#or the thin line of water that is between the eyes and the eyelid

[irritablepoe]

I don't like my ears. Not in a apperance but in a functionality kind of way. What do you mean there are tiny little bones inside my ear? The poor things! I've been abusing them for years with loud music! :(

[daisiescomelate]

Gush to the flesh

Prompt: Mephisto knocks into your window and you know it means bad news. You go to the alley behind your apartment complex and find a bleeding Syrus that’s on the verge of passing out. He still has the energy to flirt, though.

masterlist

You were brushing your teeth over the bathroom sink, already changed into your bedtime clothes and with your eyelids barely holding up. It had been a long day, a wanderer broke loose into a safe zone of the city. It had been dangerously smart and particularly fast, however you and your team of hunters had been able to subjugate it.

The clock over the dinner table marked past eleven at night. You yawned and rubbed your eye with your free hand. It wasn’t even that late for your usual bedtime, yet you barely could hold yourself in your feet.

You bent down and rinsed your teeth. When you straighten your back again and went to reach for the brush in your bathroom cabinet, a noise scared you to the point of making you jump on your feet.

Tuc, tuc.

Tuc, tuc. Tuc, tuc.

Tuc, tuc, tuc, tuc, tuc, tuc.

You look around bewildered. Then you moved to the living room area and following the noise you were able to spot its source.

Mephisto held itself mid air with the flapping of his wings while he also pecked into your window with urgency.

“Mephist���?” You blinked. Suddenly, your body changed into full alert. It wasn’t usual for Mephisto to do such a scandal. Usually it was quite, maybe annoying, but never like this. Its behavior was a clear alert for an emergency. And you knew exactly who that emergency related to.

You didn’t mind your looks, not even cared for clothes that would save you from the outside cold. You jumped into action, running out the door of your apartment without looking back, down the stairs, the lobby, then outside.

Mephisto appeared a second later, flying over your head.

“What happened?” You asked, momentarily forgetting that this mechanical bird couldn’t answer you.

Mephisto picked up the pace of its wings and flew upwards then forward.

It guided you towards a dark alley. You felt the wet gravel from the light storm from half an hour ago in your feet, it was only then that you realized that in a rush you had left the house barefoot.

You held yourself with one hand against the wall at the entrance of the alley. The fabric of your pajamas was so thin you could feel the whole strength of the autumn breeze in your skin underneath it.

The alley was a black void that sucked in all the light from the street lamps. The streets around you were relatively quiet, considering you lived close to the central street market of Lincoln.

Mephisto wasn't bothered. It flew into the darkness, its feathers disappearing as it merged with the shadows. You heard him before you could see him. Mephisto cried from inside the alley once again. In response, Sylus' voice rose from the further end of the space between your apartment complex and the next.

“Mhmm…”

It was more of a pained sound than actual speech and that made you more aware of the trouble he might find himself in. Sylus wasn't Sylus without a stupid arrogant remark or an entitled basic flirting line.

“Sylus?”, you whispered. No response. Fortunately, it had built a habit to take your hunter watch every time you step outside of your door, and you used it to illuminate the space of the alley.

“Sylus.” You said in an angry whisper. You didn’t want to alert the neighbours at this hour of the night, let alone scream the name of a wanted criminal so close to where anyone might hear it.

Under the haze of light you could see the dumpster you shared between both buildings and the trash bags that overflew it. On the other side of the narrow alley there was a pile of cardboard boxes wet by the rain. The floor reflected the light where the rain had gatter into small puddles of water and litter.

You hesitated to enter the alley with your bare feet, or that was until you heard the noise of complain again.

You saw a shadow moving at the very back of the alley behind the dumpster and your body stepped forward almost by instinct.

Sylus laid against the wall of the neighboring building with one hand against his waist. Under his palm and next to him there are traces of blood. It was hard to see exactly how the wound looked even under the light of your watch because of the mess of the ripped out clothes.

The pain he was going through was clear in his face. He kept his eyes closed and his frown parting his expression. Because he still moved and mouthed some words, you could be sure he hadn’t lost consciousness completely.

You kneel down next to him, lightly touching his hand over his wound to see if you could make him focus his eyes on you.

“Sylus.” You said for the third time, but this time softer.

His eyes opened a fraction before being blinded by the light again. Sylus moved his other hand upwards to shield his eyes from the brightness of it. You moved the light away. It took him a few seconds for his eyes to acclimate, but as soon as his pupils became accustomed to the dark, he laid his eyes on you.

“Hello, kitten.” You frowned.

“Is that everything you have to say, ‘hello, kitten’? Sylus, what happened to you?” You reached out for his wounds again and laid your hands over his to help him put pressure into the wound. He greeted his teeth at the pain that caused.

“I’m going to have to ask you to go easy on me, kitten. I was invited to a meeting with some unexpected guests and things didn’t go exactly as expected.”

You didn’t release the pressure on his wound, if anything you pressed harder, making him mutter some words under his breath. “You keep going around looking for trouble, you had this coming,” you scolded him even when your heart was full of worry.

“Believe me, kitten, I didn’t want this either.” He grabbed one of your wrists with his free hand and applied some light pressure over it, silently asking you to let go a little.

“Whatever,” you said, knowing that it was no time to go over this with him again since you had more important matters at hand, “let’s call Luke and Kieran so they can take you to a doctor.” A hospital wasn’t an option for clear reasons, but being who he was, Sylus must have had some professional underground doctor to seek out for emergencies. You pathed over your pajamas when you realized you hadn't brought your phone downstairs with you either.

“Let me go up for my phone at my apartment, I will be right back.” You said, ready to jump to your feet and into the building when Sylus stopped you with a tight grip over your hand.

“Don’t.” He said.

“What do you mean ‘don’t’, you’re bleeding out, Sylus.”

“Don’t call Luke and Kieran, they are busy at the moment.” He needed of a short pause to catch his breath. “You can take care of this kitten, that’s why I’m here.”

“You came here so I would take care of your wound?”

“It’s not–” a pause, “as serious as you think it is. Just a shallow cut.”

“Doesn’t sound shallow to me.” You snapped and your heart started raising faster when you realized the blood that was staining his fingers was now staining yours.

“It’s shallow enough.” Suddenly you realized he had reached upwards with his free hand, which he used to caress for one of your cheeks. His next words came in a whisper. “Please, kitten. Just this one time.” And maybe there was something about hearing Sylus of all people beg, but you had no energy to fight him back on this anymore.

You took a deep breath, “Okey,” you said as you let go of his wound, “then you’re going to have to help me a little bit. You’re too heavy for me to carry you.”

And your prediction wasn’t wrong. It took all you had to carry half of his weight as he laid over your side to take him inside the building. You could only pray for the security guard in front of the monitors somewhere inside the building to be fast asleep so no one would see you carrying a bleeding man into your apartment.

You used the button up shirt of your pajama to hold the bleeding, leaving you in your pajama pants and under shirt, but at least there wouldn’t be a trail of blood through the lobby and inside the elevator.

You exited the elevator on your floor and forced yourself to push forwards for just a little longer. For a moment your mind flashed the idea of getting to cross paths with Xavier on your way up given his strange patterns and sleeping schedule, yet the knot in your throat easily itself when you were able to get to your apartment door without being seen by anyone at the hall.

“Here we are,” you said between panting breaths, checking if Sylus was still conscious. You put on your password on your lock with some effort and as soon as you heard the signaled of it opening you pushed the door with your foot to make way.

You dropped Sylus over the couch near the entrance and you heard him drow in a sharp breath.

“Let me go for my first aid kit.” You said and promptly moved to the bathroom where all lights were still turned on and looked through your cabinet to find the small box with disinfectant and gauze inside.

You moved back to the living room area and saw Sylus straighten into a proper sitting position.

“Lay down!” You tried to scold him, but of course there was no point in doing so. Sylus ignored your demand, instead motioning to the zip of his jacket and pulling it down.

“It’s a mild incision,” he said, pulling away his leather jacket. There was a point for him to wear it, you realized, that had little to do with style and more with practicality. It was harder to knife someone if they were wearing a thick piece of leather over their skin.

“Let’s see what you call mild,” you accused and got in closer to the couch. 

“I have survived worse injuries, love. This is nothing to worry about.” His voice was deep and raspy.

He moved his hands to the bottom edge of his shirt and pulled it upwards. At first you thought that he might simply pick his shirt up half the way so the wound could be visible, but then you saw him struggle to take his shirt all the way through his head.

What was left then was a sight to be seen, Sylus’ torso completely exposed with a gush to his side close to his abdomen. His chest fell quickly up and down and his legs were spread to the sides of the sofa while he tried to find a position that would bring out the least pain.

You had to shake your head out of your stupor, reminding yourself that the view wouldn’t last if he were to die.

Clearing your throat you moved closer and sat beside him on the sofa with the aid kit between the two of you.

“Let me see,” you said, your voice soft. Sylus took his hands away from his wound and you realized his definition of ‘mild’ was wildly different from your. The wound was an unclean cut of the flesh that probably would need stitches.

Fortunately, as Sylus had said, it was probably something you could handle –not that you wanted to. Being a hunter meant a fair amount of wounds that you eventually learned to take care of. The wound bled red, not black, which was a good sign. In any case, if you were to fucked it up, it could only be called his fault.

You stood for a soft cloth from the kitchen and came back. While you were cleaning the wound you could feel him flinch under your touch, even when his expression remained serine.

“So, I guess those unexpected guests were not so nice.” You said, pathing lightly over the cut waiting for it to stop bleeding. It was close to do so, but that didn’t make you any less nervous about the situation. Maybe the small talk was more for your own sake than his.

“I had a meeting with a colleague and someone seemed to let the police know of it. It seems we had a mole in our lines. It was something displeasing to find out about.”

“I can imagine.” You couldn’t think of someone that had enough guts to betray Sylus of all people, knowing all the power he held over his territory and the amount of people he had on his side. You guess it was only the actions of a fool.

You let the cloth over the small table to your side and turned to the other to get the disinfectant from the aid kit when you felt Sylus’ fingers over your cheek.

“Don’t worry, love.” Sylus said, this time right next to your ear with that voice that made you melt everytime you hear it, his thumb caressing the lobe of your ear. You raised your eyes to find him looking straight at you from above. “I’m safe now that I’m with you.”

You felt a pinching sensation over your heart at his words. How strange it was to hear those words come out of his mouth.

“You’d be in better hands if they were that of a doctor’s.”

“But I like to be nursed by you.” He said, running one of his hands from your wrist to your elbow back and forward, “You have a gift to calm me down.” He said, and for some reason, you believed his sincerity.

“C’mon,” he said, moving his fingers from your cheek to brush the edge of your lips, “don’t look so sad.” His voice had changed to a whisper and you realised you were both now a breath away from each other, “Those sad eyes do things to my heart, love.”

You stayed in place as if in a trance, lingering there for a second but then shook your head with discontent. You pressed into the wound with the rag on your fingers, making Sylus grown.

“Can you stop flirting for a second? You are dying.” Sylus let go of a painful laughter, graving into your wrist and moved his fingers up delicately around your wrist.

“I’m injured right now, you have to be more careful with me.”

“That’s what I’m saying. You’re unbelievable. You are bleeding over my sofa and you still act so nonchalant. It's like that time you got shot—” A passing thought made you stop along with your words. You narrowed your eyes and stared down at Sylus with a piercing look.

Sylus seemed to know exactly what you were thinking and all you got as a response was a sly smirk and another exaggerated painful growned.

“Hurry up and treat me, love. I only have so much blood to lose.” He said with a smile.

“You bastard.” You said to him with venom in your voice, throwing the rag at his face. “Patch up by yourself!” You said standing from your place on the sofa and ready to go back to the bathroom to finish your night routine when two arms folded around your waist from behind.

Those arms pushed you backwards and you ended up falling over Sylus’ lap. You saw a shimmer of light from the corner of your eyes and you knew it to be Sylus’ evol taking care of the wound and making it disappear without trace. You bluntly hit the place when the wound must have been a few seconds before and made Sylus’ realise a blow of air.

“You're an idiot.” You said, and you heard the chuckle behind the shell of your year along with his hot breath at the back of your neck.

“I just wanted to be pampered, love. Yet you keep denying me the attention.”

You didn’t answer, annoyed at him for making you worried the way he did.

“You made me carry you all the way up the stairs.”

“And you did an excellent job.” He said, brushing his lips along the spot behind your ear. “As I said, it’s good to know I can depend on you.” You jumped slightly when you felt the edge of his teeth rasping against your skin in a light nibble.

“Sorry for worrying you, sweety.” He said with a kiss to your ear.

“Whatever.” You said, and fell deeper into his embrace.

[revasserium]

chapter one: a shadow of the past

roronoa zoro; 3,225 words; angst and fluff, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, mostly enemies in this chapter, tragic!backstory, flashbacks, slightly canon divergent, baroqueworks!reader, no "y/n"

summary: in which zoro will always find you, even if you don't want to be found

a/n: not much to say here other than enjoy! :)

< to the table of contents

It would be months before he sees you again, months before he runs across the typeset of your codename, on a wanted poster with an obscene amount of Berry tacked underneath — more, he thinks, dully, than the last time he’d seen it.

MS. DOUBLE-NINES — WANTED — 90,000,000 BERRY.

“Agent from Baroque Works… seems like a bad lot,” Sanji says, frowning as he squints at the poster, smoke curling from between his teeth.

“Yeah, dunno about that,” Zoro reaches out to rip the poster from the wall, crumpling it in his fist.

“There a story you wanna tell us, moss-head?” Sanji asks, slating Zoro a long glance.

Zoro scoffs, “Barely,” but at a hard look from Nami, he relents, rolling his eyes, “they sent someone called Mr. 7 to recruit me a while back.”

“And…?” Nami asks, probing as the three of them turn back towards the bustling street market, Usopp and Luffy already halfway down the street, chattering about lunch.

“And nothin’. I took care of him.” Zoro makes to toss the crumpled poster onto the ground but he pauses, glancing down at his hands, “the Marines still owe me his bounty though.”

Sanji laughs, even as Nami scoffs.

“Well, let’s try to stay out of their way till we get out of here,” Nami says, eyes caught on the poster in Zoro’s hands, “at least in the Grand Line, there’ll be bigger fish for them to fry.”

Zoro wets his lips, staring down at your disfigured face before tossing it aside.

“If you say so.”

— — —

You have the most delicate hands — nimble fingers and soft, marshmallow palms. You’d cradle the miniscule wooden knife just so, slipping the dulled edge along the tops of the homemade wagashi, making marks in perfect intervals until the cake resembled a flower, just so.

“Okay, now who wants a piece?” you’d ask, giggling as the boys all scrambled over themselves, raising their hands and hooting like monkeys.

Zoro always held back, feigning disinterest, even though his mouth would water just the same.

“Here, a piece for you too,” you’d say, after giving everyone their due share. Behind you, the other boys would always be squabbling for an extra slice, fighting over the crumbles left on the thin rice paper packaging.

“Don’t want it,” he’d say, looking anywhere but at the tantalizing slice of wagashi, the soft lotus-paste insides nearly translucent, the pastel mochi exterior the perfect amount of sticky and sweet.

His mouth goes dry as you hold it up in front of him, cupped in your palms like just-found treasure.

“Everyone else got a piece,” you say, as if that’s reason enough for him to forgo his abstinence.

He swallows.

“Don’t move.”

His eyes flicker open to the shape of you, crouching by his hammock, a knife held to his throat. Outside, the night is thick and moonless, the seawater lapping softly at the sides of the ship.

Zoro huffs out a breath, “Or what?”

He blinks, the afterimages of the dream still solid behind his eyelids.

“Not sure yet, but I’d bet you wouldn’t like the answer, either way,” you say, your voice barely more than a hiss as you shift the blade from one hand to another and he feels the sharp edge of it skim along his skin.

You’re careful not to break any skin as you pull back, ever so slightly, allowing him to sit up.

“What’dyou want?” he asks, moving slow, fingers inching towards his swords, propped by the hammock’s side.

“Nothing too much,” you answer, “just a free ride off this island. And the next time you dock, you’ll never see me again.”

Zoro scoffs, “That a promise?”

Even in the dark, your grin slants crescent-moon sharp. Zoro blinks again, his mind fighting to reconcile the image of you as a child over the shadow hunched over him now, holding a knife to his throat.

“Something like that,” you say, your eyes flickering down to where his fingers are inches from his swords. Zoro sighs, tugging his hand back.

“Fine — but one condition,” he says.

You hike an eyebrow, “From where I’m sitting, you’re not exactly in the position to be making demands.”

Zoro smirks, folding his arms across his chest and stretching out on his hammock.

“And from where I’m sitting — we’re one alarm away from my entire crew wakin’ up. And… they might not be as good as you one on one but… all together?” he shrugs, “I mean, you do the math.”

Your lips curl into a contemptuous snarl, but you don’t fight him on it. Instead, you pull the knife away, tucking it into your belt.

“Fine. What’s your condition?”

Zoro peers at you from a half-lidded eye, “Tell me what happened to you.”

You puff out a laugh, leaning back against a wooden barrel, propping your arm on your knee.

“It’s kind of a long story.”

Zoro motions towards the darkened window, “We’ve got a lotta time.”

You turn your head away, “Maybe tomorrow,” you say, your voice low and fractured.

Zoro frowns, “You made a promise.”

You cast him a faint, woeful smile, “Yeah, but I never told you when I’d tell you the story.”

— — —

The next morning, you awaken to a wide-eyed stare from a boy who couldn’t have been much older than you, grinning ear to ear.

“Hi!”

“W-what the —”

You scramble backwards before realizing that your back is already pressed against the wall.

“Oh! Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up!” the boy leans back, still grinning, propping both his hands on his hips as he stares down at you. Behind him, you can see the shape of Zoro, leaning by the door, swords at his side, a smirk on his face.

“What the hell’s going on here?” you ask, shooting him a dirty look, “you made a promise,” you spit the word back in his face.

Zoro shrugs, “Yeah, but I never said your free ride would be a secret.”

