possible. He had missed you so much. Had thought about you all the time. Wished every single day that he could be free, that he could come home to you. He continued to whisper his apologies into your shoulder. His apologies for disappearing without a trace, his apologies for taking so long to get home to you.

“Stop it Rhys” you begged softly, pulling his face away from your shoulder, your cheeks red from crying. “You are home. Thank you for coming home.”

Rhysand reluctantly let you pull his head back from your shoulder, his body still shaking. He met your eyes, his own filled with tears, though he was fighting to keep them from falling. When you thanked him for coming home, his throat tightened and he swallowed. Felt another wave of guilt and shame wash over his body when he saw the tears streaming down your face and he had to hold back a whimper.

He didn’t deserve the warmth and kindness in your eyes, not after what he had done while he was under the mountain.

You brushed away the tears from his pale cheeks, as you still sat in front of him, wrapped tightly in his robe.

“You look awful,” you said without a hint of hesitation.

For a second, a hint of a smile appeared on Rhys’ lips. There you were, blunt, sarcastic, honest… He had missed you so much.

“Don’t hold back on the insults, please,” he said sarcastically back, his eyes meeting yours.

“You deserve it”

A small, huff of laughter escaped Rhysand’s lips and he shook his head slowly. He supposed he did, after everything that had happened.

He winced a little as you brushed the tears from his cheeks so softly, so tenderly. He didn’t deserve your softness. Didn’t deserve your kindness.

Rhysand was supposed to be tough, the most powerful High Lord in Prythian. But under your watchful eyes, he felt weak, broken. He felt raw.

“I feel awful. Physically and mentally, I’m exhausted” he took another deep breath, his eyes not leaving yours. There was so much he wanted to say to you. So much he wanted to confess. But he was tired. Too tired to talk about it all.

You didn’t answer, biting your cheek a little harder as you kept running your fingers against his cheeks, trying not to burst into tears again. Later, you promised yourself to ask him later, not now.

Rhysand’s breath caught in his throat as he watched you brush your fingers against his cheek, the sensation shooting straight to his heart. He could see you biting your cheek, could practically feel the tears building up in your eyes. He knew you were trying to hold back your emotions. He didn’t want you to hold back.

He could barely remember the last time someone had touched him with such care, with such tenderness.

His heart ached in his chest as he looked at you. He hated himself for what he had done. Hated himself for leaving you, for making you worry for fifty years. “You can scream at me,” he spoke quietly, “Go on. Scream at me.”

You were trying desperately to keep it together. This was the first time you had seen him since he had disappeared. You had no idea what had happened in the mountain. You had no idea what he’d endured for fifty years. Just looking at you was already killing him. Rhysand just sat on the bed, letting you sit on his lap, his hands resting on your hips. He sat quietly as you touched his face, his eyes flickering over your, taking in your small little movements, your actions.

He wanted to say something, wanted to keep talking to you, but he couldn’t find the words. All he wanted to do was keep holding you close to him, to bury his head in your shoulder, to hold you and never let you go again.

“You left us” you whispered, your thumb still against his cheek. “Just like that. You left your city, you left Cassian, Azriel, Mor, Amren…”

You left me.

Rhysand heard the pain in your voice, as you spoke. Your eyes weren’t looking at him anymore, your gaze was fixed on your own fingers as they touched his cheek. He slowly brought his hand up, gripping your wrist, forcing you to meet his eyes.

Yes, he had left his friends. He had left his city. But he had also left you. You. His mate. His own beloved. He hated thinking about it. Hated himself for leaving you.

“I had no choice,” he said quietly, reopening his eyes and looking at you.

“We would have found another way!” You snapped at him softly, a few tears rolling down your cheeks.

Rhysand reached up with his hand, gently wiping away the tears that rolled down your cheeks. His fingers, which had always been so gentle with you were now trembling slightly.

“There was no other way, you know that as well as I do.” He spoke, his voice quiet and resigned.

He wanted to fight with you, he wanted you to lose your temper. Gods, he wanted you to snap at him. He didn’t deserve your softness. Did deserve your anger, deserved your rage. He was more used to you shouting at him, swearing at him, throwing pillows. Wanted you to shout and yell and curse. He didn’t want your soft voice and your soft touch.

But Rhys also knew you too well. He knew that you would have fought tooth and nail, and risked your own life if you had to, in order to find another way to get rid of Amarantha.

He knew you would fight for your friends, your family.

“You would have gotten yourself killed” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Then opened them again and spoke quietly. “You’re smarter than all of us, you know that… But you wouldn’t have found a different way”

“So what” you huffed. “If it meant saving you, I would have done that.”

Rhysand’s heart ached at that response. So casually saying that you would have sacrificed yourself. You would have gotten yourself killed. Willingly sacrificed your life if it meant finding another way of getting rid of that monster... He wouldn’t allow you to do that. Wouldn’t allow you to get yourself killed.

“You are an idiot,” he told you simply.

You were his everything. The light in his darkness.

“One of the stupidest people I’ve ever met,” he continued, his voice getting a little louder as his annoyance with you grew.

“You just said I am the smartest” you huffed, your eyes softening a little at the hint of annoyance in his voice.

Rhysand looked at you, a small smirk appearing on his face as you huffed. His eyes quickly darted down to your hip, where his hand was still gripping you tightly, keeping you on his lap.

“Smart? Yes. Stubborn? Definitely. Idiotic? Abso-fucking-lutely”

You couldn’t help it anymore, letting out a small chuckle.

“Says the prick himself” you pushed his shoulder gently.

His heart skipped a beat at the sound of your chuckle. Gods, he’d missed you. He’d missed your fire, missed your temper. He’d missed listening to you swearing at him.

“Still calling me a prick, aren’t you?” He asked, his voice dropping an octave.

“You deserve it” you mumbled softly, resting your forehead against his. Still sitting on his lap, in his robe as he did not let you go for even a second.

Rhysand couldn’t help but close his eyes as you rested your forehead against his, the gesture so incredibly intimate. His face so close he could feel your breath on his lips. He hummed in agreement as you mumbled that he deserved it. Gods, he did deserve it. He deserved all the insults you wanted to throw at him.

He had dreamed about this so many times under the mountain. So many days and nights of wishing he was at home, with you. Wishing he was holding you instead of being the monster’s plaything.

His grip on your hip tightened again as you continued to sit in his lap. The smell of you, the feel of you… it was driving him crazy.

Closing his eyes, he savored the feeling of being close to you again. “Perhaps I do deserve it” he muttered, a slight edge to his voice. “You still won’t throw a pillow at me again, will you?”

“I should be throwing more pillows at you” you murmured almost against his lips. “Hell, something heavier.”

“Like one of those books on your shelf, perhaps?” He teased, his eyes still closed as he held you. Relishing in the feeling of you against his body, the soft scent of you filling his nose and he inhaled deeply, trying to commit the moment to memory. He never wanted to forget what it felt like to hold you, never wanted to forget the sound of your voice or your soft laugh.

“One of my daggers, perhaps” you teased him back, running your fingers through his hair.

“Mmmhm” He hummed lazily, a shiver running through his body at the feeling of you running your fingers through his hair. The touch so gentle, so careful. It felt so good, so soothing. Like you were trying to soothe all the pain and trauma away. “Are you threatening your High Lord, darling?”

“I am threatening my mate” you whispered looking straight into his violet eyes.

His mate.

The word mate coming from your lips felt like a jolt to his chest. He closed his eyes for a brief moment as he heard you say it, the word wrapping around his heart and squeezing it tight.

He exhaled a shaky breath, his smirk fading and his expression changing to that of something more vulnerable.

Rhys didn’t think he’d ever become tired of you saying that. The fact that you were his mate, that the Mother had bound you to him in such a beautiful, special way. He was a High Lord. A powerful immortal. But here he was, sitting in your bed with you on his lap, your legs on either side of him. So vulnerable, a side he didn’t let others see.

“Say it again,” he spoke, his voice quiet and firm.

He had to hear you say it. Had to hear that word roll from your mouth once more. He needed confirmation. Needed to hear you say it again and again, over and over, just to remind himself that this was real. That he wasn’t still under the mountain, trapped in a never-ending nightmare.

You moved your fingers from his hair, to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against his pale skin.

“My mate. My High Lord. My soulmate. My other half” you whispered softly, tracing the lines around his face.

As you repeated the word, his breathing hitched slightly. He could feel his body getting warmer, his chest aching and a lump forming in his throat.

Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate.

The word was running through his head over and over again, as if it was the most important word in the world. Rhysand felt like he could cry at the way you were speaking, the way you were touching him.

He’d spent fifty years in hell. Fifty years he was stuck under the mountain, being forced to become that woman’s plaything.

And here you were. Touching him, caressing his skin, calling him your mate. After everything.

“Again.” He knew you didn’t know what he had endured and he hated that. He made sure to keep his shields up, to keep you away from his mind even now. Hated the fact that he couldn’t pull down his mental shields, couldn’t allow you to see what that witch had made him do.

But he was so damn scared you would hate him if you ever found out.

You chuckled a little, snapping him back. “Later, I will spend the entire night whispering it to you, but now, others are waiting for you too. I bet Cassian and Azriel will be here any second”

Rhysand almost whined as you said you’d whisper it to him later. He wanted you to say it right now, to hear it again and again until he was sure it was real.

But he knew you were right. The idea of seeing his brothers again, of seeing the looks on their faces when they saw that he was home made him smile a little. You mentioning Cassian and Azriel brought a brief sense of relief that flooded his chest. They were alive. They were okay. His family was safe.

Then again, later, you had said. Later. A promise of tonight. Of lying so close to you all night, in his bed, whispering those words to him over and over again.

He let out a breath, reluctantly accepting the fact that you wouldn’t say it again. Not right now.

“You are cruel, you know that?” He grumbled. “Making your mate wait.” He took a moment to take you in, you sitting in front of him on his lap, your skin almost glowing in the sunlight as the light streamed through the windows. You were beautiful. More beautiful than he remembered. “How do I look?”

You burst into loud giggles at his question.

Rhysand watched as your body shook and your laughs filled his ears, and for a moment, he just stared at you in utter disbelief. He couldn’t believe the sound of your laughter. The sound he had missed so dearly while he was away.

When he finally found his voice, he spoke, a sly smirk on his face. “Is that your way of telling me that I look terrible?” His grip on your hip tightened.

You kept giggling softly, nodding your head as you just couldn’t even speak.

Rhysand feigned hurt at your response and your nods, a dramatic sigh leaving his lips as he spoke. “You are insufferable, you know that?” Hearing you giggle at his question, and seeing the gleam of pure happiness in your eyes. He felt as though he could get drunk off the sound and sight of your joy.

Letting out a small fake gasp, cupping your cheek “Here I am, finally returned home after fifty years stuck under the mountain, in order to be greeted by a giggling, stubborn mate of mine who is insulting my appearance.”

You only giggled more, making his heart melt, “I am sorry!”

“Apology not accepted,” he said, feigning sternness. He gave your hip a little squeeze. “Say something nice to me, then I’ll consider letting you off.”

Instead of saying you leaned, capturing his lips in a soft and gentle kiss.

Rhysand froze for a moment.

Your lips, soft and gentle against his, filled him with a feeling of warmth he’d not felt in years. He’d had fifty years of Amarantha forcing herself on him, fifty years of being touched by an unwanted hand.

But your touch, your soft, gentle lips against his own, suddenly filled him with a sense of calm. A sense of being home.

He reached up with his other hand, letting go of your hip, to place it on the back of your neck as he kissed you back.

Before he could have even deepened the kiss, before you could have fully lost yourselves, you pulled away, breaking the kiss.

It had been fifty years since he’d felt the feeling of your lips against his own. Fifty years since he’d kissed you, held you. It was agonising to have to stop the kiss so suddenly. Rhysand couldn’t help but let out a small, almost whiny sound of disappointment as you pulled away from him. He could feel his mind going fuzzy, already addicted to the feeling of your lips against his own. He just wanted the moment to last longer. Wanted to keep kissing you until he couldn’t breathe. Wanted to keep kissing you until you were breathless.

“Why’d you stop?” He was not done kissing you, “Come back here.”

“You need to change” you murmured.

Rhysand huffed, but begrudgingly removed his hand from your cheek.

“Fine,” he mumbled, a hint of annoyance in his voice. But his eyes were on your lips again. “Can I expect that I’ll get to taste those lips again once I’m done changing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

You smiled, so softly as you shook your head. “Later, for the night I am all yours. But now I want you to just, take a bath, relax a little and then come downstairs,” you pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek “because your family is waiting.”

There was that word again. Later. You were really testing his patience here. Rhys stifled the urge to pout as you pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering on his skin for a moment longer.

Even though he really, really just wanted to stay in your embrace, his family was waiting for him.

He huffed again, the sound turning into a small chuckle. “You are cruel to me” he murmured, begrudgingly letting go of you. His family were waiting, he knew that. He could sense his brothers close; could sense their worry and eagerness. And that’s why he didn’t want to leave you, to leave this room. He didn’t want to leave this bubble that was just you and him.

“Rhys?” You whispered softly, before he could disappear in the bathroom.

Rhysand heard you whisper his name. His name, spoken in your soft voice. Gods, he had missed the way you said it. How you’d say it like a prayer, like a promise.

He looked up at you, his eyes locking with yours as he responded. “Yes, darling?”

“Welcome home”

#rhysand #rhysand x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #rhysand x you #rhysand x y/n #rhysand acotar #fanfic #rhys x reader #fanfiction #my writing #writings #rhysand fanfic

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littlefreya · 6 months ago

Text

Neptune's Snare

Summary: She came to take revenge on the loathsome man who murdered her fiance, only to become his captive.

Read Chapter One

Pairing: AU!Pirate August Walker x Virgin OFC (for now 😏)

Word count: 3k

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI. Sexual themes, dark themes mentioned, historical inaccuracies, kidnapping, captivity, graphic descriptions of sex, intimidation, slow burn, sexual tension, foul language.

A/N: I was unsure whether I should do part 2, but @deandoesthingstome (💖) motivated me to do it, so I truely hope you will like it. Many thanks to @agniavateira, for beta'ing. I am no longer using my old tag list, but I will tag those who specifically asked to be tagged for this story via my new Writing Update Blog @littlefreyaslibrary.

Thanks for reading, and please reblog with a comment 🖤

Chapter Two

Hours had passed since the Captain left—hours of futile attempts to escape the cruelty of the heavy iron binds. By now, the ship was deep into the ocean, miles away from any harbour or piece of land. The notion that she’d been abducted by the most ruthless murderer known to authorities had only just begun to sink.

As hot tears stung at her cheeks, Lizette couldn’t help but chuckle at the stupidity that led her to this fate.

‘Did you really think that a foolish girl could succeed where great men had failed?’

If Lizette had dared be honest, she would admit she never thought that plan through, not that it mattered much anymore. Soon enough, she would be yet another shiny trinket in Blackbeard’s gaudy collection.

Exhausted from a fierce yet futile battle, she leaned her head back against the plush, gold-paneled wall. Her weary gaze drifted through the open window, where the dark skies and black seas merged into a desolate void. No light shone through tonight; the darkness has devoured the stars and the moon. Lizette felt as if she was drowning in it too, sinking into a thick, tar-like liquid. With each breath, the collar around her throat grew heavier, the iron pressing into her skin and dragging her deeper and deeper until everything faded to black.

When she blinked again, it was still night but the cabin was lit in deep shades of honey and amber. Her heart skipped—once for the iron still hanging from her neck and twice as her bleary eyes caught sight of a shadow by the edge of the big table.

It appeared that her host had returned.

Boots flung across the food-abundant table, the Captain sat back in his royal velvet chair. One hand cradled a silver chalice whilst the other toyed with the edge of his thick whiskers. Silver trays of food, wine, and books were splayed before him, surrounded by dozens of fat, wax-dripping candles. The flickering flame guttered upon his eyes, painting them bright red while he observed the girl intently.

The curiosity was mutual, at least to some extent. As loathsome as the pirate was, Lizette could not help but scrutinise. Never in her life did she see a man so crude and yet so regal at the same time, He looked like a washed-out king, holding himself to a higher status amongst the scum aboard his ship. Surrounding himself with fine art, books and scientific obscurities, one would assume that this low-life man was educated, or at least aspired to be. His appearance, too, was of some sort of false elegance, with his moustache carefully groomed and his hair neatly combed save for an errant curl that fell upon his tanned forehead. However, the white cotton shirt that hung partially unbuttoned and loose from his shoulders exposed him for what he truly was as it revealed a myriad of tattoos, scars, and coarse hair.

‘Nothing but a filthy scoundrel.’

“At last, sleeping beauty is awake.”

Lizette kept her tongue knotted. The blazes on her stare answered on her behalf.

August scoffed at the silent response. ‘Precious little thing,’ Had only she known how much he enjoyed obstinate women. The only thing that was better than bending a spitfire to his will was getting a nun to kneel before his cock.

A slight twitch tugged at his cheek; his smirk widening at the fond memory.

‘Ah, Mary… you sure pray hard.’

Letting go of his whiskers and the chalice in his grasp, the Captain reached for a loaf of bread and split it in half. Steam rose and coiled to the air. The scrumptious scent of the freshly baked goods quickly filled the room and wafted over Lizette in a tempting invitation. Absentminded, she suckled her bottom lip, almost able to taste the sweetness on her tongue.

The pirate held out one piece of the loaf, an unmistakably provoking grin lighting his face. “Would you dine with me, pet?”

Weakness unfurled through her, reminding Lizette that it must have been hours, if not an entire day, since she last ate. Her empty belly flipped and gurgled so loudly that the pirate could hear it even from where he sat. Joy immediately cascaded about his glance; the impish grin between his cheeks further stretched.

To his delightful surprise, the girl was a lot more stubborn than she appeared. Instead of begging, she offered a spiteful glare and turned her face away.

“I’d rather starve!”

“Suit yourself.” The Captain shrugged and bit on one of the pieces. Hums and moans sputtered from his mouth, all exaggerated to taunt his brazen prisoner. As he finished chewing, he sucked on each of his inked fingers.

“Got a name, pet?”

“What matter is that to you?” The girl spat.

August shrugged again and returned to the chalice, dragging it on the table's surface in circular motions. A deep-red whirlpool briefly formed in his drink. He stared at it indifferently as he retorted, “Matters not, pet. But since you’ll be spending some time here in my quarters, I will require a moniker to approach you by. Question is, would you rather I choose a name for you myself? It won’t be a nice one. I can promise you that.”

Keeping her eyes averted, the girl folded her knees and hugged them, a deep sigh sinking from her. She couldn’t even bring herself to imagine the horrendous name he would choose.

“My name is Lizette.”

A touch of dark delight kissed his face—as if he had heard the enchanting hymn of a siren. Thoughtful, he stopped stirring his drink to the sound of her name, licked his lips, lifted the chalice and pressed it to his lips. “Ah, yes, you are definitely a Lizzy.”

“It’s Lizette!” she vehemently corrected.

“Oh!” The pirate abruptly twirled his free hand in the air, his brows lifting in a sardonically submissive gesture. “Forgiveness! Mercy, milady!” That had earned him the attention he was hoping to receive, as finally, Lizette snapped to glare at him.

The pure ire on her face did nothing but feed his amusement.

With a slanted grin and his thumb brushing his whiskers, he eyed her back. It’s been a while since a girl piqued his fascination, and this one was indeed something else. Fear seeped from her like dewy nectar from a ripe fruit. The sheen of sweat clinging to her skin and the throbbing at the crook of her neck gave away her true emotions. Yet, she exuded the unyielding fury of a harpy, the shackles around her throat barely deterring her brazen spirit..

‘Bold little thing. As ferocious as the ship’s cat…’ August thought and then frowned, ‘Where is that ungodly creature, anyway? Haven’t seen it in a while.’

“Lady Lizette…” the correct moniker rolled smoothly on his tongue in an inherently sinister sweetness. “Are you always such a rude guest to your hosts?”

“Guest?!” Lizette seized the chain that held her collar to the wall and lifted it in front of him—a deep frown decorating her weary face.

“I am not a guest! I am a prisoner!”

“Ah! Ah!” The pirate lifted his inked index finger in an unbearably pretentious manner. "It was you who came aboard my ship willingly, and let us not forget—uninvited.”

Lizette felt a chill in her chest, the same chill she always sensed when getting an answer wrong in her Latin lessons. He was right, and there was more to it. Pirate or not, doesn't every man deserve respect in his own home?

That notion made her cheeks hot.

“And if I may…“ the pirate drawled huskily and shifted into his seat. Lizette’s eyes followed his movement with the wariness of a skittish cat. Initially bemused, she realised his hand had snaked below the table and was now fumbling with his waistband.

A deep, pulsating pang bloomed in her core as the primordial anxiety every maiden is doomed to suffer from awoke within her. Alarmed, she shook her head and blurted hoarsely, “Wait!”

The pirate paid her no mind; either he didn’t hear or didn’t care. Then, his hand sprang back sharply with a pistol in his grip—the same one he had confiscated from her merely a few hours before.

“Did you not attempt to murder me in my own home?”

With those words, he slammed the pistol on the table, the dull thud booming through the cabin wall and causing Lizette to jump with a start.

Sinking back to his red regal chair, August crossed his fingers together and pressed his lips together with the contempt of an authority figure. The many golden trinkets around his fingers chimed as they collided.

“Answer me, Pet.”

Lizette regarded the pistol carefully. The golden floral embellishments upon the handle sparked with the candle's light. For a fleeting moment, she wondered how fast she needed to be to grab the pistol and shoot him dead in his rotten heart. Instead, she simply nodded, much as she could with the heavy collar around her neck. The spots where the sharp edges grazed her flesh burnt as sweat dripped over the bruised skin.

“Dumb as your plan was, I do appreciate the gesture, las. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to murder me, but it’s definitely the first time it was a beautiful young lady. Was all of this because of a boy?” He challenged, crooking one eyebrow.

This time, Lizette did not hesitate to answer.

“You robbed me of my future!” She corrected, and though she tried to maintain a fierce demeanour, the quiver in her voice gave away the rageful grief.

Sympathy, sadly, was not in August’s books, especially not whilst being distracted by the way her breasts pressed against the confines of the corset with every fervorous breath. A small, almost inaudible groan left his lips. He wondered if she, indeed, was a virgin. Did he deny her of her wedding night? Were these lovely tits ever in the hands of a man before?

