#to death with my bare hands! :)' crew. who knew.

[memoiresofaneternaldreamer]

The Tides of Chaos

Pairing: Pirate! Choi Seungcheol x Princess! F. Reader

Themes: Smut | Angst | Enemies to Lovers | Opposites Attract | Forbidden Romance | Based on the movie 'Sinbad: The Legend of the Seven Seas'

Wordcount: 23.0K

Playlist: 'i always kinda knew you'd be the death of me' - Artemas | 'Swim' - Chase Atlantic | 'Sirens' - Nylo | 'do you really want to hurt me?' - Nessa Barrett | 'Taste' - Ari Abdul

Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Foreplay (F. and M. receiving) - Fingering - Nipple play - Slight body worship - PIV - Unprotected intercourse - Soft Dom! Seungcheol - Use of petnames - Praise kink - Slight choking

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

The Chimera cuts through the water like a dagger, her mahogany hull gleaming beneath the fading sun, sails taut with the Eastern wind. Just beyond the curve of the horizon, the city of Syracuse glimmers—a golden crown on the edge of the world, encircled by high cliff walls, bustling piers, and a towering lighthouse whose peak pulses faintly with a strange, ethereal glow.

Seungcheol leans against the railing of the upper deck, arms crossed over his broad chest, sleeves rolled to the elbows. The salt wind tousles his dark hair as his gaze settles on the lighthouse in the distance, its beacon like a slow heartbeat in the night. Behind him, the ship creaks and hums with life—his crew, his brothers, scurrying about with the chaotic energy of those who have lived too long on the edge of the law.

“You’re staring at it like it’s a woman,” Mingyu drawls behind him, arms folded as he climbs the short stairs to the quarterdeck. His long coat flaps behind him, half open over a sweat-stained shirt, hands already working a coin between his fingers. Seungcheol smirks but doesn’t look away. “That light’s worth more than any woman I’ve ever met.”

“You’ve clearly never met the wrong kind.” Soonyoung’s voice chimes in as he lifts himself up from below deck with a musket in one hand and a half-peeled orange in the other. “I knew a girl in Cádiz who nearly robbed me blind. Took my boots and my dignity.”

“Didn’t you say she married you first?” Wonwoo murmurs, barely glancing up from the map he’s unrolling on a barrel by the mast. His long fingers smooth the parchment with the reverence of a monk handling scripture. “Details,” Soonyoung mutters, plopping down beside him and tearing into his orange with more aggression than necessary. “Are we really doing this?” Chan’s voice cuts through the banter. He’s perched on a crate, still a little wide-eyed, grease smudges on his cheek from fiddling with the rigging, a wrench still tucked into his belt—the youngest of the crew, but no less capable. Seungcheol finally turns. “Aye,” he says. “We are.”

He strides down the steps, boots heavy on the deck. The crew naturally circles around—the Chimera’s heart pulsing with anticipation. Seungcheol plants himself in front of the map, stabbing a finger at the intricate image drawn in careful ink. “This is what we're after. The Book of Peace. It’s not just treasure. It’s practically holy. It was created before recorded time, by the first kings to seal an accord between the cities. Some believe it holds the very soul of harmony. That book is peace... and peace has a price.”

“That sounds like a curse waiting to happen,” Mingyu says. He glances at Seungcheol with a lazy grin. “How exactly do you steal a symbol of universal peace without pissing off every crowned head on the continent?”

“Easy,” Seungcheol replies without missing a beat. “We do it fast.” The others chuckle, but it’s Soonyoung who leans forward, his eyes glinting with excitement. “You’ve got a plan, then? Tell me it involves explosions. Please tell me it involves explosions.”

“Not this time,” Seungcheol replies. “We can’t afford chaos. We need timing. Precision. Grace.”

“So… not our speciality,” Chan pipes up, “Got it.” The crew laughs, and even Seungcheol lets out a low chuckle. Then he turns, his tone shifting. “The Book of Peace,” he begins, drawing a curved dagger from his belt and using it to trace lines in the map Wonwoo laid out, “is being moved from the Lighthouse of Syracuse to the Castle of Twelve. That’s our window. Security will be split—half guarding the docks, the other protecting the Kings. It’s the only time that the relic won’t be behind divine iron and twenty feet of stone.”

Minghao, who has been silent up in the crow’s nest, swings down with effortless grace and lands beside him. He’s quiet by nature, eyes sharp as a hawk’s, his tunic stitched with foreign symbols no one else can read.“We can’t storm the procession,” Minghao says softly. “They’ll expect trouble from outside the walls.” Seungcheol grins, full of teeth and madness. “Who said anything about storming?”

He flicks open a hidden compartment beneath the map barrel and pulls out a stack of folded garments—rich silks, polished buttons, embroidered vests. “We go in.” A beat of silence. Then—

“You want us to waltz into a Kings’ gala dressed like noblemen?” Mingyu laughs. “Not like noblemen,” Seungcheol says, rolling his eyes. “Like honoured guests. The guest list includes ambassadors from the outlying islands. And thanks to a certain barmaid in Messina who owed me a favour…” He produces a sealed envelope, the red wax glinting in the lantern light. “We’ve got their names.”

“And how, exactly,” Wonwoo says dryly, “are we supposed to impersonate nobility without anyone noticing our lack of... I don’t know… manners, refinement, the general ability to not stab someone over a spilt drink?”

“Speak for yourself,” Soonyoung snorts. “I’m extremely refined.” Chan groans. “You eat soup with a fork.” Seungcheol lifts a hand. “Enough. We’ll split roles. Mingyu and I go in first and distract the royal guards at the reception point. Minghao sneaks around back to unlock the secondary gate. Soonyoung guards the exit with Chan. Wonwoo will track the book’s movement from above using his maps and signal system. The moment they break from the lighthouse…”

He slams his fist on the map. “…we take it.”