Your eyes narrow into slits as the boy standing over you claps a fist to his palm, turning towards Zoro.

“Oh! I remember now — we saw her on one of the wanted posters! You’re uhm — Ms… Ninety-Nine?”

You wince, sighing as you push yourself up and dust off your trousers, “Miss Double-Nines, but… close enough.”

Zoro snickers.

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy, and I’m the Captain of this ship! But… I gotta say, your name is way cooler. Did you get to pick it yourself? Or did someone at Bara-Rock Works give it to you?”

You fight down the twitch threatening your left eye as your gaze slingshots to Zoro and back to Luffy again.

“Uhm — someone… assigned it to me. And it’s Baroque Works.”

“Right! Yeah — that one!” Luffy smiles, seemingly unbothered by the implications of you being a member of a known criminal organization.

“Breakfast! C’mon — before it goes cold!” a voice calls down the hallway and a moment later, a blond-haired man in an all black suit peeks his head around the doorframe.

“Ah, our special guest is awake — so what about it, Ms. Double-Nines? Any requests for breakfast? I could do a few eggs, sunny side up, with a side of toast and some freshly made tangerine-butter. Or, we’ve still got some batter left over from the blueberry pancakes yesterday. Take your pick.”

You blink at the man with one shoulder propped against the doorframe, the other supporting a half-done cigarette, bringing it to his mouth for a casual puff.

Zoro lets out an annoyed grunt, “What blueberry pancakes? You gave me left-over potato mush for breakfast yesterday.”

The blonde turns to Zoro with a vindictive smirk, “You really think I’d waste the good stuff on someone with the palette of a forest slug?”

“Oh! I want the eggs! And can you make the sausages you made the other day, Sanji? Those were the best!” Luffy bounces out of the room with a bright smile as Sanji chuckles, shaking his head.

“Yeah, but you’ll have to wait a bit for those!” he calls down the hallway after Luffy’s rapidly retreating form.

You glance from Zoro to Sanji and back again, your stomach a mess of knots, your heart skidding strangely inside your chest.

Sanji slates you a helpless look and a lopsided smile, “C’mon then — can’t miss breakfast. Most important meal of the day!”

Introductions, as they are, take the better part of the morning. Though by noon, you’re still unsure if you’d stepped into some strange alternate universe where you’d miraculously escaped the dark tangles of your past, and into some idyllic, sun-lit story full of great friends and endless adventures.

“Mm, that’s a pretty name, but I still think Ms. Ninety-Nine is cooler,” Luffy says, when you finally tell them your name — the one that had been yours for your whole life before you’d been forced to become someone — no, something else.

“It’s Ms. Double — nevermind,” you sigh, shaking your head, feeling an incredulous laugh bubble out of your chest.

“So… you trying to leave Baroque Works?” Sanji asks, casually adjusting his fishing lines as Nami pours over a hand-drawn map of the East Blue, a pair of tiny glasses perched on her nose. Of all the members of the Strawhat Crew, she’d been the least overtly welcoming, staying quiet and keeping her distance.

And, judging by hardness that lies just on the other edge of her smile, you can’t blame her. She knows a liar when she sees one; you do too.

“Something like that,” you say, glancing away.

Zoro lounges against the main mast, his eyes closed.

“So! You must be a really good fighter!” Luffy says, tugging on his own fishing lines till Sanji nudges him away.

“I —” your voice catches and you look away, “I’m alright.”

“I heard that only the best fighters in Baroque Works get codenames with numbers,” Nami says without looking up, her tone casual. Her hand is steady as she traces a long line through the center of the map.

“It’s… a bit more complicated than that,” you say, your fingers twisting in your lap.

“Complicated how?” Nami asks, finally looking up, her gaze bright and hard and unrelenting.

You lick your lips, shrugging, “It’s just… you don’t have to be a great fighter to be… useful.”

And something about the way you say that makes everyone stiffen. By the main mast, Zoro shifts, peering open an eye to stare at you. But before he can say anything, Luffy jumps up, pulling hard at his fishing rod.

“Look! I think I caught something!”

That night, when they drop anchor, the ocean is still, and the summer air is almost too sweet. Luffy proposes a toast, to a new friend, he says, and Sanji has never turned down a toast to a pretty girl. Even Nami, who had been cautious all day, lured by the sweet tangerine wine and the tantalizing summer air, flashes you a small grin as she raises her glass.

You manage to choke down the wine passed the scream curdling at the back of your throat.

And then later, when the Millions come calling, no one notices the way you slip away, pulling all the fire towards you until you’re too far to be saved.

“Stay back!” you call, even as one of the Millions hauls you onto the deck of a smaller ship by the hair.

“Gum-Gum —“

“Wait,” Zoro places a hand on Luffy’s arm.

“Huh?”

Zoro frowns, pointing to a spot of white on the railings. Luffy stares down at it for a second before Sanji peers over his shoulder, reaching out to dab at the smear of white powder.

“It’s… rice flour.”

In the kitchen, they find a tray with a series of tiny wagashi mochi’s, simply made, but each perfectly shaped and dusted with a fine powder of sweet rice flour.

There’s a hastily scribbled note that just says — Thank you. I’m sorry.

— — —

It takes them the better part of a two weeks to track you down.

And when they do, it’s to an island of sand and trees and not much else.

“What… is this place?” Nami asks as they all hop onto the bleak little stretch of beach.

“It’s a holding ground,” a voice answers, rich and feminine. They all look up to see a tall figure, arms crossed, a cowboy hat perched atop her head. Her hair looks like it’s been cut with a slide-rule. She makes no move to attack, but Zoro still finds his thumb ticking at the hilt of his sword.

Beside him, Sanji looks conflicted at the thought of fighting such a beautiful woman.

“Miss All Sunday,” Nami says, her bo staff clicking clicking into place as she takes half a step forward.

The woman allows herself a grin, dipping the brim of her hat.

“Ara… if it isn’t the Cat Burglar.”

Nami scoffs, “Let’s cut the song and dance — we’re looking for a friend of ours. You might know her — goes by Miss Double-Nines, I think.”

“Friend?” Miss All Sunday lets the word simmer in the air between them, blithely checking her nails before pinning them all with a hard look, “we at Baroque Works aren’t known for making friends outside the organization.”

“Yeah well, maybe our friend’s just different!” offers Luffy, grinning widely, his chest puffed out.

Miss All Sunday regards them for a moment more before shrugging and slipping into the shadows of the giant tree she’d been leaning against. Zoro and Nami share a look before stepping forward to follow her, Luffy, Sanji, and Usopp half a step behind them.

The forest is a twist of ancient trees, their canopy high and thick enough to completely blot out the sun. Beneath the preternatural dark, the woods are spine-chillingly quiet. There’s no rustle of leaves, no hush of wings or skitter of claws. Nothing moves, save for their slinking guide and their own, weapon-laden bodies.

No one dares to speak; even Luffy keeps quiet, his mouth set in a straight line, his eyes tracking the lithe form of Miss All Sunday as she leads them through the undulating terrain.

“Ah… you’re in luck,” Miss All Sunday says, her voice a silken whisper as she stops in front of a massive tree, it’s roots as thick as the Merry’s main mast, it’s trunk so wide it’s impossible to see around. Miss All Sunday adjusts her hat, sweeping her hand through the air much as a hostess would when presenting a prize, “she’s awake.”

It’s you, or at least the shape of you, caught in the massive tangle of tree roots, your arms held to your sides, your body half-swallowed by the trunk of the tree itself. Your lashes flutter open at the sound of Miss All Sunday’s voice, and when your gaze finally lands on them, it goes wide —

“W-what —”

“We’ve come to rescue you!” Luffy says, grinning even as he revs up his arm.

The cigarette dangling from Sanji’s lips falls he leans back to inspect the grotesque sight before him.

It’s Nami who catches Zoro with an arm around the waist, tugging him back to relative difficulty. It’s only then that Zoro realizes how hard he’s breathing, how there’s red seeping like spilt blood into the edges of his vision.

“I — I told you not to follow me!” you say, your voice cracking over the words, your skin nearly translucent as it strains over your ribs.

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, “Yeah well — we never said we’d listen.”

You drop your head, your throat bobbing around a mirthless laugh.

Everyone jumps at the sound of clapping, loud and slow and measured. A moment later, a man in a fur-lined coat with a thick set of stitches across his face steps out from behind the massive tree, a cigar caught between his teeth, a steely glint to his eyes.

“Well done, well done — if it isn’t the infamous Strawhat Pirates,” the man says, crossing his arms and taking a long puff of the cigar.

Luffy takes a step forward, “We are just here for our friend!”

“Your friend?” the man says, an eerie smile splitting his lips as he takes the cigar between two fingers and glances towards you, “you didn’t tell me you’d made new friends, Miss Double Nines?”

You wince at his words, twisting your head as he blows a stream of smoke at your face.

Zoro jerks forward, only to be caught again — this time by Sanji and Nami both.

“Ah, but this is wonderful! We should give your new friends a proper welcome, no?” the man opens his palms, laughing heartily before the forest around them shudders. And then, everything beneath them turns to sand.

It is not a long fight, and Zoro only remembers it in faint flashes — the base rumble of the earth shifting beneath them, the sky-splitting crack of tree trunks as the forest around them roils and breaks. Through it all, he remembers the sound of your voice, calling out something before it’s muffled by a pair of too-large hands —

And it isn’t till he finds himself standing on the thin stretch of beach with the rest of his crew that his mind returns to him, jarred and unsettled, but lucid.

The man with stitches across his face grins, your body caught beneath his arm like a rag doll. He laughs as he tosses you down onto the sand at this feet.

Both Zoro and Sanji charge forward, only to stop in their steps as the man cocks a gun and levels it at the back of your head. He grins, tilting his head.

“Go on,” he says, “she’s right there, isn’t she?”

Sanji crouches down, his eyes narrowed. Zoro’s jaw clenches as he adjusts his hold on his swords.

You shake your head, your hair a dark spill around your shoulders, peppered with sand as you push yourself up onto hands and knees, your gaze imploring as you look up at them.

“Don’t.”

Zoro feels something inside him snap at the broken register of your voice.

He charges forward just as the man reaches down to grab a fistful of your hair and tug you backwards, pressing the muzzle of the pistol to the side of your head.

“Let her go, and I might let you live,” he snarls between gritted teeth.

The man grins, savage and unbothered, shaking you like a marionette on tender strings. You let out a soft groan as he digs the gun further into your temple.

“Ah… I’m not sure I like being threatened on my own turf,” the man says, his voice soft as he trails the gun along your face down to your throat before pressing it the soft spot just beneath your chin. Your eyes squeeze shut.

“Wait —!” Zoro’s voice cracks like a gunshot over the word, desperation wriggling it’s way up his throat till it’s spilling out of his mouth.

The man’s eyes go dark at the sound, his mouth splits wide on a savage grin as he trails the gun back up to your temple, caressing the trigger with almost lethargic ease, clicks down the safety — and shoots.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 20

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Have a good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The crackling of the fire grows clearer as the tides of sleep swirl and still. Your eyelids part to the flicker of the hearth, a figured limned in the rustic haze, looming over you, lifting you, moving you with ease. You stir and fidget, pressing a hand to the firm wall against your arm. The woolly tunic scratches against your palm as you feel the pulsing of a heartbeat beneath.  

You look up at the square jaw of your accoster. King Geralt lays you on the mattress, your disposed clothes cleared away from the corner. He's gentle as he sets your head on the pillow, caressing your cheek and your hip as he draws away. He stands, looking down on you as his fingers curl and extend, a hot breath rushing from his nostrils. 

You watch him as the the world sharpens around you and a flow rolls over you like cold water. You push yourself up on your elbows as the king's eyes rove your figure beneath the thin shift. He sways and brushes his hand over his chest, letting out a deep rumble. 

You want to say something. Anything. Just a word to break the fragile tension between you. You can't get a single noise out. He stares down at you with his gold eyes, like coins shining, forged in flame. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, snug to you as he rests his hand on the other side of you, tenting his arm over you. His other crawls along your shoulder and down to your wrist, walking back up again. His fingertips spread goose prickles along your flesh as you lay frozen in his fiery exploration. 

The haze of the fireplace, the gleam of his eyes, and the dregs of your drowsiness make you doubt the realness of it all. Are you dreaming still? Everything is so much more than it should be. His heat, his touch, the way you can feel his need radiating from him. 

You fall flat, staring at him, entranced by him. He brings his calloused palm to cradle your face. You gasp and latch onto his wrist.He lets his fingers flutter away and turns his arm, looking down at your grasp on him, cautious but firm. You see how his cheek strains and he sits up, grazing his other hand over yours.  

He covers your hand with both of his and draws it up. He unveils it like some precious treasure and kisses each knuckle. You shake as each brush of his lips tingles through you. He pulls back and keeps hold of you, lowering your hand between you. 

"You fear me," he says, "you fear what I want from you." His voice is low and sonorous, "I want nothing from you. I only want you, my summer maid." He inhales deeply and lets it out with a quaver as you feel the tremor in him, "my treasure." 

Your eyes sting and tears soften the lines in your vision. You shake your head, a knot in your throat, a pinch in your chest. He brings your hand flat to one of yours and twines his thick fingers between yours. The difference is drastic, a reflection of your status. He is all-powerful and you are a speck in the wind. 

"I have worn a heavy crown, I have raised an army, I have bled in battle, and not of it can compare to this, my treasure. You are my greatest achievement. By fates, I found you. I thought that I was destined to sit the throne, to unite these peoples, to hold it all in my hand," he squeezes, "but this is all I need have in my grasp. This is what called me to your southern plains. All of it for you. I have won it and so quickly as you bid me, I would give it up." 

Your lashes flick as your heart swells. He cannot mean it. Not any of it. You are only a maid. 

"You have your fear, little maid, and I have mine. They are one and the same," he gazes down at you, eyes wrought in layers of pain, sadness, and longing, like the sediment of the earth, worn and weathered through the years. "I fear myself all the same as you. I have withheld myself for as long as I can and yet I feel myself dwindling. I feel the rope fraying." 

You sniff and shake your head, "your highness..." you croak and your voice seems to crackle in the air, "Queen Jazlene--" 

"Do not speak her name. I beg of you. Treasure, I beg. I will beg you anon." 

He keeps hold of you and shifts off the bed. He brings himself to his knees at the side of the bed, clinging to you as he once more kisses your hand. As you lay helpless to him. 

"Do not fear me. How can you when I only mean to worship you," he rasps. "As any treasure, I only mean to prize you, to hold you dear, to keep you from those who would steal you away. To keep you for my own. Treasure, you are mine, all mine. By rights, I, King Geralt of Rivia and the Hinterlands, claim you. No other shall have you. Upon my life, I could not bear it." 

You close your eyes, ice trickling into your veins at his declaration. He is king, he is the almighty, and you are his. You are sworn to serve and by rights of marriage, you are bound to him. Even if it wrong, even it transcends the vow he spoke to another, a king may bend the laws as serve his purposes. A maid may only obey. 

"You have forsaken me," you whisper. 

He kneels in silence, lowering his head to rest on your hand. You lay in tableau, strangled and solemn, as he prostrates himself at your side. As a mourner might do for some tragic corpse. Is that not what this is? Grief for the treachery of it all. 

"I belong to you," he speaks at last, rising as he releases you. Your eyes roll open and pinpoint on him.  

He turns away and pulls at his tunic, stripping it from his broad shoulders, revealing a back ridged with muscles. He drops it on the seat of a chair and sits in another. He is patient as he unbinds the straps of his boots and removes each in turn, placing them neatly aside. He undresses piece by piece, rapt in the task of his dissembling. 

He remains only in his braies, the short garment ending at the top of his thick thighs. His stomach is as thick as the rest of his, muscles wrapping around his arms and chest, fur like the very wolf he's sewn into his cloak. He approaches the bed and you steel yourself for him. 

He lifts himself over you, hovering just above, his hands above your shoulders as he holds himself on his knees, straddling as he once did in the moonlight of your unconscious. He peers down and breathes a scalding plume upon you. You shiver and meet his eyes, unable to repress the wash of terror that comes over you. 

He pushes himself to the other side of you, folding his arm to fall upon his side. His other stretches over your stomach as he nestles against your side. He lays on his shoulder, facing you, and his nose brushes your temple. You clutch a fold of the blankets in your hand as his traces the shape of your side, playing with the seam of your shift. 

His touch creeps over your stomach and his lips dance on your cheek. He exhales your name into your ear and his hand cups one side of your chest. A whimper escapes your throat as your nipple hardens, poking him as he fondles you. He is gentle but diligent, eager as he explores your body, as if you are another map to be conquered. 

He trails up to your neck and his thumb draws a line along your throat. You feel his gaze but cannot face it. It burns hotter than the heart. He touches jaw and chin, as if he's never seen anything like you; cheekbones, nose, forehead, as if he is an artist moulding a statue.  

He presses his straight nose to your cheek and drapes his arm around you once more. He embraces you from the side. He tucks his fingers under you and you bring your hand to his thick forearm, feeling the soft hair along it. You claps onto him and shudder at the ceiling. 

"You will not always fear me," he whispers, "when you see the world for what it is, when you see me truly, you will feel as I do." He snarls as he leans his weight into you. "You cannot fight fate, my treasure. Even a king cannot bid what is written by destiny." 

You let every ounce of strength drain from you. You sink into the mattress, surrendering to his will. Whatever he might do, whatever he might demand of you, you will give in. That is your duty. 

He purrs as his own body relaxes, "I only wish to feel you, little maid. My soul needs yours close." He closes his eyes and bows his head to rest against yours. You shut your eyes once more but know you will not rest.  

You are afraid. You are terrified. All your life you've served but this is more than you've ever been asked. The peril is all yours. A king would never face the same atonement as a maid. 

⚔️

The king enshrines you in his warmth. You examine the white strands of his hair as you lay in his arms. Your gaze wanders further to his rounded muscle, the unmatched strength woven in his body. His statue matches the intangible authority attached to his very being. He is power incarnate. 