Surely, he would find out. One way or another.

With a glare still fixed on her cleavage, he grazed his dimpled chin and simply shrugged.

“Pirate.”

Lizette hissed in response. Defiant, she snapped her arms across her chest to hide her cleavage.

‘Pig.’

“So I robbed you of your future,” August continued, mimicking quotation marks with his long, inked fingers. “And thus, you thought you should rob me of mine?”

“And what future would that be? Murdering and whoring?” she muttered hatefully.

The pirate swatted a hand over his chest, giving her a fake, exaggerated pout. “Now that pains me, love.”

Lizette could sense the blood seeth beneath her skin. She was used to men belittling her, but never did she experience such sheer mockery and humiliation. Trembling, she yelled back, “Good! I wish you nothing but pain!”

“And so she continues to insult me in my own home.” August clicked his tongue and shook his head with sardonic disappointment. “You highborn ladies sure lack respect. ‘Funny thing is, no matter how uppity women like you act, they all want the same thing…” his voice slurred and deepened, coaxing a baffled look from the maiden who abruptly forgot her wrath and ate the bait.

“And what would that be?”

The pirate stood and calmly paced to the fore of the table, where he leaned against the edge to peer down at his prisoner. Lizette remained guarded. he was fairly far away yet close enough for his shadow to fall upon her face and for his manhood to be situated at the level of her mouth. She struggled to avoid staring at it directly, which only made that wretched smug smile light his face again.

“What you ladies truly want is to be violated by none other but us ‘lowlife scoundrels’,” August nibbled his bottom lip, a dry chuckle escaping him as more fond memories came to mind. “Truly, the lots of you are bored by the castrated virility of the poised gentlemen. All you fantasise about is to be fucked dirty like a whore by a brute who has no sense of propriety.”

The pirate held his fist before him and mimicked a slow pumping motion. Although Lizette did not quite understand it, his words alone were enough to leave her gravely unsettled.

“You are an animal,” she snarled, not realising that her nails were biting into her forearms as she clutched herself so protectively.

But that merely fueled him.

“Tell me, Pet, did your boy satisfy those dark desires before he left a delicious bonny lass like yourself all alone? Did he split open and plundered your sweet little cunt, ass, and mouth, or did he leave you wet and miserable?”

Heat crawled at Lizette’s cheeks, yet she wasn’t sure whether it was from outrage or shame. Never in her life had she even considered the possibilities he had suggested, and now those horrifying images poisoned her mind.

Amused by her obvious mortification, the pirate tilted his head impishly. “No? Not even a finger or a tongue?”

“Stop it!” She implored, her voice cracking.

Ignoring her plea, he clicked his tongue. “Aw, sweet, tender flower. That’s the problem, isn’t it? He left you all alone and uncharted—that lonesome seal, begging to be invaded. Well, milady, you didn’t have to threaten me with a pistol in that case. All you had to do was ask.”

The pirate reached for his bulge and squeezed it, much to Lizette’s dismay.

”Trust me, one night with me, and you’d forget you ever loved him.”

That was enough to send Lizette over the edge. Not thinking twice, she jerked to her feet, the chains around her rattling along a furious onslaught that sputtered from her mouth.

“Love?! What do you know about love? You are a monster! All you do is kill and rape! You are incapable of love, and I’d be damned if anyone could ever love you!”

All the candles in the cabin flickered with a sudden gust of wind as the pirate suddenly lunged forward. He moved so fast, too fast. Lizette hadn’t even had the chance to sway from his touch, and already he was upon her. Crude fingers dug deep into the hollows of her cheek, forcing her to face his terrorising stare.

“You think this is a game? You think you know anything about me, little girl? About what I’ve done!?”

It was not a question to be answered, and even so, Lizette couldn’t bring herself to speak; she was suffocating, drowning on the surface. All around her, the air stood dense with the scent of iron, wine, and musky sweat, whilst the weight of his body crushed as it clung to her.

Closer, deeper. Layers upon layers of silk and wool separated their skin from one another, and still, she sensed the curve and firmness of his robust figure. The woven map of muscles that adorned his torso and the flex each muscle made as he tensed were evident

But none of this came close to what she saw as he forced her to look into his eyesa wrathful maelstrom pregnant with sinister urges beyond her darkest fears. It felt as if it was trying to draw her into a deep sense of anger, and grief submerged her.

Dread began to spill into her veins. He was going to kill her.

Lizette sucked in a deep shuddering breath. She was not going to join her Edward. Not tonight.

“Let go of me!” She squealed and began to punch his shoulders repeatedly. It felt like hitting iron, every blow more painful than the other, yet she refused to stop.

Indeed, she was just like that sea monster of a cat.

Stoic as an icy sea breeze, the pirate tilted his head at the girl. Despite her desperate efforts, her battle did nothing but vex him. Quirking one eyebrow, he released his grip from her jaw and swiftly reached for her hands. Lizette did her best to evade, squirming erratically, but to no avail. With a swift single hand, he seized her wrists and pinned them above her head with a booming thud.

The girl gasped out with surrender, strands of her hair blowing back and forth upon her face as she heaved and panted exhaustingly. With his hand around her wrists and his body slightly bent to meet her height, he stood closer to her than any other man had before. So close that she could taste the wine and sea salt on his breath and study every freckle and every scar that marked his skin. He was nothing like her Edward, she thought; he was coarse and terrifying, and despite it all, she found him tragically beautiful.

She hated him for that.

“Listen to me now and listen carefully,” he finally spoke, tightening his grip around her wrists.

Liaette lifted her chin disdainfully; it took every ounce of self-restraint not to spit at his murderous, smug face.

“You’ve mistook my hospitality and playfulness for kindness, but let’s get this straight; I am not a good man. Upset me, and I will pluck that little flower between your thighs without blinking and then throw you to my crew once I have my fill.”

His words brought a stark shiver down her spine, yet it wasn’t just fear this time but something far more primordial. Between her trembling thighs, she sensed dewy wetness. A desperate gnawing need she had never known before. Trying to ease and brush it off, she squirmed and ground her thighs.

August’s brow rose with realisation, an immediate knowing grin spilling upon his malicious face. He leaned closer, his lips and whiskers brushing against her ear as he spoke.

“Seems like there won’t be much resistance from you, isn’t that so, pet? Soon, you’ll beg me to fuck y…”

His words were cut as warm saliva splattered on his cheek.

He shut his eyes momentarily, releasing a deep, exasperated grunt and then moved an inch away to fish a silk handkerchief from his pocket. Lizette watched proudly as he wiped his face.

The pirate, however, was not amused. Throwing away the handkerchief, he offered her a deadly frown. And then he leaned in, his mouth drawing voraciously closer to hers as if meaning to devour her.

“I warned you…”

“Captain.”

A low, sonorous call followed from the door, drawing both August and Lizette to turn their heads toward the uninvited guest.

Lizette blinked twice. The man in question was almost the spitting image of August, though his hair was wild with earthy curls and his beard fully grown, pointy, and tended with wax. Indifferent to the scene before him, he drew a pipe from his pockets and lit it with the flame of a candle that stood on a shelf near the door.

August regarded him with slight respect, yet not without annoyance:." What is it? I am busy.”

“I can see that,” the other pirate puffed out, grey lines of smoke following through his nostrils, “you are needed at the brig.”

“About?”

“Flint might finally speak.”

Eyes ablaze with sudden intrigue, August straightened to his fall height and drew a step back from the girl yet kept his grip around her wrists.

“I assume your methods worked, brother?” He crooked one eyebrow at the other pirate curiously.

‘Brother, of course,’ Lizette nearly chuckled. The men must have been twins, although she could tell the other sibling had far more grey in his untamed mane.

“My methods always work.” He answered with dry arrogance. “Finish her off later. This is more important.”

August lingered, his fingers brushing over his moustache as he contemplated what to do with his sweet little prisoner. The possibilities were endless, yet the more interesting ones would take some time, and with the trouble she gave him, he definitely wanted to give her what she deserved.

A deep, exasperated sigh left his lips. “A moment, Gus,” he requested, finally unhanding the girl.

The man, now known as Gus, bowed his head and threw Lizette a quick glance before disappearing into the darkness behind the door.

“It seems like I have some business to attend to, love. Shall we continue our little fun later?” August teased, slight annoyance still lingering at the tone of his voice.

Lizette did not answer. Rubbing her aching wrists, she watched him cautiously while he searched within his pockets. She wondered what new cruel method of torment he would inflict to her now.

To her surprise, it was a small silver key.

He lifted it to her face and offered her a razor-sharp stare." The water is close to freezing; sharks and eels are swimming within them, and every man upon my deck is probably plotting to use you as fuckhole since the moment you stepped onboard. I trust you won’t try anything stupid in my absence.”

“Like what?” Despite her physical and mental exhaustion, she dared to speak back, “Seduce one of your crew members to fornicate with me so he would betray and murder you?”

Her weariness must have brought out the worst in her because she would have never thought of such an inappropriate, vile thing. Then she realised it was him who, in less than a few hours, corrupted her soul.

August paused and contemplated for a moment as if this was an actual possibility he did not consider. However, he brushed it off with a burst of taunting laughter while proceeding to unlock the collar around her neck. “I wouldn’t recommend it, love. They all come with so many exotic afflictions on their cock s that no doctor has even heard of.”

As the iron was removed from her little neck, the girl rested her hands around it, massaging the cuts and bruises that formed beneath. It ached even worse as the chill air of the night pecked at the raw flesh.

The pirate waltzed toward the table, reclaiming the pistol in an obviously provoking manner. He sheathed it back at the front of his waistband and paced toward the door.

“I won’t be long, love,” he promised, and with that, he left and locked the door behind him.

Lizette listened carefully to the sound of his footsteps, counting them one by one until she could no longer hear him. And then, she began to search around the cabin for anything, anything that can be used as a weapon.

‘I will not be a pirate’s whore.’ She vowed to herself while absentmindedly grazing a palm over her cheeks where August had touched her.

#henry cavill #August walker #august walker x reader #august walker x ofc #august walker fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #neptune's snare series #au!august walker #pirate august walker #pirate henry cavill #gus march phillips #the ministry of ungentlemanly warfare #gus march phillips x reader #henry cavill fanfiction

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stargirlrchive · 7 months ago

Text

INVISIBLE STRING — CASSIAN!

pairing: cassian x morrigan (half) sister reader

notes: :3 hi hi this is so scary. i haven’t posted a full thought out fic in probably a year (crazy) and i would like to say i have not finished the series so if timeline is inaccurate and just plots don’t make sense w canon it’s bc im still on acowar :p but cassian has taken over my brain and i can’t get him out of it !!!! c: part two is already being worked on bc im so proud of her. i hope u all enjoy it <3 ++ i know mor is described as being blonde and fairly pale in complexion which is why i made reader her half sibling, and there are no descriptions of reader’s physical attributes bc i wanted to kept it as neutral as possible :3

cw: angst, hurt no comfort (yet?), azriel’s shadows being the biggest cassreader shippers ever, unrequited love but really it’s just idiots in love. also mentions (brief) of abuse from keir (gross!)

Your fingers nervously fumbled with the straps of your leathers. Heart pounding in your ears as you forced yourself to drop the nervous jitters, fingers balling into tight fist to stop their trembling.

It had been a long time since you had last seen your family. A long time since your gaze met violet eyes, or your nose scented cedar wood and night chilled mist. The lingering scent of sea salted water and citrus, and fresh paint and vanilla, and sweet wine and roses had nearly erased from your memory. But what you missed the most was the red gleam of siphons that glowed ruby red under certain light.

Truly, in an immortals life time half a decade was just a blip in time, minuscule, but you had never been gone this long from them. Especially not from Rhys, Az, Mor, and Cassian, with the exception of Rhysand’s imprisonment under the mountain.

You blinked away the burning in your eyes as you pushed open the doors of the town house. Soft chatter growing cold at the unexpected intrusion. You had barely enough time to register everyone seated at the table when shadows were zooming past their master to greet you excitedly.

Nuzzling into your hair and neck and arms. Azriel’s shadows had always been so fond of you. Whispering and singing in your ear in a language you could not understand.

They tugged you forward, until you were stumbling clumsily as they dragged you towards Cassian. An ache settled deep in your chest as you fought against them gently, moving between Azriel and Rhys. You missed the flash of hurt in hazel eyes as you avoided him.

Five years later and he still didn’t know the truth of your departure. Before your thoughts could send you spiraling, Rhys’ voice called your name. An undeniable smile in his voice before his arms were enveloping you, “Cousin, you’re back.”

“I am.” Your throat felt thick, tongue heavy as you fought back tears. His scent had always comforted you, Rhys had given you and Mor a chance. A lifeline in the sea that you were drowning in, in Hewn City.

Two sisters, both forced into a world that was cruel and unkind. Morrigan as rightful Heir of Keir had experienced the brunt of it all. From being stuffed into tight dress, to being pranced around in front of grimy men, and nearly forced into a life with a male whose family’s cruelty knew no bounds.

Your torment had been in forms of neglect and isolation. Your father had never much cared for you, being a product of affairs, his bastard, he left you alone. Barely acknowledged your presence when at the mere age of nine you were thrown into his arms from your mother’s father, stating you were no longer his responsibility since your mother’s death. Your father’s neglect, you now realized, had been a blessing.

You were Mor’s shadow. Clinging to her as any younger sister would. Always causing trouble until you learned to obey. Mor never let you experience the abuse from your father fully. Always taking the blame, always hiding you. You owed her and Rhys, your family, everything.

There was a soft clearing of a throat that pulled you and your High Lord apart. Shadows greedily pulling you to face everyone else. Azriel’s hazel eyes assessing you, looking for any injuries before his fingers were squeezing your elbow gently. A soft hello.

Your eyes flickered around the room, and you realized just how much had changed. Your High Lady, and dear friend seated at the head of the table, Rhys by her side. Besides him sat Azriel and then Elain.

Your throat tightened as you allowed your eyes to flicker to the other side, Nesta beside Feyre, and Cassian beside her. Amren had most likely skipped out dinner to enjoy the privacy of her apartment, and Mor was no longer around. Preferring to spend her time on the continent.

The golden thread that tied you to the Lord of Bloodshed sung loudly and happily in your chest. Five years since you had last laid eyes on him and the feeling alone nearly brought you to your knees.

Your eyes flickered away from Cassian, ignoring the way your heart and soul begged you not to. “Is my room still available?”

Feyre sent you a soft smile, sad really, as she realized how desperately you wished to find some peace and quiet. She knew of your affections for the General, and how you had never told him only to watch him fall in love with her sister.

“Of course it is, but you should join us.”

You swallowed roughly at Rhys’ words, unable to stop the gnawing pain in your heart and the cruel words circling in your mind. Cassian was not yours, he had never been and it was unfair of you to expect him to love you the way you had always yearned for him too. But it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, it always fucking hurt.

“I’m quite tired, maybe tomorrow.” Rhys didn’t push, just affectionately tucked your hair behind your pointed ear and let you go.

Your steps were quick, hurried and Cassian’s voice sounded like smooth velvet as he called your name. You didn’t stop, your knees nearly buckling under your weight as you forced yourself to keep walking.

Mumbling a quiet, “Goodnight,” before disappearing into the hallways in search of your bedroom.

During your five years away at Day the turmoil in your heart had eased, if only slightly. Cassian would unintentionally send his emotions down the bond, and it seemed it always happened when your heart had finally let you rest.

When you finally saw light at the end of a never ending tunnel of despair, the mating bond would reel you in, viciously and unforgiving. You were sure you were being punished.

How dare you ever try to question what the Mother wanted for you?

Being back in Velaris, being back home, felt so much worse. With the distance, even when his emotions poured into your very bones, it felt weakened. Less tethered to you.

But now? Now you felt his sorrow so deeply tears fell freely down your cheeks.

You had only been trying to sleep for a few hours, your rest had been fitful at best, anxiety prickling at your fingertips as you threw the warm blanket off of you. You needed air. You needed clarity.

Your feet moved on their own. From what you last knew there were no longer many residents here. You were careless in thinking so as your feet moved hurriedly through the house and out into the garden.

Filling your lungs with air as tears prickled at your eyes, the cold nipping at your skin as you sunk into one of the benches placed around the area.

You had only been in his presence for a mere five minutes and your heart was already waging a war against you.

Maybe you could convince Rhys to send you off once again. Your years away at Day had been filled with research and insight, maybe you could do the same at Dawn. Or any other Court that wasn’t here. Gods, you’d even take the forsaken libraries in the Hewn City if it meant not being here. You’d beg if you had too because this, this was too much.

You let out a shaky breath as your mind ruthfully plagued you with memories of the past. Of your utter devastation of hearing that Mor had slept with Cassian.

Of the guilt you felt after, when you avoided her in anger and utter jealousy and then told of the way she was savagely left to die.

You would never forgive yourself.

Remembering when you realized you were utterly and hopelessly devoted to your life long friend, and learning to live with just having a small part of him for you.

Hoping and praying to the Mother that he’d love you back. Hoping to see a spark of honeyed warmth, or a lick of jealousy when you found solace in the warmth of another. Anything, you prayed and prayed, but she never answered.

Not until you had pinned him down on the training matt, wings sprawled out beneath him as you stared at him smugly. A soft, primal, smirk on his face as he gripped your thighs. “You’re getting better.”

Your laughter filtered through the open area, “Only ‘better’? I just kicked your ass.”

He grunted, tugging you gently and in a quick succession of movements had flipped you over, pinning you to the ground. His thighs caged over yours, pinning your hands above your head as he sent you a toothy smile.

The wind that had been knocked out of you was not due to the fact your back had hit against the matt, but because something snapped inside of you. An invisible golden thread, darting from your chest to his, so visceral you could almost taste it, singing happily at finally being acknowledged.

But he gave no indication that he had felt the mating bond snap into place, “Yes, ‘better’. Because you should know not to let your guard down.”

Your speechlessness could’ve been a product of being bested in sparring, your mind racing with things to say but nothing came out.

The fog that had formed in your brain cleared at the bark of laughter that left Azriel, “If you two are done flirting, get back to sparring or leave the ring.”

You don’t remember what excuse you used to suddenly needing to leave but you did. Hope sparkling in your chest at what you thought was an answered prayer by the Mother. He was yours, just as much as you were his.

Only for the ember to burn to ash quickly, as two nights after Cassian had come to you looking for guidance on how to court Nesta.

You tried so hard, pushing down the mating bond that roared and screamed in utter agony as he spilled to you his affections for the eldest Archeron.

Your heart stuttering and begging for release of this pain as your mind caught up to you. He’d never see you. He hadn’t before, so what would be so different now? What would suddenly make you worthy in his eyes? The mating bond?

You realized quickly that you didn’t want that. Didn’t want him to love you just because fate decided to pair you together. You wanted him to love you, to yearn for you the way you had for him without something telling him to.

So with a forced smile you consoled him. Running your fingers through his hair and giving him advice on how to win her heart.

Some days you cursed yourself for that night. You wished you had been selfish and told him he was yours. But then the guilt would settle and you knew you’d never have the heart to force that onto your dearest friend.

In the end all you wanted was his happiness, if that was with someone else then you’d have to learn to live with it.

It had all led up to the night where you accidentally walked in on Nesta and Cassian in the kitchen at the House of Wind, lips and tongues tangled.

The mating bond felt like it was burning you alive from the inside out, angry and volatile as it blamed you for pushing him into her arms.

You’re not sure how you ended up in Rhys office, your face pressed into him as your fingers tried to claw at the hurt in your chest, “Make it stop, Rhys. Gods please, just make it stop.”

He had never seen you like this, never seen you in such despair as he tried to calm you down. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help you.

Only held you in his arms and sang a lullaby his mother had always sang to the three of you as children. Your desperation and pain eased and numbness eventually coated your insides.

“Send me away.”

He hesitated, wiping your tears as Feyre’s soothing touch caressed your back. His violet eyes shining with hurt and concern for you, “What are you running from?”

Your thoughts were interrupted by the deep timber of a voice you were so familiar with,“Is it just me, or are you avoiding me?”

Heat quickly ran from your skull down to your spine at the velvety voice that belonged to Cassian. Your back tensing uncomfortably as you turned to look at him.

You refrained from letting your eyes glaze down his form. Bare chested and wings lazily held up as his brows furrowed when he took you in.

“Cassian-what are you doing here?”

You stood up from your seated position as he moved closer. His eyes never leaving yours, “Here as in the gardens or here as in my home?”

Your brows furrowed, were he and Nesta now permanently in the town house? It would’ve made sense, seeing as they were all here, having dinner earlier.

“In-in the gardens.”

His lips twisted up into a small quirk of a smile, his eyes lingering on your face as if trying to reacquaint himself with your features.

Your heart lurched to your throat as his gaze lingered on your lips before he looked back into your eyes. “I heard you walking around. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“How did you know it was me?”

His lips tugged into a proper smile this time, “Who else could it be?”

He couldn’t bring himself to tell you that he’d long ago familiarized himself with the sound of your steps.

Your brows pinched together, full lips tugging into a small frown, “Where is everyone else?”

“Elain is most likely off in Lucien’s apartment, Azriel is at the House of Wind.”

And despite yourself, you asked, “And Nesta?”

Your throat bobbed softly, heart already preparing itself to hear that she was tangled in his sheets in his room. A soft shrug came from him, muscles flexing deliciously at the movement, “Probably with her mate.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest at his words. Her mate? You were sure the confusion was evident on your face as Cassian laughed. “It’s a bit unfair isn’t it? She was made a measly six years ago, and she’s found who her soul is tethered to, while we’ve been around for centuries and have no luck.”

“Lucky her.”

He hummed, eyes glazing over your face and the look in his eyes was unrecognizable. Warm and honeyed. It made your stomach twist and turn into uncomfortable knots.

“I should go to bed, Cassian. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You made to walk away from him, but his rough fingers wrapped around your forearm in a touch that could only be described as gentle. When you finally looked up at him his brows were pinched together in confusion, and hurt.

“What’s with the full name?”

“It’s yours, isn’t it?”

His eyes narrowed slightly at your words, “You’ve used it on me twice in the span of a few minutes. I’m never ‘Cassian’ to you.”

A stretch of silence passed between the two of you, you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to act around him anymore.

Gods, you had come around to the idea of seeing him tangled with Nesta. But you were back and he was single. Or at least not with her and you don’t know what you feared most.