“And then—Fiji.” Mingyu stretches his arms above his head and exhales like he’s already there. “White sands, sun for days. And no more jobs.”

“And umbrella drinks,” Soonyoung sighs. “Pineapple ones. With little swords.”

“I just want to sleep on a bed that isn’t swaying,” Chan groans, stretching his back. “Or full of rats.” The crew falls quiet at that. The waves slap against the hull like a ticking clock.

Then, Seungcheol leans in, breaking the silence. “Let’s steal a goddamn relic, then.”

Seungcheol adjusts the collar of his brocade jacket, resisting the urge to pull at the itchy fabric. It’s too fine, too clean, too stiff. He’s used to salt-worn shirts, wind-swept pants, and freedom. This? This feels like a noose in expensive thread. Beside him, Mingyu looks just as uncomfortable in his dark green doublet, but damn if he doesn’t wear it well. His hair’s swept back, a little neater than usual, and a ceremonial sword hangs at his hip—purely decorative, though it makes him look every inch the prince he isn’t. They move through the palace gates seamlessly, their falsified credentials passing without question. The guards don’t look twice—too distracted by the dozens of nobles arriving in droves, chatter echoing through the marble halls like waves against stone.

Inside, it’s another world.

The ballroom is lit with crystalline chandeliers that hang like captured stars. Gold trim glitters along the walls, every edge carved with symbols of the Twelve Cities. Platters overflow with delicacies—pomegranate-glazed roast fowl, lavender cakes, spiced lamb skewers, and enough wine to drown an army. Nobles and royals in gem-coloured fabrics swirl across the floor to the hum of lyres and flutes. Seungcheol walks slower than he should, taking it all in. “You seeing this?” Mingyu mutters beside him, voice low as they stroll past a statue of a god holding scales and a sceptre. “I see it,” Seungcheol replies, voice harder than expected.

It’s obscene.

The kind of wealth he’s never touched. The kind that could feed five villages for a year, but instead sits here, polished and powdered and perfectly indifferent. His jaw tightens. He grew up scraping fish guts from barrels. He knows the taste of hunger and the thirst for water. And now he’s in a palace where gold lines the plates and no one has calluses on their hands. Seungcheol inhales, the scent of roses and patchouli almost choking. “Wealth like this could feed every dockside orphan from here to Argos,” he mutters. “You getting sentimental on me, Captain?” Mingyu asks, his voice teasing but quiet, careful. Seungcheol shakes his head. “Just remembering what it’s like to be hungry.” He forces a smirk, scanning the room.

“Eyes on the guards,” he says. “We don’t have much time.” They move casually, pausing at tables, offering nods to passing nobles, and exchanging a few pleasant lies. Seungcheol counts—twelve guards inside the ballroom. Four more at the main door. Two by the arch leading back to the gallery where the Book will be displayed. Another pair flanking the massive marble stairs.

Twenty. And those are just the visible ones. Mingyu taps the rim of his goblet, a silent signal. He’s seen the same. Seungcheol’s eyes flicker to the high windows, where he knows Wonwoo is perched somewhere above, watching with hawk-like precision, drawing every detail into that steel trap of a mind. Farther behind the palace, Minghao slips along the garden’s edge like a ghost, searching for the latch to the side gate. And Soonyoung? He waits in the alley, blade hidden, eyes alert. Chan watches from the exit path with his nervous heart in his throat. It’s all going smoothly.

Until—

“Seungcheol?”

The voice stops him mid-step. No. It can’t be. He turns. And for the first time in ten years, he comes face-to-face with a ghost from a better time.

Joshua.

His childhood best friend. His brother in all but blood. And the reason he once believed in goodness. Dressed in ceremonial blue and gold, sword at his hip, medallion at his chest—he looks every bit the crown prince Seungcheol knew he would become. Joshua’s face lights up. “Gods, it is you.” Seungcheol stares for a second too long, then quickly pulls on a grin. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Joshua laughs, stepping in and wrapping him in a firm, brief hug. Seungcheol hesitates—just for a moment—before clapping his old friend on the back. “Head of the royal guard now?” Seungcheol asks as they pull apart. “Didn’t think you’d still be chasing rules.”

“Someone has to keep Syracuse from crumbling,” Joshua replies with a chuckle. “And you? Still chasing trouble?”

“Chasing myths,” Seungcheol says with a smirk. “Heard the Book was real. Had to see it with my own eyes.”

Joshua perks up with pride. “You’re in luck. Tonight, it passes through the city before it returns to the vault. And I’ve been entrusted with its protection.”

Seungcheol’s stomach twists. Of all the people. He doesn’t let it show. “I feel safer already.” Mingyu appears at his side, ever punctual, ever perceptive. His eyes flicker from Joshua to Seungcheol in quiet curiosity. “Joshua, this is Mingyu,” Seungcheol says quickly, voice light. “Old friend. One of the few people who still puts up with me.” Joshua laughs. “He must be either brave or stupid.”

“Definitely stupid,” Seungcheol replies with a smirk. Joshua looks like he’s about to make another joke, when suddenly, his eyes light up. “You have to meet someone,” he says, excitement bursting across his features. “She’s here tonight. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.”

You turn at the sound of Joshua’s voice.

You already know you’ll have to be gracious. You’ve done this before—smiled for visiting nobles, curtsied for fussy kings, exchanged pleasantries with fat, red-faced merchants smelling of cloves and greed. The mask is familiar. Comfortable. Tonight you wear it again.