You feel smaller as you lay beside him. The night passes, as it will not matter water. Time marches on like the very army that invaded your homeland at the behest of the man now clinging to you. Just a maid. Just a deceiver. 

You turn your eyes past the king's sleeping form. His rumbling snores underline the soft crackle of embers breaking down. You cannot remove the danger buried deep in your chest. Memories only drive it deeper and deeper. 

Your remember when Jazlene was only a girl. You've known her through every year of her life. You've seen her grow from cradle to crown. She might be flawed, she might be selfish and rotten and mean, but she is still that life you watch round the duchess' stomach when you were but yourself a child. She is still a living being. 

There was a time when she did not obsess over jewels and silks and bottle. When you both were just young and naive. When she counted and you hid, then switched places. When you revealed yourself form behind your hands and she giggled in amazement. That time is gone and you only see doom ahead of you. 

You can't lay there any longer. 

You move the king's arm off of you and sit up. You put your back to him and bend over your lap. How you could melt to a puddle like the icy outside those castle walls. How you might wilt away like a flower without shade. 

You do not dare leave the bed. Your emotions cannot overrule the man behind you. You flinch as he quiets and his snoring turns to a long groan. A tickle crawls up your back as he touches you. He pinches the fabric, tugging it as if to get your attention. 

"Are you well, treasure?" He asks with grit in his throat. 

"It is morning," you say, though the shutters block out the day, "shall I fetch you something to break your fast?" 

He sighs and his hand fists the back of your shift. He pulls until you twist to look at him. He props himself on one elbow, holding his head as he looks at you. His expression is not as stony as it usually is. He is not the statuesque king, he is just a man, entirely vulnerable in nothing more than a piece of cloth. 

"I don't want you to be maid this day," he touches your hip, his eyes dipping to watch his hand. "I want to... show you something. I want you to know this land. Once you do, you will know me." 

"As you wish, your highness." 

His brows lower and he pushes himself up, sitting against the pillows, "it doesn't need be. What do you wish, treasure? Tell me and I will grant it?" 

You push up one shoulder, "I wish for nothing. A maid does not..." 

"Not a maid," he insists again, "you, what do you wish?" 

You lower your head and turn back to the chamber, "I would see your land. Show me then what I have not already seen." 

His forceful breath uneases you. He is disappointed, though you say exactly what you should. What he should want. You will heed his desire, he only need declare it. 

"Very well," he jostles the bed as he moves to sit beside you, "you will need to dress warmly. I will have gloves and a hat. Some boots," his arm is snug to yours, " 

"Thank you, your highness," you utter. 

"No, Geralt. My name is Geralt." 

Your chest racks and your shoulders feel as if there are pins stuck in the joint. Your lips part then clamp together. You try to muster your voice but it catches like phlegm. You nearly choke. 

"Will you say it?" He asks gently. 

You turn to glance at him. It feels next to blasphemy. You blink and he reaches to frame your face with his large hand. 

"To hear my name on your lips would me like a sacred melody. Please, treasure, just for me, you can say it," he pleads. 

You take a breath through your nose and let it out in a wisp, "Geralt." 

He smiles and his thumb runs along your chin to your lower lip, "again." 

"Geralt," you say louder and he toys with your lip, his golden eyes narrowing on it, hungering for it as if a starving man looking upon a fine citrus. 

"Again," he commands once more. 

"Ger--" 

You cannot finish is name as he covers your mouth with his. He smothers you in his need, pulling you against him, snaring you in his arms. He brings you over him as he falls onto his back, moaning as he delights in the taste of you, nibbling at your bottom lip. He hums and draws away as you breathless stare down at him. 

"I have never known paradise, not in the hinter or the summer, but I find it here," he growls, "upon my very chest, in my very arms. If only it could be forever." 

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (33)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, assassination attempt, misunderstanding, physical violence, swearing, mention of killing a lot of people ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After everything that had happened between them upon her arrival in Harrenhal she and her uncle were one naked, sweaty, welted mess, so she was relieved when her husband demanded that a bath be prepared for them immediately.

They lay covered in furs, bare and without strength, waiting for his servants to fill the tub with hot water, embracing each other half asleep, his hand resting on her womb, entwined with her fingers.

What they had dreamed of as children had come true.

They were going to become parents.

When the servants informed them that the bath was ready, her husband hummed under his breath, informing them in a hoarse, low voice not to disturb him while he was with his wife with any matters. They only got up when they were left alone in his chamber.

Her uncle sank into the clove-scented water first, pulling her behind him, eager to have her close to him. She took her place between his thighs, snuggling wordlessly into his chest and closed her eyes, hearing the birdsong from outside the window and the quiet beat of his heart under her cheek. She smiled as his hand went to her lower abdomen, trailing his fingers over it.

"− the gods are gracious to us − they support our cause −" He whispered, placing a tender, lingering kiss on her hair, from which heat spread inside her chest. She nodded, stroking his upper arm, smiling involuntarily under her breath.

"− I wish to spend the day with you − I will order whatever you desire to be prepared for the supper −" He murmured, taking an unruly strand of her hair from her face. She lifted her gaze to him and kissed his jaw − her husband leaned towards her and their lips joined in a warm, sticky kiss.

"− I wish Baela would dine with us −" She whispered, raising her hand to his cheek. His nostrils twitched uneasily in frustration at her words, his eyelid closed as her fingers ran over his warm skin.

"− why? −" He asked coldly, clearly struggling not to show his irritation.

"− if it wasn't for her, my mother wouldn't have allowed me to come here − she protected me and our child in the sky −" She explained calmly. She saw that he looked at her and rolled his eyes, frustrated. He sighed quietly, pressing his lips into a thin line and nodded.

"− so be it −"

"− where is Alys? −" She asked hesitantly. Her husband looked away, impatient, and ran his hand over his face.

"− she is locked in her chamber −"

"− I wish to see her − perhaps tomorrow, when I…−"

"− no − I spared her because you asked me to, but only for this reason − in return I demand that you do not go near her − she is a dangerous woman −" He said quickly, tense, not looking at her, she felt his heart pounding like mad under her hand.

"− she helped me − she tried to protect me −" She muttered, not understanding where his rage and the harshness of his judgement came from. His dark, impatient gaze made her raise her shoulders in a defensive gesture.

She saw that he was trying not to explode.

"− she told you that she tried to seduce me behind your back by saying that she would carry my bastard child? − hm? − that prediction she didn't share with you? −" He hissed, seeing the shock and disbelief that appeared on her face, she felt her stomach tighten into a knot.

She swallowed hard, feeling her lower lip start to tremble, her heart began to pound like crazy, for some reason her eyes filled with tears.

What?

Seeing the look on her face his gaze softened − he sighed heavily and shook his head as if cursing himself for letting those words leave his lips, his hand stroked her cheek reassuringly.

"− it's a lie − she was hoping I'd betray you, that I'd hurt you − I'm convinced this was part of Strong's plan − to distract me, to leave you alone and broken-hearted − the affection I have for you is a hindrance to him −" He explained, looking straight into her eyes, wiping her warm, wet tears from her rosy cheeks with his thumb. She stroked his chest, thinking hard, feeling horribly betrayed and humiliated.

She trusted her.

"− did you speak with her? − after you conquered Harrenhal? −" She muttered, and he sighed heavily, twisting in his seat with a quiet splash of water.

"− yes − I wanted to draw out of her why she did it −"

"− you didn't tell me about her words − you hid it from me −"

"− because that's what she wanted − to plant uncertainty in my heart and yours −"

"− how am I supposed to trust you if every day I find out that there is still something I don't know about? −" She asked in a breaking voice on the verge of sobbing, grabbing the edges of the tub, wanting to get up, however his arms locked her in an iron grip, forcing her to fall between his thighs again.

"− if it wasn't for your request, she would already be dead −"

"− only dead will she give you the confidence that you will not do what she prophesied? −"

She felt him let the air out loudly through his nose, furious, but she didn't dare look at him feeling that her whole body was trembling.

"− do you want to argue over the words of that treacherous whore whose life you yourself asked me to spare? −"

"− I didn't know −"

"− so you fucking know now −" He growled impatiently.

They both just breathed heavily for a moment − she could feel his piercing gaze on her, his hands clenched painfully tight on her arms, refusing to let her move away.

She couldn't explain why she just burst into tears like a little child, his hand sinking into her hair and pressing her face against his chest, a place where she could hide, where she was safe.

She snuggled into him, seeking comfort and reassurance that what she had spoken of was nothing more than her invention, that what she and Helaena had predicted did not matter in this case.

That there was no way he could have ever betrayed her.

Wasn't it?

"− no more secrets, Rhaenys −"

She heard his calm, deep voice.

"− you know everything now − I am bare before you, not just with my body − you see me as I am −"

She was silent for a moment, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart under her cheek, his fingers trailing slowly over her body, around them the quiet splash of water that had long since cooled.

"− when you were not by my side, I had nightmares − I dreamt that you were dying, each time through my fault − I dreamt it because it is what I dread the most − in the years that you have been in Dragonstone a cold, black emptiness has burned in me − I have felt nothing − I have experienced nothing − my mother placed the daughters of the lords under my nose, and all I could think of when I looked at them was that they were not similar enough to you − they couldn't or didn't want to understand my true nature − they didn't see me −"

She swallowed hard feeling her heart leap up into her throat, her fingers digging harder into his wet, hot flesh. She closed her eyes as he locked her with the secure, tight embrace of his arms, sighing loudly, pressing his forehead against hers.

"− I am tired, Rhaenys − I am exhausted − since that night, when I tamed Vhagar, I have had no peace, no rest − only with you, then, in that chamber beneath the Red Keep, when I fell asleep by your side − I −" He muttered and fell silent, as if unable to find the right words, to explain what was running through his mind and heart.

She thought there was something about that moment, about their bodies entwined in a tender embrace filled with longing, that filled her with peace.

"− I'll speak with her − alone −"

She whispered and rose again, stepping out of the bath without a word. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her husband cover his face with his hand, his jaw clenched in anger and grief.

"− my words mean nothing to you? −"

"− it's not about you, uncle − I have to do it for myself −"

On her uncle's orders, the guards led her to the chamber of the Witch of Harrenhal. When the door opened before her she was surprised to see how modest the room was, consisting only of a small bed, a wooden chest and dresser, a table and two chairs on which lay various objects − herbs, books, parchments and vessels.

Alys Rivers rose immediately from the bed on seeing her − she swallowed hard at the thought that there were bruises on her face, it seemed to her that she was thinner than when she had last seen her. The woman bowed before her.

"Princess. I hoped you would come." She whispered.

For some reason she felt sadness and discomfort in her stomach at her words.

"You predicted my husband would give birth to your bastard child."

Alys pressed her lips together at her words, looking her straight in the eye.

"I lied. I saw nothing of the sort neither in my dreams nor in the fire."

"How dare you lie to my husband, and your Prince?" She asked dryly, feeling her heart pounding like mad, her trembling hands folded over her womb. Alys looked into that place with a blank stare.

"You are expecting his child."

She did not bother to respond, waiting for an answer to her question. Alys sighed heavily.

"My brother had plans for you. He ordered me to seduce the Prince. He wanted you to step aside and try to take your own life again."

She swallowed hard at her words, feeling a drop of cold sweat run down her neck at her words.

"You didn't tell me about this."

"No."

"You and my husband. You are identical." She muttered in a trembling voice. Alys smiled sadly.

"Yes. Yes, we are."

She felt her eyebrows arch in pain, her lower lip trembled.

"I believed you."

"I regret not telling you. I didn't want to destroy your already strained trust in him." She explained, lowering her gaze to the stone floor beneath her feet.

There was a long silence between them.

"Did you make an attempt?"

Alys lifted her gaze to her, furrowing her brow, clearly not understanding her question.

"Your Grace?"

"Did you try to seduce him?"

"No. I didn't go near him."

"Why?"

"Because he would have killed me. I just wanted your husband to make the right decision. For him to be scared of what might happen, to try to change the future. For him to tell you about what's happening here."

She swallowed hard, feeling her heart in her throat at the thought that her uncle had told her everything then, that night because he was afraid Alys' words would come true.

"I believed you. I opened my heart to you." She muttered in a breaking voice, unable to believe how she could be so naïve after what had happened to her. It seemed to her that something akin to discomfort flashed across the Witch of Harrenhal's face, her gaze lowered in shame.

"I know."

An awkward, unbearable silence fell between them.

She felt like an fool, a stupid little girl who could be twisted around anyone's finger, who was mocked by others behind her back, who looked on in disbelief at how easily she was manipulated, made to forget, to forgive.

Although she tried with all her might to remain composed, a single tear of helplessness and fatigue ran down her cheek hot with shame.

Alys Rivers' black eyebrows arched in sadness at the sight, her lips tightened as did her hands on her stomach. She swallowed hard, analysing apparently in her head what she wanted to say.

"− there are still people in this fortress who will want to kill you − especially beware of the young, fair-haired man − don't eat or drink anything he serves you −" She said quickly making her completely freeze with her rapidly beating heart.

"− why didn't you tell my husband about this? −" She muttered in disbelief, hearing her own voice tremble.

"− I saw this boy when I was moved back to my chamber − the Prince didn't want to see me anymore then − this servant brought me poisoned food several times, a gift from my brother −" She explained, and she looked at her shocked.

Was that why she was so thin?

Was the food and drink she was served here poisoned?

She swallowed hard at the thought, horrified that neither she nor her husband were safe anymore.

"My husband gave Harrenhal to me to rule. That means I will decide what happens to the people who serve here, including you." She said slowly, the expression on Alys' face not changing one bit, as if she had expected her words.

"I saw it in a dream. A stone castle reaching to the skies. That's where you'll send me away." She said softly. She nodded at her words.

"I will not forget what you have done for me, that you warned me. As an expression of my gratitude you will be given gold, and by my order all your belongings will be moved to the Eyrie. My cousin, after spies were discovered in his fortress, is indebted to my family and will receive you with honours. I will introduce you in my letter as a valuable medic who should work alongside the maester. You will not lack anything there." She explained and fell silent, looking at the woman all tense, fearing that she would resist, that she would try to manipulate her.

Alys Rivers, however, remained silent and merely nodded.

She decided that there was nothing more left for them to say so she left her chamber, ordering that she be prepared for her journey that would take place in a few days.

When she returned to his husband's quarters, he rose from his seat, tense. He watched her with a wary gaze, glancing at her as she sat down behind his desk, taking parchment and quill in her hands.

"− what did she tell you? −" He asked coldly, his hands clenched into fists.

He was terrified, she could feel it, and she liked how much power she now had over him.

She was carrying his child inside her, on top of which she had the right to hold a lot of grudges against him, so she had the right to expect her wish to be a command to him.

"The truth. I am writing a letter to my cousin in the Eyrie to accept Alys into his fortress as a medic." She replied calmly, sinking the tip of her quill into the ink, beginning to write.

She heard her husband swallow hard, surprised.

"Good." He replied at last, as if relieved, evidently thinking the woman would cause more problems.

She did not reply, focused on what she wanted to include in her letter.

Her husband paced around the room, trying to draw her attention to him, but she did not lift her gaze to him, wanting to punish him in this way.

She knew that he was revealing himself to her more and more, that he was vulnerable, loving her more than ever before now, that she was beside him and his legacy was growing inside her womb.

When she had finished writing she rolled up the parchment, sealed it and ordered one of the servants to send it immediately to Vale.

She waited impatiently for supper, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart. She was starving, but had not eaten anything before the evening despite her uncle's tentative interventions suggesting that she was certainly hungry.

Baela had no gowns with her to change into, so she arrived at the appointed time in her uncle's chamber in her riding attire, her white curls combed into a braid. She smiled towards her husband in a way from which he pressed his lips together in displeasure, turning his head away, tapping his finger on the table top.

"Dear cousin. My congratulations. You are going to become a father." She said softly, trying with her tone to feign any warm feelings towards his person. Her uncle nodded, without looking at her or saying a single word in her direction.

Their cousin sat down across from her, smiling broadly at her, and she reciprocated the gesture and nodded to the servant to begin serving them their food. She pressed her lips together when, one by one, men began to enter with large silver trays − one of them matched Alys' description.

She swallowed hard, lowering her gaze as he placed the jug of wine right next to her, a smile on his face that she could mistake for cordiality.

"Your Grace?" He asked, and she nodded.

She watched quietly as the boy filled her cup halfway with wine. He wanted to move away, but she shook her head.

"More." She demanded − her husband and Baela twisted in their seats, concerned.

"Is that wise? In your condition…" Her uncle muttered, but she threw him a quick, impatient look.

When her goblet was full, she raised it high towards the man who was about to move away from her, setting the jug down on the table.

"Drink."

The boy smiled shyly, as if he didn't understand what she said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Drink. To the bottom."

There was an awkward, tense silence all around.

"I am not worthy, Your Grace. I would not dare." He muttered, all pale, his lower lip trembling.

"I order you to drink it all to the last drop." She hissed with emphasis, feeling her hand quiver with rage.

"I can't, Your Grace, I…"

"FUCKING DRINK IT." She heard the growl of her husband as he rose from the table, his eye wide open, his chest rising and falling rapidly in accelerated, enraged breath.

The boy shook his head and whimpered as her uncle moved towards him, his face cold, tense.

"Hold him." He ordered, two of his guards moving towards him, grabbing his shoulders. The boy shook his head, terrified.

"N-no, Your Grace. I can't drink wine. It affects me badly. I might die."

Her husband took her cup from her and grinned at him in a way that made her feel the cold sweat on her back, her heart in her throat.

"I'd love to see this." He sneered, grabbing him violently by the jaw, tilting his head back. He dug his fingers into his cheeks forcing him to open his mouth and then forcibly poured the contents of the entire goblet down his throat, ignoring the tears that streamed down his cheeks.

She looked at the scene, thinking in disbelief that he was holding him exactly like the guards who poured moon tea down her throat then, in the Red Keep.

Although it shouldn't have, a hot, wonderful feeling of satisfaction spread through her heart.