That your heart would take this as hope and yearn for him, and watch him fall for another, or to finally tell him how you felt. If it would even mean anything to him, if he’d even want you.

You couldn’t do it, you wouldn’t. You refused to let hope spark in your heart when he had already tangled himself into your very being like overgrown ivy. You don’t know if you’d survive any more rejection.

His voice was softer this time, thick fingers cupping your cheeks and jaw, forcing you to look at him, “You were gone five years and I can barely get five sentences out of you before you’re running away from me.”

Tears stung behind your eyes as your throat tightened at the hurt twinging his voice. It took everything in you to not soothe the crease between his brows, your body tensing softly as his thumb caressed your bottom lip gently, “If I have offended you, or hurt you some how tell me how to fix it. I have been waiting for five years for your return and I cannot stand to think that this whole time you were away you were angry with me.”

You wished you could speak, but your tongue felt heavy. The hurt in his eyes turned to something akin to despair at your silence, his hands dropped from caressing your face to hang loosely by his side, his wings slumped against the floor.

You let out a shuddering breath, forcing yourself to look away from him, “I should go to bed.”

And this time he didn’t stop you.

Weeks had trickled by so slowly since your return to Velaris as you tried to find your place back in your home court.

You had never been particularly good at fighting, your strength came from your knowledge. Books and literature had been something you had clung to as a child and it never left you.

You digested text in a way the inner circle did not, memorized details and names and faces others struggled with. But that did not mean Azriel was any easier on you when it came to training.

The muscles in your abdomen ached painfully, your arms felt heavy and filled with sand as he squared up once more. “I need a break.”

“You need to focus.”

A whine ripped from your throat in protest, Az’s shadows peppering cooling kisses and caresses on your skin to try and comfort you. “Just a few minutes. Please?”

“You think if someone were to try and attack you, they’d spare you if you whined like a petulant child?”

At your silence and glare he continued, “Didn’t think so.”

Your fingers balled into fist as you readied yourself, your muscles heavy with exhaustion as you threw punch after punch his way. “Remain focused, let yourself do what feels instinctual.”

You were sure you would’ve passed whatever Azriel’s standards were had his shadows not wrapped around your legs. Tugging insistently and trying to drag you away.

You heard Azriel’s noise of protest as he tried to rein his shadows back but they refused. Your head turned towards the direction in which they were tugging you in only to be met with Cassian’s warm hazel eyes already on you.

With an accidental misstep you were tumbling forward, falling far too quickly to catch yourself. Your head ringing harshly as the side of your face smacked against the mat.

Someone called out your name in a panic, and you missed the way Cassian had roughly pushed Azriel away from you as he turned you around.

His eyes frayed with worry as your eyes remained unfocused, “Can you look at me, dove?”

You blinked a few times before a groan of discomfort left your mouth, “What the fuck happened?”

Azriel’s shadows sheepishly began to caress your skull, pressing kisses of apologies on your skin. You didn’t hear anything besides tiny wisps of whispers coming from them but you’re were sure they hissed at Cassian as he shooed them away.

It took you a few minutes but you were eventually able to sit. Your ears ringing and still a little dizzy but you were feeling better despite the throb on your temple.

Azriel’s shadows peered at you from behind him sheepishly, and it was only when you extended your hand to them that they swarmed you in a flurry. Rubbing against your neck and hair affectionately, being careful with the side of your face but caressing you softly.

“They say they’re sorry.”

Your lips quirked up at Azriel’s words, “They’re forgiven.”

They buzzed in excitement, before stilling softly as Cassian extended a hand out for the shadows. They treaded carefully, lightly caressing his arm as in apology as if they had also offended him.

A few swirled around your hand and fingers, tugging it much more gently into Cassian’s extended hand. Your cheeks warmed up in embarrassment but before you could pull away, he tangled his fingers with yours.

The shadows swirled around your intertwined hands as if proud of themselves before finally returning to their master. Azriel sent you a soft smirk, and with a shake of his head diseapeared into a mass of dark misty shadows.

“Are you alright?”

You nodded slowly, retorting in exasperation, “Just feels like I hit my head.”

Cassian’s lips tugged into a soft smile, helping you up and not dropping your tangled fingers, “Let’s get you to Madja.”

He pulled you along closely, walking you both towards the edge of the training area. Before you could overthink about being so tangled in his arms he wrapped himself around you. One hand cradling the back of your head to his chest, while the other gripped the back of your thighs.

Your heart pummeled to your stomach as he took off flying, it had been so long since you felt the breeze against your face like this. Your legs wrapping around him as a startled laugh left your mouth.

You felt his laugh more than you heard it, his chest rumbling against yours and for the first time in years, your heart felt at ease around Cassian.

No turmoil or anguish, just overflowing affection and happiness as he flew you carefully around Velaris. Your face tucked away from being so pressed to his chest to look up at him and your breath hitched.

He was truly so beautiful, rough and sharp features that looked like he was made out of stone carving. His lips the perfect shade of dusty rose and plump, his nose fit him beautifully too, slightly crooked at the slope from being broken over the years. White-raised scars on his beautiful tan skin. You were so close you could see the faintest of freckles that doted his skin.

“You didn’t pass out on me, did you?”

Heat bloomed on your cheeks at getting so lost admiring him before you tucked your face back into his chest, “No, I’m fine.”

His fingers squeezed around your thighs as he pulled you closer before he descended down to the Town House.

You were grateful for the hand he kept placed on your back as he walked you into the house. Your dizziness hitting you once again as you landed on solid ground. The warmth running down your spine at his heated touch had you suppressing a shiver.

Your bones ached in protest when he pulled away and sat you down in front of an amused Rhys and exasperated Madja. The elder lady frowning at the bruise on your temple.

“Cassian, I’ve told you not to be so rough when training,” Madja’s soothing voice chastised the General. Your lips tugging into an amused smiled at the noise of protest that left his mouth.

“It was Azriel’s shadows that caused this.”

Madja’s eyes narrowed softly at his words but said nothing more. A hiss leaving your lips as she pushed against the bump forming near your eye.

Cassian’s fingers twitched nervously at the sound of your discomfort. His eyes glued to you as you were looked over by the healer.

Something warm and comfortable hummed in his chest seeing you. The weeks you had been back were nothing short of torture for him.

In the five years you had been gone Cassian came to the devastating realization that he was utterly and unabashedly enamored with you. Cursing himself for the time wasted on pointless lovers, on Nesta, when you had been by his side for the better half of four centuries.

His heart cracking open and knocking him over one restless night as his mind tormented him with everything he had been lacking since you had departed to Day.

He figured that he had always loved you, had always cared for you. But the twisting of his gut in your absences alerted him that it was in a way that was different from Mor and Amren, and then Feyre. His obsession with needing you near, needing you safe stemmed from some thing else entirely.

It took four months of being away from you to realize that. Cursing himself at all the time wasted.

And it wasn’t as if he didn’t try to get ahold of you while you were studying and researching to your hearts content at Day. He had sent letter after letter, received few responses but he had figured you were busy.

His skin had only started to crawl with dread and anxiety when there had been reasons for the Inner Circle to attend a meeting, or some grand ball thrown by Helion, and you were never there.

Either whisked away to some other Court for extended research or taking time away to visit your sister.

The very last time he had stepped foot in Day while you had been there was about three months before your return. Rhys had granted him permission to seek you out.

And when he stepped foot into Day Court’s palace in search of you his hope dwindled as Helion informed him that you had just left a few days prior for a fourteen day tour at Autumn Court. But he swore he scented the soft jasmine and lavender cream that he recognized as your scent roaming the halls.

Resigned, he returned home.

Then you returned, so careful and tense in his presence he wished to turn back back to when things were easier between the two of you. When his face would nuzzle into your soft belly as you ran your fingers through his hair and consoled him after a nightmare.

Or how he’d find his favorite pastries wrapped up on the counter that he knew you’d gone out of your way to get him.

He missed when his feelings hadn’t tangled themselves so deeply into you and he could just be. Gods, did he miss you. He yearned and ached and burned for you while you seemed content at keeping him an arms length away.

The mother could be so cruel.

He barely registered Rhys pressing an affectionate kiss to your bruised temple and mumbling that he was taking Madja back before something so earth shattering was unraveling in his chest.

His eyes wide and chest heaving the second the two of you were alone and your eyes met. A deeply rich golden invisible thread darting from his chest to yours.

He had unconsciously poured all his emotions of recognizing the bond down your connection. A primal need to be closer to you bursting from his chest as he tugged on the bond.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t seem surprised he noted. Your side of the bond closed off tightly he could feel nothing from your end. He hated that.

Your eyes were wide in apprehension as you stared at him, tears lining your eyes as his emotions of love and devotion were so strong they brought him to his knees before you. Pleading and desperate as he called out your name.

“Don’t do this, Cassian.”

His brows pinched together as he reached for you, the bond screaming in agony as you avoided his touch and stood up to create some space between the two of you.

“Dove, listen to me. Please.” He was not above begging, still kneeled in the center of the room as his wings slumped to the ground. His eyes following your every move as you nervously ran your fingers through your hair.

“I feel it, I feel you.” His fingers and hands were steady as he pointed to his chest despite the feeling of anxiety creeping into him.

“You’re mine, my mate, dove.”

There was a beat of silence, Cassian staring at you as if you had delicately placed every beautiful star in the sky. But you had never seen him look at you like that before.

Never had he inclined he wanted you besides the bond. Gods, did it hurt. Your stomach churned sadly as your fingers balled into fist as you shook your head in denial.

“No. No, you don’t get to just suddenly want me because of the bond. I don’t want it this way.”

His frown deepened at your words, your emotions so heavily felt they started to crack the walls you kept up and pouring into the bond.

You had known for years. Five years, you had known and said nothing. “Gods, Cassian! I have loved you for so long. Prayed and begged to the Mother, to the Cauldron, to the Moon and Stars to have you return my affection and you didn’t.”

Cassian wanted to speak, to protest your words but the frustrated tears pouring down your beautiful face and the agony building in his chest, that was no longer just his, kept him quiet. “I’ve watched you pine and love others, and you have never looked at me that way. You had never thought me worthy of you in that way, and now that you know. It shouldn’t change a thing.”

“But it does,” His fingers itched to devote themselves to you. To memorize every curve and dip on your body. “It changes everything-”

You cut him off before he could continue, before he could tell you that he now felt worthy of loving you. That he now knew he could love you in a way you deserved if the Mother had blessed him with you as his wonderful mate. “Well it shouldn’t.”

You sniffled softly as you stared at him directly in his eyes, “I don’t want it to.”

#cassian #cassian x reader #cassian acotar #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #rhysand x reader #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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radio-fmm · 5 months ago

Text

You must live

What if Luffy and reader got out of Marineford with Ace?

Ace x reader

2.1k words, gn reader, SFW fluffy at the end

Depictions of war and injuries, happy ending!!! Idc idc, the most plot accurate thing I’ve ever written I guess if you haven’t catched up to marineford then don’t read, or do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I ain’t the boss of ya’

War

It had creeped up on you like a nightmare from which you cannot wake up, your heart thrumming in your chest as you repeat to yourself that nothing’s real, that it’ll past— But it doesn’t

You still remember how you got here, the fear after seeing Ace stomping out the deck just about to jump to his striker as he argued with your dad because you knew there was not stopping him, yet you plead

“Don’t do it” now you stood between his sizzling anger and the edge of the ship, arms immediately grabbing his as a cry for help

“I have to do this, you know I do… I can’t let that bastard step on my dad’s name” as you looked right into his gaze you could just feel there was something else, something he was trying to prove not to your dad, not to the crew or you but to himself— Like he had to be of use to deserve his place

“Then I’m going with you” never in your life you had spoken with such conviction; you run to the side of the deck to gather a backpack and quickly tossing some food that was left laying around before everyone had stopped to convince your stubborn lover and failed miserably

“NO!” in all your time with Ace you had never heard him raise his voice at you, but you gave it no mind, quickly scrabbling anything useful for the journey at your arms reach

“Yes” everyone stood frozen knowing better than to speak up, you and Ace were so painfully similar, stubbornness one of the qualities on that list

“I have to do this myself, I want you here where you’re safe” he tried to quickly reach for the backpack now all full and packed but to not avail since you were quicker to toss it on your shoulders and walked straight to his striker

“I can handle myself just fine. I am going because I want to, I am making that decision,”- the silence that followed your statement was seasoned with desperation from the man that was onto your toes -“If you think I’m letting you go by yourself you’re out of your mind Portgas”

His last name leaving your lips had him groaning, a warning to not question you since you had in fact already made your mind and there was not changing it— so stubborn

So you followed him, through the hot desserts of Alabasta, dangerous Marine base’s and infested seas; you would’ve followed him to the end of the world

Maybe that’s were you find yourself now— the love of your life chained about to be executed like his death had something to proof; his blood not one he choose but now being punished for it, the world had failed him even before he was born and it pains you that you didn’t know, that he didn’t tell you about all the self doubt, insecurities and regrets that blinded him, a lot of things now making sense as you recall some of his behavior even before you began to build your relationship— his search for a life worth living that now you and him wonder if he’ll ever get to taste. But you don’t hold it against him, how could you?

By your side stands his brother, a pirate you had met in your lovers journey that had doomed yourselves, a bright and brave pirate that now gives his life away for his big brother, even if there’s no more he can give he does. And you? The pain that aches your heart also aches your bones, one more hit and you’ll probably be gone but you don’t care, as Ace’s voice rattles trough the dead and screams of pain it gives you all the energy and all the will to continue

“Why is it now that my brother, my dad, the love of my life and my crew fight for me, is that I find myself wanting to live?”

His words are drowned by his tears and your own but you feel them to the core, clenching your fists as you make your way through the war unfolding. Marines, pirates and family all fight for the future, you? You just want Ace to live, then you’ll give yourself the luxury of thinking about the future— A future where he is in

You scream his name at the top of your lungs making his head jolt up looking for you from high above, even though a battle cry, your voice soothes him but it also terrifies him. He fears for your life, and if you may want to keep him in it now that you know his biggest secret— what do you think of him now?

His fears quickly fade as you scream once more

“YOU HAVE TO LIVE ACE”

He doesn’t deserve you- he thinks. You had stood by him through thick and thin. even now you could turn away from this war and start anew, yet you fight for him, body scarred, bullets and punches flying above your head but your eyes look for his, your voice chooses to call for his name and reassure him even amongst the chaos— He feels your love as it expands through his tired form, combusting

“I LOVE YOU ACE, WE ALL DO, THAT’S WHY YOU HAVE TO LIVE BECAUSE YOURE WORTH IT”

Luffy glances back at you, the widest smile you’ve ever seen painted on his features, he calls your name while one of his hands holds your shoulder in a tight grip as if trying to keep you on the here and now “We are getting Ace out of here I promise”

That is the last thing you hear before everything becomes a blur, but you hold the promise close because you know it was made with a honest and pure heart. The Marines desperate to win the war and execute your lover pounce over you like a wild animal thirsty for what they call justice, but this is just a masacre. You hold onto the idea that this may pass too, like everything does

Somehow you pull trough, how? You still can’t comprehend, probably out of your resilience alone. Helping Luffy up to uncuff Ace’s restraints knowing he’s the only one capable enough to set him free, and he lives up to his name shocking everyone as both brothers decent making the war hold its breath.

That’s when Ace finally can really see you, your face clear and your presence heavy in his heart— it’s like the first time he ever saw you, love is the only thing stirring around his stomach even in the middle of his own demise as you stand in front of him, there’s nothing more he wants than to kiss you senseless right now, cry as you hold him tight grateful you’re here

But this is not over

It might never be

Your feet move at the speed of light, Ace’s hand wrapped around yours in the tightest grip as if grounding him, while also keeping you safe and sound. You must’ve been thrilled, the love of your life free and by your side now, yet, this cruel world seemed to just hate him- forever cursed by the blood running through his veins

It dawns on you very quickly how getting out of this hell wouldn’t be easy, that you will have to leave people behind just to be free, and it pains you both to have to turn your backs on your captain, your dad. You see the distress trough Ace’s face as he escapes, his heart thrumming louder and louder but apparently not loud enough as he catches the voice of Akainu- one of the Marines admiral’s calling his dad weak, even as he dies for you all

He stops, so do you and as you turn to look for his gaze you catch that same glint that was the reason of this nightmare. Ace was angry, it bubbles on his being like it has done so many times before and you know there’s not changing the course of this— you feel hopeless

You stand terrified in the presence of the admiral, a ruthless man that kills in the name of justice but he’s no different to even the most evil criminals he has wiped from the seas. You are not a believer in any means, but you find yourself prying to anyone above that you’re not next on his list

Ace bites back, Akainu lures him as he continues to spit venom on the ones he loves, the symbol tattooed on Ace’s back nothing but reminding you of how far he can go- and he will now

Because he would never turn his back on the people he loves

It all happened so fast yet so slow; your lover hits the ground, red crimson puddle staining the hard floor as you panic. You turn to all directions as if looking for an answer, a miracle that would get you out of here alive

Then you see it, bright and burning at the heat of the sun— Akainu’s punch flies as it tries to burn Luffy like icarus.

The rubber boy that had flew too close to the sun trying to protect the person he loves most

And of course Ace is rushing to protect him

It’s selfish really, the way you’re only thinking about how to get yourself out of this. You want to run away from the war harmless, untouched; alongside the ones you love standing by your side with a future to think about the next morning. It fuels you; all the grief, pain and anger rises and you don’t know how or why— maybe it was the entity up above that heard your desperate pleas and pulled on the strings of destiny

But… You punch Ace

You punch him harder than you have ever punched before, launching both of your hurt bodies to the other side of the battlefield. Akainu’s fist wavers, enough to miss his actual target, his little brother who holds Ace’s life between his fingertips while it sets alight once again

Everything stills, even as you hit the floor hard, you must’ve passed out after all this torturous time fighting, but you hold onto the little sanity and energy you can

Ace is looking at you incredulous— a million emotions tug at him as he looks back between you and his brother. Is he relieved? Angry? Scared?. For a moment his strong morals crumble as his gaze meets yours; you’re tired, so so tired yet hopeful as you plead for him to change his ways eve if it is for just this once, because you’re a selfish bastard

You can’t really make up what he’s saying to you now, you don’t really care as you use all in you to muster

“You must live Ace”

Your body shuts down, limp crashing on Ace’s naked top half as he holds you desperately, both of you may still lay on the battlefield but you feel safe because you know he’ll listen to you— you know he’ll live

And he would never let you down

It’s cold, you can make out a continuous beep that follows the rhythm of your slow heartbeat. You try to adjust the uncomfortable position in which you lay on your back, but your body doesn’t respond not even your eyelids as you beg them to show you where you are— Were you dead? Safe? At the bottom of the sea?

Air slowly enters your lungs, allowing your tired body to settle, you open your eyes a little hesitant now, a gray metal ceiling greets you

Another breath gives you the courage to move, you don’t recognize any of the coroners that your eyes land on, the bed creeks making the cowboy hat by your bed that was still in the corner of your eye jolt up

There they were, those eyes you adored more than anything… and that you thought you’ll never see again. They are different now, puddled with grief yet softer

It was reliving how after your ears had ringed for so long, to listen to your name spoken so softly, so lovingly

“You’re here” Ace can’t even bring himself to touch you, afraid you may shatter and there was just so much he wanted to say, to do, yet he only thanks you

He sobs now, allowing his walls to fall right at your feet because who else could’ve done it if not you

Your scarred hands cup his freckled face tenderly “Ace… you lived”

What a silly thing to say, of course he lived

Why wouldn’t he live?

Masterlist

I just finished Marineford and omg I just had this looping in my mind, Ace is my favorite character I see a lot of myself in him. This was written in 3 sittings so I may consider writing a corrected/longer version of it if people are interested because I am a huge nerd and love writing takes on arcs and stuff. Anyway Portgas D Ace you would always be famous

#one piece #one piece portgas d ace #portgas d ace imagine #portgas d ace x y/n #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace #ace x reader #ace imagine #ace one piece #ace #one piece ace #marineford #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece marineford #one piece fanfiction #fanfic

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councilofcastamere · 5 months ago

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DANGEROUSLY YOURS | AEMOND T. X READER

"An eternity without me. You will look into the faces of passers-by that will, for an instant, bring me back to you. You will find moonlit nights strangely empty, because, when you call my name through them, there will be no answer. Always your heart will be aching for me, and your mind will give you the doubtful consolation that you did, a brave thing."

Cesar Romero as Victor Morell - Dangerously Yours (1937)

CREDITS FOR THE AEMOND PICTURE TO ultravi0l3t on Pinterest!

You were foolish. Foolishly in love.

The moonlit lit up, and the hour of the owl drew closer and closer. And yet, no sign of your little brother Lucerys. With each breath you drew, your heart stilled more and more.

You just knew it was him. You knew Aemond would. You had always known he'd wait for the right day to strike. The tears streaming down your eyes could've drowned you for all you care, but you wished for everything you had to bring Lucerys back.

And the one thing worse than that was the trust you put in him. You blinded yourself by love and drowned yourself in trust, all for him. All for the one-eyed prince you grew to both love and loathe.

You loathed yourself. You felt as if the world could have swallowed you up and no one would blink an eye. You had hoped for one day where you could look back at it and laugh, but at what point in your life could you ever let this go? A tragedy at your hands. You had not even attempted to stop him from departing to the stormlands.

Before you could bite back another sob, one feet stepped forward, and so did the other. Repeating the process before you could even register you were in front of the prince's chambers.

You didn't know what you would do first. Would you strike him, or would you cry into his shoulders? You wished for the former one, prayed to the Seven that you would be strong enough to shun him as he shunned your concerns.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the door opened just enough for his face to peek out. His hair was hastily brushed, as if he wanted you to see him in a different light. As if you ever could.

"Let me in." you simply uttered, not sure if you were speaking about his chambers. "Let me enter."

His eye scanned over you, over your purple nightdress and your hair undone. Even in the nocturnal hours, you looked as majestic as ever.

Your brown curls, so reminiscent of your father.

But he couldn't care less about your father, no.

Not your brothers. Not your mother. No. You.

And right now, he wasn't sure if he could face your tragedy-stricken self. He felt validated in the slaughter he committed, but your words could've alone made him repent for forgiveness.

He contemplated a few seconds, before ultimately opening the door wide. The room was neat, with the exception of his books sprawled out on his bed and table. You had never seen it before.