Your gown is seafoam blue, embroidered with silver thread along the bodice and sleeves, fitted perfectly by your handmaidens hours before. Your hair is swept back in elegant waves, fastened with pearls and a diadem from your late mother’s collection. You look every inch the Princess of Mdina—polished, serene, composed.

But your eyes betray you. Because as you turn fully, you see him.

He’s tall, broad-shouldered, effortlessly handsome in the most unruly way—he doesn’t look like a nobleman. His coat is fine, yes, tailored and dark, but it fits him like it resents him. His sleeves are too tight around his biceps. His hair, though combed, has clearly fought back. His jaw is cut from something unrelenting, and his eyes—gods, his eyes—dark and assessing, settle on you like you’re a storm he saw coming and ran toward anyway.

Joshua’s voice is warm as he goes to stand beside you. “This is Seungcheol. My childhood best friend.” Your spine straightens just a little more. The pirate, you think, though, of course, he isn’t introduced that way. No one would dare. Not in this room.

Still, you’ve heard the stories. Joshua told you over candlelight, in those rare moments between duties. A boy from the slums of the lower districts. A dreamer, a fighter. Wild. Loyal. Fearless. And foolish. You tilt your chin, expression practised and polite. “So you’re the infamous one.”

He grins slowly, like your words are a flirtation instead of a challenge. “Infamous? I was under the impression Joshua painted me as heroic.”

“He did,” you say. “But heroes don’t usually get chased by guards on rooftops.” He laughs—full-bodied and warm. “That’s when I was young. I’ve grown into a respectable man.” You arch a brow. “Is that what they’re calling it now?” His smile doesn’t waver, but you see the flicker in his eyes.

A spark you recognise because you’ve had it yourself before—on the rare nights you snuck out through the servants’ corridors and climbed the cliffs alone. When you looked at the stars and wondered what the rest of the world tastes like. Intrigue, curiosity, recklessness. He looks like all of those things combined. And you hate him for it.

“Seungcheol,” Joshua says with a grin, “this is—”

“The Princess of Mdina,” Seungcheol finishes for him, his eyes never leaving yours. “you must be the one who stole Joshua’s heart.” You hold his gaze. “It wasn’t a difficult theft. He left the gates open.” Joshua chuckles beside you, his hand resting lightly on your back. Seungcheol’s smile tightens at the corners. “Well, I suppose every treasure finds its keeper eventually.” You raise a brow. “I didn’t realise pirates cared for court gossip.” He chuckles. “I didn’t realise princesses believed everything they were told.”

“You don’t seem as particularly impressive in person as in the stories,” you say. His voice is lower now. “Don’t worry, Princess. I don’t find you all that impressive either.” Joshua barks a laugh between you, oblivious to the tension blooming like storm clouds. He pulls you closer to his side.

“Gods, I forgot how quick you both are with your words,” he says, clearly entertained. “I might regret this already.” You smile at Joshua and let your hand rest lightly on his arm. He leans in and kisses your cheek, and you respond with practised affection.

Seungcheol feels something shift in his chest at the sight of Joshua so at peace. Guilt that tastes like bile on his tongue. He can’t do it. He can’t steal the Book.

He covers the turmoil with a smile and steps back. “It’s good to see you, Joshua. Really.”

“And you, old friend,” Joshua says sincerely. “It’s been too long.”

Suddenly, the horns sound across the ballroom, breaking the moment. “The Book is on the move.”

The room shifts. The mood tightens. Guards begin to take position along the corridors, and the music slows to a ceremonial cadence. Seungcheol turns, walking away without another word. Mingyu hesitates for a beat, watching the expression darken behind his captain’s eyes, then follows.

You watch him go.

The celebration carries on behind them like a fading dream—laughter echoes, glasses clink, music fades into a low hum. Outside the grand ballroom, the city of Syracuse holds its breath. The crowd has shifted, no longer drunk on wine but on wonder.

Seungcheol and Mingyu step into the open air, blending into the velvet-clad nobles and wide-eyed onlookers gathered along the procession route. The night is still, save for the rhythmic march of guards escorting the artefact.

A floating platform glides along the ancient path from the lighthouse to the palace, suspended by hidden mechanisms and lit from within. The Book sits in its centre—radiant and pulsing, casting light like liquid silver across the cobbled streets and alabaster towers.

It is beautiful. Too beautiful.

Seungcheol watches it come closer, not moving. His jaw is set, arms loosely crossed, and his expression unreadable. Mingyu doesn’t take his eyes off him. “You’re quiet,” he says. Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away.

He watches the Book. Watches how people react to it, how they fall into silence, how they reach out as if basking in divinity itself. Then, quietly: “Just thinking.” Mingyu studies him for a moment longer, then nods. “We’re not doing this, are we?” It’s not a question. It’s a truth spoken simply. Seungcheol lets out a long breath, his eyes never leaving the procession.

“No.”

Mingyu doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t need to. He’s known Seungcheol long enough to read him like a compass—when his needle shifts, you follow the pull. He claps Seungcheol on the back with a dry smile. “I’ll get the others. We’ll be at the Chimera by the time you make peace with whatever existential crisis you’re having.” Seungcheol huffs a laugh despite himself. “Thanks, Gyu.” Mingyu turns, disappearing into the crowd.

Seungcheol walks away, through alleys bathed in soft torchlight. Through winding streets that once knew his bare feet as a boy. The energy of the city presses in around him—gasping citizens pointing at the glow of the Book, songs half-sung from balconies, little children perched on crates to glimpse history. And yet, he feels utterly apart from it all.

He doesn’t know where he’s going. Maybe nowhere. Maybe home—if he still had such a thing. The cobblestones glisten faintly under the magic light. Somewhere distant, the platform continues to float, its precious cargo slowly making its way to the palace vault.