The man wept heavily when he let him go, thinking it was over, however, her uncle grabbed the jug and filled the goblet again − the boy began to beg him, trying to fall to his knees before him, however, her husband's face was cold and no hope of forgiveness lurked in his healthy eye.

By the time her husband forced him to swallow another cup of wine something began to happen to him − his face turned purple, his eyes red, his breath caught in his throat as if he was choking, his mouth wide open.

When he wheezed and fell to his knees, Baela got up from her seat, holding her hand to her chest, terrified as trickles of blood began to drip from his mouth.

Her husband stared at the sight with his jaw clenched, shaking with rage.

"Gather all the servants in the main hall of the fortress. NOW." He hissed, taking the jug of wine and what was left in it with him.

She wanted to move after him, but Baela's strong grip on her arm stopped her.

"− no − you shouldn't watch this −" She muttered.

"− there could be innocent people in there −"

"− father told me that no one here can be trusted − do you understand? − no one − let him do the right thing − let him act like a man −"

Baela stayed with her and lay with her in his bed. She snuggled up to her cousin, listening to the terrifying, empty silence around them.

Baela swallowed hard and began to sing a song in the language of their ancestors − the melody was melancholic, the words told of longing for what had been lost.

Of Old Valyria.

She didn't even know when she fell into a restless, deep sleep in her arms.

She flinched when she felt Baela rise, heard her whisper as if through a fog.

"− she just fell asleep −"

"− mmm −" She heard someone murmur and felt that a man's broad hand stroked her hair.

"− you may return to your chamber now − I have assigned you guards from King's Landing − they will watch over your safety all night −"

Baela slipped out of her embrace and stood up − instead another figure lay down beside her, larger, her scent familiar, beloved. She sighed quietly as the arms she knew so well embraced her, her hands tightening on his leather tunic.

"− uncle −" She muttered, lifting her head, seeing nothing in the darkness. She felt his warm, full lips on her cheek, where they placed a lingering, warm kiss.

"− shhh, my love − sleep − no one will threaten you anymore −"

"− are they dead? −"

"− yes, my love −"

"− all of them? −"

"− yes −"

"− and what about Alys? −"

"− her life belongs to you −"

"− thank you −" She whispered.

Alys was the only reason she was still alive.

"− embrace me, Rhaenys −" He whispered, in his voice sadness, grief and weariness so deep she felt her heart squeeze. She embraced him at the waist, entwining his legs with hers, sinking her face into his neck, his hands clasped in her hair and back.

"− how did you know? −" He asked quietly.

"− she told me − she warned me again −"

Her uncle sighed heavily and kissed the top of her head again.

"− I could have lost you − you and the baby − I thought we were safe here − but I promise no one threatens you anymore − I will choose new servants myself −"

She nodded at his words and sighed quietly when she felt his hand slide between their bodies, touching her lower abdomen.

"− I will love our offspring − even if a little girl with your dark hair is born − I will love her because she will be my beloved wife's gift to me and our kingdom −" He whispered so tenderly and warmly that she involuntarily felt tears of emotion and relief under her eyelids.

She didn't even know how much she needed to hear it.

Confirmation that he wouldn't be upset when she disappointed everyone and gave birth to not a son, but a daughter.

"− I want to give you seven children − as many as there are gods −" She hummed, stroking his hand lying on her womb with her own. She heard him snort under his breath, she knew he was smiling.

"− after this, will you stop letting me between your thighs? −" He asked with feigned resentment, even though they both knew now that they were adults that bringing seven children into the world could prove to be a task that would require a lot of effort on her part, including that of childbirth.

"− I fear no force will stop my uncle from reaching for what he desires −" She said softly, lifting her head to look at him, meeting his amused, warm gaze.

He had no eye patch on, his sapphire eye shining dangerously in the darkness of his chamber.

"Indeed." He murmured, his thumb running over the soft skin of her cheek making a pleasant shiver pass through her.

"Let us not return to King's Landing or Dragonstone." He whispered. "Let us stay in Harrenhal. Let us create our own legacy. Give birth to our child here. Neither of us will feel like prisoners then."

She blinked, feeling the heat spill over her insides at his words, so thoughtful and yet full of understanding and devotion.

He wanted them to have something that belonged only to them, their refuge, their own fortress, a place for their own family.

Neither the Greens nor the Blacks.

The Targaryens ruling Harrenhal.

[peachdues]

o maybe a teaser for obanai fanfic? . .

;3

oh man, y’all are getting two teasers from me today. Hope you enjoy the pain!

Ty sweet anon for asking! Seeing interest definitely helps with motivation 🤍

A teaser from The Divining Rod (Obanai’s Tell Me to Stop)

Teaser I • Teaser II

Though still a good mile away, the stately sloped roof of the Butterfly Mansion could be spotted peeking over the canopy of trees separating the group of Hashira steadily making their way toward the estate.

The Vine Pillar had not uttered a single word since she’d begged them — begged him — to free her from the cursed collar that had been locked around her throat. The moment Obanai had managed to chisel the lock open, an unnerving calmness had fallen over Y/N, her tears ceasing and her eyes dulling all at once.

Lifeless.

She’d not made a sound even as she’d unwound herself from where she’d laid, curled up against the dirt, to awkwardly clamber onto the Love Pillar’s back. The movement had surely strained one of the many injuries painted across her skin, had forced her to aggravate some wound, but still, she made not a peep.

She’d only laid her cheek against the dip between Kanroji’s shoulder blades, looking so small and childlike perched on her friend’s back as the pinkette adjusted her grip under her bony legs. Her eyes found his and for a long moment, she’d held his gaze, before her eyelids slid shut, and she locked herself away. They did not reopen the entire journey — not until right then, as the group of weary Slayers drew close to the Insect Pillar’s private onsen, its existence known only to her closest comrades should they need it after a particularly arduous mission.

With a sudden alacrity, Y/N sat up on her friend’s back, her eyes wide and alert as she scanned the scenery around them. When she spied the calm, inviting turquoise waters of the hot spring she began to squirm, her fingers urgently tapping Knaroji’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” The Love Pillar slowed her step and turned her head back to her friend. “Do you want to walk?”

But Y/N only continued to wiggle until the pinkette had no choice but to set her down, her hands braced carefully on the Vine Hashira’s waist, to steady her.

Kanroji followed her friend’s line of sight, her own eyes softening as she realized what Y/N had wanted.

“I’m sure Shinobu will bring you down later, Y/N,” she said kindly, her fingers loosely wrapping around the mute woman’s wrist. “Let’s allow her to examine you first —“

But her friend shook off the Love Pillar’s touch, her eyes fixed resolutely on the sprawling hot spring just down a small, winding, stone-lined path. Without as much as an acknowledgement to Kanroji or the other two Hashira in their company, Y/N began making her way toward the water.

“Y/N — wait,” Kanroji pleaded, but the Vine Pillar paid her no mind, her streak toward the mouth of the hot spring purposeful and determined. Had she not been so hopelessly thin, had her limbs not buckled in odd places as her body struggled to support her weight, Obanai would have thought he was witnessing Y/N as she’d been before: confident; determined; lively.

The three Pillars stood there, dumbfounded, as their comrade strode directly into the hot spring, the calm water stirring and parting around her. Before long, she was hip-deep in the pool, her tattered, soiled shift clinging wetly to the tops of her thighs. She finally paused when the water sloshed around her waist, her back to her dumbfounded comrades waiting uncertainly on the bank.

The Vine Hashira remained still, her head swiveling from side to side as she surveyed the water around her. After a moment, having apparently decided whatever it was she was examining was to her satisfaction, Y/N knelt down in the spring. A heartbeat later, and she disappeared below its surface.

Alarmed, Obanai drew quickly upon the mouth of the spring, his instincts telling him to follow after her and haul her up. But his curiosity held him back, and it was thanks to the clarity of the water, that he and his comrades could still see her as she hunched against the smooth rock at the bottom of the pool, knees drawn tightly to her chest.

Standing above where she’d submerged herself below the water’s shimmering surface, Obanai’s eyes followed her hands as they moved toward her head with an odd gracefulness. His mild curiosity quickly melted into horror however, as he watched Y/N cover her ears, her fingers curling harshly into her hair, and her mouth opened wide.

There was hardly any sound; only a small, high pitched keening so faint, one would have to strain to hear it, even as a small stream of bubbles escaped her mouth and rippled over the otherwise serene surface of the spring.

Obanai knelt to the ground, his fists clenched tight enough to break the skin across his knuckles, unable to bear witness to how his beloved Vine Pillar shattered beneath the soothing waters of Kocho’s onsen, yet helpless to do anything but watch.

So, beneath the quiet serenity of the hot spring, Y/N continued to scream.

And she screamed.

And she screamed.

Likes/reblogs/comments always appreciated!

[eveningepiphany]

far from sober | H.S, part II

my masterlist

part I

summary: the morning after harry taking a very drunk y/n back to his room— you hardly remember anything and harry has to remind you.

warnings: hangover, painkillers, fluff, kissing, sexual tension, swearing… licking?

a/n: I just hit 1k followers… I’m in denial. but I can’t wait for you guys to see what I have in store <3 stay tuned, because something is in the works.

———

Your head was pounding.

That was the first thing you noticed, it was a painful dull ache. The second thing was the light glaring over the thin of your eyelids.

A groan tore its way out of your throat without prompt, and you rolled over, head turning on the pillow.

And that’s when your brain clicked it. The pillow. Not your pillow.

The cogs started turning and your self awareness hit you like a freight train, your eyes flew open out of fear— where the fuck were you?

You were met with the celling of the hotel. And calmness came over you for a moment.

But, a hangover like this leaves no peace. Memories sort of flashback into your mind, in tiny grains, little bits and feelings coming back to you.

The feeling of a warm hand over your calf, or the dress you’re pretty sure was pooled at your feet?

Of course, the memories leave too much room for imagination.

You felt the presence beside you just as you heard the rumble of their voice, “Morning, lovie. Y’okay?”

You turned your head to the source of the sound, of course it was Harry, laying without a shirt next to you.

“Oh my god—“ you gasped, mentally tripping over the amount of things that were flying into your mind.

He’s laying next to you, shirtless. And you don’t remember any big chunks of last night, just little snippets.

And there’s, at the moment, a large gap between what you can only assume is being down at the bar and then ending up in his bed in his hotel room.

You push up on your elbows, wincing at the pounding of your head.

Harry’s hair is tousled, either from sleep, sex, or both and you’re scrambling to put the last two out as an option entirely.

You push the covers from your body, seeing his shirt and your entirely bare lower half aside from your underwear.

Denial is running through you a million miles an hour, and you stumble out of his bed.

“Woahwoahwoah, slow down Y/N!” He sits up as well, covers pooling at his waist.

“What am I doing in your bed? And in your room?”

You don’t give him time to answer as you continue, “Tell me… please please tell me I didn’t— that we did not have… not do anything… last night?”

He is silent a moment, “you don’t remember? Thought I’d be a bit more memorable?”

“No… no fucking WAY— ARE YOU SERIOUS— I CANT BELIEVE I-“

“Y/N!” He’s chuckling, like this is some kind of joke.

“Oh… oh Jesus, shut up!” You could cry. The first time you’ve had sex with him, probably kissed him and you don’t even remember the lead up, let alone actually doing it.

“Breathe, love— we did not have sex. Contrary to what you’re thinking, i have self control and you were clearly not in the mind frame to consent to literally anything last night.” He says, looking amused.

Your shoulders sag with relief, yet you scoff out, “I cannot believe you would joke about that!”

“Well if you’d had it your way last night, that would not be the case.”

Your hands flew over your eyes, another little crumb of your memory coming back.

You saying something along the lines of taking more than just your shoes off. God. You’re going to hell.

“I- what? Please for the love of god tell me I wasn’t like…” you trailed off, still looking for the right words.

This is foreign territory, and especially with Harry. You don’t talk about sex around him— let alone talk about sex with him.

“…forcing myself onto you?”

“Well, if it makes you feel any bett—“

“Nope! Do not keep talking.” You walked away, straight into the bathroom to the sink, running some cool water to splash over your face.

You turn the tap off, grabbing a face towel and holding it over your face to dry it— groaning into it.

He practically appears in the doorway after you take the cloth away from your eyes. He’s leaning against it. Still shirtless.

“Really, it wasn’t that bad!” He laughs, stepping into the bathroom.

You raise your brows at him.

“You really don’t remember anything?” He asks again.

“No!” You sigh.

“Well,” he begins, now leaning his lower back against the bathroom counter, “too start off, you were absolutely plastered down in the bar. So we’re most of the other girls.”

That’s right, you’d gone to the bar with all of them. That was still relatively clear.

“Then, all of us came back, and collected all of y’chaos causers. You left your wallet with y’key card in Molly’s bag, so I bought you back here.”

“Ok…” you nodded.

“You tried to word me up in the elevator if I say so myself, and then we got back— I took your shoes off—“

You kissed him. You’re now like 85% sure you did.

Because the memory slapped you in the face now that he’s relaying the timeline.

All you remember is pressing your lips down onto his. Which you’re pretty sure is real, and not a dream.

“Did I uhm…” your eyes appear hazy as you recall the memory again, “kiss you.”

It was whispered out of your lips, “or was that like— did I imagine that? Or dream it? Because I-“

“That er, yea that actually happened.” He blinked, and you flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry.” You sighed, cheeks burning as you recall chasing his lips last night, forcing him into a kiss.

“It’s fine, baby. Was nice. Then we took y’dress off, and I put you in my shirt,” he gestures to it, “which y’look good in may I add— and then we went to bed.”

“You’re leaving bits out, I’m assuming. Embarrassing bits.” You ask, even though you don’t really want to know.

“Well, I guess you could say that? You were just drunk, nothin’ t’be ashamed of. But you probably don’t want to know all the ins and outs.”

“I kissed you.” You repeat.

“Y’wanted more than that.” He says seriously.

“Did you kiss me back?” Your throat bobs after you ask, and you’re almost convinced you’re still tipsy considering how ballsy it was to ask that question.

You’re quiet a moment.

“Took a lot not to. That’s fuckin’ for sure.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Y’we’re drunk. Couldn’t 100% guarantee you wouldn’t end up regrettin’ it.”

You nod. Slowly. Processing what this means.

He has to have some kind of romantic feelings for you if he’s saying this shit. Your heart twists.

You rub at your temples, which are hurting and he noticed.

“Let’s get you some water.” He states, turning to go out the door, and you can’t help but follow him out.

He pours you out a glass, not handing it to you, just bringing it to your lips and guiding it into your mouth.

He watches you swallow.

“Thank you…”

He smiles a little at your profuse blushing, placing the cup on the bench.

But your redness only deepens as you continue.

“Thank you. For taking care of me. And uh, not taking advantage of me… that too.”

“Darling. Do not thank me for basic human decency.” He scolds gently.

“And you know your brother would have my head. Probably would just knowing I bought you back here.”

“He’d hate it.” You mumble, “if something were to happen… between us.”

You’re almost trying to convince the both of you it’s not a good idea, yet you’re unaware just how far gone you both actually are.

“Mm, he probably would. At first anyway.” Harry smiles, “makes it a little fun though, you can’t lie.”

“Make what fun?” Now you’re seeing how far you can push this.

“What between us?” He mocks your own insinuation.

“Do you have any pain killers?” You avoid the question.

“I do. I’ll get you some.” He walks over to his suitcase, rummaging through the front pockets, pulling out a small packet.

He ignores your bypass of the question, just popping two out of the foil.

His hand pauses, something ticks in his mind.

“Tongue out.”

“What?” You think you may have misheard.

“Put your tongue out.” He’s dead serious. And he’s not asking you, he’s telling you.

You do as he asks, sticking it out, allowing him to place the two little pills on it.

He picks the glass up again, just bringing it to your lips and letting you swallow it back.

“Good.” He mutters.

“Thanks.” You say, cautiously, suddenly hyper aware you’re just in your underwear.

You wipe the back of your hand over your mouth.

“So…” you begin carefully, “you’ve thought about it before.”

He brings his eyes up to you, “not exactly certain what it is you’re referring too, but I’m going to say the answer would be a yes.”

“Hm. Ok.” You state.

“Ok.” He agrees, furrowing his brows a little, waiting for more.

You step back, walking back over to the bed to lay back in it. Half because you were still exhausted, but also because you missed the smell. It smelt like him.

He followed you though, and you watched as he laid back next to you.

“You cuddled me last night.” You recalled.

“I did.” He nodded, and his own face had a blush to it.

It’s quiet another few beats, filled with the two of you just thinking.

“Do you regret it?” He asks, without prompt, and you’re not sure what he’s talking about.

“Regret what?”

“The kiss.”

“No.”

“Would you have regretted it if I’d kissed you back?”

Again, you don’t think as you answer, “No.”

His eyes find yours from where he’s laying, he’s not that far away.

“I just want to be on the same page. We’ve known eachother for a long time. And it’s not just us it would impact if I don’t know— something didn’t work out.” He says quietly.

You reach a hand out to trace his jaw, “I know. But just as you said, we’ve known eachother for a long time, and you always tend to put other people above yourself. What do you want?”

He leans into the touch with a steady inhale as he thinks for a moment, “Honestly, right now I want to kiss you.”

“Well then do it.” You say.

He leans forward now, fed up with beating around the bush.

He pushes his lips over yours, capturing them in a soft yet passionate kiss.

It’s a kiss that speaks worlds. It’s a hundred times more powerful than words ever could be. it’s almost a promise.

You kiss back, cherishing the feeling of it, and how he moved against your mouth.

“Fuck me,” he sighs into your mouth when you part it for him.

“Tongue out.” He asks again, but hearing it while he’s got his lips on you is out of this world.

It sends heat straight to your core, and you do again as he asks.

His hands are threaded in your hair and he gently kitten licks over your tongue.

It’s sensual in a way you can’t describe it, but what really sends you over the edge is when he whispers, “Is it way too early to be asking if I can suck on your tongue…?”

You laugh a little, tongue going back into your mouth as you talk, “I would’ve said yes if you asked me years ago. Is that weird?”