"Where is Lucerys?" you asked quietly, your voice cracking as your hands clenched at the side of your dress. "He hasn't come home. Mother won't tell me anything. She's still in Dragonstone, and I am here. I have been here for years, waiting to marry you."

His gaze was prideful, yet you weren't able to see his heart ache at your own grief. Whatever you felt, he felt. His feelings were dangerously yours, and yours were his.

"Stormlands." he answered, turning away as to not feel too much. "At least, if the sea hasn't swept him somewhere else."

Your head whipped up, and you swear you could feel your neck cracking if the rage hadn't consumed you.

"We both know he isn't in the ocean." you spat, the tears streaming down again. "What have you done, Aem-"

Aemond couldn't have it. He knew your last word.

'Aemond' instead of 'Aemy. He hated that you felt the need to use his full name. You had never used his full name, and you were not about to start now of all times.

His rugged yet soft lips were felt on yours, interrupting your words. The feelings in you dissipated, and you wanted to feel angry again.

How you wished to feel anger, sadness, anything.

But how could you when love overpowered it all for him. Only for him, by him. You loathed yourself for it.

"Get yourself dressed." he murmured against your lips, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. his nails gently scraped against your delicate skin.

"We'll be wedded by the end of this night. You and I. No one else."

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dragon-ascent · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I’m not sure if you’re taking requests.. (if not just ignore it) If you do can I ask for Zhongli waking up reader from their nightmare? Fluff fluff✨

Have a nice dayy

Nightmare

The murky water: thick, stifling, all-consuming. It makes its way past your mouth that gasps for air that never finds its way into your lungs, past your eyes that try and fail to find any beacon of hope.

It's hard to move - you feel heavy, and any swimming expertise you might have fails to rear its head as you flail around in this ocean of black, black darkness. It's like you barely have any control over your body - like a hapless ragdoll, you find yourself at the mercy of the ruthless untamable.

The waves submerge you, hardly having faced a fight. Down into the depths you go, the water pulling your body in different directions. Eerie voices whisper and leer at you as your limbs struggle in one last futile attempt...you're being torn apart...what are the voices saying?

Incomprehensible...

Suffocating...

Paralyzing...

Silencing...

...

"Darling. Darling?"

Oh, so this is what it's like to die. You wake up in heaven with your beloved being the first face you see. Or...no, what happened was-

"Did you have a nightmare?" Zhongli pulls you close without even needing to wait for a response, because he knows. Of course he does.

When you murmur a meek 'yes,' Zhongli kisses your forehead and wipes away tears that you had barely realized were there.

"I'm here, my darling. I'm here now. Nothing shall harm you." He rocks you back and forth at a languid rhythm, stroking your back while he allows you to stew over it quietly. "If you are willing, would you like to tell me about it?"

You drop your tired gaze to the warm, fuzzy blanket covering you both. "It's...it'll sound silly..."

Your husband kisses you again, so tenderly your soul might just melt. "Nothing you say will sound silly, my love. What you have felt in the moment will never be silly."

You find a small smile creeping onto your lips, and so you tell him all about the dark sea, the crushing waves, and the utter helplessness you felt as you slowly drowned.

Zhongli nods solemnly after you finish recounting your nightmare. "Yes, that does sound frightening," he says, running his fingers through your hair. "I'm sorry you had to experience that. I would have been afraid too, had I been in your position."

"You get scared of things, too?"

"Of course, dear. It is one of the factors contributing to my...distaste of seafood." Perhaps it's your imagination, but you can feel him nearly shudder against you.

Your sniffle turns into a soft giggle. "I didn't think of that."

He holds you in silence for a while, punctuating it with gentle kisses and soft whispers of affirmations. The way his arms envelope you is so...comforting, so warm, so protective. You barely register that you're lying back down on your pillow again in a more relaxed position, your tears long dried-up, his arms still wrapped around you with that same protectiveness.

"Shall I give you a nicer dream tonight?" asks Zhongli.

You look into his faintly-glowing eyes. "You can do that?"

"I am an adeptus, after all. Shaping dreams comes second nature, much like sub-space creation."

Smiling softly, thanking all the stars that you found a man like Zhongli, you say, "Yeah. I'd like that."

He caresses your cheek. "Tell me. What shall I have you dream of?"

You don't even hesitate. "You and me, stargazing atop a hill. We would even catch colorful falling stars, because we'd be so high up and super close to the sky." You blush, feeling a little silly for saying it now.

But Zhongli had already made it clear nothing you say earnestly would be silly. "A fine dream," he murmurs, "one I would love to share with you. Now close your eyes, darling, and I promise to meet you there atop that hill where we can catch the stars together."

The God of Contracts never goes back on his word - when your eyes close you find yourself lulled into an easy slumber; and when the initial shroud of black gives way, there stands your husband under a zoetrope of dancing stars, with a smile as warm as the spring sun.

He beckons, and you happily approach.

Finally getting around to requests! Please feel free to drop anything in my inbox, Zhongli-centric of course, and I'll be more than happy to whip something up~

#genshin impact #zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #sini writes #zhongli x you #fluff #sini answers

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jukednuked · 1 year ago

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FREMINET opting to subtly run away whenever the conversation's topic diverted to the ruthless organisation he's a member of

FREMINET avoiding you like the plague when he finally noticed his feelings for you, in the end he was just hurting himself and you in the process

FREMINET realising that he can't let you go, you were on his mind constantly; whether it'd be while he's diving or having dinner with his family

FREMINET sitting at the edge of the sea all alone together with you, he decides to finally confront you about who he is. it was bound to happen anyway, he didnt feel at ease putting on a mask

FREMINET who lied to you, again; telling you he'd understand it if you wanted nothing to do with him anymore, which you eventually gave into

it was not everyday he found himself crying over something during his diving sessions, but you were an exception, when were you not? drowning in his own tears, FREMINET was sure that if the sea wouldn't swallow him whole now, the flooding thoughts about you would

(A/N: listened to Sea, Swallow Me while writing this😂😀😮☹️😢)

@nonameyetmp3 i am so nice

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin #genshin impact headcanons #genshin imagines #freminet x you #genshin impact freminet #genshin freminet #freminet x reader #freminet #genshin angst

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uglypastels · 1 year ago

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Not Wholly Evil |VII| pirate!Eddie au

a/n - ok, so first of all, i cannot thank everyone enough for the support on this fic. i am just in awe at the love its been getting recently. so i think it times out perfectly that this chapter is the one i have been the most excited to write and had been waiting to write since probably chapter 3 or something. I really hope you like it. Be sure to reblog and/or comment (and remember asks are also always welcome!)💗

Series Masterlist

word count: 5.4k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. near death experiences in water. pirates are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying.

Chapter 7: Four Corners of Heaven

“The heart of man is very much like the sea; it has its storms, it has its tides, and in its depths it has its pearls too."

- Vincent van Gogh

The ship swayed from side to side, taking you along with it, stumbling from one leg onto the other as you struggled to find your balance. Wardrobe doors flung open, banging against their hinges. Papers flew all over the ground as the desk shifted from its secured position.

A banging noise sank deep into you, pulling you back to the Red Tail. The panic lasted until you realised you heard waves crashing against the window. How tall would they have to be to reach the glass? How strong to be able to open the hinges?

It smashed against the wall, nearly cracking, but the damage was still done as water spilt inside with vicious attacks. Cursing, you made your way over, trying to close it before the entire floor would be under water. The spurts hit you in your face, shoving it down your throat. The icy feeling froze your skin as the heavy salt taste burned your tongue. By the time you closed the window, you had been drenched. You heaved for air, bend over with your arms on your knees.

There was shouting outside the room. Incoherent behind the wood and rain layers, but the sense of emergency remained.

You let yourself fall to the ground, back against the wall. All the commotion was now accompanied by your heartbeat drumming in your ears. When you calmed down, you realised you had still been holding the letter, scrunched into a wet roll between your fist, the water dripping off it came down in dark grey tears. Quickly, you dropped it into one of the desk's drawers and shut it.

The ship also began to halt its tilt, regaining its composure, and so slowly, your anxiety faded. It allowed you to think; look around. Two longswords were hanging up on the wall, so you grabbed one and did your best to block the mechanics that opened the window. It should hold the water for some time, but you could only hope. You ignored the metal's clanking sound against the glass as the force pushed against it.

As more shouting erupted from outside, the smaller the room felt. Suddenly you were back on the Red Tail, under the desk, hiding from these men. That was how it had all started, wasn’t it? They hid you away to keep you safe… and yet. The walls closed in on you. The water seemed to rise, but only in your mind, drowning in helplessness.

If something did happen to this ship, you thought you would die either way, and you might not know many things, but one thing was certain: you would not die in Munson’s cabin.

When you walked out of the room the past days, you were greeted with plush warm air, as if you had fallen gently atop a pillow. Now, it was more like a hard fall. The wind slapped your entire body, and the harsh rain cut at your cheeks. Each step felt as if you had been anchored to the ground.

All around you was chaos. Water was everywhere. Rain poured harshly, a million icy bullets coming down your skin, soaking through your clothes. The waves reached a height as you had never seen, coming in closer by the second, threatening to spill over the railings. Some already did, drowning the wooden panelling of the deck, leaving nothing untouched as barrels rolled around. Crew members ran behind them, with meters of ropes, hoping to steady the load, but it was in poor attempts when their feet could barely remain steady. Munson threw around commands, but in these circumstances, his beloved ship had a mind of her own, and it was protesting her captain.

The rest, in the meantime, did their best to keep up with what the captain had to say. Pulling the sails, ensuring a hold on all the loose cargo on the deck from slipping away. With buckets, they threw out water that splashed onto the ship, but with each wave, the amount only doubled. The men stumbled over themselves, knocking eachother over as the boat swayed immensely.

You heard your name being called from the side and saw Harrington at the helm. Seeing him in the rain, you could not help but think of a dog. How the animals shrink in size when met with water, shaking and whimpering, just wanting to escape the cold. All of them, in fact, everyone around you, reminded you of it. They were all simply fighting for their life against the elements.

Harrington looked at you sternly, and you could tell what he was saying with his expression alone. Go inside. But you stared blankly back, with no intention of listening.

That is when the wind picked up, pushing the ship off course. The helm began spinning in circles, and Harrington held onto its spurs for dear life, turning it back with all his remaining power. You could tell he wouldn’t be able to hold it much longer. His grip kept slipping. He cursed loudly, but there was no one there to help. No one except you. It took you one quick glance to realise it, and once that occurred, you immediately stepped up to him and pulled at the spurs.

Harrington looked taken aback, for a second forgetting the task at hand, and that one second had been enough for him to fall back a few steps and the helm to begin to unfold again, resulting in another loud curse.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Helping you!’ you called out; both of you were sputtering as the water of both sea and sky engulfed you.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He yelled out moments before another wave hit the vessel's side, and he got knocked off his feet. For a brief moment, until he had regained his stance, you were the only one holding the helm. The weight of the entire ship fell upon you for those brief seconds, which was overwhelming. It was too much, too heavy. You couldn’t carry on on your own.

Harrington coughed out as he regained a grip on the wheel. He glanced at you with another expression of displeasure at your presence, but there was no longer time for him to argue. You could barely hold the wheel together. Your feet were slipping on the wet floor.

‘Pull!’ he shouted almost directly into your ear, but he could have been miles away with the thunder roaring over your heads.

‘I am!’ you shouted right back, but clearly, it was not enough.

‘Pull harder than!’

I can’t, you wanted to shout back, but that would have been worthless. You were putting in every inch of power you had left in this, yet it would still take much more for the ship to cooperate. By the time you released the helm with certainty, your arms were burning with exhaustion, and your skin was numb from the thousands of pinpricks of the harsh downpour.

Not that this mattered much. The rest of the ship was still in turmoil. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought a mist had set in from how dense the water came down, covering everything in a grey mass. The wind blew you back three steps for each that you attempted to make.

You were both breathing heavily, which was hard as it was combined with trying not to swallow the loads of water that came down upon you with each breath you took. Was there even air to breathe at this point? Or had you already sunk into the ocean? Everything felt on top of its head, spinning around. You barely heard what Harrington said as you pulled yourself out of the nausea.

‘What?’ you asked, shouting everything out to come out above the noise.

‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. Now, what was he apologising for? And why now, as the storm was only growing stronger, it seemed. The two of you still stood side by side at the helm, holding it tightly, but now more for your own sake, anchoring yourself from the wind. Across the ship, you saw the rest of the crew battling with the weather. Munson had stopped shouting out commands and was part of a group trying to keep the mizzenmast up. He had discarded his jacket somewhere along the way, leaving him to let the water soak into his shirt, which stuck to him meticulously.

‘That are you apologising for,’ you turned quickly to Harrington. Facing his direction only caused the rain to directly attack your face.

‘For listening to him,’ he shouted. As the storm raged on, you doubted anyone could hear the two of you anymore, no matter how loud you spoke. ‘I thought I was doing what was best for everyone, it was stupid.’

‘But why—why did he tell you to do that?’

To your surprise, Harrington laughed. ‘I’ve realised long ago it is better not to understand how his mind works.’

You wanted to reply that, no, you did want to understand exactly how his mind worked because it was making you insane when suddenly, a crash sounded over the vessel. All heads turned to starboard, where something must have just crashed bast the railing beams. A large whole gaped at the rest of you; a crate had already fallen out, but it was the least of your worries as you saw an arm hanging on for dear life from one of the broken wood beams.

Munson was the first person to reach the crewman in peril. He reached for him just in time as the man’s grip slipped off the wood. The captain lay flat on his stomach across the deck. Some more men reached him and tried to pull him in, but the ship shifted again on the waves; nothing was in their favour.

‘Harrington!’ the captain yelled, but when his voice reached you, it was less than a murmur against the wind. ‘HARRINGTON!’ He looked over toward the helm, and that is when he noticed you.

You didn’t give him the same amount of attention, for you had a better view of everything around. You could see the stack of men that had now gathered at the broken ship’s side, pulling their mate back to safety, but you also saw the barrel that was lopsiding, threatening to fall over with each hit of the waves. They must have missed it when securing everything in haste. From its position, it seemed that if it would topple over, the barrel would roll directly into the panicked rescue operation.

Harrington, who had been trying to steer the ship as best as he could in the circumstances, must have seen it too, as you had only taken a step to the side, and he had already grabbed your arm.

‘Let go off me, or I will give you another black eye!’ You threatened.

‘Have you gone mad!’ He shouted over the yelling below you.

‘Yes!’ You couldn’t help but smile and possibly not even far from any truth. The last few weeks were maddening in every possible way. Whatever had or would have happened, there was no denying that you had changed, and the most evident proof was right there as you ran down the stairs in an attempt to save the men that you had thought would lead you to your death. Just as you thought you had reached it in time, the barrel tipped over entirely, hitting the ground and immediately started to roll. It rolled in your direction, the only obstruction in its way.

Without thinking, you let yourself crush against it, shoulder to wood. The pain was intense but passed quickly, and though you had let your feet slip and there was nothing to mask the fall, you had still managed to stop the large piece of refuse from hurting the others.

You could see them pulling the fallen crewmate back onto the deck when you got up. Shuffling through your memories of what you had encountered and heard the past few days, his name didn’t come up, and yet you felt a huge relief fall off you.

‘You’re welcome!’ you said, tired and feeling heavy.

Someone helped Munson get up. His hair was stuck all over his face, but when he brushed it aside, you saw his face—full of anger. He stormed over to you or tried to, considering how the ship had thrown him off-balance.

‘What should I be thanking you for?’ He spat out, primarily due to all the rain that had soaked into him.

‘For saving your life!’ You had not expected him to be thankful, that was not who Munson was, but you had not imagined him to be angry. Yet, his eyes were rageful, his jaw tense as he looked at you silently and turned to his men to yell out:

‘Someone secure that damn wall.’

Aye. There were already three men on it, trying to block the wrecked piece of the ship. Any proper reparations would have to wait until the storm had run its course. There was no way for them to sit there with the waves splashing into their faces at such speed and force and nowhere to stand without a risk of falling.

The captain turned back to you. ‘I told you to stay inside.’

‘If I had, you would have been in the water now!’ You shouted back, ‘clearly, you need as many hands on deck as possible.’

‘Not yours.’ He wiped his face off from the rain, but it poured over him with even more strength. ‘Go back to my quarters. Now.’

‘No.’ You stood your ground, pushing back against Munson’s and the wind’s will. You would not let yourself be stowed away. He could not take this away from you. He could not take you away. You wouldn’t let him. Not again.

‘That is an order.’ He snapped.

‘I do not take orders from you.' You may not have been much help, but you had already kept Harrington from losing complete control over the helm and practically saved the captain from falling into the ocean's depths. Still, it was not enough to convince the captain, as his reply was clear and straightforward, despite all the noise that muffled your voices from eachother.

‘You’ll die out here!’ A wave pushed you forward, stumbling into his chest. He held you up by your wrist before you both fell.

‘So will you!’ You looked him in the eyes, pleading. Unsure for what. Something. Anything.

For a moment, you thought you had won him over, but then he looked around, shouting out names of his crewmen, anyone who could hear him or get close enough to you. But they were all too occupied. Finally, one of the coopers, who was already tying up the barrel you had so swiftly taken care of with the rest of the cargo, ran up at the sound of his name.

‘Take care of her before I do,’ Munson told him. The boy—as he seemed younger than most men on this ship—nodded, but you saw in his face he had nothing over you. Before he could reach for you, you pushed past him towards the captain.

‘I’m not leaving you.’ Perhaps that were not the words you had meant to say. Maybe you simply wanted to say that you were not about to leave this deck, but those were the words to come out of your mouth.

As a response, he asked the same question that crossed your mind as soon as those words had left your mouth. ‘Why?’

‘Because–’ but before you could answer, a pair of arms grabbed you and pulled you away. You screamed out, demanding to be let go, but it was all washed out in the storm. It couldn’t have been the boyish cooper that had taken you; his hold was too firm and strong. Whoever they were, they dragged you back toward the cabin on the captain's orders, towards alleged safety. What would happen if they opened the door to reveal a waterfall streaming past their feet because those bloody windows broke open once more? What then?

But you felt a pinch of pride in your heart because you knew that some days ago, you would not have dared to stand up to the captain with such defiance. You certainly would not have dared to kick and scratch at the man holding you until he let you go. You would have been shoved into that room and locked away, and maybe it would have been for the better because just moments after you freed yourself, you locked eyes with Munson. He was ready to speak, yell, and so were you, but all of that was washed out by a wave. One larger than you had ever seen before. It towered over the ship, dampening everything in its shadow. And then it crashed down. You had just about managed to take one final breath and heard a scream of your name.

There was a push, and something hit your head, or was it your head that hit something. Either way—

Everything went black.

That must be what death feels like. Floating, weightlessly numb. There is darkness, and then there is light. It grows and grows, overcoming the chasm and suddenly, all the pain from before is gone.

It is disorienting at first as you try to understand where you are. It all feels familiar and yet impossible at the same time. You do not know how you got there but know the way perfectly well. You remember it all exactly—that day—like no time had ever passed. It must have been years ago. Long before the wreckage and the fire and the storm and chaos. Long before him. And yet…

As you come to, but not exactly, you hear the mewing of seagulls. A flock hovers over your head. The sun shines brightly. As you move your hand, blades of grass tickle your fingertips and that smell… the sweet scent of summer.

There’s a weight on your stomach. A book. You had been reading it for hours under the tree. The large lime tree in the garden, but to call it a garden is an understatement. The branches rock gently in the breeze, shaking their leaves in a greeting.

You sit up, letting your back rest against the tree bark. In the distance are voices, children playing, merchants selling their produce, and animals roaming freely over the streets like any other day.

Then you hear it.

‘Gentlemen, I think we have an agreement then,’ your father says as he emerges from a corridor. You want to jump into his arms, tears already welling up in the corner of your eyes, but that is not how that day had gone.

Besides, he has company.

‘Yes, sir,’ a second man replies. ‘The troops are all ready to go.’

‘Brilliant,’ your father says. None of them have realised that you were sat there yet, able to hear every word they said. If they had, they would have sent you away. Not because any of their matters are private or a secret, it is just some light conversation between commanders. They would have sent you away because you, as a lady, have no reason to be bothered by such topics.

You dare to peek a glance at the men accompanying your father. Like all the others before, they must be some kind of officer; their appearance told you as much. You had seen plenty of these types of men. Your father often invited those who harboured their ships in town. No matter where they were from. Although, they seemed to be wearing similar colours to what the soldiers around your house wore.

You didn’t know either of the two men’s names that day. Why would you? It was the first time you had seen them in a lifetime full of new faces. And it would be several years until you would see them again. Years that would barely change admiral Carver’s appearance. He had maintained his boyish young looks until the day he died.

By now, you knew you had fallen deep into a dream, but how much of it was fantasy? It felt like a memory, but why were you haunted by demons? Maybe it was your brain filling in gaps, playing tricks on you, covering up a face you had entirely erased from your memory by one you could never forget. That did not seem right, however. The pieces fell too perfectly into place. Just not in any way, you had expected them to.

It was a trick. It must be. That was, could, not him, after all. His hair was neatly tied back and much shorter, to begin with. Though mostly covered with the shadow of his brimmed hat, his face was fuller, happier, and clean-shaven. His fingers were clean, and light without the weight of those large silver rings, and his clothes were the pristine uniform of the navy, which could not possibly hide a lifetime of scars and tattoos underneath them. It simply could not be.

And yet, when he catches your eye, that same pair of warm brown eyes catch you off guard. He smiles your way, tipping his hat, saying ‘ma’am’ with a smile before catching up to the rest of his entourage.

You awoke in a sheen of cold sweat, but it might have been the storm's remnants. The gentle feeling of grass blades against your fingers was exchanged into a harch grip on the bedsheets you lay upon. The only thing you could hear was your breathing, but behind that was the tap-tap-tapping of rain against the window. That’s where he stood, leaning against the glass by his side, arms crossed as he looked at you. No expression that you could make out in any sense, not because of the lack thereof, but because the emotions came in abundance.

‘What happened?’ Speaking felt like you had inhaled a bucket of sand instead of water; your throat had wholly dried out.

‘What do you remember?’ the captain walked over to the bed with a cup of water to hand you, which you took with a shaky hand.