That’s when he hears it. A voice, low and smooth, curling like smoke around the silence. “You look troubled, Captain.”

He stops.

A woman stands in the alley ahead of him, just beyond the reach of the lanternlight. Her gown is dark, glinting only faintly, like ink catching fire. Her hair spills down her back, long and black and impossibly still despite the breeze. But it’s her eyes—unblinking and shimmering silver—that set every nerve in Seungcheol on edge.

He immediately straightens. “Who are you?” he asks, cold but calm. The woman takes a slow step forward, lips curling into something that’s almost a smile. “I’m someone who sees more than most.” Seungcheol narrows his gaze. “That’s not a name.”

“Call me Cordia.”

The name rings no bells. Still, there is something about her—it’s as though the shadows themselves lean in to listen when she speaks. She circles him now, like a vulture, and he turns to keep her in his periphery. “It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it?” she muses, tilting her head toward the distant glow of the Book. “Such a curious little artefact. Sacred, yes. But mostly forgotten. The Kings worship it, lock it in a tower, drag it around like a trophy—but do they use it?”

Seungcheol says nothing.

“Of course they don’t,” she goes on, “because to use it would mean sharing. And power, real power, is never shared freely.”

“What’s your point?”

She stops in front of him and tilts her head. “My point, darling Seungcheol, is that there are men—rare men—who remember what it’s like to have nothing. Who understand what it means to claw their way from the gutter. Men who might look at that Book and think: why not me?” He narrows his eyes. “I don’t know what you think you know.”“Oh, but you do.” Her smile turns razor-sharp. “I know about the Chimera. I know about your map. Your crew. The side gate. The window between guard rotations. I know about your plan.”

His blood turns cold. She steps closer, eyes gleaming. “And I know... you abandoned it.” He stands his ground, steel in his voice now. “Some things aren’t worth the risk.” Cordia’s mouth curls, displeased. “Shame. I thought you were different.”

She starts to walk again, circling. “I thought, perhaps, the tides had sent me a man with a little spine. A little hunger. But no, just another good boy with a guilty conscience and a lost heart.” Seungcheol’s temper flares. “Say what you came to say. Then leave.” She stops behind him. He can feel her breath on his neck.

“I only came to say this, Captain…” Her voice drops. “You may not want the Book anymore. But someone else does. And now? There’s no stopping what’s begun.”

He whirls around—But the alley is empty.

He exhales, shaking his head—And then suddenly, the light vanishes, plunging the city into darkness. An unnatural shadow floods the streets—cloaking the buildings, extinguishing the torches, silencing the celebration with fear. Screams echo faintly in the distance. Metal clatters. Hooves strike stone.

Seungcheol stands frozen, heart hammering.

And then he hears it—boots. Fast, heavy, purposeful. Down the hill they come—torches flaring now, drawn swords gleaming, the Royal Guard flooding through the street.“There! That’s him!” one of them shouts. “The thief—get him!”

“What?” Seungcheol growls, but it’s too late. They’re on him. He runs. He vaults over a barrel and ducks into a corridor—but there are too many. They circle him, corner him against a wall, blades drawn.

He draws his sword, breathing hard, furious and confused. “I didn’t touch it!” They don’t care. Steel clashes. Seungcheol fights hard—but it’s four against one. Then six. Then eight. A strike to the ribs. His sword knocked from his hand. A kick to his knee. He stumbles towards the ground.

As the guards pin his arms behind his back and shackle his hands, Seungcheol spits blood and glares up at the guard in front of him. “What the hell is going on?” he growls.

“You’re under arrest,” the guard snarls. “By order of the King of Syracuse. For the theft of the Book of Peace.”

Inside the war room, panic simmers beneath the opulence. A great round table rests at the centre, its surface carved with the seal of the Twelve Cities. Candles burn low, flickering against the emerald drapery and golden tapestries, their light now feeble, as if even fire itself is uncertain.

The Kings sit in their ornate chairs, a storm of arguments building with each breath.

“It’s unthinkable—how could the Book simply vanish from under our noses?!”

“Was it magic? Sabotage? We had twenty men on the procession!”

“This will break the Accord if word gets out—our cities will riot—”

The voices blur, colliding into each other like waves in a tempest. Joshua stands near the edge of the table, fists clenched behind his back, doing everything in his power not to explode.

You sit beside him, your hands folded neatly in your lap, your face carefully composed. You’ve done this before—watched politics unfold like plays, each man posturing louder than the last. But never like this. Never with someone you knew on trial. And never with someone you have come to care about standing in the crossfire.

Joshua opens his mouth to speak—again—but the King of Syracuse slams his ringed fist against the marble, making everyone go silent. “Don’t defend him, Joshua. Not him. Not that piece of dockside scum you dared to drag into our home.”

Joshua flinches ever so slightly.

The King—his father—is red in the face, spit gathering at the corner of his mouth as he begins to pace around the table like a lion whose pride has been insulted.

“From the moment I laid eyes on that gutter-born child, I knew he’d be trouble. Following you like a stray dog through the streets. Filling your head with rebellion, dragging you into fights, sneaking you out of the palace—scandalising you. I should have banished him from Syracuse then and there. But no. You begged me to spare him.”

Joshua’s jaw tightens, but he stays quiet.

“And now you see what he’s done. Ten years he vanishes, and suddenly he returns not with apology or shame, but with deceit. He hides behind fine clothes and false names. He slips into our palace, mocks our hospitality, and steals the holiest artefact this continent has ever known.”

Across the table, one of the older kings from the Southern Isles clears his throat, trying to interject with a calmer voice. “Perhaps we should focus on recovering the Book—”

“The Book is gone!” the King of Syracuse roars. “And you want to waste time on a scavenger hunt? Our alliance means nothing now that the artefact is lost. That light protected us all—and now the skies are dark, and we are vulnerable. This is war. This is sabotage. And we must punish those who betray our trust.”