“Hot more than weird.”

You stick it back out and he sucks it into his mouth, swirling his own around it. It quickly turns into a French kiss though, and you start to move and explore his mouth.

“You’re beautiful. Always thought that Y/N.” He says, skating his teeth over your bottom lip.

You whimper at the sensation, “You make me feel so fucking loved.”

“Thats exactly how you should feel, darling. All the time.”

You kiss back and forth for a while, touching eachother gently over thin layers of fabric, but nothing more.

You’re in no rush.

And you’re just grateful that when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll be able to remember it with ease.

———

thank you to all who requested a part 2, I hope you enjoyed it! there is plenty more to come.

taglist:

@holholliday @jackiehollanderr @itsmytimetoodream @cherrycolas-things @buckybarnessimpp @crybabyddl @tenaciousperfectionunknown

[forlorn-crows]

Yours In The End

Rating: M for Mature (and A for Angst)

Pairing(s): Mountain/Aether/Dewdrop

Tags: implied/referenced major character death, implied/referenced banishment, angst, emotional hurt, (attempted) comfort, era iii ghouls.

Words: 1,404

Summary: What would normally be an easy silence hangs oppressive around them, full of things unsaid. Things that could break more than just the quiet if they were said.

Wordlessly, the earth ghoul circles around the couch and slides in beside him. Lanky limbs folding inwards until he cuddles up against him—a wet, newborn pup anchoring itself to his littermate in a blind search for warmth and familiarity. Wee and fresh, all of them just trying to get their bearings.

So, so much has changed.

⛧

Notes: This is the product of multiple days of feeling shitty. Started as a prompt for Mushy May and ran in the fucking opposite direction. Referenced murders of the three Emeritus brothers. Implied/Referenced death/banishment of Zephyr and Ifrit. Essentially, Mountain, Dew, and Aether are alone together, running from ghosts. Not a happy vignette.

Read on AO3 or under the cut:

The fire crackles steadily, quick pops and crumbles of charcoaled wood falling into the hearth. It’s the only light left in the room, the sun having long dipped down past the sills of the leaded glass windows. It coats the small seating area in a dying amber light, the stacks of books behind cast in ominous shadow. It’s late.

And yet. 

Dewdrop sighs, his eyes unable to look away from the dancing flames. Despite being just feet from the fire, wrapped up in a worn quilt, his nose feels like ice, and his cheeks are chilled from the still-wet tracks of tears. They’ve stopped for now, leaving the water ghoul to sniffle and stare. Numb. Unwilling to rise from a stupor he suspects will make its home in his chest for years to come. 

The floor creaks somewhere behind him. Footsteps softly approaching until they join him in his little cocoon of bittersweet comfort. Dew feels their hands in his hair, scooping it out from where it’s trapped beneath layers of cotton and batting. Silver threads gone barren at the ends. Rubbed one too many times between his trembling, nervous fingers. Gentle hands pull it all back, smoothing it around his horns. Silently combing through the tangles and draping the bulk of it over one shoulder. 

“Coming back to bed?” a rumbly, tired voice asks. 

Dew doesn’t say anything as he closes his eyes, flickers of the embers still sparkling behind his eyelids. Mountain shifts behind him, sighing heavily. Hands rubbing idly over his blanketed shoulders. Apart from the fire, the library is eerily quiet when the moment stretches out between them. What would normally be an easy silence hangs oppressive around them, full of things unsaid. Things that could break more than just the quiet if they were said. 

Wordlessly, the earth ghoul circles around the couch and slides in beside him. Lanky limbs folding inwards until he cuddles up against him—a wet, newborn pup anchoring itself to his littermate in a blind search for warmth and familiarity. Wee and fresh, all of them just trying to get their bearings. 

So, so much has changed. 

Mountain swipes a fresh tear from his cheek. Dew barely feels it, but he leans into it anyway, chest heaving with a silent sob. The arms around him grow tighter, and soon he’s surrounded in the earth ghoul’s woody scent. Lips press against his hairline as he wills it all just to stop. 

“You’re cold, waterlily,” he whispers. It’s an obvious, easy thing to state when you have so much else to say. “Will you come back to bed?” 

Dew turns his head to look at him. Through muddled vision he can see the lines of worry beginning to etch themselves into his handsome face. The skin under his eyes is sunken, colored with an almost bruised hue. His normally plump, boyish cheeks are sunken too, the firelight casting them in gaunt shadow. The water ghoul’s sure he doesn’t look much better, with his thinning hair and blotchy face and dead water eyes. 

Dew swallows hard. “I want to go home,” he says in a broken voice. A few more tears fall, soaking into the fraying stitching of the quilt. He doesn’t care if the wish is unrealistic, unreasonable. Pathetic. It’s how he feels. Whatever semblance of home he felt before this has collapsed into rubble and blown away as dust in the wind.   

Mountain shakes his head. Melancholy in a tiny movement. “Come back to bed,” he says, no longer a question. 

“Please don’t be scared of me,” Dew begs. He doesn’t know why he says it. Why he thinks Mountain looks at him with fear as much as love. 

His ears droop. Emerald eyes growing big and round. He reaches out to cradle Dew’s cheek, and the water ghoul fights everything not to flinch away. 

“Dewdrop,” he says softly. Pleading as much as he can in the utterance of only his name. 

The water ghoul nods and looks up towards the cavernous ceilings, praying for the crying to stop. “I know,” he breathes, lip quivering. “I know.” The sadness welling up in Mountain’s own eyes is what pushes him over again, and he lets himself be pulled into his chest with heavy limbs and a heavy heart. Shuddering through waves of grief and anger and directionless emotions that continue to renew instead of release. Mountain whispers promises of not your fault and not going anywhere into his hair, holding him tight. 

It’s a long while before he pulls back for air again. The fire’s turned to ash, smoldering valiantly through its last few flames. Dew can barely register Mountain’s face now, but there’s just enough light to illuminate his temple, the high point of his cheek. Highlighting the way his face has softened and the exhaustion has set in once more. 

“I love you.” It’s all he can think to say. Breathed like a prayer meant only for the Dark One himself. Maybe if he says it enough the three of them will be left alone. While they may have been wronged by mortals Above, he knows his other packmates will be protected eternally Below. 

But Satanas, does it hurt to be spared this time. 

“I love you, too,” Mountain replies easily. Like he’s said it a thousand times before. The earth ghoul casts a glance towards the hearth, looking at it with such concentration that Dew wouldn’t be surprised if he had slipped somewhere else in his mind, far away from reality. But he snaps out of it quickly, turning back to Dew. Hands tugging at the folds of the quilt still wrapped tightly around him. 

“Aether.” He’s waiting now for both of them to come back to bed, Dew knows, most likely pacing or contemplating throwing another glass at the wall. There’s shards still stuck in the piles of the rug from the last time. As much as he could stay here until the last of the fire snuffs out, he shouldn’t. “Come on,” Mountain insists one last time. “Up.”

Dew lets himself be pulled off the couch and into Mountain’s side. Sheltered under his proverbial wing. He pulls him away from the false solace of the fireplace, the embers disappearing behind them as they move throughout the maze of the library. Back through the cavernous, echoing hallways until they reach the ghoul wing. There’s lamplight spilling into the hallway from Mountain’s room—their room, at this point; the only room with a bed big enough for three. None of them can really bear to leave it, nowadays. 

It’s the only place left without ghosts. 

Aether sighs with relief when the two shuffle back into the bedroom. He frowns sadly when he sees tear-stained cheeks and droopy ears; wordlessly, he ushers them back into bed, locking the door behind them and clicking off the lamp. The moonlight shines into the room, casting them all in moody blue. Even if it’s somber, there’s something about the coolness that lifts a weight off Dew’s shoulders every time he’s bathed in it. Exhaustion worms its way out of his joints and floods his system as soon as he’s settled between the two bigger ghouls, eyelids already too heavy to stop from closing. Balsam and ozone curling around him like a gentle breeze caressing the cattails surrounding the lake. 

“Sleep,” Aether says softly, pressing his forehead to Dew’s. Mountain tucks his nose into the nape of his neck, inhaling his scent as he’s done every night since then. A lungful of his crisp apple shampoo (though there’s not much of that today) before he succumbs to sleep. The water ghoul feels his rumbling purr against his back as he burrows further into the quilt. Aether’s soon to follow; whether Dew will reciprocate their calming sounds with his own little purr is a tossup. Especially now. 

Despite the hours of tears, he can feel the sound creep up in his throat. Much like the crackle of a toy with an overused voice box, it’s muffled, fading in and out unpredictably. But the other two hold him tighter at the first stir of it in his chest. 

He’s tired. So, so tired. 

Love you, Aether mouths against his hairline. Just above a whisper, like he’s afraid for someone else to hear. On the edge between awake and asleep, Dew makes a noise he hopes conveys his love in return. 

[here2bbtstrash]

For your drabble reqs - I’ve been sitting on this for a hot hot hot second because imagining jimin’s crotch grinding on my ass and what could follow is turning me feral -

on your first date with shy Park Jimin, you both drink more than anticipated to take the edge off and end up getting a little too touchy feely on the dance floor.

☺️

MALLORYYYYYYY thank u for this lovely lovely req 🙆‍♀️ this was the perfect thing to shake the rust off!!! i hope you enjoy this one 💌

~taking jihope drabble requests all month!!~

pairing: jimin x reader wordcount: 1k exactly mmmm satisfying contains: alcohol use, first date, reader and jimin are a lil sloshed, horny thots are thunk, grinding on the dancefloor, jimin calls himself a slut lmao, jimin playing with her panties through her dress and getting hard, sooooo it's kinda semi-public i guess, mentions of begging and sub!jimin, going home on the first date..... think that's it!

~*~

Your drinks catch up to you on the dancefloor, all at once.

You’ve thrown them back like water tonight, faster than you normally would on a first date. But the man who’s sat across from you all night is intimidatingly gorgeous, not to mention sweet and soft-spoken and full of endearing little habits, like the way he pouted down into his own glass as he lifted it for a sip only to realize he’d already finished it.

Then he’d glanced up again as the empty glass tapped back down onto the table between you, his eyes just barely narrowing in a way that somehow managed to change his entire expression– made your stomach do a little backflip, too.

His voice was spun silk when he asked the question, dripped in something not quite innocent.

“Do you want to dance?”

What you hadn’t accounted for when you’d nodded your agreement and tried to will the flush of heat out of your face was the fact that dancing would mean getting even closer to Jimin. Dancing means his hands cupping the curve of your hips, warm through the thin fabric of your dress. You also hadn’t accounted for the way your liquor-soaked brain would take that spark and run a marathon with it, imagining those hands tangling in your hair, circling the buds of your breasts, slipping up your skirt.

There’s a steady pulse thudding in your core, in time to your heart and the bass of the speakers, and you swear the beat skips every time the flashing lights catch on an edge of Jimin: the full lines of his lips, the hoops sparkling diamond-bright at the corners of his jaw, the flicker of his lashes over the soft color bloom in his cheeks.

It’s too much. The space between your thighs aches, begging to be filled, and so you let your body lead. The room spins a little; you turn with it, Jimin’s hands fluttering at your waist.

You don’t know who initiates it– if you pressed back, if he pulled you in, or if the draw is all magnetism– but the space between your bodies narrows and then disappears. Your hips slot together, easy.

Something tells you the alcohol’s not to blame for the headrush buzz that hits you at the warmth of Jimin’s body under yours. The colors of the club smear together on the backs of your eyelids, and your lips part for a breath in when you feel his hips roll into yours like he knows what he’s doing.

And then his soft voice paints heat up the slope of your neck, and your eyes blink open again. “Can I tell you something?”

“Y-yeah,” you stutter on your next exhale. The motion of his hips is steady now, a deliberate grind against the swell of your ass, a riptide threatening to drag you under. You make no attempts at resisting.

“I’m kind of a lightweight,” he admits, and you can hear that it’s true, his words sliding into each other. You can’t help your giggle, partially because you weren’t expecting his confession, and partially because, well– you’re feeling it too.

“That’s okay.” You do your best to reassure, speaking up to carry over the pulse of the music. “Me too, I think.”

“Can I tell you something else?”

Jimin’s voice sinks low into his chest when he asks the question, and the rumble of it vibrates through you like the thrum of a plucked string, underscored by his hips still rocking into yours. You drag your teeth over your bottom lip before you answer.

“Uh-huh.”

His nose grazes the line of your jaw, and you can hear the shy smile in his words when he speaks again.

“I’m also kind of a slut.”

Your breath hitches in your chest and you wonder if Jimin feels it. It’s so dark, your bodies pressed flush– it’s hard to keep up with where you end, where he begins, his tight black t-shirt and jeans blurring at the edges of your little black dress.

“That’s more than okay,” you finally manage, and you feel him dig just a little deeper into where he has you, gripping tighter at the line of your waist, as if making a promise of what’s to come.

“Yeah?” Jimin purrs.

You let your body answer him, let your hands slip over his to guide them lower, a slow tease. It’s easier to ask without words, your head dropped back against his shoulder, his fingertips seeking out the v-line of your panties through your dress, tracing the lace edge.

There’s no question that the crotch of his jeans has filled out now; you can feel him straining against denim, an insistent bulge at the curve of your ass. When you roll your hips in a circle, it earns a soft moan in your ear, one you could easily return at the wet drag of your thong when Jimin tugs at the fabric, rubbing a taste of friction just right over your clit. It lights your body up, a live fucking wire, and you need more than what you can get away with on this dancefloor.

“Anything else you want to tell me?” you murmur up to the ceiling.

Jimin’s mouth is hot when he presses a tongue-first kiss to the hinge of your jaw, then takes your earlobe between his teeth before answering. “Your body is driving me crazy. Wanna… fucking beg for it.”

“Shit,” you can’t help groaning, reaching a hand up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. You feel him stiffen all over when you tug a little, swear his dick even jumps in his pants. “I’d love to see you down on your knees, Jimin.”

“I’ll be so good for you,” he outright whines, and you tighten your grip, arching your back to better rut yourself against him.

There’s only one question left to ask, it seems, and you can’t wait a second longer.

“Your place or mine?”

[reyesstrand]

wip wednesday

thank you for the tags @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @paperstorm @heartstringsduet @lemonlyman-dotcom @strandnreyes @alrightbuckaroo @carlos-in-glasses @orchidscript @safeaswrites @nancys-braids @whatsintheboxmh @freneticfloetry @thisbuildinghasfeelings @tommy-kinard-buckley <3333

Twangy guitar and echoes of loud voices spill under the door, but nothing matters more than the shaky breaths TK lets out as Carlos kisses down his neck, grazing his teeth and sucking hard over a spot low on his neck. It blooms deep red once Carlos pulls back, and there’s something about it that makes him feel bigger, this visible sign of their time together.

“You’re killing me here, dude,” TK says, his voice cracking down the middle when Carlos senses where he’s going and puts more pressure between his legs. TK moves almost on instinct into it, his hips seeking out friction as Carlos ducks his head to complete his mission of symmetry and leave an identical mark on the other side of TK’s throat.

TK’s head falls back against the stall door, and Carlos spares a moment to look at him: his closed, fluttering eyelids and the warm flush that spreads from the tops of his cheeks up to his temples, where sweat has made some of his hair stick to his skin. He draws his hands up from TK’s belt to hike up his shirt, revealing the lean lines of his torso and the soft give of his belly and the thin trail of hair that snakes down past his waistband.

His mouth watering, Carlos swipes his thumb along TK’s cheek to get his attention. His eyes snap open, and before he can say anything, Carlos drops down to his knees, feeling reverent as he flexes and curls his fingers into TK’s hips in an attempt to pull him even closer to what he wants most.

getting to this very late so i’m gonna leave an open tag!!! <3

[honeii-puff]

Maybe I was just hungry for blood

In which Soren has issues. Find on ao3!

Soren thought he was being pretty obvious when flirting with that guy– Corvus. But maybe flirting wasn’t a thing there. He wouldn’t know.

He prefers the water, anyways. Probably for the best he stays there. 

He dove down through the water, his surroundings darkening the deeper he went. A few yards from the shore, the ground dropped, leaving a vast plane of dark water. The fins on his forearms started to illuminate, glowing a soft red along with the swirled pattern on his tail, which had been invisible until now.

As he swam lower, it got brighter, passing other mers who were herding fish. Those who weren’t were probably still sleeping.

He dove into one of the underwater caves, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness after being at the surface for as long as he was. The thin membrane of his second eyelid slid out of place, allowing him to see properly.

Claudia was sitting in one of the wall crevices, arms crossed. “You’re late, Sorbear.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry.” Soren apologized. His eyes went to the large enchanted tome in her lap. “Again?”

“You know the drill.” She flicked one of her tentacles at him. A subtle purple glow came from the suction cups lining the underside of them, matching the glow coming from her ear fins, under her eyes, and the fins on her forearms. 

“Why? What’s so great about the surface anyways?” He flopped down on the stone.

Claudia clicked her tongue. “Everything, Soren. You’d know that if you actually went up there for more than a day.”

“I’m perfectly content down here. Here, I don’t have to worry about birds. Or boats. Or walking.” He wrinkled his nose. “Swimming’s faster.”

“So? It’s not about that.” Her ear fins flicked, annoyed. “It’s about the smells and the feeling of the wind on your skin and the dirt under your feet-”

“Don’t get me started on human feet.” The fins under his eyes flared. 

“Regardless. It’s about the adventure, not the destination.” Her eyes glimmered. “Tell me, have you ever jumped off a cliff into the water?”

Soren looked at her. “No. And I don’t think I want to.”

“You should really utilize this gift more often, Sor.”

He sat up. “It’s not a gift, it’s a blood ritual that you and dad do every Night of the Sun.”

“Heart ritual.” Claudia corrected. “There’s more heart than blood.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“You need to be more open minded.”

“Claudia’s right.” Soren looked over at the cave entrance, seeing Viren.

“Well, gladly leave me out of it this time.” The fins under his eyes flicked.