‘Everything… I think.’ One sip had been enough to heal your drought. ‘There was a storm and a wave—’

‘Nearly washed us out,’ Munson filled in the gaps. His voice was steady, emotionless. Somehow, that felt worse than if he had been angry. He was holding back on you. ‘You hit your head and been asleep—we assumed you were sleeping—for six hours. More or less.’ But the longer he kept on talking, the more of a shake you felt in him. How he was holding back the rage that had exploded out of the both of you during the storm.

He continued talking. ‘We should be arriving at the harbour of Saint Claire shortly.’

‘I don’t understand,’ you let your fingers ghost over your forehead, which was wrapped in bandages, and a flash of pain blinded you momentarily.

‘It’s a small island, not far off course. Safer for the night than the waters.’ The storm had calmed down but had not found its rest just yet.

‘No, I don’t mean that,’ you said, standing up.

‘Don’t get up,’ He tried to push you back but decided against making contact, which you took as an opportunity to defy his wishes.

‘Do not tell me what to do, Munson.’ You were tired of it, and his constant commands made you sick…. Or was it the dizziness you felt as you got up too fast? Munson caught you just in time before you would hit your head again. Only then you realised that his shirt was still wet. It stuck to you like it stuck to him. His hair was a mess too. He must have come out of the rain moments ago.

He set you back up on your feet just to bring you back onto the bed. Once your head stopped spinning, you weakly asked: ‘Is everyone okay?’

‘You seem to have gotten the worst of it.’

‘Of course,’ you laughed at your own fortune. ‘Look,’ you made a second attempt to get up, hitting the last of the captain’s nerves.

‘Why won’t you ever listen?’ He grunted as he held you up.

‘Because I don’t want to.’ You swatted away his hands, letting go of him entirely. ‘Will you stop that!’

‘Stop what?’

‘Pretending like you give a damn about me while we both know that I am not worth a dime of your time..’

He sighed, pivoting your tangent.

‘No, sorry, you have your bounty to look forward to, of course, but don’t worry, I will personally write a letter to my father to tell him to just give you all his money, no matter in what state I return home if you will just leave me alone!’

‘Will you please stop yelling.’ He had his head rolled back, looking up at the ceiling. His fists clenched, and he walked around the room to calm down.

‘No! I am tired of this. All of this. I am tired of being treated like vermin.’

‘Vermin?’ He scoffed this time, turning his head to you in disbelief. ‘I’ve given you my clothes, my bed and two perfectly fine meals every day, and that’s what you think this is?’

‘Yes, and I’m very thankful for that, just as I am for being locked in a cage for days and now—what, you’re isolating me from your entire crew like I have the pest?’

‘I did no such thing!’ He was quick to defend himself from the accusation.

‘So, just Harrington then? Do not lie to me, Munson; I saw how he avoided me the whole time, then tried to not sound as if you had not commanded him to not speak to me.’

‘It was his own will that followed that order. I gave him a choice.’

‘What was it, listen or die?’ That sounded about right for you.

‘We do not kill on this ship,’ he said sternly, seriously, almost more severe than you had ever heard him speak.

‘Only on every other ship?’ With a snap, the window burst open again, letting in the whistling wind and the last drops of rain into the room, but it went unnoticed by the two of you as all the focus lay in the vicious words you threw back and forth.

‘Only those who deserve it. Yes.’ His face was set in anger, and you backed away, not because of his appearance but what he had admitted to.

‘What did my men deserve? They were innocent!’’ Everyone on the ship must have heard you if they had not already been listening to the rest of the conversation.

‘Of course, we’re all just innocent men, aren’t we?’ He regained his need for theatrics as he spread his arms invitingly, laughing hysterically. ‘Everyone except for me, that is. I am the big scary monster at the bottom of the sea that you should fear. That’s what I am, right, darling? I’m the monster.’ He also began to get louder with each word, his words slurred with exhaustion. That is when you noticed the bottle on the edge of the desk. The rest of the room lay in disarray, but the bottle stood pristinely on the corner of the oaken desktop, uncorked without anything spilt it, but nonetheless half empty.

‘Are you drunk?’ You reached for the bottle.

‘You wish, princess.’ He laughed. ‘Then maybe I wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow. But please, be my guest, drink–’ he pointed at the bottle you were holding, ‘eat, take my clothes, my bed, men, maybe go through all of my belongings once more, read my personal correspondence like its a bloody periodical. Jump of the ship if you please. I do not care.’ He threw his arms up, and something in you tightened. Of course, he knew about you, having read the letter. But should you feel guilty about it now? When he just admitted to targeting your friends? So many things were going through your head, and words you wanted to say to him, but only one question truly encapsulated it all.

‘What is your problem?’

‘You.’ He pointed sternly, so there was no confusion on the matter, ‘You are my problem. Have been since the very first day.’

‘Well, if only there had been a solution to that,’ you threw your arms up in faux-surrender, ‘Like maybe, not kidnapping me, or you could have left me to die on my ship or, even better, not ambushing my ship!’

‘You were never meant to be on that ship!’ He yelled out, letting out all his frustrations while all of yours disintegrated at that moment, too, as you let his words go through you. The next word you spoke was too overcrowded by confusion to be heard from a distance.

‘What?’

‘You know you weren’t supposed to be there.’ He blinked, and something in him cracked. A part of him you had never seen before that had come out by mistake and was now vulnerable against everything. ‘It was supposed to be them—him—’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because I know them. You speak of what a monster I am, but I know what kind of monsters they are and what they do, and I know you’re not one of them.’

‘You don’t know anything about me!’ You gritted your teeth as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. With each sentence spoken between you, unbeknownst to either, utterly subconsciously, you had both pulled at an invisible string. Pulling each other closer and closer until there was nowhere left to pull; the knot tied you down. Inseparable.

Munson looked down at you, the angles of his features suddenly softer, eyes flickering over all the corners of your face. ‘Well, what do you know about me?’

If he had asked you this any other day, any other minute, even if it had been ten seconds before, you would have been able to answer him directly with no hesitation. But, unfortunately, he had asked it right at this moment, as you stood only inches apart. Breathing the same air in and out. Everything around you dampened. It was just you and him. No sound, no light, no touch. Time sped up and slowed down at the same time. You could have stood there for an hour or a second, which would not have mattered.

You were still fighting to find the words when he touched your cheek and pulled you in. His lips practically crashed into yours with the force of a burning sun, and that is what must have burst inside you as he did. All thoughts fizzled away from your mind to the point that the only thing you could think of was his body on yours. The touch between the two of you. His lips on yours, hand on cheek, chest to chest.

But as smoothly as those thoughts had dissolved, as quickly they rematerialised when he pulled away. And with the moment of clarity, you let your body speak for itself as now your hand met his cheek.

Harshly.

The impact ghosted your palm as the red mark across his jawline began to form. Following your hand’s movement, he turned his face away but slowly came back to you, and nothing had changed about him. You could not read anything of him. He was a closed book. A tall wall between two cursed lands.

But that is when you realised that something had changed in you. Deep within.

A fracture.

It must have been there for ages, shattering away small pieces here and there as time passed. Each day, no matter how hard you tried to keep them under control, the cracks would grow and grow, ready to burst out whatever it was hiding on the other side. This thing that was hungry for something. Something you had never known you wanted, even needed, but now could not live another second without. As your chest still rose with anger, and the final crack formed, breaking the foundations apart, you leaned in and let your lips meet his for a second time. Without letting another second go to waste, he grabbed you tightly and pulled you in, closing any possible gaps. Bursting through the walls.

Like a cannon,

straight through the heart.

The damage was done.

Chapter 8

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tellodona · 10 months ago

Text

i saw anon ask this in my inbox, but i accidentally deleted it 😭 i hope anon would see this !

the brothers seeing mc use sfx makeup

heads up: gn!mc, swearing in lucifer's

lucifer

he hasn't seen you all day, so he assumes you haven't left your room

hm. he has spare time. what's wrong with checking in on you?

he knocks on your door, and patiently waits for you to open it

when you do, what greets him is the sight of you with blood everywhere on your face

your makeup had your left eye blackened out (you just closed it) with fake blood dripping right out of it. and you even took the liberty of making yourself paler than usual

mc. what. the. fuck.

right of the bat, he could smell toxins on your face, and deduced it was makeup

but that still doesn't stop him from freezing over

"lucifer... are you okay?"

"*clears his throat* yes, i am, mc. are you perhaps trying... very detailed makeup?"

he has mixed feelings about it

one, wow, you're talented, good job, you almost scared him, mc

second, the blood reminded him too much of something and someone

"mc... please give me a heads up when you try this... sfx makeup, if you would"

that would depend

mammon

he had a big win in one of the casinos he frequents, so of course you had to know too!

he stomps towards your door and barges into your roon without much of a warning

you flinched and accidentally got lipstick on your teeth, so look turned and glared at him

he SCREAMS

"MC WHAT THE HELL??????????"

you had makeup to look like your face was burnt, and it looked too realistic for his liking. with your glare, it made you look more terrifying

he was shaking in his place because he got so scared-

ehem! the GREAT mammon doesn't get scared, okay?!

still though, you sigh and you should gently apologize to him

"mc, you scared the bejeebers outta me! i- i mean... i was surprised! just surprised! this're the things you gotta tell me, alright?!"

from then on he learnt how to knock. but it's more like slamming on your door impatiently

leviathan

because of the extent of his knowledge in cosplaying, you wanted his opinion on something about your makeup. like the color of your eye contacts maybe

you knock on his door, and when he doesn't answer, you hear faint sounds of a game going off inside, so you took the liberty of going inside

there he was, busy in front of his computer on a game that probably just came out an hour ago

you waited for him to finish, so when he did, you called out his name

he flinched, sighing, "mc, you have to stop scaring-"

he turns around and pales

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"

he threw his controller at you, which hit you square in the face

we are NOT forgetting about the fact that he's a literal grand admiral

of course you're falling down on your bum

"m- m- m- mc, i'm so sorry!!!!!!"

literally on his knees begging for forgiveness

after a while, the both of you calm down

he finally takes into detail with your sfx makeup, which looks like you were drowned in the sea and you had tears coming out of your eyes

"maybe gray would look great... or blue?"

he'd help with whatever you need, just don't scare him like that again, normie!

satan

he'd recently borrow a book from the human world from you, finished it in one sitting, and wanted to return it to you

he knocks on your door, and when you told him to come in, he did

you were in front of your mirror, but he wasn't in the angle to see your reflection

"mc, i wanted to return your book- oh."

you returned around, looking at him curiously

your makeup made an illusion where your face seemingly split apart in the middle, one side was crying, and one side was angry

it hit home for him, despite the absolute gore of a thing you have on your face right now

he just wore a frown on his face, making you have a feeling of worry, "satan... are you okay?"

he gets out of his head and nods

"i just wanted to return your book. sorry if i'm intruding on something."

you assure him it's fine, and he debates whether to stay or not

he does, he sits on your bed behind you

"what's your inspiration for that, mc?"

asmodeus

you were asking for some makeup suggestions these past few days which was he excited to share with you

"are you going somewhere, mc? oh, oh! can i come? i can, right?!"

you laugh and tell him it depends

it's been two days since you last asked for makeup suggestions, so he assumed you already have them

he skips towards your room with a happy hum, knocking on your door, "mc~ i'm coming in!"

he walks in, smiling brightly

you were just finishing up, and you turned around

he almost hurls

"o- oh... that's what you've been up to, huh?"

you had some sort of crown on top of your head, but it was broken in half. your face had distorted make up on it, scratch marks all over, broken jewels decorated around your face, and some sort of gunshot wound on your forehead

he walks closer to you, his smile coming back, "can i make some suggestions?"

he immediately got hooked

be ready for an impromptu photoshoot

beelzebub

he'd recently receive a coupon for one of the restaurants he always go to that everything will be 25% if you bring someone with you

he immediately thought about you

he happily walks to your room, a smile on his face thinking about how much food he'll be eating and that you would be there with him

he knocks like once, before he just opens your door

"mc, i got a coupon after winning- what are you doing?"

he tilts his head when you look like you were poking at something on your face with a brush

you turn around to find him standing there with said coupon in hand, "what is it, beel?" you ask

but he just freezes

you had yourself look like you were crying, burn marks all over your face, and you wore an eye contact on your right eye to make it look like it went blind

"beel?" you try calling out again

he shakes his head when he stops thinking and the smell of the makeup's toxins flaring in his nose

"oh... uhm. you look great, mc. i didn't know you could do that."

you thank him, and he went on with the tangent about the coupon

he's desperate in subtly ignoring the makeup

belphegor

it's rare, but somehow he got a nightmare

he forgot about it as soon as he woke up, but he was still feeling a little restless

he walks out of his and beel's room and walked downstairs

he finds your light still open, so he immediately decided to make it your problem

he just opens your door without any prior warning and sees you standing by your bed

he raises an eyebrow and calls your name

you turn around and he was dumbfounded

you black and white feathers scattered around your hair, your eyes were depicted to be swollen from crying, your nose is bleeding, a slice on your cheek, and half of your face was burnt

and it felt like his nightmare all over again

"mc...?"

he was frozen over and you had to frantically assure him it was makeup

it took him a while to respond to you, and just nodded

he slept in your bed with you that night

i had some inspirations from the internet, but most of them are little close to home heh

see what i did there?

#well that turned angsty rq #welp #omswd #obey me #anon ask #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

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yeyinde · 2 years ago

Note

more john price please. maybe reader is tongue pierced giving him sloppy head? 👀

"Haven't worn one in a while," you wink, cheeky and a little tipsy. Filled with liquid confidence in shades of amber malt that remind you of the taste on his tongue. You lean in close, agarwood tickling your nose. Eyes flash in a mockery of something demure, staid: lashes cresting, babydoll coy and saccharine sweet, over your glossy eyes in the way you know he likes. Your countenance might have been twee, virginal, but the words that seep from your lips are drenched in hedonism: sultry and sybaritic. "Do you like it, baby?"

⇾warnings: unfettered filth; gendered reader, gendered terminology, female!reader; oral—m!receiving; dom!Price; this is basically just price fucking your throat; reader has a tongue piercing ⇾notes: i am so sorry this took so long. no excuses—but life got away from me for a moment. this has the flavour of sugar daddy Price, and maybe kinda sorta might be a small drabble piece to my sugar!daddy Price fic(s). —i listened to a very specific set of lana songs for this.

"Oh, fuck, love—," his hips lift from the seat of the armchair, forcing more of his spit-slicked cock into your mouth, nearly gagging you. "That's it—just like that—"

You sputter, nose burning at the way he plugs your throat with the blunt, fleshy head of his cock. It bludgeons into the soft lining in the back, pressing taut against the gummy walls that flutter, flexing, around him. His hand is ironclad against your skull, keeping you pliant, open for him. Just for him—

It borders on too much, riding that hazy line between what you can take and what you can't. Your mettle is tested by each inch he forces inside of your esophagus, delicate flesh coloured a mosaic of blue and black as he splits you apart. Your eyes are drenched in tears running down your cheeks as his cock spears your throat, a brackish sea loch, turning you into nothing but a conduit for his pleasure. A receptacle for him.

Really, though: you have no one to blame but yourself.

When you first flicked your tongue out at him, a pretty titanium barbell catching in the soft light of the pub, you thought you broke him.

Knuckles blanched on the glass tucked inside his palm. The calm lake of his eyes rippled when you rolled the ball across your upper lip, frothing, gyre-intense, and arsenic white.

(It tasted like victory, then. Now it tastes of firth and sea spray.)

His voice was low when he spoke, a brassy rumble that barely fit through the grit of his teeth. "You didn't tell me about this, love."

"Haven't worn one in a while," you winked, cheeky and a little tipsy. Filled with liquid confidence in shades of amber malt that remind you of the taste on his tongue.

You lean in close, agarwood tickling your nose. Eyes flash in a mockery of something demure, staid: lashes cresting, babydoll coy and saccharine sweet, over your glossy eyes in the way you know he likes. Your countenance might have been twee, virginal, but the words that seep from your lips are drenched in hedonism: sultry and sybaritic.

"Do you like it, baby?"

His knee hits the underside of the table, the noise only just drowning out the groan that drags, crumpled and ruined, out of his throat. Heady chamois chokes the giggle from your chest when he looms over you, hand white-hot on the skin of your thigh, pushing up the hem of the pretty lace dress.

(The one he bought for you.)

You glance up, and the air is smothered out of your lungs. Intense, bonfire-bright.

"We're going home."

Fullstop. A command. No room for arguments. Not that you could make any with the heavy way he stares at you, eyes drifting to your gaping mouth where the metal surprise catches in the glow.

There is a click in your throat when you swallow, heart lurching in your chest. Your belly burns with the smoke from his cigar, and amber malt from his glass.

His thumb notches inside of your thigh. Danger close, as they say. You wonder if he can feel the dewiness staining your skin.

Price hums low in his throat–a rasping trill that makes you feel like you're a stripped wire. Flayed. Open. Raw.

His eyes are storm clouds over the sea: a thunderclap in the granite distance. He speaks, a rucked husk over smouldering sandalwood, and your spine tingles with the way his slurred accent curls over the words.

"And when we get there, love, I want you on your knees," his fingers press into the dampening gusset of your panties, eyes sapphire grey. "And we'll see how much I like it."

Which, of course, turned out to be a lot.

You pull back, gasping, and wrap your hand around the base of him where he pulses like a heartbeat in your palm. Teary eyes flicker up to him, lashes clumped together, watery from when he'd fisted your hair in his hand and pushed you down to the base. Yeah, take all of me, love.

His eyes glide to you, lidded and heavy. Price gazes down at you, lips pulled up in a wry smile as he watches you fall to pieces with just his cock buried deep in your throat.

In petulant retaliation, you drag the metal ball across his frenulum; a slow roll that makes his eyelids drop, head falling back with a grunt of liquid sin.

Suede fills your nose when his hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking the skin below your wet, glossy lip. You lap at his sensitive, flushed tip, eyes fluttering.

You can't get enough of the way he tastes—clean pine, wet skin, salt. You drink it down like you're parched for him. And you are. His taste rides the line of nicotine and power. It's stupid, really, but think you could stay on your knees for his man as long as he'll have you. Desperate in a selfless way: one that makes you want to hear his smoky growls, the grunts of pleasure, and bask in the briny tang of him in your mouth.

You pull back, dragging your hand up his aching flesh. Precum beads at the tip. Your mouth waters.

It's a feast: the way his thick, fat cock glistens from your spit, flushed vermillion; long veins throbbing under your fingers, pulsing through the velvet flesh. The flared, wet mushroom head. The bulge an inch below, a swollen slope that stretches you unexpectedly when he has you on your back, your knees; fat head shoved inside. Then the stretch, the burn, as he pushes the rest of his girth into you. Unending, all the way to the base. Price is stocky. Thick.

Your jaw aches already.

His stare burns when you meet it over the leaking tip of him, chin falling on his hairy thigh. Lachrymose eyes wide and wanting. An innocent whore.

(Just for him. Just the way he likes it.)

He groans when your tongue flicks out, lapping at the base of him, tongue ring rolling over his baby blue vein.

You breathe in the smell of him—musky, manly: weathered wood, wet earth; loam, humus—and feel your core pulse at the heady scent burning your nose, clotting in your lungs. Your eyes flutter, dimming at the intoxicating miasma of him making your head swim. Your head rolls, cheek flattening on his thigh. The coarse hair tickles your nose. You rub your skin against his, the warmth bleeding into your smarting cheeks.

His hand falls to your head, thumb brushing over your temple as you lick around the base of him, trailing just the tips of your fingers up and down his hard, twitching length. It's lazy compared to earlier, but you need a moment to breathe. To dilute the hypoxia in your head.

His hand is warm on your skin, like the thigh beneath your cheek. They smell of tobacco, smoke. Your eyes flicker up, catching his sapphire gaze.

It's a small lull: a moment when you just take him in, feeling the pulse of him under your hands. Gentle, despite the burn in your jaw from how wide you had to stretch it to fit him. The scratchy ache in your throat. It's hushed. His hips flex in your hands, cock bobbing and dribbling prespend as your whispered graze only just barely touches the velvet skin.

His fingers curl in your hair, eyes shaded in desire. He rasps low, a small breathless rumble spilling from his lips. "Better stop teasing me, love."

You roll the ring over your bruised lips. "What are you going to do about it?"

His eyes crease, tight around the corner. A little rumbling breath spilled from his lips. His chest sinks with his exhale. "You won't like to find out."

It's not a threat. Not really. It's a promise.

There is a slight pressure against your jaw. Your mouth parts, falls open under his wordless command.

"Good girl—," it's almost a snarl: ashy and brittle. "Keep your mouth open for me, yeah?"

He knocks your hand away from his cock, and curls his long, thick fingers over the girth.

You soak him in, breathing deeply so as to keep the tang of him inside of your lungs. A whimper falls when he grips himself tight, head blooming vermillion and spilling more milky precum. He holds it there, letting you watch the way his prespend dribbles down the hard length, gathering at the seal of his hand.

A huff leaves him when he sees your thighs rub together, eyes—dewy and lachrymose—fixed on the fat swell of him. The ticking veins running down the sides. Your saliva and his cum pool at the base, covering his heavy balls in the combined slick.

It's intense. Blisteringly hot. You want him inside of you, splitting you open, and making you take him all the way to the root. Deep, hard thrusts until you can feel them slap against the seal of your cunt pulled taut around the girth of him. You want him to fill you up until you can taste him in your throat, until your belly bulges with the heft, ballooning from the cum he pours into your womb.

You want him to use you. Fuck you stupid until you're swollen and full to near bursting—

The breath pops in your throat, sticking to your larynx when he pulls his cock down, the slick head dragging over your cheek. The noise he makes is caustic. It burns through you until you're gasping from the blue heat of him.

He drags his palm up his length until the head disappears through the seal of his hand. The sound it makes is slick, tacky. Your thighs press together, tighter, desperate, to stem the ache, teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue until the metal ball scrapes across your gums.

Price looks at you for a moment, gaze softening in the flushed light of the lamp, and it's there you feel the throb in your belly start to thunder. You shift your knees, searching for friction, a little whimper spills out, quivering with longing.

Sprawled on the chair, trousers barely pushed down his thick thighs, and with his flushed, wet cock sitting fat and heavy in his palm, he looks like he was carved from smoke, and made just for you.