You steal a glance at Joshua. He’s barely breathing. The tension in his shoulders has locked him in place. The King slams his hand on the table again. “He is guilty. If that criminal does not return the Book himself, then he will be executed by the terms of the Accord. As will any who shelter him.”

Joshua finally speaks, quiet but firm. “He didn’t take it.”

The King turns on him, sneering. “You’re still deluded. Still loyal to some childhood fantasy. But this isn’t a boyhood story, son. This is treason. And if he doesn’t bring the Book back, he will die for it.”

Joshua takes a step forward. “Then let me speak to him.”

“What?”

“Let me speak to him,” Joshua repeats, louder. “I’ll find out what happened. I’ll get the truth. And if he has it—if there’s any chance he can return it—I’ll make sure he does.”

The chamber is deathly silent. Then the King narrows his eyes, his voice dripping with disdain. “And what if he doesn’t? What if you’re wrong? What if he vanishes again, like he did ten years ago?”

Joshua doesn’t hesitate. He stares his father down, unwavering. “Then you can execute me in his place.” Your breath catches.

The room erupts in chaos—shouts from multiple kings, cries of outrage, murmurs of disbelief. You don’t hear them. All you can hear is the pounding of your heart in your ears.

Joshua, the man who always carried duty like a second skin, just signed his life away in defence of someone he hadn’t seen in over a decade. Someone the rest of the realm would see hanged without blinking. You can’t make sense of it.

The King leans back, stunned by his son’s rebellion. The air shifts. You see it in Joshua’s face—he’s made peace with it. Without another word, he turns and walks out of the chamber, pushing open the heavy oak doors and vanishing into the stone corridors beyond.

You rise instantly. “Princess—” one of the older kings starts. But you don’t hear him either. Your legs are already moving, your silk skirts flittering over the stone as you rush out of the room and into the shadows that chase Joshua’s retreat.

He’s halfway down the torchlit hall when you catch up. “Joshua, wait—” He doesn’t stop. You jog to match his stride, reaching out to catch his arm. “Please. Just talk to me.” He stops at the end of the corridor, finally turning.

His face is tired. Not physically. But in the soul-deep way, that only comes from being forced to choose between love and loyalty. “You don’t understand,” he says softly. You stare at him. “Then help me. Help me understand why you’re ready to die for a man who’s been nothing but a ghost in your life for the past ten years.”

His mouth parts slightly. His voice is barely above a whisper. “Because he saved my life once, too. When we were boys. When no one else did.” You blink. “That was a long time ago.”

“And I still owe him for it.” Your lips press together, heart twisting painfully. You want to argue. You want to shout that this is foolish, that he’s risking everything—not just his life, but yours too. If he dies, you are nothing.

Not just by custom. But by contract. No husband. No alliance. No worth. Your father will disown you. You’ll be sent back to Mdina in disgrace. You will be a daughter who failed to become a queen, a woman with no crown and no value. Joshua is not just your fiancé. He is your freedom in a different form.

But you also see it. The conviction. The man he’s become. The same loyalty that made you believe in him in the first place.

The very reason you agreed to marry him at all.

Your voice is quieter now. “Then what happens if you’re wrong?” Joshua looks at you with eyes that seem older than they should be. “Then I die for someone I once called a brother. And I die knowing I didn’t abandon him when the world already had.”

You stand there, frozen, as he turns again and disappears down the corridor, heading for the prison wing buried beneath the palace. You can’t let him go through with it. You can’t let him risk your future, and his. Not without doing something.

So you make a decision.

The walls are damp. Cold seeps through the cracks in the stone, curling into Seungcheol’s skin. The cell is small—just large enough for him to stretch out his legs and feel the edges of his confinement. The air smells of iron, mildew, and rot, like time itself has decayed in here, and no one bothered to notice.

A single candle flickers near the far wall, its stubby wax body melting slowly into the cracked floor. Its light barely touches the edges of the darkness, casting long, restless shadows on the walls. But Seungcheol doesn’t move. He sits slumped against the back wall, legs drawn up and arms resting over his knees, the thick iron shackles around his wrists still biting into the raw skin beneath.

His lip is split. There’s a bruise blossoming along his jaw. His ribs ache when he breathes too deeply. But the pain isn’t what bothers him. What bothers him is the silence. The silence and the impossible question he can’t stop asking himself:

How did it come to this?

He closes his eyes, letting the weight of everything press in. He hadn’t even done it. He hadn’t lifted a finger toward that damn Book, hadn’t stolen it, hadn’t broken a single lock or cast a single shadow in the direction of the artefact. He’d walked away. For once, he’d walked away. And still, the world managed to throw him in a cell for a crime he didn’t commit.

A dry, humourless breath escapes him. He lifts his gaze toward the barred window, narrow and high up the wall, no bigger than a ship’s porthole. Through it, far in the distance, across the quiet water of the harbour—there she is.

The Chimera. Docked and still.

Even from here, he can make out the curve of her hull, the low-slung sails folded neatly, the faintest flicker of a lantern swinging on the quarterdeck. His boys hadn’t abandoned him. If the Chimera still waited, it meant Mingyu, Wonwoo, Minghao, Soonyoung, and Chan were out there. Planning. Watching. Trusting him. And—more importantly—it meant none of them had done it either. That truth is the only thing keeping his chest from caving in.

The sound of distant boots echoes in the hallway, but he ignores it. Another guard, maybe. Another jeer. A muttered insult. They’ve been taunting him all night, calling him “the thief of peace,” laughing about what the gallows will feel like. He doesn’t rise to it.