“You know we can’t do that.” She looked at him. “It needs three people at minimum.”

“Then pick literally anyone else.”

“We already have your blood for it, Soren.” Viren sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, the fins under his eyes flaring. “Just don’t use it like you always end up doing anyways.” His voice had an undertone of disappointment or annoyance. Soren had a hard time telling the difference when it came to him.

The dark red glow from Viren’s ear fins seemed to pulse lightly, his gaze going to Claudia. The two of them had this weird code with their fin lights, and it ticked Soren off because he had no idea how to find out what they were saying.

He flicked his ear fins. “Just tell me to leave, why don’t you?” Soren swam past Viren. “I’m going to find Rayla.”

“Soren-” Claudia started, but he was already out of the cave. Immediately, he dived downward, following the edge of the underwater cliff. Soon, the only thing he could see in front of him was the glow from the webs between his fingers and the fins on his forearms, lighting a few feet in front of him.

He ran his hand along the rocky cliffside, making sure not to drift too much as he swam, before coming to a stop. Running his hand back alongside the cliff, he felt a small, sharp shell.

Mussels.

Alright, small detour.

He pulled a small knife from his belt, before wedging it between the bottom shell and the rock, severing it from the rock before stuffing it in the small pouch attached to his belt. He squinted, the fins under his eyes brightening in an attempt to help him see. He saw the vague outlines of the other mussels, and pried them off with the flat of his knife, one by one, putting them into the pouch.

“Boo.”

Soren jumped, his fins flashing brightly as he spun around.

Rayla laughed, her thinner eyelids sliding over her eyes to block the light from Soren’s fins.

“Really Rayla?” His fins dimmed as he tucked his knife away, wanting to throw it at her instead.

“I’m sorry- it was just too perfect.” She cackled, her spiky ear fins flicking.

Soren swatted at her with his tail. “Not funny.”

“Too funny.” She wiggled her fingers at him. Like most midsea mers, she had four fingers, with silvery webbing between them and longer, sharper nails.

“Yeah, yeah, get it all out now. I was just looking for you.” He rolled his eyes.

Her inner eyelid lifted, showing her pale purple eyes, barely having a pupil. “Looked to me like you were looking for mussels.”

“I got distracted! Plus, mussels are good.”

Rayla shrugged, the flaps of her gills flaring slightly. “Can’t argue with that. Why were ya looking for me?”

“Just needing to get away from Claudia and dad.” He wrinkled his nose lightly. 

“Eugh.” She flicked her teal tail. “Let’s not talk about them, then.” 

The two of them started swimming, following the cliff down further before reaching the sandy bottom. Looking up, Soren could still see hints of light from the sun reaching down to where they were, but it didn’t provide all that much light due to the overcast day above.

“What else have you been doing?” She asked, retrieving a bag from behind a small pile of rocks and draping it around her shoulder.

“I talked to a human for a bit.” He glanced back upwards before back at her, settling down on the sandy ground.

The scales under her eyes flared from excitement. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah. He said his name was Corvus.”

“Like the bird?” She arched an eyebrow at him, picking up a flat shell from the sand, inspecting it under the silvery light from her fins.

“Yeah. He had a notebook with him. Drew a nice sea snail.”

“I hope you didn’t scare him too much.”

“Be glad you weren’t there. He’d be terrified.”

She flicked sand into his face with her tail, causing his thinner eyelids to cover his eyes, preventing the sand from entering them.

 Soren clicked his tongue. “Rayla, Rayla. Flicking sand? How immature.”

“Oh, shush.” Rayla rolled her eyes. “You were asking for it.”

“Was not!”

 “You totally were.” she tucked the shell into her bag. “Don’t even try to deny it, Mister smort longpocket.”

“Okay, that was one time in front of Finnegrin. He was hot and I was improvising.” He flopped down, sand clouding up around him.

Rayla fanned the sand cloud away. “He was not, but okay.”

“You just don’t have good taste.”

“He tried feeding me to a Leviathan!”“...Okay fair.”

[jeanbie]

SHARKBAIT ★ masterlist.

pairing: tolya x reader

warnings: long distance relationships, set after s2 | wc: 6.9k

note: i'm pining over tolya right now. also i know a loooot of fans view tolya as aroace so hopefully this reaches the right audience (and if the show runners or leigh ever confirm this then pls tell me)!!

⏤ Tolya can go months without seeing your face, but he can make out your shape in the darkness of the ship when you steal your visits, fleeing when the sun begins to light up the decks.

Tolya knew what it meant to long, to pine, to wonder and yearn for something you couldn't have. He saw it a thousand times with his poems, between the lines and in each stanza where a romance formed with metaphors and analogies; he saw it in his crew as they busied themselves across an unsteady ocean, searching for purpose and meaning in the vastness of blue and brown. He even saw it in his sister and passing maidens, in his captain and his need to be seen as something more than an amplifier, and he saw it in his own life- with his faith and his resilience, with his own novice works of poetry tucked into journals in his bunk, and in the whispers of silence between the two of you whenever he saw you again, and especially in the stretches of days where he didn't see you at all.

On board the Volkvolny, for what felt like years on end, Tolya had nothing but time to become familiar with what it meant to long. He'd stare out across the expanse of the sea, outlining your body in the clouds as they dipped below the horizon, in the waves rippling under the ship as it sailed away from Os Kervo to Kerch. Sometimes he thought he could make out your shape in the darkness of his bunk, a thin ghostly outline come to haunt him in his sleep, to torment his dreams. Often he woke up to a fading outline of body just to the side of his hammock, remembering that you weren't there, and wouldn't be for some time.

He supposed that he was lucky to be on this ship, with the world at his hands. There were days where he was so caught up in the passion of his work, alongside his never-faltering faith, that he didn't have time to think of you, instead only stumbling into your body through dreams, where you came to him as easily as the sea to the shore. Today hadn't been one of those days, and he feared that the crew on board the Volkvolny knew it too well.

It started off with his last nightmare. Taking steps together on a shoreline that looked like it belonged to a dip of earth in Shu Han, Tolya met you on the sands, his hand slotted into your own as he followed behind you, stepping into your sunken footprints. Tolya had been inches from your mouth before he was ripped away with the sound of horns and laughter, drops of water leaking through the deck overhead. Work was demanding his consciousness, and the image of you remained only on his eyelids as he groaned, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He'd gone about his day relatively normally after that, or about as normally as he could stomach it. Tamar had seen the worst of his mood- she watched him heave himself up the stairs to the deck with a frown deep on his face, an ache at the corner of his lips tugging down. The front he performed of happiness did little to arouse his crewmates, although they joined the spectacle, letting him think he was giving a performance of a lifetime.

For a while, his mood had settled. He'd only counted seeing you in hallucinations maybe three times, but he'd stopped counting after the third, and couldn't be sure if his mind was allowing him to stick with three for the sake of his own sanity. He'd spotted you in the twist of water under the bowsprit, once in the ripple of the sails and again in the clouds. After the third, his mood was so sour that he opted to be silent for the day's voyage. People never thought they'd miss the sound of his poetry until he took his pitiful vows of silence.

Saints, how he missed you. Each time you were gone, Tolya regretted every second of silence between the two of you, every time he passed up the chance to tell you how much he loved you. And each time you were here, back with him in his arms, he couldn't seem to find the words. You weren't part of the crew on voyage with the Volkvolny, although you were never not welcome as far as Sturmhond was concerned. It was just that you preferred being on land, seeking out thrills and leads and injustice, trying to piece together the gaps in your history. Tolya knew that was what held you to the Crows, and what Inej often said was your lifeline away from him. Still, Tolya yearned for the days you were back with him, however short and fleeting. Months could pass at sea and when he saw you again, it would be like no time had passed at all.

Kerch loomed in the distance. From the crow's nest, he was told that through the spyglass, the oblong shapes of Ketterdam ports could be seen, the buildings packed together tightly and the smoke rising in the air, thick and dark like fires were blooming in the streets. It would be about two days of sailing, if the winds kept up, but if they were lucky, they might arrive ahead of schedule. Tolya couldn't count the moments quick enough- two days would be agonising until he saw you again.

"Yeesh. I kinda miss your poetry right now." Tamar crept up from behind Tolya on the hull of the ship. Not far from where Tolya was standing, with his elbows holding his body up on the side of the beams, was Jacob's ladder, hitting the side of the vessel with irritating small clicks.

Tolya glanced at her, a smile naturally falling into place. As foul as his mood might have been, there was always room in his heart for his sister. "That's something I'll never hear you say again."

His sister grinned. "I'm serious! Go on, give me something?"

Tolya replied with quiet laughter, and Tamar did the same. The twins shared their laughter for a moment before finishing in silence, and Tamar stole a glance as her brother cast his gaze to the water, curving like ribbons around the underbelly of the ship.

"Missing her?" she asked softly.

Tolya rolled his eyes, but saying nothing was as good as admitting it. 

"You know," Tamar continued, spinning so her back was pressed against the beams, "you could always just ask her to come with you." She gestured to the prow, "come with us."

"She wouldn't want to do that," Tolya said, shaking his head.

"Oh, so you asked her already?"

"Well— no."

"Then how'd you know?" 

Tolya sighed, twisting his head. He knew that you were as good as a Crow— although not exactly affiliated in whatever Kaz did or did not do, anybody who knew you knew that you did work for Kaz that filled the gap Inej made on the quest to find her brother. Even before that, you'd told Tolya that Kaz occasionally found himself asking for your help with requests that extended outside of his immediate access. You had been of some help to him finding the name of the slaver ships and traders, of which the Volkvolny was sailing back to Kerch to deliver rescued shipment (one lacking Inej's brother in tow, and the slaver who sold them). 

Your place was on land, on high ground. A bird could fly at sea, yes, but he feared you'd grow restless with little purpose on the ship. Everybody had a place and a role—he knew that simply being there for him wouldn't be a good enough reason for you to abandon whatever work you had unfinished on dry land, which is why he'd never asked you to come in the first place.

Tolya turned to face Tamar, eyeing her side-profile as she meticulously assessed the state of the ship. Many crewmates were down below, rifling through Shu poker cards and coins and sharing ghost stories with cups of ale and wine. 

"Have you ever been so scared of losing something good?" he asked suddenly, making Tamar look back at him. 

"All the time," she replied. 

Tolya dared a glance back at the ocean, relieved that he didn't find you there. "Every time I see her again, it's like magic. Bigger and grander than any kind of Saint-like act. She becomes the most important thing in the room." He blinked. "I don't want that feeling to go away."

Tamar tilted her head, as if to say, 'Go on'. There was a comfort in their twinnish bond, but even with that, Tolya struggled to find the words. Writing poetry was easy—every embarrassing thought could be passed off as fictional prose, but in a conversation it wasn't quite as easy to put on a façade. At the best of times, Tolya was as cool as a sea-cucumber, with an easy going air that put people at ease. Just another performance of a lifetime, but he didn't have to pretend sometimes when he was with his sister.

"We're just very different," Tolya said cautiously, almost like he didn't believe it were true as he said it. "I'm worried she might grow too used to me. Might get restless."

"Bored, you mean?" Tamar interrupted. When Tolya said nothing, she threw herself into extended conversation, "Brother, she adores you. That kind of love is special. And if she didn't love you more when you were doing what you do best- as in, meandering around this beast with your poetry and stupid jokes-" He looked at her with a rising smile- "-then you'd be better off for it."

His stomach churned. He didn't want to be better off without you. 

"Besides," Tamar offered her last words of comfort before pushing herself up and away from him, "there are thousands of men and women in the world for her to see each passing day, and yet she still falls into those arms of yours when we arrive in Ketterdam. If she can love you from a hundred miles away, then I think she'll manage loving you and your quirks on the open sea."

There was an insufferable ache in Tolya's chest whenever he thought back to his conversation with Tamar. 

He'd busied himself the next day, throwing himself into heavy work around the ship as it sailed nearer to the coastline. His crewmates were thankful to see him in reasonably good spirits— Sturmhond had been particularly put off by his lack of comedic timing the day before, and had tried to think back to his own experiences with Alina back in Ravka, putting the pieces together in his own time— but they knew it was bought time with Tolya's pleasantries. Tolya wouldn't be at ease until they docked and only then could his mind be put at ease. It was always the days before returning to Ketterdam where Tolya seemed at his darkest, and it had happened enough times that they should all be used to it, but the sight of his downturned face never got any easier to process.

Night ensued, the moon casting a fickle light to the ocean as it lulled to a cool and calm tempo. The winds were kind tonight, not carrying the wind in an angry gust, and the waves were short and fluid. No storms hid behind thick flurries of clouds, and the creatures below whipped their fins and tails in harmony— no trouble would come tonight, he thought, and glad of it.

Tolya lay in his hammock, staring at the wooden boards above his head. Around him, his crew slept in peaceful slumbers, and to the far side of the room he could see the auburn light of Sturmhond's—now Mal, now that the charade was over— little black lamp sheltered next to a book he'd inherited with his title, now reading to fall asleep. Tolya sighed, his gaze back above. 

The glow of light to his left allowed room for your shape to slowly appear, just an outline that got more hazy in his memory as the months went by. He gulped, the lump in his throat hard and sour tasting, and he closed his eyes quickly to throw away the image of you. Yet you remained, imprinted on his eyelids, smiling as he found sleep to take him away into the night.

When he awoke, he could hear the caw of gulls and loud voices beyond the ship, louder than what he knew his crew to be capable of. Tolya stirred for a moment before coming to his senses, his eyes honing in on the same spot he'd last seen you in above his slumbering form. The forecastle was bathed with yellow light, with the sun at an angle pouring down through the hatch to the upper deck, and as he awoke, Tolya could smell the distinct scent of crab hooks and wet moss, the lingering scent of oil and sewage and copper. Strange, he thought.

Balancing on the hammock, Tolya raised himself with his elbow and stole a glance around the forecastle. Two men lay snoring, too drunk the night before, and he noticed a third figure at the foot of his hammock, their back to him but hiding nothing about their identity. His heart lurched, he baulked, and the hammock twisted beneath him with a sudden jolt and his body was sent to the floor with a thud and a grunt.

"Easy, sharkbait."

Tolya's head whipped up quickly, the click in his neck aching. It was you- Y/N, his beloved Y/N, dressed in a blue coat that looked like Mal's. Underneath you wore a dark brown shirt tucked into your trousers—today the attire was more casual, for when you were at work you wore black and black alone. Inej told him it was to blend in with the night, but Tolya reckoned it was also because it flattered you.

You smiled at him warmly, laughing when he didn't move from the floor.

"Come on. Don't tell me after a few months you've forgotten this face?"

Tolya's mouth opened and closed. "What—no! How could I—wait, is that Mal's coat?"

He heard your laugh again as you drew near, pulling his bicep to pick him up off the floor. You were more than capable of pulling his weight, but you still found fun in pretending you couldn't. Tolya rose from the floor, both of his salt-soaked hands gently wrapping around your wrists as he faced you. A smile dawned on his lips as he drank in the image of you; fully fleshed out, solid, real, not a figment of his desperate imagination.

"I saw him up top," you told him. "He looks good as Sturmhond, right? I was almost charmed." You said it with a grin that made Tolya think otherwise, and you shuffled closer towards his torso, the action welcomed as his grip fastened slightly around your arms. 

"Charmed enough to take his clothes?" Tolya asked. He knew that there would never be anything there with Mal—Saints, everybody knew that. Mal was too busy having his own mental quarrels with Alina to entertain the thought of somebody else, and well, you seemed perfectly content being charmed by a different captain below deck, smiling at you with sleep still hanging in his eyes.

"I always did look good in blue," you said.

Tolya hummed. "Yeah."

Falling into a silence, Tolya's eyes flickered across your face, soaking up the sight of you, making a mental note of what had changed while he'd been away. Not much, he found, bar a few scratches across your left cheek flanking down to your chin, and a greenish bruise under your eye. He frowned, moving his hand to ghost his fingers across the painted skin. Meanwhile, you did the same, observing changes in his appearance, concluding every detail: the richer tan across his skin, the stubbly pricks of hair around his jawline and the appearance of a new mark under his right nostril. Drunk on the image of him, you fixed your eyes back on his, surprised to see him already looking.

"What're you doing down here anyway, sharkbait?" you asked. Your voice was lower, quieter and softer, but he knew it had nothing to do with a shift in mood. Instead, you were just simply close enough for him to hear you without strain, close enough to hear you whisper, to hear you breathing. 

Tolya offered a boyish smile. "You know."

"Had a long night?"

"Terribly long."

"What, enjoying someone's company til sunrise?" you teased, entertaining what could be signs of an insecurity in the bilge of your belly. Tolya pretended to ignore it, yet his heart sank nonetheless. 

"Come on, you know me better than that," he laughed, bringing you in closer to him. Tolya nestled his nose against yours, moving it across your face to your cheekbone and closing you in with his arms around your shoulders. He sighed, comfortable. He'd missed this, the way your body felt against his, the way your arms felt around him. Saints, he'd missed this. Tolya took in a breath, his nose above your ear. "I've missed you."

Tolya heard a hum near his sternum, rumbling with a small vibration. It made his body bristle slightly but he warmed to your touch, his arms tightening around you.

"Me too, moi sol ye tselai," you replied, feeling his nose twitch as a smile grew on his face. 

For a moment you stayed like that, entangled in the quiet of the forecastle. Tolya didn't waste a single second of it, not after the torment he'd given himself just hours before. After some time, Tolya felt you wiggling in his arms and he relaxed, opening the distance between you as he leaned back to look at your face. You looked back at him with a smile, head angled up to marvel at him, and Tolya's eyes shifted into crescent moons as he brought his head down to kiss you. 

His one hand cradled the side of your face, the other at the back of your neck, and you made no resists to his advancements. Tolya kissed you deeply, lost in the familiar taste of your lips, sweet like the breakfast you must have ate before coming down here. He felt you kiss him back, the pressures combined, your hands up around his wrists. Your head leaned back slightly, his dominance slightly more assertive, as he captured your lips once, twice, thrice, never allowing a minute of rest.