His beard twitches. The hand on your jaw tightens just a little. Just enough to bring you back into focus. Your eyes drop again. Obedient. Docile.

"Fuck," the word falls like the crack of a whip. He lifts the fat head of his cock from your tongue, and pushes it against the metal peaking through your flesh. Prespend drenches your upper lip as he rubs his cock over the piercing. "You suck my cock so good, love. You want it bad, don't you?"

You can't speak. Can't think—

The wet, heavy thud of his cock dropping over your mouth makes your eyes squeeze shut. A whimper drags out of your throat when he does it again, and again. His cock slaps over your panting mouth, stinging your flesh, and making your cunt ache.

"Please—," it's slurred around the weight of him pressing against your mouth. Your eyes open, find his. Pleading. Begging. The words tumble out, broken and needy, from your blistered lips. "Please, baby. I wanna choke on your cock—"

"Fucking hell, love—"

His cock slips over your lips, your ring, and he pushes it down your throat, until the head of his cock hits the gummy, slick wall at the back. You gag. Tears blur your eyes, leaking down the corners. It's not enough to choke you, but it makes your chest tighten, and your head swim. Black dots moult across your vision. Your hands grasp his knees, fingers digging into the rumbled fabric of his trousers. Ground yourself. Breathe through it. Easy, and steady.

Hypoxia isn't enough to stop you from getting his cock as deep into your throat as you can.

A briny purl slips out from his mouth when you gasp, tears soaking your cheeks.

His thumb brushes across your cheekbones, smearing the tears that steam down, and catching them on his rough skin. The touch is softer than it has any right to be with him drowning you in the precum that weeps from the tip, spilling down your throat. It's gentle, reverent. The starchy, warm pads of his fingers ask if you're okay if you can take more. Always so considerate.

Your eyes lift, bleary and gritty, and you find him through the haze of smoke billowing out from the end of his cigar.

There is a burn in the back of your neck, your jaw, but you breathe through the pain that licks at you, and hold his molten gaze, drenched in pleasure at the warm, wet give of your flesh. The pinch between his brow is full of euphoria, but it oscillates now with unease, with that cosseting veneer that makes his hands ease off your body, giving you distance. The very thing you don't want.

The sight of him—dressed in shades of smoke and tobacco—pools inside of you like a sickness, a fever. He's a rough cut of a man: guttural snarls and resonant growls of displeasure, of anger brimming in the furrow of his brow, but you'd never been touched with such reverent adoration before. The smeared sheen under your eyes, the deep rubescent flush to your cheeks, and the lost haze in your eyes, all make him shudder with barely constrained desire.

He's greedy for you. Hands always on your skin like an addict; desperate for one more pull. One more hit.

And yet—

Price doesn't take.

He gives you what you want, always: the searing heat of his hands, the bulk of his body, the brutal snap of his hips sending you into the throes of nirvana, his teeth digging into your neck when you offer it up so prettily for him. But rarely, rarely, does he give into that rapacious hunger that curls like fine smoke in the pits of his eyes.

You want him to break. Shatter. You want this man to fall apart in your arms, so you can reassemble him again. You want to be crushed under the weight of it with him until the end of him and the beginning of you is a blurry line. A pulverised puddle of sex and sin and the feel of your atoms stripped bare and congeal into one. To feel his flesh moulding to yours.

The softness in his alder eyes makes you melt, makes you mewl, unable to keep the gale from spilling out.

You want this. Want him. Want the hickory-scented ashes of his resolve in your hands. Calcined and charred. You want to tuck the smouldering husk of his propriety between your teeth until the charcoaled remains are ground out, and masticated with your effort. You'll see this gruff man shatter. Break.

Leaning forward, you flash him a look—that pretty one he likes with your lashes fanned over your eyes, half-mast and full of lust, desire for him—and flick your tongue out again, barbell catching in the ochre glow. His hand trembles when you seal your mouth around the thick of him, hollowing your cheeks as you slurp up the mess of prespend and saliva that covers his throbbing length.

He jerks in your hold, head falling back with a husk of pleasure. Ruin me, you think, molten tongue worshipping him. Wreck me.

He tastes of amber and salt when you swallow him down: heady and musky. You can't get enough of the way he wrenches you open like this, leaving you feeling like a raw wound, a livewire, with just his fat cock sliding down your throat.

Fingers dig into the back of your head as he cants his hips up, thrusting inside the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. Your nose is stuffed, the scent of him clogs the air around you. You can't breathe, but despite the black dots in your vision, you stay put, gasping for air when he allows it.

It edges into discomfort, but you fight through the strain in your jaw, and take him deeper, and deeper. You don't stop until his knuckles press against your nose, until you can feel his hand slipping away from the base, giving you more room. The coarse, auburn hair tickles your lip. You slide down further, tongue flat against the underside of him, and the blunt nudge of his weeping cock battering against the soft walls of your throat makes you gag, makes you choke.

You sputter, tears running down your aching cheeks in an unstoppable deluge. Your nose burns, stings, when you breathe in. You cough around him, and he grunts at the way your muscles spasm, squeezing him tight.

You pull back off the length of him, swallowing thickly. The ragged gasps you take do little to abate the burn in your lungs.

Tears blur your vision, but you force yourself to open your bleary eyes, staring up at him through damp, clumped lashes. As your sight slowly focuses, the image of him leaning back on the chair, teeth grinding together is enough to make you dizzy.

It's the expression of euphoria that etches itself into the furrow of his brow, the curl of his lips—bared, snarling at the feel of your mouth—and the dangerous narrowing of his eyes that makes you whimper, makes you shake. White-hot pleasure spumes inside of you.

You want more. Everything.

Your fingers curl around the base of him, little finger nestled in the wry bed of hair. He throbs in your clutch; a glob of prespend breaks free from the puddle pooling on his engorged, mushroomed head, and slides down the length of him.

It makes your mouth water. It feels a little bit like battling the ferocity of a Chinook. Chafed cheeks, stinging lips all covered with the slickness of your efforts.

You must wear it on your expression, then. Price looks down, and groans, his cock jerking in your hold. His mouth falls open a touch, a huff of pleasure slipping through the seam.

You shuffle forward, knees aching, and place your tongue against the swell of his cock beneath the slow glide of his prespend trailing down. It drips down, and you catch it, smearing the pearlescent bead over the soft, fleshy tip. The muscles in his thighs twitch when you lift your chin, showing him the droplet gathered there.

"Bloody fucking hell—"

You don't wait for him to continue. You want him broken.

He groans as the gluey, wet walls of your mouth surround him, slurping up the excess saliva that pools in your throat, spilling down your chin. You nearly choke on him, then, when his hips jerk as you lave your tongue across the head of his cock, pressing the bead of your tongue ring into his frenulum again.

His smell envelopes you. Heady and rich. A potent cocktail of salt, smoke, and cured wood that liquefies your self-control.

Price's hips lift, more of his cock slips down your throat. You tremble when his hand threads through the loose strands of your hair, fingers curling around the locks until he has a fistful gathered at the base of your skull. You know what's coming. Know, even before his hand tightens, and the lash of pain makes your cunt throb.

It's when you look up at him through misty eyes, lidded and sticky, that he finally crumbles.

The sound he lets out makes you shiver. A moan cut by the jagged end of a broken bottle; husky and molasses heavy.

You moan around him again, unabashed, and taken by the sensation of having him fuck your face in shallow, pointed thrusts. His hand tightens in your hair, pilling your pliant mouth closer.

You love it. The taste, the smell. The inexorable feeling of him using you however he pleases, unleashing something dark and primal that curls around you, wrenched up from the hypoxia of having his cock spear through your esophagus.

There is barely time to brace yourself before his hips buck into you, forcing his cock deeper. The force of his brutal, shallow thrust makes his balls slap across your chin. The forceful gait of his hips increases until he's pounding your throat, groaning deep in his chest.

The noises he makes barely sound human. They drip molten sin, and burn your flesh when he leans over you, eyes sparkling embers in the soft light of the room.

He stops when you gag around him, hands pressed flat against his thighs.

"It's good, isn't it?" he husks, eyes tightening when your throat spasms around him, fluttering. Another grunt when you moan, a weak whimper that vibrates over him. He pulls you back, head tipping back with another rasp of pleasure. You squeeze your thighs together to stem the ache.

Misty-eyed, you stare, transfixed, at the strain in his pale neck: skin pulled taut, veins bulging through his flesh. His Adam's apple rises and falls like a buoy in the middle of a turbulent ocean with each harsh swallow. His cock grinds against your gummy flesh, and you wonder, distantly, if you'd even be able to speak tomorrow.

"Gonna cum—," it's rucked out of him, hissed low: the sizzle of a cigar on dry flesh. Your cunt throbs, jaw twinges with pain. Spit runs down your chin in rivets, pooling over your bare breasts. You feel battered, and bruised: throat raw and aching. But there is something intense about it, about the way he looks at you, now. The way he handles you. This, you think—thoughts a wisp in the static of your pounding head—and seeped in delirium, is him taking.

His eyes lift. Sapphire shatters; a crack, a crevasse, a fissure split down the middle. Black pools, desire-thick, and covetous.

Price's mouth drops: the breath that spills from his lips is drenched in bliss. The hand in your hair tightens, fingers knotting through your locks until your skull stings, and tears leak from your babydoll eyes. A torrent down roseate cheeks.

Broken cerulean falls, catches the cascade of them dripping on the swell of your flushed chest. His feet shift, thighs tensing under your hands, and then he lifts his hips again, sinking his cock all the way to the back of your throat. It's controlled, measured. Inch by inch until he's smothering your nose in the wry bed of auburn that scratches your wet nose. The heady scent of him is intoxicating. Your head swims, dizzy and burning at the sun-warmed moss and rain-soaked granite that clots, congeals around you.

"That's it," he slurs, eyes fixed on you. They tighten around the edges, eclipsed blue: the ocean at night, but his stare doesn't waver from the mess of you over his lap. Pleading, begging. Your gaze turns desperate. "Take it all."

Liquid pleasure blooms in your core. Your cunt aches at his timbre: a cauterised wound; the hiss of a raging fire doused in water. The muffled whimper you let out makes him twitch against your larynx; a hushed groan falls from his lips.

He pulses like a heartbeat when he cums; molten liquid spurting down your throat with each rumbling groan he lets out. He holds you there for a moment before slowly, deliberately, pulling your head back until the tip of his cock rests on your tongue, the slit perched against the barbell. He drenches the piercing in the last mouthful that spits out, eyes sharpening at the sight of it covered in his milky cum.

You know better than to swallow it. Not until you're told. You hold it on your tongue, tastebuds overwhelmed by the salty, ozonic thunderhead tang. You keep it there, in your mouth, like a good girl. Like his good girl, and wait for him to catch his breath. For his eyes to clear from the sea mist that clouds them. It's liquid bliss in shades of blue and sea foam.

His eyes crease, heavy and lidded in pleasure. Pride rears in his languid expression. Good girl lingers in the crevasse you wrought. You shiver, spilling a dollop of his briny release down your chin.

Price cocks his head, eyes hooded. His thumb catches the drop, staining his skin milky pearlescent.

His voice is a smoky purr when he speaks. It makes tremble, flesh fever-hot, at the stormcloud grey in his gaze.

"Any more secrets you'd like to share, love?"

1K notes · View notes

chernabogs · 6 months ago

Note

ames you are COOKING (or should i say, planting???lol) SO HARD with the flower language prompts, 😭💖💞💖💞✨✨am really out here sobbing and crying over them like im watering these flowers with my Tears lol

so here i am requesting for these prompts: rosemary, begonia, pink camellia, dark crimson rose, purple hyacinth, blue salvia, zinnia

i picked these based on your initial tag about Maleficia and zinnia flower,,,, I SEE THE VISION so im requesting it now lol but also picked on prompts that reminded of Meleanor and Malleus,,, 😭i think therapy bills should be forwarded to Draconias instead, istg all they ever do is be in grief and loss /lh😭

if its too many, please feel free to choose whichever prompt you like and take your time in writing !! ☺️💞🌹✨✨

Ohhh I did my best here I promise LMAOOO. I tied in some easter eggs with other works i've done (namely Monody, Stasis, and Labours Gained). I hope you enjoy my absolute monstrous dump about Maleficia, whom I will die on a hill for tyvm

EMPTY CHAIRS

Inc: Maleficia, Meleanor, Levan, Lilia, Malleus (whole gang wow) WC: 4.2k :))) Warnings: Just some death, but I swear it ends on a happy note this time. Flowers: Begonia (How ghosts help the living live a little), Pink Camellia (Where I notice your absence the most), Dark Crimson Rose (The grave I visit everyday), Purple Hyacinth (The worst pain of my whole life and how it healed… multiple times) , Zinnia (The seats at the table and how they eventually became empty… multiple times) Summary: Moments where Maleficia was convinced her family was cursed, and a few times she truly wished this to not be the case.

A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity. It dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path.

Their family may be cursed.

For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of such a matter in her mind. It had first passed briefly with the death of her father—the second monarch to take over after the initial uprising—and the subsequent death of her mother a few weeks later. No one was surprised when she went. Her grief for the loss of her love had been so profound that it had flooded Briar Nation, drowning both cattle and crops in her dismay. Maleficia had postponed her own coronation as the cleanup occurred. It felt ill-boding to be crowned while bodies were floating down the mountain pass.

The thought had returned once more when her husband vanished at sea, leaving her with a newborn hatchling on her own. Her love had been a strong headed man with adventure burning in his blood—it had been what drew her to him to begin with. That, and he was the only ex-sailor she knew who was bold enough to try and hold her for ransom. Wiping the deck with him had captured his heart—and the fact that he had been a dragon settled the Senate to a degree. But the sea is a fickle mistress, and although her love had skill and he had drive, even the most knowledgeable of sailors can never predict its next move.

She had not flooded Briar Nation like her mother had, and she had held herself together before her people, although the empty space in her bed and at the dinner table deepened the wound nightly. It was in the quiet moments alone when it was just her and Meleanor that she felt his absence the strongest.

In the beginning she loathed him for leaving her. Whenever she cradled their daughter as the hatchling shrieked and protested, blowing flame, and biting for flesh, she loathed him. Whenever she dealt with the Senate or another disaster befalling the Nation, she loathed him.

But when Meleanor learned to fly, learned to run, and shifted into her two-legged form for the first time, the hatred began to fade. Because although he had vanished into the mists on a voyage destined to fail, he had left her with the greatest treasure she could ever have—and for that alone she could hold no ill will.

Perhaps this sentimentality is why when Meleanor dragged a thin, sickly-looking bat into the halls of Black Scale, Maleficia heard her out.

“Please let him stay!” The princess had asked, green eyes wide as she grasped her mother’s skirts. “Please, mother!”

The other child had shrunk behind Meleanor, but shadows could not hide the burning defiance in the boy's eyes—a gaze of confrontation, and one that nothing truly innocent should hold. This is why she lacked the heart to say no. She quietly hoped that Lilia, as she would name him, would be the one to slay whatever reaper was following them—that the burning anger she had seen would ignite a fire that would cleanse the family of its suffocating misery.

With the presence of Meleanor, Lilia, and eventually Levan, the silent table Maleficia had sat at for so long soon became a place of raucous conversation again. Although she found herself scolding the three children more than once (especially Levan for his non-subtle attempts at discarding food), the lingering warmth she would feel as she gazed at the trio made her confident that this family curse was on the bend.

Naturally, it didn’t last.

The first time she heard of the Silver Owls, Meleanor was 200 years old and more focused on warding off suitors than an unmarked ship. Maleficia had allowed her daughter to indulge by instead consulting with an advisor alone in the dark of her office. The concern lingering in the advisor's words would grow to haunt her.

“Perhaps it is temporary?” She posited, trying her best to remain optimistic on the matter. Plenty of people came and went from Cape Sunrise. A single unmarked ship with a few scraggly sailor’s was not something she felt the need to stress over. The advisor seemed doubtful on the matter.

“But they have tools. Items designed to dig up our soil,” they had insisted, but Maleficia dismissed the concerns with a wave and a blase response.

“Let them try. They will not be able to break the first layer of our land.”

___________________________________

The first one to leave the table had been Levan. There were many soldiers and nobles who vanished before he did but, selfishly, he was the first one that Maleficia really felt the absence of. Levan had grown up from a non-confrontational child to her son-in-law, a general of the princess and a father to the future heir. His compassion had not faded despite the years of war that now tore the Nation apart. Maleficia knew this by the way she came across him one night, cradling his egg so gently while murmuring against its shell.

When he had noticed her, he had not corrected himself; if anything, he held the egg even closer. They had not exchanged too many words that night, but she sat next to him on the bench in the gardens, the silence speaking volume of her support to his decisions.

“You will return.” It was not a question—it was a demand. Her voice held the authority of a queen who had seen many, many losses in her long life. Levan had remained silent for a moment longer as his lips brushed against the shell of her grandson's egg.

“Always,” was the promise he made, and the last words Maleficia heard from him. When they didn’t receive notice for several days after he left, the conclusion was drawn that he was either dead, or the closest one could be to it. Meleanor held herself well in lieu of this information, as had Maleficia.

But the empty seat felt an ill omen.

___________________________________

The next one to leave the table had been Meleanor. When she was younger, she used to rest her head on Maleficia’s lap as her mother had fixed her hair. She would ramble on about her day and what she got up to with the two boys in the nonsensical fashion that many children do. Maleficia had listened with amusement, although her mind had always been half-focused on what she needed to do for her meetings the next day.

The regret of not giving Meleanor her full, undivided attention sunk in deep when she felt her daughter’s magic cut off. The bond in their family was intrinsically woven to allow them to get a sense of whether the other members were still alive. If asked, Maleficia might say it’s something of a dragon trait. Most of the time it served to be a blessing to allow her to know her family is alive and well.

When it cut off mid-emergency meeting, the abruptness had been so profound that she nearly collapsed then and there. Her breath had hitched, her words stuttering to a stop as she stared wide-eyed at the Senate members surrounding her. At first, she hoped it was simply a fluke—a disruption in the magic—until she didn’t feel it return and the horrible, tar-like panic of a mother when her child goes missing welled up in her heart. She was tearing out of the room before any of the Senate members even had a chance to speak, screaming for her guards and her soldiers to tell her what was going on at Wild Rose.

Her daughter, who spent her childhood running through the forests and laughing in the face of suitors. Her daughter, whose hair she would braid and then re-braid again when the girl somehow got burs in it. Her daughter, who was set to become a mother herself and experience all the precious moments Maleficia had.

Her daughter, whose body wasn’t even recovered at the end of it all.

___________________________________

The final one to leave the table was Lilia. In wake of the princesses passing, Malleus’ egg was put in the cradle tower, and Maleficia was designated to spirit him into hatching. She felt the faint connection of their magic from within the thick shell that guarded his body. His warmth, the subtle movements he made; they were all indicators that he was still alive and well despite his tumultuous arrival.

But Maleficia didn’t know if he would oblige. Hatchlings often needed the love of both parents to be shepherded forward—and Maleficia, now over eight hundred years old, already felt the strain of her magic from the conflicts going on in her Nation. There was no doubt that she held love for her grandson—but a lingering fear that her love wouldn’t be enough burned in her mind. This is what made her turn to Lilia, to send him on his quest around the world to try and find an additional means to bring the young prince forward.

For the first few decades, it worked well. Maleficia held the egg on a nightly basis and poured as much of her love and magic into it as she could. The egg consumed it all in a greedy fashion, demanding more every time she returned to the tower. One would think that Malleus was starving within by the way he pulled, and tore, and ripped at her powers to fuel his own development.

Then he ceased feeding. She recalls the first night it happened; everything had been going well, until the connection was suddenly severed, and the green glow within the egg dulled back into a faint tint of color. Maleficia had initially dismissed it as a one-off event. Until it happened again, and again, and again.

There’s a curious sense of panic that fills someone when they do everything they can to no avail. The panic she felt came in the form of a privatized breakdown in the tower. For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of a curse in her mind. Now, she was beginning to consider that it was not her family who was cursed, but rather just herself.

First it came for her father, and her mother shortly after. Then, when it grew hungry again, it ate through her husband and that of her daughters. Then it came for Meleanor herself, and now whatever reaper followed them was looming over her shoulder as she held Malleus’ egg and begged him to take something.

Pleas fell from the lips of a monarch as she rocked the egg, stroked its shell so softly, whispering to just eat a little more, just take a little more. But the egg had remained as cold and aloof as it had for several nights now. Her desperation mounted in an order to Baul to summon Lilia back—to slay whatever reaper was following them before it pried the last of her bloodline from her hands.

Her hopes of his role as the vanquisher of death came in an explosive hatching that she was informed of after it occurred. When she requested for Lilia to be brought to Black Scale to be reinstated in his role in his efforts, the Senate had then informed her that Lilia Vanrouge would never step foot in the capital again.

And so, in a span of mere moments, the final seat was emptied—and Maleficia found herself alone once more.

___________________________________

Grandchildren are the best reminders of the beauty and innocence of childhood.

When Malleus was first brought to her after he hatched, she didn’t want to touch him. The purple hue of his stomach and the way his green gaze darted around, drinking in the new world he emerged to, reminded her so much of Meleanor that she wanted to laugh at the cruel irony. The hurt that smouldered in her heart ignited back into a flame that found her turning a cold shoulder to the hatchling.

“Go clean him. He has amniotic fluid all over.” She remembers ordering, voice deceptively calm for the turmoil happening within. The wet nurse that was hired obliged as the hatchling shrieked and protested the frequently changing environment around him. His cries made Maleficia clench her jaw tighter as she stared resolutely at the battle plans drawn before her, her hands gripping the table enough to turn her knuckles white.

A few times she went to him in the beginning. The encounters lasted only as long as Maleficia could tolerate seeing how similar he looked to Meleanor before she would depart and leave him in the care of his wet nurse once more. Guilt fought with anger in her heart about the circumstances that she found herself in and her inability to overcome them. She could feel the ghost of her daughter chastising her in the corner for being so cowardly in her approach.

The breakthrough arrived when Malleus became ill. Grieves—a fever-like condition that affected fae children in particular—resulted in Maleficia sitting with her grandson one night as the exhausted wet nurse was excused for a long overdue break. She held him on her lap in the dark as his small form fought his fever, whispering how the stars that looked down from above were the eyes of the people who loved him, keeping him safe in this world. Her voice had cracked as she spoke, and it was only when a small whine left him did she realize she was hugging him tight to her body.