Then—

The candle sputters violently. Its flame dances, then vanishes, snuffed out by an unnatural gust of wind that seems to creep under the door and swirl around him. The darkness swallows the room whole. His head snaps up. And there—where there was once only shadow—stands her.

Cordia.

The same dark gown. The same honey-slick voice. Her eyes gleam faintly in the black. Seungcheol’s mouth twists. “Of fucking course.” Cordia smirks, unaffected by his bitterness. “You always did have excellent timing, Captain.” He doesn’t move, but the muscles in his shoulders coil like a drawn bow. “It was you.”

“You catch on quick,” she purrs, circling him with leisurely steps. He stares up at her, fury churning under his skin. “You set me up.”

“I encouraged fate.”

“You framed me!” he growls, pushing himself upright despite the shackles and pain. “Why?” Cordia lets out a laugh that is far too amused, far too pleased. “Because this is what I do, Seungcheol.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one that matters.”

She walks along the edges of the cell, trailing her fingertips along the wall like she’s admiring art. Seungcheol watches her every movement, every tilt of her head, trying to find something human behind that smirk. But there’s nothing.

“You play the martyr well,” she says suddenly. “But let’s not pretend you were some innocent lamb. You were going to steal it. You were going to take the Book and sell it to the highest bidder.” Seungcheol falls silent. Because she’s not wrong. Cordia raises a brow. “No rebuttal, Captain?”

“Plans change.” His voice is low.

She laughs again. “No. You changed.” Her tone is mocking now. “Is that what this is? A pirate with a heart? Spare me.”Seungcheol clenches his jaw. “You got what you wanted. Why are you here?” Cordia stops pacing. She steps toward him, close now. Closer than he likes. “Because, darling,” she whispers, “the game has only just begun.” His brow furrows.

“What?”

“You can fix this. You can clear your name. Redeem that soft little soul you’re pretending not to have.” He laughs dryly. “From this hellhole I'm currently in? Yeah, right.” She slips a dagger from somewhere beneath her bodice and holds it lightly, like a lover. Then, in one smooth movement, she presses the tip to her chest and draws a cross over where her heart would be.

“Cross my heart,” she says with mock solemnity. “I’m not lying.”

Seungcheol stares at her, unimpressed. “And you expect me to believe anything that comes out of that mouth of yours?” Cordia tuts. “You’re not very trusting for someone about to die.” He growls. “Then say it. What’s the deal?”

She leans in, her smile curling like smoke. “Ten days. That’s what you have—ten days to retrieve the Book and return it to Syracuse. You’ll travel to the edge of the world. You’ll face challenges along the way—but a sailor of your talents should manage.” He narrows his eyes. “And what’s the catch?” Cordia pauses.

Her tone drops into something colder. Harder. “If you fail—if you don’t return in time, or if you fail to return the Book—Prince Joshua dies in your place.”

The silence in the cell deepens and becomes almost physical. Seungcheol stares at her, stunned. “What?”

“He vouched for you,” she says, almost gleeful. “He stood before the kings. Put his life on the line. Said he’d die if you didn’t come through.” Seungcheol’s chest tightens painfully. “That idiot...” Cordia shrugs. “It’s touching, really. But the clock’s ticking.”

He looks down at his shackles and his bruised wrists. Then back at her. “Why does any of this matter to you?”

“It doesn’t,” she says breezily. “But a deal’s a deal. And now, it’s yours. If you want it.” Footsteps sound not far away. Steady. Familiar. Cordia turns toward the shadows, lips curling into a wicked grin. “Sounds like your prince is coming.”

“Wait—” Seungcheol steps forward.

She laughs one last time. “Make the right choice, Seungcheol.”

And then, just like before, she vanishes—disappearing into the darkness like she was never there.

The Chimera rocks gently in the harbour; her sails still furled but alive with anticipation. The sea, always humming, feels quieter tonight—like it’s waiting.

On deck, boots pound against worn planks as Seungcheol climbs aboard, battered, bruised, and brooding. The moonlight spills over his shoulders, highlighting the blood on his shirt, the dirt on his skin, and the fire still burning behind his eyes.

The moment his feet hit the main deck, his crew swarms him.

“What the hell happened?” Soonyoung is the first to pounce, eyes wide. “We heard the commotion from the alley—then guards running everywhere—then you vanished!”

Minghao leans against the mast, arms folded, but his voice is sharp. “You didn’t follow the plan. We were ready, and then, nothing.”

“Who stole the Book?” Wonwoo asks, stepping down from the rigging. His map still clutched in one hand. “If it wasn’t us, then who beat us to it?”

“How the hell did you get caught?” Chan blurts, not even trying to hide the worry in his voice.

“And more importantly—” Mingyu cuts through them all, arms crossed, jaw tense, “how did you escape?”

Seungcheol raises a hand, his voice calm but with an edge of finality. “Enough.”

Silence falls like a wave. Seungcheol scans each of their faces—their loyalty, their questions, their expectations. He’s not ready to speak. Not on everything. Not yet. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he says. “It’s not our problem.” Murmurs stir again, but his following words silence them entirely.

“Mingyu,” he says, voice low and clipped. “Set sail for Fiji.” Seungcheol begins walking toward his quarters without a glance back. “It’s about time we retired.”

The door to his private quarters creaks open, the warm scent of cedar and sea salt welcoming him back to the only space that still feels like his. He exhales, slow and sharp, his shoulders slumping with the weight of everything he hasn’t said as he closes the door.

Cold steel presses to his throat from behind. His entire body stills.

“Move, and I’ll open your neck from ear to ear.”