When he did pull back, he was met with your widened eyes, shining in the light, and you bit down on your bottom lip to try and refrain from a smile. He saw it anyway, kissing you once more in a swift gesture and bringing himself back in what he thought was a commendable act of self restraint.

"I take it we are in Ketterdam," he asked, more of like a statement. It had to be true, since you were here. Unless he was dreaming, which he had a sinking feeling that he could be, perhaps trapped in a powerful lucid dream, some kind of sleep paralysis that had him smooching something akin to a squid on the prow. Unlikely, but not impossible, given his mood these days.

"How else would I be here?" you replied with a gentle laugh. 

He held you by your waist as you turned, observing the forecastle he sometimes called home. Tolya freed his grasp with reluctance, holding your fingers til the last second and he fell forward a few steps trying to grab you back. You moved around the hammocks, ducking under a lamp with a feigned interest in the bunks. Tolya didn't like to use his heartrending on you, but he could hear your hammering heartbeat even without using his talents. He smiled in private, watching you with adoration.

"I arrived here as soon as you docked," you explained, still looking around. Tolya hummed with interest, leaning his weight against a support beam. "I was having breakfast with Nina when Jesper told me that your Volkvolny was coming to the harbour. I finished, paid and came here as fast as I could. You didn't meet me at the deck, but it was so early, I figured you'd be sleeping. I greeted your crew, shook hands with your new captain, hugged Tamar, stole a coat and then came down here." You smiled, spinning back to look at him. Your bravado was complete. "To answer your question—yes. Welcome back to Ketterdam."

Tolya loved when you launched into explanations like this. He had a series of entries in a journal you shared where you'd given full detailed accounts of your adventures, but the ink never did justice to the words as you said them. Tolya's grin widened. 

"Kaz wanted to speak with you, too," you added, stepping back towards him and stretching out your hand. Tolya's stomach churned again when he took it with his own, feeling the small blisters across your skin from all your ropework and midnight affairs as an unofficial Crow. Like his own, actually, littered with chafes and burns from the ropes to the masts, sea salted splits across his hands whenever he got too heavy handed around the deck or in other ports. 

"Let's go up, then."

You led the way, all the way to the stairs where Tolya enjoyed watching you ascend before following. It'd been a minute, he'd take whatever he could to feel like everything was good again. Once he stepped up out of the dappled light of the forecastle, he cringed in the brightness of the sun. It was never very bright in Ketterdam, but anything was brighter than the lamplight below. The harbour was alive with noise and merchants. He never missed the smell of Ketterdam, although he admitted that it was a stench that one really did grow accustomed to, as it were with any foreign harbour.

From the deck, he could see the stretch of sea behind him and back ahead, a small cluster of faces across the way. He knew them all already, each by both name and face, and he stepped towards his sister-in-command with you close in tow. His body shivered when your hands smoothed around his middle to manoeuvre around him and Tolya watched you meet your hip with Inej's. Tolya spared another hungry glance at you and then looked back at Kaz expectantly, as he launched into an explanation on affairs in Ketterdam.

The Volkvolny would stay in Ketterdam just shy of a day, giving Tolya more anxiety than it did comfort. There wouldn't be enough time for him to remind you of how much he missed you, and there was certainly no privacy for him to put it into actions instead of words. But business needed to be swift, that was if they wanted a good chance at catching the ships that both you and Kaz felt could hold the secrets to Inej's brothers' whereabouts. The Crow Club was magnificent, but no place for a love-filled reunion, and he couldn't see either of you feeling particularly romantic in the streets. With the Volkvolny being groomed for their next sail, Tolya resorted to holding you close at all times, with meaningful stares and listening with colourful interest about your life over a table in the club, while Kaz oversaw his business and friends reunited once more. Tolya ate up what he could learn about your life during the three months he was at sea.

You had been working with Kaz to crack down harder on slavery leads, finding nothing much about your own family and little to nothing about anybody else's. Inej had been given a much narrower list of names thanks to your good work on the streets, and Tolya heard from Jesper that you'd been a useful asset to the Crow's, although always declined the hospitality of their affiliation for some reason. Meanwhile Tolya offered what he thought might interest you the most about his time away; battles against rough waves, giant squids and krakens lurching from below, sharks and dolphins scratching the surface of the water with their fins chased by swirling serpents; funny tales from travellers in different ports, a retelling of Mal's first night getting drunk at sea. 

Tolya thought, as you mused and laughed opposite him at the table with your friends and found-family, that you were most beautiful when you were off guard. As he stared at you, he felt his heart tug once more. In just a few hours, there'd be nothing left to look at, just shadows in the dark, voices in the wind mimicked by sirens as they fondled the underbelly of the boat, enticing deaf ears to the water as the crew grumbled and sang over their call. The thought of leaving you made him feel sick.

He briefly thought about what Tamar had said. It was true that Tolya had never asked you to join him at sea, but he was pretty sure he knew what the answer would be. There would always be something keeping you here, keeping you both apart.

"How long this time?" you asked, when you both managed to steal some time alone to walk along the dark streets of Ketterdam. With Rollins in prison and with Kaz taking command of a smidge of the barrel, you figured it would be safe out here. Besides, Tolya was tall enough to tower over even Fjerdans, and that was no easy feat. Anyone dumb enough to pick a fight with a man his size could break a few bones trying, even if you both knew that out of the two of you, you had more practice taking down the big guys.

Tolya dipped his head. "If we're lucky, then a month or so." He paused, thinking, "You said that list you gave to Inej was accurate, right?"

"I think so. Every lead I had took me right back to those three names," you replied. Inej had flinched at the sight of them, meaning your hunch was accurate enough to give Tolya the hope of coming back soon. 

"If the winds are kind, and the journey is good, we can be back before it starts getting cold here," Tolya said, almost like he was making a wish at a well or a plea to a Saint. "Without any luck on our side, it could be longer..."

You frown, looking over at Tolya and tightening your grasp on his hand. "We'll manage."

"I hope so, milaya," Tolya said, kissing the back of your hand. 

Once you both reached a bright streetlight, you turned to face him. "Do you think it will ever end?"

Tolya paused. "What do you mean?"

"As in…this search. Once you find Inej's brother, what comes next?" you ask. You turn away slightly, Tolya's gaze tight on your movements. "Suppose you'll go sailing to wherever next, right? Or…will you stay a while?"

Tolya knew what you were asking, obvious in what you didn't say. There had been countless times where Tolya had imagined himself throwing his life on the Volkvolny away just to be with you, to retire with you to some peaceful town with no worries, nothing at all but peace gifted by Alina tearing down the fold and enough money and shelter to settle down, explore the world, fall deeper in love. But the Volkvolny was his life, his meaning when he didn't fall into his faith. You were his love, his beloved, but neither one could expect the other to give up their identity to be somebody they weren't.

"I'm not sure," Tolya said truthfully. "And yourself? You're so busy with Kaz here, you may well be a Crow by the next time I see you. Your work seems to spring up like fleas."

Your mouth tilted downwards. He was right. Tolya was the love of your life but there would always be the issue of work. Without your demand with the Crows, what were you? Nothing but a shadow skulking around the city, tailing crooks, locating slaves? You supposed you could be more—you'd thought about it a few times, getting up and going with Tolya wherever he asked you to go. But those were dreams, frightening dreams you weren't sure Tolya saw eye to eye with. His voyages felt to you like escapes.

"Well—" Tolya broke through the silence, using his index finger to pick up your head by your chin. When your eyes met, he smiled warmly, kissing you. "Whatever comes next, I'll be there waiting for you."

Tamar stood beside Kaz and Mal as Tolya heaved himself up the ramp and onto the ship. You were close behind, shadowing his steps, cautious about even a step of distance. Tamar sighed loudly, and Kaz looked over at her and followed her gaze.

"What is it?" he asked. Kaz thought he already knew, but it didn't hurt to be sure.

"Oh, a lovers parting," she said dramatically. 

Mal smiled, not quite reaching his eyes. "If they're trying to be subtle about things, they're doing a terrible job."

Kaz observed the couple. Kaz knew you well enough to respect you, perhaps even call you a friend, and he had no obvious qualms with Tolya. He'd never forget his loyalty before Alina tore down the fold, and had no concerns about him being a weakness to who might just be his next Crow. He stared at the back of Inej's head for a second too long as she helped someone heave some shipment to a different compartment of the ship, and then he looked back to Tolya and yourself with a funny feeling twist in his stomach.

"Why grovel?" Kaz asked. "Y/N can leave at any time if she wishes."

Tamar glanced over quickly, as if the news was surprising to her. "She's not working?"

"Her work is done," Kaz said plainly. Tamar and Mal's look of confusion made him twitch with slight annoyance, but he otherwise elaborated on what they didn't know: "I told Y/N to find leads on the slavers. She supplied the list of three and now you will be on your way to locate them. Her task has been completed, and she is free to go."

"Yeesh," Tamar said, "way to make her sound expendable."

"Everybody is."

Kaz looked back at Tolya, holding you in his arms. "I have Nina on a lead already. Until I have something for Y/N to do, she is free to do whatever she pleases." He added as an afterthought, "After all, she's not under my employment."

Hm. Tamar and Mal exchanged a look, but said nothing.

"Will you be here? When we come back?" Tolya asked you. From afar, he could sense his sister's lingering gaze, and he spared a look, alarmed when he saw her, Mal and Kaz watching the pair of you.

"Most likely," you said. You followed his gaze and nodded your head in their direction, Tolya leading you by the waist back to the step-down where Kaz stood at the top, like a bouncer guarding the way. Tolya greeted each one with a glance and a smile before looking back at you.

There wasn't enough time this time around. Tolya's heart wrenched as he looked at you, trying to remember every detail before he had to leave. Their stops in Ketterdam were never very long, but how he longed for a day more by your side, simply one more hour in your company. The thought of leaving you made his throat harden, tears springing behind his eyes. A blink would surely set them free, but he knew the ways to keep them hidden until he was safe in the darkness, not until you came to him in a premonition like a sick joke.

Tamar and Mal—Sturmhond, now he was back on the wood of the ship— gave a look to Kaz in farewell and stepped around the back of you to move further on the deck. Tolya's heart quickened and you watched them go with a rapid look, glancing back at Tolya with twinkling eyes, twinkles he knew were tears and not reflections of light.

"None of that," he said quietly, with a small smile and he reached out to cup your face. Tolya guided you close for a kiss, and a bell rang from somewhere in the harbour and his heart leaped to his throat. He tugged you closer, kissing you harder. Kaz looked away, fixated on Inej but giving you at least the luxury of some privacy. Tolya lost himself in your kiss, his fingertips brushing your hairline and he swore he could taste the salt of your tears between his lips. Tolya pulled away from you slightly, his eyes slightly wide and breath raspy and all of a sudden: "Come with me."

There was a beat of silence.

If other crewmates heard, they didn't give much away. Kaz had torn his eyes from Inej in a painful defeat, with no option but to assess the lovers before him, and truth be told, Tamar and Sturmhond never stopped watching. Tolya didn't allow the silence to kill his courage. If he didn't say it now, he never would.

"I love you," Tolya said. "I love you so much—eya fyela chi, hm? And I know that your heart is here, with the city and the Crows and your life but, Saints, Y/N I see you in my dreams, I see you in the water and the sky and hear you in the ocean breeze. When I close my eyes, I see you in flashes. You have bewitched me, you are in my soul. I love you. Whenever we are apart, it's like a torment." He gulped. He sounded a lot like some of the amateur poetry he wrote when he felt lonely, poetry he sometimes recited to his crew if he got drunk enough. "So, please, please come with me. See the ocean, go across the sea. Be with me, stay with me—come with me."

His eyes searched your face for a sign, something—anything. You blinked, bewildered, holding his hands as they cupped your face.

"But…" you began to shake your head, and his heart sank deeper, "but my work…"

You spared a glance to Kaz. He could act like he hadn't been listening, but it wouldn't do anybody any good. You were almost startled to see him already observing you. 

"I don't need you," Kaz said simply. "I just owe you a debt."

"But, the slaves—"

"You did your job," he repeated. "So you're free to go."

Tolya was just as surprised as you were. He looked at Kaz with round eyes and met yours in a simultaneous turn. He wasn't quite sure what to say about any of it. Was Kaz telling you to go? Was he giving you permission, saying go, leave, or were you now useless to the Crows? Was it only because he had asked? Maybe you didn't want to leave.

"Am I fired?" you asked dumbly.

For a moment, you could have sworn you saw a flicker of a smirk on Kaz's face. "I expect your contract will need renewing upon your arrival. There are many things to do in Ketterdam, just not now. Not for you, at least."

You blinked. Processing his words felt like an eternity—you were free to go. Kaz had made it clear that you'd still have a life on shore when you arrived, if you even left in the first place. Marvelling at the thought, you looked back at Tolya. Travelling the oceans with him; being in his arms each night, getting to know the parts of him reserved to his crew, his faith and his poetry and his talents on the deck, seeing what caused the scars on his hands, what caused the creases in his skin; what he ate and drank, what he wore on different days, how his hair fell in the mornings when it wasn't fastened out of his face. All of that for the taking, and you just had to say the words.

Tolya's face didn't waver, giving nothing away as you said nothing to him. For a while, he thought he knew what you'd say. Tolya, I'm sorry, but I just can't—

"But where would I sleep?"

He hadn't expected that.

Laughter bubbled in his chest. "I think there's room for you in my hammock, if you'd like." He caught your look of doubt and grinned, "Aw, come on. I'm not that big."

"What would I do?"

Slowly but surely, Tolya thought he could sense hope building inside of him. You hadn't yet declined. Your piqued interest gave food for thought as Tolya studied your expressions.

"Well," he said, thinking about it. Actually he'd already thought about it, more than ten times out at sea, twice within the few hours they were in Ketterdam, "you could do anything you wanted. Gaze out at the seas. Play card games—in no time, you'll be a better player than Tamar. You could paint the decks, climb the masts, sit in the nest all day for all I care. I just want you to be with me, for longer than just a few hours." 

Tolya's eyes were almost pleading. You gazed into them. There was no need to think, you already knew what you wanted to say. Chewing the skin of your inner cheek, your eyes flickered to Mal. As Sturmhond, you figured whatever he said went. Tolya followed your gaze and laughed when he spotted the source of your interest.

Mal's eyes flickered, like he'd been alerted back to the present. He looked around innocently, refraining from smiling when he caught the glimmer in Tamar's eyes next to him. 

"Don't look at me," Mal said to you, shrugging his shoulders and raising his hands, "I'm not in charge."

When you next looked at Tolya, you were smiling. From the corner of your eye, Tamar clapped Mal on the shoulder and disappeared into the crew, helping Nadia unload cargo to a different spot below deck. For a second, Mal looked as though he didn't know what to do with himself, until he shuffled further towards the bow, scanning the horizon. Kaz was no longer on the ship when you turned to acknowledge him. You saw the shape of his coat disappear back into the masses in the harbour, and Jesper extended his hat in a farewell and turned to follow. Nina would understand, you hoped, as you were sure she'd still be occupied with freeing her 'hunk of meat'.

"What do you say, lapushka?" Tolya asked. He knew he was cheating by using the Ravkan tongue on you. You'd mentioned it was your mother language only once in passing, and he'd never wasted a second on charming you with it. He ran his hands up and down your arms, arching to look into your eyes with a wide smile on his face. Tolya grinned as he moved with your shyness, a laugh huffing through his lips. "Hm? Will you come with me?"

You laughed, giggled in his arms, as he brought you closer with a kiss under your eye. Squirming, you faked revolt, wrestling out of his grasp. Your smile told him your answer—the rest was roleplay. 

"I know we're going far from home," he said, watching as someone stepped close to pull up the ramp from the harbour. The distinct clink of the anchor filled his ears, departure would be soon and if you wanted to say no, then now was the time. You never did. "But I promise I'll take care of you."

You gazed at him fondly, reaching up to steal a kiss from his lips. He lingered, his face warm in the rising sun. "You can focus on your business, and I'll keep you safe from harm."

Tolya gasped teasingly. "You know the way to a man's heart, I see."

He pulled himself away, with some reluctance, with a grin and shuffled to aid his mates with assembling the ship. Before he could stray too far, you hooked your finger around the strap over his shoulders, used to hold his ensemble of guns and weapons. Tolya looked back as he felt the pull, the adoration in his gaze never faltering.

"Only the hearts of men I love," you told him, and he smiled, bigger and brighter, tilting his head as his eyes folded into Cheshire smiles before he winked, dipping his head back to look at his crew.

You watched him retreat along the deck, his assertion cool and respectful, commanding the attention of the crew as they fell into their formations. Figuring you had time to find your place, you stood rooted where you had been standing this time, casting one final look at the harbour; you bid silent farewell to the streetlights and carts, to the horses snuffling as they loaded merchandise and travellers into the carriages pulled by their strength, to the place you lovingly called home, until a new one found its way to you in the shape of a man named Tolya, who wherever you were together became your new anchor, the new place you fell to for comfort and safety. The man you loved, yours for the taking, for a life stretching past the horizon across that plane of endless sea.

[bittersw33t-lotus]

Gatoooo

Tommyinnit x Reader

CW: None just fluff and swearing b/c it’s Tommy

A/N: this is just a quick little blurb I made, also I’m Kinda basing the cat off my cat :)

Edited? No

The first time Tommy came over to your house was when he first met your fur baby.

You an Tommy were just relaxing on your bed watching tv (Hamilton-). As you watched the film a realization came to Tommy’s mind, “Hey, I just realized, I still haven’t met your cat.” He says looking at you as you look around your room and to the cat post where your she would usually be. “Huh… She’s not here so she must be outside right now.” You said, as on que, a blob of white pounced on you bed startling Tommy. “Oh there you are bee!” You say as Bee made her way to you until her eyes landed on Tommy. She seemed to freeze in time as her Irises shrunk into a thin line and her body seemed on guard like coming face to face with a threat. Bee’s icy blue eyes glared into Tommy’s soul as the reminded as stiff as a statue.

A long pause of silence stretched between the three of you.