“I am so sorry,” she had choked out, unsure if the apology was for the hold she had or the neglect she had given so far. “Please forgive me.”

Malleus had twisted in her arms, small wings fluttering before he settled himself down and began to doze. He had already forgotten what upset him to begin with. She wished it would always be that way—but she knew that was nothing but a vague hope.

She loathed Meleanor for leaving. Whenever she cradled Malleus as the hatchling threw his tantrums, blowing flame, and biting for flesh as all children seem to do, she loathed her. Whenever she dealt with another part of the war or signed another treaty alone, she loathed her.

But when Malleus scrambled onto her lap mid-Senate meeting, chased after courtiers, and flew for the first time (admittedly, into a flock of pigeons), Maleficia loved her. Because although like her father she had vanished in an ill-fated decision, she had left a small reminder that she was never truly gone. Maleficia could comfort Malleus, could see the ghost of his mother in his clever little eyes, and for that alone she could hold no ill will.

Meleanor’s death had proved to be far worse than anything else—but her gift of the small dragon in her lap felt like the first steps towards recovery again. So, she had kissed between his horns that night and promised to herself that she would do all that she could to give him a future free of the misery that plagued their family thus far.

___________________________________

In the aftermath, she spent time with him whenever she could. Via dinners, via having him sit in on meetings, via walks in the gardens—whenever she could, she would be there. However, despite her newfound presence changing some things for the better, she remained unable to quell the curiosity that burned in her grandson's mind.

She found him in the mausoleum once. He was standing on the toes of his mother with his small hand touching her stone-carved face. Maleficia had not been to the mausoleum since the boy hatched so many years ago. The raw memories still stirred in her heart and seeing him look up at his mother with such a gaze of innocent adoration did nothing but unsettle her more.

When he noticed her, his face had lit up into a smile as he hopped back down and pointed up to one of the other statues. “This is grandfather?”

Maleficia’s gaze slid to where he was pointing. A strong jaw, a dangerous glint in stone-etched eyes, and a faint smirk painted the picture of the man she had once loved and held so dearly many years ago. Maleficia nodded. Malleus, taking this as encouragement, then ran back to the other statue he had been touching with his small hands.

“And this is mother?”

Again, Maleficia nodded. The painful similarities between Malleus and his mother were more apparent when they were side to side. If Maleficia were to squint, she could mistake Malleus as a younger Meleanor: the same horns, same hair length, even the same streak of mischief that got both into so much trouble.

Malleus had hummed thoughtfully before stepping down again. “Do you miss them?”

A deceptively innocent question. Of course she missed them. All she had left of her family was one grandson and three empty coffins: a husband at sea, a daughter in the hands of humans, and a son-in-law somewhere in the moors. “I do,” she offered back. “I miss them greatly.”

Malleus had asked her why, then. Children like him were filled with innocence and wonder about the world. He had no knowledge of the bodies that were lost, or the tragedies that had predicated his birth. Her reply did nothing but fuel an unease in the boy, for moments after she offered it, he ran back to her and threw his small arms around her waist.

When he hugged her, he clung with a ferocity that was baffling for his size. Her hands rested on his head and stroked his hair soothingly as she had done with Meleanor many times before she guided him away from the tombs and the memory of family he never met.

She should visit them more often now.

___________________________________

She rediscovers that there’s a privilege in watching someone grow. Lilia’s gradual return into their lives helps ease the stress of raising a child again in her older age, which is partially why she turns a blind eye every time Malleus slips out of the palace to visit the man. She’s honoured to observe in a more passive manner the way her grandson changes and grows as a person. She watches him go from spiteful towards humans to more amiable with the arrival of Lilia’s adopted son. As he grows before her eyes, she begins to see less of Meleanor and Levan in his features and more of just Malleus—the quiet, albeit arrogant, boy that was hers.

Time goes by faster as she ages alongside him. One moment he’s clinging to her skirts, and the next he’s off to NRC, and then finally, 178 years have passed like the blink of an eye. She used to bemoan how slow time was—and now she wishes it to ease off a bit.

She’s sitting in the gazebo in the gardens for reprieve, a novel in hand as the screaming of insects choruses a song for her amusement. The aroma of flowers surrounds her and for a moment she feels utter peace in the world. The summer is ending and there are no celebrations or events to concern herself with. For the first time in what feels like eons, Maleficia Draconia can breathe.

The sound of someone approaching puts a pause in this.

She lowers her book to peer over at whoever is coming, hoping silently it isn’t an advisor or a courtier seeking out an audience on the sly. Fortunately, the sight of two horns and a scowling face turning the corner nullifies this as she turns back to her book.

“Finally decided to see the sun?” She muses as she hears him stepping onto the gazebo platform. She waits for his response, but only comes to feel surprised when Malleus kneels by where she sits and does something that he hasn’t done in a long time now—he places his head in her lap. At his age, his body is too tall now to really kneel efficiently at her side, but by the gods does the boy try as he hits his head right down. Her hand comes up on instinct to brush strands of his dark hair behind his ear as he looks over the gardens, his shoulders tense with stress.

They’re silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of screaming insects from beyond before Malleus speaks.

“The gardens look atrocious.”

Maleficia raises an eyebrow as she lowers her book to look at where he’s staring. Her hand continues to stroke his head soothingly as she huffs a soft laugh. “Our groundskeepers are going for a more ‘untamed’ look this season.”

“I have counted twenty-six thistles in the minute I have been here.” Malleus shoots back as his hand comes to rest by his face. “It’s late in the season. They might be growing lazy.”

“Nonsense. You know how hard working they are. You spent ample amounts of time with them when you were younger.” She fails to hide the smile teasing on her lips with this comment. Malleus’ temper tantrums had landed him in more than enough problems in his youth. Problems which were often rectified by a gentle lesson of how hard it is to fix up his messes—garden destruction included.

Malleus deigns her with a unprincely snort in response. They fall back into a warm silence as she keeps her hand on his head and returns her attention to her book. She knows that something is on his mind, but she retains her silence both to give him an opportunity to speak, and to enjoy the moment that they’re having. In the privacy of the garden, they can get away with this rare display of familial affection.

She feels him sigh as his eyes flutter close before he speaks up. “Do you ever feel… unease?”

“Unease?” She hums quietly as she turns a page. “On many occasions I have, yes. Unease tends to go hand in hand with some of the things I have dealt with.”

She knows he doesn’t mean in the sense of his royal duties. Malleus is an unusually quiet and introverted boy—but she had noticed him being more so the past week as summer began to inch towards its end. He opens his eyes and sighs again before withdrawing to sit back on his knees.

Maleficia wisely closes her book and sets it down before affixing him with as stern of a look as she can muster without chuckling. “Sighing and moping in the corners does little to aid me in providing advice.”

Malleus’ gaze goes upwards to stare at the ceiling of the gazebo before his expression drops to a pout. “I am feeling reluctant to return to NRC.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

Maleficia quietly reaches her hand out to brush his bangs back from his forehead, revealing the scale pattern beneath. Malleus’ eyes flutter shut at the gesture as his pout remains present.

“Three years have passed now, and I have yet to feel included in the school environment. Spending my days with those I already know from here hardly feels like an efficient use of time.” His jaw clenches. “Every effort I make to form any sort of connection to others feels like it’s a pointless endeavour at this rate.”

“Malleus, you must be patient with these things. It takes time for people to warm up to the likes of us. You must simply continue being yourself, and the right people will make the effort to get to know you. I understand it may seem upsetting right now, but you must simply keep trying your best.” A faint smile touches her lips despite the worry gnawing at her heart. She wishes she could do more, but she also understands that these are things he must figure out himself. “You’re going to this school to gain new experiences and see the world beyond our little Valley without the Senate looming over you. Things will work out in the end.”

Malleus’ body seems to relax at her words as he opens his eyes again. His expression eases to his usual neutral look as he nods slightly. “... yes, I suppose you are correct.”

“I often am.” She pinches his cheek lightly, causing the scowl to immediately return to his face as he jerks to avoid her grasp, making her laugh in turn. “Besides, are you not excited to see Lilia, Silver, and Sebek more often again? Well. More often than you do already.”

A pointed look has him averting her gaze as she picks her book up again. His demeanour reminds her of Meleanor, but the similarities no longer ache when she considers them. This was Malleus—her grandson, not his mother, nor his father—and she was eager to see the person he was still destined to become. “Now, you should be packing, should you not? We don’t need the crisis we had last year where we were all hunting down books for you last minute.”

Malleus groans softly before rising to his feet and brushing his pants off. He presses a brief kiss to her forehead, coaxing another smile from her lips before he pulls away.

“Yes, grandmother,” he grumbles with all the moodiness of an embarrassed teenage boy, and Maleficia can’t help but feel happiness at seeing it. Cursed or not, she will continue to enjoy these moments of joy as long as she may have them.

#twst #twst fanfiction #maleficia draconia #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #meleanor draconia #levan draconia #40 min spent on deciding a header alone #'hey amy she hasnt even been in the game yet' and?#listen maleficia may be 0% in-game but she is 100% in my brain thank u #obviously some flexibility with the facts here idk who malleus' grandpa is or what maleficias thoughts were during malleus' upbringing #but AAAAAAA listen... her.#lian i hope i did u proud i even made it a happy ending LMAO

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arcane-vagabond · 1 year ago

Text

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Three

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Flirty Bradley, Talk of near death experience, Dagger Squad acting sketchy, talk of hookups, Bruises, Scratches, FBI, Police, Murder.

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: I'm starting to wonder if y'all actually read these lol Anyway, here is Chapter Three! If you're feeling kind/generous, please consider buying me a ko-fi! Also, if you DO NOT fill out the form below (Tag List) then you will not be tagged! I will be referring to that Google form from now on! As always, reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated! Asks/requests are always open! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond where I also post my updates!

Series Masterlist

Your head was pounding and the sheets stuck to your skin in a way that made you want to scream. You slowly cracked an eye open, wincing at the bright light that filtered in through the window. It was still overcast outside, and you could see the tiny droplets of water that ran down the window pane. You blinked as you took in the sight of your room, trying to remember how you ended up there.

You shuddered as you remembered the crashing of waves all around you, struggling to find the surface for a desperate breath of air. Sitting up with a groan, you rested your head in your hand, trying to remember anything after that. You remembered hearing the song again, a high-pitched frantic melody and arms that had grasped you. Scoffing, you shook your head to rid yourself of the ridiculous notion that that had been anything other than a dream. At that moment, the door to your room creaked open softly to reveal Bob poking his head around the side. He let out a heavy sigh, opening the door fully and stepping through at the sight of you sitting up.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, walking over quickly to sit beside you on the edge of the bed. You gave him a half-hearted smile, still trying to ignore the throbbing in your temples.

“I am,” you grimaced.

“How much do you remember?”

“There was a storm,” you started, running your hand through your hair. “It got bad, and the waves kept coming and coming, and then…”

You paused, looking up at your friend who smiled at you gently.

“And then I fell overboard. I thought-I thought I was drowning,” you choked, feeling the tears well up in your eyes at the memory of how scared you had been. Bob reached out to place a comforting hand on top of yours and you smiled gratefully at him. “But I had another dream.”

“What?” Bob’s brow furrows in confusion. You chuckled softly to yourself.

“It was so real,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I mean, I’m sure it was just a hallucination, but…”

“What happened?” Bob pressed, leaning forward with a clench of his jaw. The way his face hardened made you uneasy, wondering what happened to your usually easygoing best friend.

“Well,” you started, clasping your hand around Rusty. “I was sure I was dead, but then I heard that song again. And then I felt arms wrap around me. Then I was on the shore, and I-”

You stopped, your cheeks heating up as your brain caught up to what you were saying. Your remembered the soft lips that pressed hot and heavy against your skin. The way the arms caressed and held you. The way you had responded to his touch, his bite.

Your cheeks grew hotter, and you saw Bob cock his head to the side from your peripheral.

“You what?” He asked. You cleared your throat.

“I remember there was a man.”

“A man?” Bob furrowed his brows, frown growing deeper. “What do you mean?”

You bit your bottom lip. “I think he saved me.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“Sorry,” you muttered, looking up to meet his blue eyes. “I know that sounds ridiculous. I’m sure it’s just my brain trying to comprehend how I got back to shore in that storm.”

Bob stared at you for a moment, seeming to choose his next words carefully.

“You probably just got a boost of adrenaline,” he said, smiling at you softly. “Probably swam yourself back to shore. We found you on the rocks there, you know. Bradley carried you back.”

“He did?” You asked, feeling the heat creep its way back onto your cheeks. Bob nodded.

“Yeah, everyone was so worried about you.”

“They were?” You frowned. The door swung open to reveal the group of friends standing in your doorway.

“Hell yeah, we were!” Bradley exclaimed, smiling at you widely, but there was a tinge of concern to his expression. “Thought you weren’t going to wake up there, Skipper.”

“I’m so sorry, you guys,” you murmured, turning to face them. They all glanced at each other and then back at you in confusion.

“What for?” Asked Javy. You felt tears well up in your eyes, and you let out a sniffle as you tried to wipe them away. The group quickly circled around you, doing their best to comfort you which only served to make you more upset.

“I just seem to keep causing all of this trouble,” you hiccuped. Nat pulled you in for a hug, stroking your hair as Bob squeezed your hand. “You guys must be sick of me by now.”

“Sick of you?” Bradley chuckled leaning against you on your left, causing Nat to grunt as your weight pressed into her more. “How could we be sick of our little Skipper, huh?”

“Besides,” Javy spoke up, smiling at you gently. “Accidents happen, right? It’s not like you went out looking for trouble.”

“I know,” you sniffled, “But-”

“No buts!” Natasha declared, pulling back to look at you. “You must be sick of our little town by now after all the excitement.”

You gave her a watery smile. “Never.”

“That’s our girl!” Bradley beamed, tweaking your cheek. He looked down at where you held the stuffed stingray and cocked a brow. “Who’s this little guy?”

You were sure your cheeks were going to be be permanently red by the end of the summer at the rate you were blushing. You clutched Rusty a little tighter, shyly peaking up at the mustached man through your lashes.

“This is Rusty.”

He hummed. “Well, Rusty better watch out because I don’t like having competition.”

You let out a giggle as the other boys rolled their eyes. Nat scoffed as she moved to stand.

“Alright boys,” she said, fixing them all with a look. “Let’s let Skipper get changed in peace, yeah?”

“I dunno,” Bradley smirked, leaning in closer to you. “She looks like she might need some help.”

“Out,” Natasha snapped with a roll of her eyes. Bradley shot you a wink before filing out after the boys, raising his hands in surrender as he walked by the brunette. Once they had all left, Nat looked at you with a soft expression.

“You don’t need help, right?” She asked, chewing on her bottom lip. You shook your head.

“I’ll be fine,” you smiled. “I promise I’ll holler if I need something.”

She seemed to accept this and walked out, closing the door behind her. You sighed, looking out the window. The throbbing in your head had had moved down to the base of your neck, and the uncomfortable pulse had you scratching at the skin. You furrowed your brows when you felt the way the skin was raised there when it wasn’t yesterday. You stood from the bed, swaying slightly. When you were sure that you weren’t going to collapse, you grabbed a change of clothes and made your way down the hall. You heard the others down in the living room chatting.

“What was he thinking?” You heard Nat say.

“He obviously wasn’t,” Bradley scoffed. “This will be his third go around and he still won’t give Mandy-”

The floorboard underneath you creaked, and you silently cursed when you heard the conversation die. You hurried into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind you. You let out a heavy sigh before turning to look in the mirror.

You looked an awful sight. Your hair was in disarray and there were bruises littered across your skin. You grimaced, grabbing a brush to try and tame your wild locks. When you had fixed the state of your hair enough, you pulled your hoodie off over your head, seeing the dozens of other bruises that scattered your arm. You let out a huff as you ran your fingers down your skin, but you stopped when you caught sight of your neck for the first time. Narrowing your eyes, you leaned into the mirror, carefully inspecting the skin that had been throbbing and raised. Your skin was almost iridescent as it reflected the lights of the bathroom. You moved, watching as the circular patch of raised skin shifted from a teal blue to a mossy green. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that it almost looked like a bite mark. You quickly changed into the clothes you brought with you, depositing the old ones in your room before making your way downstairs.

“There you are!” Bob smiled from where he was perched on the arm of the couch next to Mickey. “Was wondering what was taking you so long.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, brow still furrowed in confusion. Bob took in your expression, and his own changed to one of concern.

“Everything alright?” He asked you, causing everyone to focus on where you stood in the doorway. You nodded slowly, hand still covering the mark on your neck.

“Yeah, I think so?” You murmured, eyes shifting uncertainly to his. “Would you take a look at this?”

Bob nodded, already moving towards you as you dropped your hand. Bob stopped moving as everyone else in the room took in a breath at the same time.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” You chuckled nervously, uneasy as everyone watched you intently. “I’ve never seen anything like it. What do you think it is?”

Your eyes roamed the room and you saw all eyes trained on your neck. Bradley had his jaw clenched and his nostrils were flaring with anger, Reuben and Javy had grim looks on their faces, Mickey and Bob looked concerned, and Nat looked like she was ready to strangle someone.

“Yeah,” Bob said finally, giving a poor attempt at a smile.

“It must just be some algae or something,” Reuben offered, glancing nervously at his friends.

“Probably nothing to worry about,” Javy nodded, giving you a smile that looked more like a grimace.

“You think so?” You asked them, shifting uneasily at the sudden tension in the room. Mickey nodded, standing up from where he sat.

“Of course!” He chirped, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the front door. “Now come on! Let’s go get something to eat, yeah?”

Two days later you were perched on Richard’s boat as he and Bob finished packing up their fishing gear.

“I hope we didn’t bore you too much!” Richard called from where he was taking a part his fishing rod. You turned, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the glaring sun as it began to set.

“Not at all!” You laughed. “It was nice to just get out here and relax, even if I was the only one in the water.”

Bob had worried after you most of the day when you told him you would be joining him and his father for their weekly fishing excursion.

“Are you sure you’re ready to go back in?” He had asked, eyes studying you for any sign of hesitation. You gave him a reassuring smile.

“Yes, Bobby,” you teased, earning a less than amused look. “If I don’t go back as soon as possible, then I might never go back. I can’t let the fear win, right?”

And Bob had begrudgingly agreed, keeping a closer eye on you than his fishing pole much to his father’s chagrin. You had been fine, if not a little apprehensive at first. But the sea had welcomed you back, and you had embraced it happily. You swam until your fingers began to prune, and then you had settled on the deck of the boat, napping as you basked in the summer sun.

Now, the sun was sinking fast towards the horizon, and you stood up to stretch, feeling a pleasant buzz from the rays you had soaked up.

“Is there anything I can help with?” You offered, walking over to where Richard and Bob were still cleaning up from the day.

“Nah, we’ve got it,” Bob smiled up at you. “Just go have a seat and we’ll head back to shore here in a second, yeah?”

You hummed, slinking over to the cushions on the opposite end of the deck. You plopped down, resting your head back as you basked in the rocking of the waves. You could have used another nap.

“Do you kids have anything planned for tonight?” Richard asked, standing to head for the helm.

“I think we’re going to go have dinner with the gang,” Bob said, locking his tackle box and looking up at you. “Does that sound okay to you?”

“That sounds perfect,” you smiled, lolling your head to the side as as a warm breeze washed over you. Movement caught your eye, and you turned to where the door at the back of the boat was still opened, leading onto a ledge that you used to get in and out of the boat from the water. On the ledge sat several different shells. You stood, walking over to get a better look. You felt excitement swell as you took in the different whelk and calico shells. Scattered amongst the shells were different colored pearls, all shining in the dimming light.

“Bob, come look at this!” You called out excitedly. You heard his footsteps as he approached, crouching down next to you. You held one of the whelk shells out to him, practically vibrating in excitement. He took it from you, brow furrowing as he examined it.

“Aren’t these amazing?” You exclaimed, reaching down to grab some of the pearls. “These are some of the best specimens I’ve ever seen! And look at all of these pearls!”

Bob’s eyes shifted to your outstretched hand where you held five pearls of varying shapes, sizes, and colors sat.

“These are beautiful, aren’t they?” You continued, but then your excitement dimmed, turning into confusion as you looked back out at the water. “But, how did they get here?”

Bob stiffened next to you before standing, casting a look over his shoulder at his father. He turned back to you with a nervous smile.

“Must have been the current that brought them up,” he said. You frowned up at him.

“The current? But that doesn’t-”

“Hey, Dad!” Bob called, the older man popping up from where he was sitting at the steering wheel to the boat. “Are we ready to go yet? I’m starving!”

“Just waiting on you two!”

“Bob,” you started, but he gave you another smile.

“You’re hungry too, right? Why don’t you grab those and I’ll shoot a text to the groupchat and let them know we’re heading that way soon, yeah?”

Before you could respond, he turned around, walking off and leaving you still crouched by the ledge. You heaved a sigh, rolling your eyes as you began to collect the little treasures at your feet. Once you finished, you made sure the tiny door was latched closed before settling back into the cushions. You looked back out at the sea, swearing you heard the song from your dreams off in the distance.

“I’m telling you, they’re gonna hook up by the end of the summer,” Mickey laughed, popping another french fry into his mouth. Reuben scoffed, throwing his head back as the rest of the group smiled.

“I think my cousin has better taste than Garrett Fletch, Mickey,” the dark-skinned man fired back. Mickey raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

“I don’t know, didn’t she hook up with Bradley last summer?”

“Hey!” Bradley exclaimed, earning a round of laughter from everyone as Reuben turned to fix him with a narrowed stare.

“You and Christina hooked up last summer?” He huffed. The tips of Bradley’s ears turned bright red as he gave his friend a sheepish smile.

“It’s not like anything really happened,” Bradley defended himself. “She dumped me almost immediately after.”

Reuben seemed to mull over his words before nodding firmly. “At least she has some sense.”

Bradley’s jaw dropped at the dig, and you fought against the soda in your mouth to prevent it from shooting out your nose. Bradley turned to you with a smirk.

“Oh you think that’s funny?” He teased, grinning at you. You nodded.

“Extremely,” you giggled. Bradley bit his bottom lip as he watched you and Reuben shook his head.

“Skipper, please have more sense than my cousin,” he sighed, looking at you. “Do not mess around with this fool.”