He exhales through his nose, more annoyed than surprised. “What is it with women trying to kill me tonight?” he mutters. You shove him back a step, enough for him to turn without disarming you, though the dagger remains raised between you.

He looks you over, unimpressed. “Hello, Princess.”

“You’re going to find the Book of Peace,” you say, voice low and hard, “and you’re going to return it. Now.” He blinks. And then he laughs. A humourless, deep, exhausted laugh that makes you want to punch him. “I’m not doing anything, sweetheart,” he says. “It’s not my problem.”

“Not your—?!” you snap, stepping forward. “Joshua took your place! He stood before the kings, before his father, and gave his life to buy you time!” The change in him is instant. His jaw tightens. His posture straightens. But his anger matches yours.

“I didn’t ask him to do that!”

“But he did, Seungcheol. He did. He stood up for you, and if you walk away now, he’ll die for it.”

You’re shouting. You didn’t mean to. But you can’t help it. The words claw their way out of your chest. “And if the Book is not returned, the Accord falls apart. Chaos will follow. Syracuse will burn. What then? Do you sail off into the sun with your crew and let your city fall to pieces behind you?

He glares up at you. “My city? The same city that threw me to the streets as a child? A city that branded me trash and turned its back the first time I stumbled? I owe Syracuse nothing. I owe the kings nothing. They were ready to string me up the second the lights went out.”

“Then prove them wrong!” you scream.

“Why?!” His voice booms now, rising with his frustration. “So I can play the hero while they spit on my name anyway? You want me to die for honour? For duty? Those words are worth nothing to people like me!”

Your chest is heaving, and your voice cuts sharper now. “Because some of us don’t have the luxury of running away!” His head snaps toward you.

“I grew up hearing stories of men like you—pirates who stood against kings, who fought with honour, who chose courage over cowardice. And now I meet you, and all I see is a man who wants to quit. Who hides behind excuses instead of doing the right thing.”

He scowls. “You don’t know me.”

“Oh, I do.” You glare at him, stepping toe-to-toe now, chest burning. “I saw it the moment I met you. That cocky grin? That swagger? It’s all smoke. You’re not a hero. You’re a coward. A selfish man who hides behind charm so no one sees the empty core.”

He says nothing. You spin on your heel, turning your back to him as you look over your shoulder, disgusted.

“I wonder what your crew would think of you if they knew the truth.”

And that—that—snaps something in him.

In a blur, he crosses the room and slams his hand against the wall, blocking your path. You whirl around, dagger raised, but he doesn’t flinch. “You talk about sacrifice like you know it,” he says lowly. “But you’re not doing this for Joshua. You’re doing this to save yourself. Your position. Your title. Because if he dies, you lose everything.”

Your breath hitches.

“Don’t act like you’re better than me. You’re just like me, Princess. Two sides of the same damn coin.”

“No,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Because at least I’m doing something about it.” He steps closer to you, cornering you, his breath hot against your cheek as his eyes lock on yours.

“And if I agree,” he murmurs, “if I bring back the Book and save your darling little fiancé... what do I get in return?”

You don’t break eye contact as you reach slowly into your pouch and withdraw the small bag tied to your hip. You loosen the knot and let the contents fall into his palm.

Red diamonds. Dozens of them.

He stares at them for a long moment. Then his lips curl. A grin spreads across his face—feral, cocky, and very much alive. “Well, Princess,” he murmurs, “you should’ve just said you were hiring a pirate.”

He spins and bursts out of the cabin like a storm unchained. You follow him, stunned, as he bounds up to the deck and shouts over the wind. “Change of plans!” he bellows.

The crew—all half-lounging, half-arguing—whip around in confusion. “We’re going after the Book.”

Soonyoung’s mouth drops open. “Wait, what?” Mingyu steps forward. “Where is it?” Seungcheol grins.“ At world’s end.”

Chaos ensues.

“Are you serious?”

“How the hell do we get there?”

“Why are we listening to you again?”

Soonyoung finally shouts over the din, pointing behind Seungcheol. “Uh—Captain? Who’s the lady?”

Seungcheol turns back, and all eyes follow his gaze as they land on you—still standing a little stiff in the centre of the deck, the dagger now sheathed under your cloak. “This, is our newest passenger.”

Then his eyes glint with something darker. Something amusing and very inconvenient.

“She’ll be joining us on the voyage.”

You’ve only spent two days at sea, but it feels like a different life entirely.

Gone are the corseted dresses and laced bodices, the polished silver combs and pearl-dusted shoes. You wear loose breeches now—weathered, a little too long, rolled at the ankles—and a white shirt you stole from a chest in the hold, sleeves tied up above your elbows. Your hair whips freely in the salt air, unbound for the first time in years.

There’s grime beneath your fingernails. Rope burns on your palms. A sun-kissed glow settling into your skin.

You’ve never felt so alive.

The ship rocks beneath your feet, wild and rhythmic, the sails groaning with each gust. The wind is a constant companion—slapping, roaring, tangling your hair. And while you’re still finding your footing (literally and figuratively), the crew has embraced you far more quickly than you expected.

Soonyoung, the loudest of them, has resorted to clinging to you like an overeager puppy. He insists on calling you ‘My Lady’ in the most dramatic, theatrical tone possible, and makes a great show of saluting you every time you pass him on deck.

Chan, the youngest, practically beams every time you ask him a question about knots or sails. He follows Soonyoung’s lead in treating you like royalty—but with a kind of awe that makes you smile instead of bristle.

Minghao and Wonwoo are more reserved, both of them often keeping to themselves or murmuring quietly in the shadow of the sails. But they nod when you speak, sometimes offering calm corrections or quiet insight. Minghao surprised you yesterday by handing you a fig he’d somehow smuggled on board, simply saying, “You looked homesick.”