“whats he doin?” Tommy spoke, feeling uneasy with the feline staring at him. He remained frozen with the same tensity as Bee.

You pet Bee to try and calm her but remained put her body remained tense in place as she continued to stare at Tommy without blinking. “Bee, stop.” You spoke calmly. Tommy then darted his eyes at you still waiting for an answer.

“Sorry, it’s just, Bee doesn’t like anyone else in the room, especially on the bed.” You said as you try and pick up Bee but her nails dug into your bed sheets making it seem like the fabric was glued to her paws as you lifted her up.

Tommy bursted out laughing at the sight which seemed to snap Bee out of it as the feline scrambled out of your arms, retracting her claws and releasing the sheets before jumping off the bed and residing at your bedroom door. “What the fuck is wrong with him!” Tommy cackled loudly as bee confined to stare at him from below. “‘Her.’ And I told you, bee isn’t a fan of strangers in the room.” You corrected before tuning back to Bee who resided in the corner like a wallflower. “Bee it’s okay, this is Tommy.” You tried to comforted the cat as you lay your hand on Tommy’s forearm until Bee hissed at Tommy. “I don’t think she likes me near you.” Tommy spoke. Deciding to test the waters he wrapped his arms around your waist bringing you closer to him, the action caused bee to start growling as her tail swished with aggression confirming Tommy’s suspicions. He chuckles as he brings you onto his lap with your back pressed against his chest. “Yeah bitch, your bitch is my bitch now.” He snickers as Bee just continued to stare Tommy down.

“Tommy please” you sighed as bee spent the rest of the afternoon sulking on the floor in the corner just glaring at Tommy.

But there was no need to worry, as you and Tommy got ready for bed you laid down with you back against Tommy’s chest, your tv playing a show you and Tommy just starting getting into. You could tell Tommy was growing sleepy as his hand he had on top of yours his grip began to loosen and his breathing evening out peacefully. You could feel sleep overcome you as well as your eyelids grew heavy until you felt a weight up against your tummy and soft fur on your arm. You looked down to see a ball of white beside you. You smiled and began to pet Bee as she began to purr which seemed to bring Tommy aware to his surroundings waking up a bit still hazy. “Can I per her?” He asked in a low sleepy tone. You hummed a yes scratching underneath bees chin. “Just be slow when you do.” You whispered as Tommy cautiously brought his hand over to bee who’s eyes were squinted shut as sleep began to take over her. Until her eyes shot open the moment she felt on other hand on her fur. Tommy’s hand froze as bee pulled her head back to examine his hand and sniff it before suddenly she began to press and snuggle against his hand. “Wow she likes you now.” You giggled as Bee’s purring increased. Tommy chuckled and continued to pet Bee snuggling into you more.

It was a peaceful silence as you turned off the tv letting the vibrations and buzzing sounds of Bee’s purrs lull Tommy and you to sleep bee snuggled on your hands with Tommy’s on top of her body.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wasted 4

Warnings: drug dealing/use, violence, noncon, and the usual. Proceed with caution.

Feedback is always welcome. Love you and thanks for the wonderful responses so far.♥♥♥♥

Part of The Club AU

You babble mindlessly as your head lolls against the man's shoulder. Your limbs are heavy and light at the same time, your eyelids flutter and droop, the alleyway skewing with your vision. He forces you closer to the wall, nudging you away from him so you fall into it.

You grasp at the brick, tongue sticky but dry, moving as if you're wading through water. You can barely keep your feet flat as your head spins.

His snicker rolls around the alley and reverberates in your ears. Your eyes close as you hear a rustle and the harsh scrape of his sole. You shake your head but it only makes it worse.

You slip down to your knees, crawling as you search for a semblance of steadiness. Everything is limned in shadows, there are no solid lines, and your hands smear into the tarmac. You feel a hard boot on your ass and fly forward, sprawling on your chest.

He steps over you, a foot one either side, and bends.

"I coulda been nice," he slithers as he snatches up the back of your skirt. He spanks your ass, exposed around the thin string of your thong. "Looks like you weren't looking to be nice, huh?"

He drops to his knees, straddling you. You squirm and reach out, gravel jabbing into your palms. You hear voices and the dull drone of music.

Silhouettes approach the mouth of the alley and you cry out. Your pathetic slurring is smothered in his rough palm. He leans over you and shushes against your crown.

"Faye!" You recognise Heidi’s voice, "where're you going? We have to find her."

"You know how she is," Faye retorts, "always fucking off when it fits her."

"S'not fair. You do it too."

"And you," Faye accuses the whine, "fine, we'll look again, ugh."

They clomp away on their heels as you writhe and whimper against the man's grasp. He looms over you, laughing quietly as he keeps your mouth clamped beneath his hand. He pets your head as your fingers scratch futilely on the pavement.

"Seems like your friends are missing you," he taunts, "better make this fast."

He slides his hand between your bodies, angling himself lower as the rough denim of his jeans chafes on your skin. He shifts and tilts his hips, bringing out his hard tip and crushing it against your ass. He guides his dick between your thighs, keeping them apart with his wide hand.

He turns his wrist, framing your cunt with his thick fingers. He pulls your thong to the side and it catches in the crease of your leg. He prods you bluntly, rocking as he tries to dip inside. 

He grunts as your body resists. You squeeze your eyes shut at the pressure. You puff out through your nose as he enters you, his dry intrusion hot and painful. You kick your legs, toes bouncing off the ground. 

The agony swirls in your skull. You lean your head against your hand, the strength draining from you slowly. You can feel the world fading, little by little. Edges soften, colour wash out, and your body feels less and less like your own.

He thrusts, rousing you slightly. Your head snaps up at the torturous tide. He does it again, harder, chuckling as he feels the tension constricts through you. He rocks his hips, short strokes, each time dropping his pelvis as hard as he can.

Your eyes prick, further obscuring the dwindling scene before you. The alley stretches ahead of you, a club full of people right through the brick wall beside you, so close, yet so far. You hear the front door open and shadows cast over you as a group passes by the opening of the alley. They don’t and can’t know what’s happening to you. Right there.

He ruts into you, his breath tinging the back of your ear, scalding you as it clouds around you. You pant into his palm, head hanging lower and lower. He slams into you again, over and over, your walls clenching with each intrusion.

“Don’t fall asleep on me yet, hottie,” he teases, “I’m not even close to done.”

You moan and snake your hand back to grab at him blindly. You clutch a fistful of his jacket, begging silently for it to end. The gravel mulches against your thighs, stabbing your tender skin, sticking to it as he fucks you into the pavement.

You give in to the hollowness of your body. Your head droops against his grasp and your eyes wander to the stinking dumpster only a foot away. That’s exactly what you are. Trash. He’ll use you and toss you away. Just like that.

[vera-king-hrfl]

Zevlor's breathing doesn't slow this time. He's burning as hot as the Hells under your hands, your mouth, as he kisses you with barely restrained fury. His own calloused fingers glide over your skin, knuckles flexing, tense, the occasional bite of claws and prick of teeth showing how ragged his command of himself has become. The low growl, the deep vibration in his powerful chest, is almost constant now. He shifts from between your thighs and slips a hand behind your knees, his arm moving around your back and lifting you as easily as if you were made of straw. Cradling your still quivering body as a few quick steps take you around a corner to where his bedroll waits in a small alcove. Crouching, he lays you down on the thin wool blanket, the meagre padding reinforcing your suspicion that this is a man too accustomed to denying himself even the most basic of life's pleasures. His kit is clean and meticulously kept, but painfully spartan. He kneels above you, tail lashing, regarding your supine form with undisguised trepidation. Brushing a lock of the dark flaxen hair from his eyes, his tone is rough, apologetic.

"I wish it was softer. You deserve..."

"Fear not, I like it hard," you smile, running your nails down his abs.

His nostrils flare, and those long hands clench, fighting himself for mastery. Incrementally, he lowers himself over you, careful to avoid laying his full weight upon you, easing between your spread legs, supporting his body on his elbows until he is pressed against you fully, manhood sliding against the junction between your thighs. He closes his eyes, resting his forehead on yours and letting his hair curtain your faces. A gentle kiss, and another, precedes the fire of his eyes reigniting an inch from yours. He draws a deep, shaking breath.

"I want... I need to be inside you. I've never felt anything like... please, I don't want to hurt you. I'll go slow. Let me know if it's too much. Say 'Paladin'."

Your heart almost breaks, knowing he chose that word because it was guaranteed to wrench him from any loss of control and cool his lust like a dash of icy water. You know you'd never be able to do that to him, to remind him of everything he hates about himself, to bring awareness of his perceived dishonor to your bed. You shower kisses over his face, his eyelids, gripping him almost fiercely, wanting to feel his full weight on you. He's heavy for his size, but you adore the pressure, wanting to be as close to him as possible. You flex your hips with a needy whimper, dragging him back from the brink and igniting that flaming passion once more. You nibble his pointed ear and he groans, shifting his hardness against your center.

"I can take anything you're willing to give me, Zevlor. I want everything that you are. I'm yours. Please. I..."

Your last words are swallowed by his frantic kiss as his amazing body flexes, lining up the thick blunt crown of his manhood with your slick, quivering folds. He lifts his head slightly, the fire raging in his eyes the only thing you can see within the silken curtain of his hair as, ever so slowly, with as much gentleness as his lust will allow, he lets the weight of his hips and thighs relax downward...

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Dramione Drabble 30

I worked on altering a scene from one of the past drabbles and adding some in between the others. It will all eventually be up on AO3 but for now, we're reintroduced to Pansy. And I know so many people love Neville and Pansy but I salivate at the idea of a dysfunctional Pansy and Theo.

Pansy took a slow, long sip from her glass as they came closer. Close enough for her to note the two pairs of pale blue eyes staring back at her.

“Can someone tell me,” She lifted a perfectly sculpted brow and lowered the glass from her lips. “Why Grangers eyes are suddenly the exact same color as Draco’s?”

Behind Pansy’s house was a large pond that was surrounded by tall brush, and the sound of frogs croaking and calling out for a mate. Behind that was a line of trees and Theo was certain that this entire property wasn’t marked on any map as being anything more than a marsh or some preserved piece of wildlife.

The frogs never stopped croaking, begging to fuck. They never stopped trying to procreate.

Draco seemed to be thinking something along the same lines, because as they settled themselves at the outdoor table, he eyed the pond and said, “We’re just bags of meat and blood.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Pansy frowned, stretching her feet out to settle on top of Theo’s lap.

“All of us, even the frogs.” He nodded toward the pond.

Hermione was staring at Draco with intrigue, her bottle of beer nestled between her thighs. Warming the liquid with the heat of her body. Draco’s fingers were spooled into her hair, his arm thrown against the back of her chair while he swirled the bourbon inside of his glass. Ice clinked against the edges and it added to the cacophony of sound echoing against the trees and sky.

Frogs could be incredibly noisy and obnoxious.

“But they don’t murder or pillage. They don’t manipulate or make love. They don’t fight or try to rule the world. They just want to survive.”

“Why do you think that is?” Theo asked, lifting an unlit cigarette to his lips. “Why are we so different?” He lit the cigarette with the tip of his wand and squinted at Draco through the smoke as he puffed and puffed.

“I think it’s because we have a soul.”

Hermione pursed her lips and tilted her head. “We don’t know that the frogs don’t have a soul. There’s no way to prove that.”

Draco chuckled and tugged gently at her curls, forcing her chin to tilt up toward him. “Have you ever been in a house haunted by dead frogs?”

Her eyelids grew heavy, despite the scowl on her face. “How do we know the frogs we’re hearing now aren’t spirits?” She countered, her voice lower.

“What?” Theo laughed and Pansy huffed out a sigh of irritation. Theo wrapped his fingers around her bare foot and began to knead them into her arch.

“Can you see the frogs?” She turned to look at Theo, her head still tilted up with the hold Draco kept on her.

“No, but it’s dark out.” He shrugged.

Hermione looked at Pansy. “Do you see them during the day?”

Pansy’s mouth pressed into a thin line as she scrutinized Granger and her new ghostly eyes. “Not usually. Most of them stay very well hidden.”

“They’re mindless, soulless creatures, love.” Draco murmured, pulling her attention back to him. “They wouldn’t kill for each other. In fact, if a water moccasin swam up and grabbed hold of one right now, the other idiot frogs would just sit back and let it happen. They have no loyalty. They’d hop away and keep searching for food or another frog to fuck. And not because it feels good but, because they’re just preprogrammed to procreate. They’re robotic. Soulless, heartless little creatures.”

“What,” Pansy drawled as she shoved her other foot into Theo’s grasp. “The fuck does this have to with Grangers eyes??”

Theo snorted and lifted the cigarette back to his lips.

“It has everything to do with it, Pans.” Draco shrugged, his eyes on Hermione’s face. His tongue slid along his lower lip.

“Stop eye fucking her and tell me what you did.” Pansy growled. Always the mother hen, always protective of her little chicks.

Theo lifted her foot and kissed the top of it, a kiss full of reverence. Tenderness, heat, passion poured from his lips to her skin.

Her eyes shifted to Theo, a flash of heat and a look of warning all wrapped up into one quick glance.

“I did what I had to.” Draco huffed. “You would have done the same.” He shot a pointed look over at Theo.

“And what is that? What has you talking about dead frogs and their mindless fucking? What has you holding onto Granger like she might bolt from you if you let go?”

Hermione lifted a brow, clearly amused. Her finger was circling the opening of her bottle, round and round. But she looked comfortable to be having Draco clinging onto her.

“I put a piece of my soul into her.” He finally said with a shrug. He glossed over it with such remarkable ease that anyone else would have scoffed or shrugged it off as more Malfoy nonsense.

But not Pansy.

The air went still around them, her eyes burned with rage, transforming the cool warmth of her usual brown eyes into dark obsidian orbs.

“You did what?” Her hair swayed as her head jerked to focus in on Hermione. Then back to Draco. Her eyes narrowed, her face pinching into that angry little number it did when she wanted to hit one of them. Theo might have been a little envious of Draco’s position. “Do you think this is a joke?”

Hermione shifted and Draco’s hand fell limp in her hair, but refused to withdraw. He took a drink from his glass, most of the ice melted, diluting his drink.

“Are you trying to get thrown into Azkaban?”

“No.” He replied slowly as his features shifted into something bored and cool. “I was trying to bring her back to life.”

He glanced down at Hermione, their eyes meeting for a heated moment. Just a quick second but Theo saw it. Hermione was still angry and scared but she was too attached to Draco. Too wrapped up in him.

“And, it worked.” He added, his gaze meeting Pansy’s.

Pansy pulled her foot out of Theo’s lap and leaned forward in her chair, hands pressing into the table. “You think someone wont find out? Look at her!”

Draco rolled his eyes and lifted the glass back to his mouth.

“She has your fucking eyes, Draco. Those two boys who follow her around like dogs are going to figure it out.”

“I am the only dog following her around.” Draco said as Hermione said, “Don’t worry about Harry.” She finally lifted that warm bottle to her mouth and took a sip. Theo smirked when she winced at the taste. Smiled when she doubled down and took a long drink to wash it away.

“Potter is just going to accept that his best friend is a fucking horcrux? Oh, right, because he loves those, doesn’t he?” Pansy hissed at Hermione.

“Harry will never turn his back on me.”

Draco fought his scowl at the ferocity in her words, the fire in her eyes.

“And what about your fiancé?”

Hermione’s cheeks flared bright red, Draco’s face darkened, his eyes falling dead.

“Don’t bring him up, Pans.”

“I bet he already suspects something.” Pansy glanced to Hermione and smirked, triumphant when she beheld a flicker of doubt in the witches eyes. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“So what?” Draco asked.

“So what? He hates you! He’ll rat you out.”

Hermione’s lips pressed together, her eyebrows drawn tight. Theo thinks that maybe she agreed with Pansy.

“Then, I’ll kill him.”

“Malfoy!” Hermione scolded him.

But he was glaring at Pansy, challenging her. She would support him or he would walk away. That was what he was silently conveying.

Theo cleared his throat and flicked his cigarette to the ground. “I think we’re forgetting what’s really important here, guys.”

Draco and Pansy both reluctantly dragged their eyes to Theo. Hermione was staring up at Draco with concern knitted into her brows.

“And what is that, Theo?” Draco drawled, though his jaw was still tight and tense.

“The fact that someone is trying to kill you, of course.”

“Wait, what!” Pansy’s anger melted off of Draco and shifted into concern.

Draco sighed and relaxed into his seat. “Don’t worry about that.” He tapped his finger against his glass, he pulled Hermione in and placed a kiss to her temple before he released her and stood.

“What do you mean, don’t worry about that? That’s going to be the only thing I worry about, now.” Pansy looked at Hermione. “How serious is this?”

Hermione sniffed. “Very. We’ve been ambushed three times already.” She tilted her head and considered something. “I wasn’t supposed to be on that call in Surrey. I think whoever attacked me was instructed to kill the Auror who responded and well, I was the one he saw, wasn’t he?”

Draco turned his head, and looked away. He blamed himself. Through the anger and possessive shit, Theo could see the guilt that plagued him. Because she wouldn’t have died if he hadn't begged her to join him. He wouldn’t have turned her into a horcrux, she wouldn't have been killed anyone for him.

She’d still be with Weasley.

But Theo didn’t think Hermione regretted leaving Weasley. He was cheating on her, after all. But the entire situation did beg one to consider the idea that perhaps she wasn’t completely acting of her own free will.

Which is what made the horcrux thing so worrisome. Nobody knew enough about it. Nobody except for Potter.

“You’re saying that somebody in the DMLE is trying to kill Draco?”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded, glancing up at Draco. Draco who was still glaring off into the distance. Into the ghostly racket of the frogs and crickets and any other spirits who clung to the night for dear life.

“What do we plan on doing about it, exactly?” Pansy was asking Draco but Draco was lost. And it was Hermione who replied.

Her voice was soft, too sweet to be uttering the words that would surely be running through the mind of Draco Malfoy and not Hermione Granger.

“We end them.”