“She could do worse!” Bradley interjected, casting his friend a sideways glance.

“Speaking of worse,” Bob said with a scowl. “Where’s Jake?”

Bradley’s nostrils flared at the name, and Nat rolled her eyes.

“Same as usual,” she grumbled.

“Mandy is really laying it on thick this year, huh?” Reuben chortled, sipping his milkshake. A warm breeze floated in from the beach, providing a pleasant reprieve from the jam packed diner.

Mickey grimaced. “I mean, this is his third-”

Javy cleared his throat, cutting the other man off. He glanced your way, and Mickey smiled sheepishly.

“His third what?” You asked, looking around the table. Everyone refused to meet your gaze.

“His third year of dancing around the subject,” Nat offered quickly. Your brows furrowed.

“What subject?”

“Mandy and Jake have been practically engaged since they were babies,” Bradley said with an eye roll. “Mandy is all for it, but everyone around here knows that Jake’s never been thrilled with the idea.”

“He made it pretty clear years ago that he wasn’t going go with the plan if he could avoid it,” Javy chimed in with a sigh.

“Is it really that big a deal?” You asked them. Javy grimaced.

“It’s a good match,” he said simply. “They’re both from founding families, and they make the picture perfect couple.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you commented, earning a snort from Nat.

“Except Mandy is a nightmare human being,” she scoffed. “She’s rude, stuck up, selfish, and a textbook narcissist. Jake would be miserable.”

“So why doesn’t he just tell her no outright?”

“Because until recently,” Bradley huffed, eyes shifting to stare at the raised patch of skin on your neck with distaste, “he didn’t feel like he had any other options.”

Before you could ask any more questions, a terrified scream sounded from outside. All of you looked at each other before scrambling up out of your seats to head outside with the rest of the crowd. It was hard to see in the dark as you stumbled down the beach, but what you saw before you sent ice down your spine.

A woman was crying hysterically into her partner’s chest, the wind whipping her dress about her. Your eyes glanced down, seeing the twisted body of a young woman. Her skin was pale with a bluish tinge to it that made you nauseous. Her eyes were widened in terror, glazed over with a milky whiteness that made your food resurface. You barely had time to remove yourself from the crowd before you were on your knees, emptying the contents of your stomach into the sand.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you heard Nat shush you, stroking a hand up and down your back as you continued to vomit. She pulled your hair out of your face. “Let it out.”

“How are you so calm about this?” You asked her, watery gaze glancing up at her. Before she could answer, you saw several figures race down to where the crowd was gathered. A man with dark hair and a sheriff’s badge trotted down. He nodded at your group as he passed.

“Bradley.”

“Mav,” Bradley nodded back at him, lips pressed in a thin line. Behind “Mav,” two more figures came into view, flashlights scanning over the sand. One was older, about the same age as Mav, grey hair and weather-worn face. The other was tall, dark hair turning grey at the edges, and he had an air of seriousness about him. You saw Bob look around with wide, shock filled eyes at his friends.

“What is the FBI doing here?”

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #top gun hangman #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin imagine #hangman fanfiction #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #hangman seresin #hangman top gun #jake seresin imagine #mmats #meet me at the sea

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kyatra · 1 month ago

Text

PLEASE STOP AND READ 🇵🇸‼️

hi all. below is list of vetted palestinian campaigns yet to reach their goals (as of 9/30/24) that have reached out to me recently requesting assistance. i have placed under a readmore as there are over 40. i urge you to click just one or two and make a small donation, or even set a five minute timer and take that time to read through and share their stories. the people of palestine need your help!!!!!!

campaigns that have met ≥80% of their goal are highlighted in green, while those that have met ≤20% of their goal are highlighted in red.

several blogs were terminated before i could publish this thread, use tumblr search to see pre-existing answered asks/posts/credibility if desired

Help me get out of Gaza for my baby girl (€43,342 / €50,000) - @amalashuor

amal’s family consists of her, her husband, and their 18 month old daughter maryam. they’ve had their former lives ripped away from them and been displaced numerous times over the past year, including once when a bomb launched near their tent lead to everything they had being lost in a massive fire. the cost for transportation and the bare minimum amount of items to maintain a shelter and have necessities such as food and clothing has costed them hundreds of dollars on top of what they need to eventually flee gaza to safety.

Helping Lama & Mohammed to evacuate from Gaza ($3,800 / $10,000) - @lamahourani7

My family and I are in danger 😭💔 Winter is approaching and my weared tent I'm afraid of drowning 💔 so any simple donation may save the life of my unborn child 💔😭 I am pregnant and suffering from vitamin deficiency, so please help me and help me and help my child survive this cruel life. 🙏🥹

SAVE my family from the war in Gaza - Rafah (€6,671 / €30,000) - @amjadsido99

After the occupation destroyed our house, I became the breadwinner for my brothers’ children who were killed by the occupation. I truly cannot express to you the extent of the suffering of living here. We live in a tent in the open in the city of Khan Yunis. We find it difficult to provide water and food.

Help us build new hope for me and my family (€1,834 / €50,000) - @somaiahassansworld

My dear friend, I ask for help from your humility. I am Sumaya from northern Gaza. My husband and I were displaced more than 5 times, and now my husband and I live in a worn-out tent 💔😓 and I lost my newborn because the tent is not fit for life 💔💔

Help future Dr Darine and her family evacuate Gaza ($4,612 / $30,000) - @drdarine

I'm 20 years old and currently live in Gaza. I was in my 3rd year of medical college before the war on Gaza started on Oct 2023 . Me and my family of seven lost everything we own, our house , cars and money . Our dreams were all shattered and destroyed. The situation here is unbearable beinde imagination, no clean water , barely any food available, death and destruction everywhere

Help Eslam Save Her Family ($11,525 / $50,000) - @eslamfamily3 @eslamfamily5

Hello I'm Eslam frome Gaza i'm a mother of two girls, Hanaa, 5 years old, and Alma, 1 year old. My house, my car, and my job were destroyed. I lost 11 people from my family in GAZA'S GENOCIDE and I cannot bear to lose more.

Helping Ahmed's Family: Escaping War to a New Life (€63,182 / €75,000) - @ronzaanqar

I write these words with tears in my eyes, as I watch my children drowning in a sea of pain. Yamen, my little boy, lies in the hospital, his frail body covered in boils and sores. All I can do is stand by his side as his small heart fights to survive. And Ronza, my newborn baby, suffers from malnutrition, her fragile body a testament to the cruelty we are enduring.

Help Evacuate My Children From GAZA WAR ($4,449 / $5,000) - @amalgheelan99

My name is Amal from Gaza, a mother of three young children 👨‍👩‍👧‍👧 🍼Our home, livelihood and our entire life are completely destroyed in this war of extermination🚨. Now we live in a dilapidated tent among insects 🦂🕷, pollution and diseases. Imagine my middle child telling me that her wish in life is to live in a house!‼️ Is this a life when your children wake up from their sleep wet from the rain? 💔😢

Please help us get out of life's crises and the woes of war. (€3,070 / €100,000) - @yousef1234567

writing to you with a heavy heart on behalf of myself and my family, I am a husband and a father of five children, the war destroyed everything we own, and now there is no work to help my family. we recently fled to Egypt so that my children could feel safe after great fear and psychological trauma from the horrors of war, but we fled with nothing!

Save Gaza: A Brighter Future for Aya and Her Family (€13,594 / €15,000) - @ayaalanqar @aya-anqar

I am aya living in North Gaza with my three children (7 years old, 5 years old, and 2 years old), and we are facing starvation in the northern region. We have moved more than 13 times trying to find a safe place, but there is no safety anywhere.

Save Malak's Dreams and Family from Gaza (€6,883 / €25,000) - @malkad5

I am Malak, a medical student from North Gaza. Our home has been destroyed, and we have been displaced more than 20 times seeking safety, but danger is everywhere💔. During this journey filled with suffering, I lost my brother Moataz, who was martyred while trying to fetch water for us😢.

Trapped Family in Gaza Appeals for Help to Survive (€60,417 / €70,000) - @mohamedalanqerr

Our family home was destroyed due to the war, forcing us to flee and move multiple times, leaving us homeless. Everything has become difficult now; we cannot provide a safe place to live, nor can we afford clean clothes and food for our children. Additionally, our children have been afflicted with diseases such as measles, and our son Adam has been diagnosed with viral hepatitis.

Save Hanan and her children to reach safety ($2,387 / $100,000) - @hananga

I am Hanan from Gaza, 33 years old, a mother of 3 children (Lana 10 years old), (Abdul Karim 7 years old), (Adam 2 years old). Our house was bombed while we were inside it, and some of us were injured, but we miraculously survived. The tent we live in now does not protect us from the heat of summer or the harsh cold of winter and rain.

Evacuate My Last Family Members in Gaza (€3,028 / €50,000) - @anasfamilys

My name is Anas Al Burri. I am 17 years old, and I live in G*za. My sister has jaundice because she gave birth to her child in an unhygienic area during the war. She has no medication, and her condition is worsening, almost life-threatening. She is too ill to produce milk for her son, and we can't get milk from anywhere else. I have no medication for my diabetes! I am missing insulin, and my blood sugar is critically high, often above 180 and sometimes even 400. I suffer from hyperglycemia attacks and can't get to a hospital because we are in the northern part of G*za.

Help Abdallah Mousa and His Family Escape Genocide ($1,391 / $30,000) - @abdallahblog0

I am Abdallah Mousa, I live in Gaza. I was completing my studies, but unfortunately the unimaginable happened. The war came and took everything from me and my family. My university was destroyed and my dreams were destroyed with it. I want to escape the war to find safety and complete my education and my dream of studying medicine.

Help Eman and Her Children Escape Gaza ($1,071 / $5,000) - @emanfamily3

Hello, I am Iman from Gaza, a mother of five children, living in a tent full of harmful poisonous insects, my daughters suffer from pollution, hepatitis, malnutrition and simple diseases, and this tent is not safe, as neighboring tents were bombed, and the occupation boats opened fire on us, but we miraculously survived, every day we are exposed to bombing and death. We had a big and beautiful house, but our house burned with everything in it and we lost security even while we were in the tent.

Help us build new hope for me and my family (€6,130 / €80,000) - @mohmad40

We lost everything, our home, our life, our source of income, our loved ones and, we also lost some of our beautiful family members. When the occupation bombed our home and we were forcibly displaced from our home, today we are fighting for our survival. Today we live inside a tent. I cannot provide anything for my family. It was the most beautiful family. Some of them were killed and others were forcibly displaced.

Restoring Life for Waseem's Family: Rising Again (€3,335 / €15,000) - @waseem4gazablog

The recent conflict and damage to our residential area and infrastructure left us not only homeless and without means to support ourselves but also took the lives of my great-aunt and great-uncle, their spouses, their children, and their innocent grandchildren in an airstrike. It is a loss no family should have to endure. We have been forced to relocate multiple times, hoping to find refuge from the violence each time.

Donate to Help Bisan and Her Family Survive In Gaza (€3,787 / €8,000) - @besan11

Before the invasion Bisan dreamed of becoming a nurse, but the war shattered everything. She and her entire family are dying of hunger. Her nieces are seriously ill, as is her father. There is very little medical care and what is available is catastrophically expensive. This week Bisan was treated for severe malnutrition. Any money we can raise will go to support Bisan and her family through this coming winter.

Help me evacuate my family and rebuild a new start (CHF 8,328 / CHF 60,000) - @basel1995s

Our tragedy started with the news of losing our house and my father's business. Everything we used to have has gone with the wind. We have become desperate displaced people , living in a very small outdoor tent, with no nearly water, food, sanitation facilities and no health care. In addition to these tragedies, My daughter has been suffering a rare disease in her growth and her sight for years , and with the lack of medical supplies, her health conditions are getting worse.

Urgent aid ! Help to fight starvation for an extended family (€6,432 / €55,000) - @mahmoudayyad

I am Mahmoud Ayad from Gaza, a young man. I lost all my dreams and my home because of this war in Gaza. I live in miserable conditions with my family, which consists of 43 members, most of whom are young children and old women. Our lives are harsh because we lack all the basic necessities of life. Everything has become scarce and unattainable. There is no food, no water, no medicine.

Give them hope (€11,162 / €20,000) - @kareem-family2

I am a fundraiser for my family in Gaza: my parents, sister and (3) brothers and their wives and children, as all of them live in a tent in khanyounes city after they displaced 4 times without any basic facilities. And they lost their jobs without any income. And our house is partially destroyed. My nephew Kareem and my mother need medical help. I hope to help them to provide their daily expenses, get medication, rebuild our house and to evacuate my family to safe zone.

Emergency: Help Evacuate My Family From GAZA WAR (€90,432 / €100,000) - @hayanahed

Our home was surrounded, burned, and then completely destroyed. I, Haya, and my sister, Amal, suffer from severe allergies to medications such as Paracetamol and Ibuprofen. We fear being given inappropriate medications due to the unavailability of suitable treatments in Gaza. In addition, our workplace was destroyed, and the entire infrastructure in our area was crippled, leading to the loss of all our projects and sources of income.

Help us build new hope for me and my family (€1,834 / €50,000) - @hassanmadi2

Before the war we had a big house, but because of this war 💔, our house was destroyed 💔 and we were displaced to the south of Gaza 😭😭, Now we live in a tent 💔🥺, and the tent does not protect us from the rain or the wind 💨 💦 My wife abolished our child because of fear and malnutrition.I lost my job because of the war, and became unable to provide the elements of life to live.

Help save Ahmed's family from genocide in Gaza (€5,006 / €50,000) - @ahmadallouhahmad , vetted by association

I am Ahmed R. Al-Louh, 34 years old, married & I have two kids , Orhan, 5 years old, and Helena, 4. We lived a life full of love. My wife and I worked as lawyers, but since October 7, our lives have changed for the worse. We left our homes and they were demolished, and we were displaced in more than one place. We are now living in a tent in front of our demolished house. We did not take any belongings from our house and we did not find a mattress to sleep on.

Help My Two Daughters Escape from GAZA WAR (€17,149 / €35,000) - @hadeelchilds

Here is our story - Our home got partially destroyed because of a very close Israeli strike. Despite the damage, we stayed home for another two weeks until suddenly and without preparation, we were told to evacuate. My uncle family of 5 members did not leave our home and all of them were martyred. My father-in-law his heart could not bear all this pain and all this grief; so he got sick. Through the scarcity of medicine and lack of medical resources in the hospitals, he also passed away. Currently, we can barely find food for my girls, as they eat one meal per day and spend the rest of the day crying. I am also six months pregnant and need proper health care and medication 🚨

Help Hussein & his 8 months pregnant wife evacuate ($37,803 / $40,000) - @rehabsh98

I am Hussein Shamiya and I have a family consisting of 3 members. My wife, Rehab Shamiya, is 26 years old. She is 8 months pregnant, so it is extremely urgent that we evacuate as soon as possible. My son, Ayham, is 4 years old. Our situation is especially dire because my wife is pregnant and could give birth at any moment while we are still stuck in a tent where there is no healthy food, no medicine, no water, and no electricity.

Supporting my family in Gaza amid the crisis (€2,578 / €20,000) - @yara-family

Hello, I am Yara from Gaza. I am 22 years old from the city of Rafah and now I live in Mawasi Khan Yunis. I study physical therapy at the Islamic University in Gaza. I am now in my graduation year, but my education has been interrupted due to the war. I made the campaign to take care of 9 people from my family. We were displaced from our city of Rafah and from our home after the news of the evacuation of the city of Rafah. Our home and shops were destroyed.

Help Misk family survive and escaping genocide in Gaza (€235 / €35,000) - @mohasiam89 @linamisk

We are a Palestinian family of five: father Mohammed, mother Lina, daughter Misk (born 2020), daughter Masa (born 2022), and son Abdullah (born 2024). In Gaza, we suffer from severe food and water insecurity. Access to clean drinking water is extremely limited, and we often face prolonged shortages. Gas for cooking and electricity are frequently cut off, forcing us to use alternative and unsafe methods to prepare meals. In these circumstances, Misk queues every day in a long line to get soup from one of the hospices.

Help us save my family and our children to provide them life (€963 / €84,000) - @abdquffa

I am Abdul Rahman Quffa, 23 years old, I live with my family, my brother Ahmed, 35 years old, my sister: Shahd, 19 years old, my brother Moamen: 28 years old, my father: Mohammed, 60 years old, my mother: 57 years old, and the rest of my married siblings and their children. We were displaced five times and we have not found a safe place yet. Now we live in a tent 💔💔 on the street.

A father's Plea: Help Save My Family (€15,927 / €23,000) - @zeinyousef19

This is my third account after the other two were suspended. My name is Youssef Helles, 42 years old. In 2019, I left Gaza in search of a better life for my family. I arrived in Belgium, hoping to secure a future for my wife and our five children, the youngest of whom, Zain, was born after I left. I've never seen him. Recently, the situation in Rafah worsened, forcing my family to flee again, this time to the beach in Deir al-Balah. They are now without any way to survive. I do everything I can to support them from afar, but the fear of losing them haunts me, especially after I lost many of my relatives in Gaza.

Save Gaza Family: Urgent Evacuation Fund (€29,272 / €37,000) - @hmzamahamed5

My name is mohammd, married and a father of four children between 5 and 13 years old. I live in the nourth of Gaza strip, precisely in the region of Gaza, next to Al-Shifa Hospital which suffered and still suffering very heavy damage because of the harsh bombings. Your support is a lifeline of hope. A few days ago, the area where my family's tents were was bombed, and the situation was very dangerous now. There is no water for thirst everywhere, and there is no food. Food is very expensive. If they want to eat, for example, a simple meal, they need a hundred euros, consisting of vegetables and simple things.

Urgent Help Appeal: exit the war of Gaza" ($8,078 CAD / $100,000) - @fadiafamily11

I’m Mohamed Rafiq Abdo. I have five children, Rayan 14, Ghazal 12, Dam 10, Rakan 8 years old. After the events of October 7, our lives changed 180 degrees for the worse ‏We were forcibly displaced to the southern Gaza Strip after being subjected to direct bombardment twice. We survived certain death as we emerged from under the rubble by a miracle from God. ‏We live in the worst conditions, with no security, stability, or source of income

Stand with Hatem family (€4,007 / €7,000) - @hatem-family-2

Wael here is trying to survive the blockade and the bombs with his family. This is not an evacuation fundraiser but rather a fund to pay for basic goods such as water, which has quadrupled in price since October, and food, which is being sold at exhorbitant prices. Wael used to be an accountant at a very successful restaurant in Ghazzah, which has since been bombed and destroyed, and the owners of the restaurant were killed.

Help Heba and her 3 children survive and reunite with father ($1,580 CAD / $30,000) - @hebamat

I am Heba, a mother of three children, currently living in Deir al-Balah after our home was destroyed by the occupation. Our situation is extremely difficult, as we are living in a tent and suffering from the high costs of war. My children are suffering from some skin diseases, and I need your help to provide the necessary medical care for them, in addition to food and shelter.

finally, below are several campaigns that i was unable to locate credible vetting for but that appear to be legitimate (via clean reverse image search, etc. please investigate for yourselves) !!

Save My Family from the War Nightmare in Gaza (€15,385 / €50,000) - @yazan-joud2 @yazan-family

I am Mohammad Taysir, 34 years old, a Palestinian living in Gaza. I am married to Basma, and we have two children: Joud, who is 3 years old, and Yazan, who is 2 and a half. But suddenly, without any warning, war destroyed everything beautiful in our lives. Our home was demolished by a missile, leaving nothing behind, and my company was also damaged. I lost my job, and we became homeless and without income. We tried to flee more than five times to safer areas in search of security, but safety in Gaza has become nearly impossible.

Help osama and his family in Gaza (€397 / €37,000) - @technicallycoldnerd

Our once thriving community has been reduced to rubble, with most homes, including ours, reduced to rubble. Among the rubble are people from my family who have been lost, as well as our food shop, which was our livelihood. The funds raised will be carefully allocated to rebuilding our home and restoring the store to operational capacity.

Hamdi Ali Ayyad (€1,832 / €25,000) - @joyfultidalwaveobject

(description from op) this family has faced numerous instances of displacement and violence since 2008 that cannot be explained in single paragraph, so i urge you to visit the linked gofundme page for a full description. they have four children, their youngest aged 7, and like many others have been displaced and left without the bare necessities of survival since 10/7/23.

please help my family to survive and evacuate to safety (€292 / €55,000) - @muhannad-ayyad

Hello everyone, I am Ahmed Ayyad, I am 25 years old, the son of this beautiful family consisting of 11 members. We live in a small tent with my brothers and my brother’s family. A few days after the war, my brother had a young child (Ashraf). He was born while the war was going on and we were not aware of the killing of children, bombing and destruction. Ashraf grew up in extremely harsh conditions, as there was no milk, diapers, good clothes, medicine, or proper vaccination, conditions that no child in the world deserves to live in, and there is no source of income for my family. We ended up sleeping on the sand due to overcrowding. We live in a tent made of Some pieces of nylon and cloth do not protect against extreme cold and rain

I am Hazem Hamada. Please help us get out of Gaza (€0 / €80,000) - @hazemfamily123456

I am the husband of Maysoun, 40 years old, and a father of four: Shahd, 22 years old, who dreamed of completing her university life, but the occupation deprived her of that, and her brother Waseem, 21 years old. I have two children: Yousef, 16 years old, who needed to go out to treat his allergies before the war, but the problem worsened for him and he needed to travel abroad for urgent treatment. And my fourth son, my child Khalil, 9 years old, who has many pimples all over his body that prevent him from sleeping from the pain! Our house was damaged and we were displaced from the north of Gaza to the south.

Help Hassan and his family get out of Gaza (€680 / €25,000) - @hasanamasi22

My name is Hassan and I am from Gaza. For ten months, I have not been able to see my family who lives in the northern part of Gaza because of the difficult situation there while I am in the southern part. I have a wife and two children who now live with my parents in northern Gaza. My family suffers from a severe shortage of food, supplies and medical supplies, in addition to high prices that make it difficult to meet their basic needs. They don't even have access to clean drinking water.

#pls lmk if you spot any errors!! and i will do my best to update it with any major changes too #palestine #gaza #i apologize for not including links to each vetting.. it would have taken me forever 😭 i personally checked every single one multiple times #and vetting can be found in under a minute on almost every single blog via their pinned posts or the notes of said posts

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