But not everyone has been welcoming.

From the wheel, Seungcheol watches you like a storm brewing on the horizon.

Every time you laugh with the crew, his brows pull tighter. Every time you roll up your sleeves to help scrub the deck, he mutters under his breath. Every time Soonyoung teaches you something new and ridiculous—like the hidden flamethrowers rigged beneath the starboard hull—Seungcheol sighs dramatically and mutters something about “idiots with too much enthusiasm.”

You try to ignore him. Most of the time, you succeed. But when you don’t—you argue. Loudly.

So loudly, the entire crew stops what they’re doing to listen. And now, on the second day, you find yourself once again at the centre of their amusement.

“Princess, let me show you how the harpoons work!” Soonyoung had grinned this morning, gripping your wrist before you could protest. “They’re hidden in the front of the ship. Serrated, retractable, brilliant.”

Chan, walking close behind, had added, “We rarely use them unless something with teeth comes after us.”

You had blinked at that. “What kind of something with teeth?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Soonyoung had said brightly. “Come on, my Lady! You’ll love this!”

They seem to delight in your confusion and wonder at every new piece of the ship, and they show you everything. Every trapdoor. Every hidden blade. Every half-working cannon.

Even the ones Seungcheol hasn’t touched in years.

You’re standing on the forecastle of the ship now, leaning over a concealed loading mechanism as Soonyoung animatedly describes the best way to ignite the twin-fire barrels when—

“You’d break your wrist trying to fire it like that.”

You glance down sharply.

Seungcheol stands at the bottom of the steps; one hand braced on the wooden beam, his brow arched like he’s just caught a child lying. Soonyoung snorts and mumbles something about checking on the sails, practically skipping down the stairs to leave you alone.

You roll your eyes. “It’s not like I’m trying to shoot it.”

“You said it was ready,” Seungcheol replies, ascending slowly. “And it’s not. If you load the powder before locking the rotation pin, it misfires and tears the recoil plate clean off.”

You cross your arms, squinting at him. “You must be a joy at parties.” He steps into the space beside you, inspecting the weapon with a critical eye. “You’re the one who wants to play sailor. Don’t complain when someone points out you’re playing it wrong.”

“I wasn’t playing anything,” you say coolly. “I was listening. Which is what you could try doing once in a while.” Seungcheol scoffs, straightening. “Hard to listen when you never stop talking.”

You take a sharp breath, and just like that—you’re off. “You could just say thank you. You know, for me, trying to help.”

“You could stay out of things you don’t understand.”

“I’m learning—”

“Then learn quietly.”

The crew is practically holding their breath. Mingyu’s behind the wheel, keeping the ship’s course steady, smirking like this is the best entertainment he’s had in months. You step closer. “Why don’t you just admit you don’t like that I’m here?”

He scoffs. “What gave you that idea? The way you flirt with my crew every chance you get or the way you pretend to know everything after only two days on the water?”

“I’ve done no such thing—”

“Oh right, and I’m blind.”

You’re about to shoot back—something scathing, probably—when Mingyu raises his voice and interrupts flatly:

“Not to ruin the foreplay, but you might want to look ahead.”

You and Seungcheol whip your heads simultaneously.

A narrow opening in a line of towering cliffs—grey, jagged, and half-submerged in churning waters approaches you. Mist curls along the rocks, and sunken ship masts jut from the waves. The cavern walls are just wide enough for a ship to pass through, maybe.

Wonwoo squints from his perch near the quarterdeck. “Shipwreck’s Grotto.”

“Place gives me the creeps,” Chan mutters. “It should,” Minghao says. “Half the legends say no one makes it out the other side.”

You glance towards Seungcheol.

His jaw is tight. He turns, addressing the crew as he makes his way towards the wheel. You follow behind him silently. “Alright, boys,” he calls, voice clear and hard. “Drop the sails. Ready the rudder. We go in nice and easy.”

You swallow hard, the wind catching your hair. Soonyoung murmurs, “We’re going through that?”

Seungcheol nods slowly. “Only way forward,” he says.

The ship moves slowly under the measured hand of its captain. Her mahogany hull cuts carefully through the water, threading between reef and rock. Above, seagulls cry, but even their calls seem distant, swallowed by the dense fog coiling through the cavernous stone walls. The only real sound is the rhythmic drip of condensation falling from the overhangs, the occasional creak of rope, and the splash of waves against splintered wood.

Minghao’s voice rings out, low but steady. “Reef to port. Five meters. Sharp shelf ahead.”

His silhouette perches from the crow’s nest, legs hooked around the crossbeam, his spyglass flashing with the faintest light as he scans ahead.

Seungcheol stands behind the wheel; his entire body braced with tension. The lines of his jaw are tight, his grip white-knuckled. You stand to his right, your fingers brushing the hilt of your dagger at your hip—more for reassurance than necessity. Mingyu is on his left, arms folded, eyes flicking between the rocks and the horizon.

No one speaks.

The grotto is sacred in its stillness—a graveyard of ships and stories.

You pass the first wreck after fifteen minutes. A small cutter, no name visible, her mast snapped like a twig. The hull is cracked in half, one side suspended on a jagged stone, the other submerged. Torn sails drift like ghostly banners beneath the surface.

“Gods,” Chan whispers from the lower deck, eyes wide.

“There’s more,” Minghao calls again. “A whole fleet—dead ahead.” And indeed, as the Chimera crawls forward, the graveyard reveals itself. A merchant ship, barnacle-crusted and canted sideways. A war galleon, its cannons rusted and useless, ribs broken open like a carcass. A half-burned skiff tangled in the limbs of another, their final collision frozen in time.

You feel it in your bones—this place is wrong.

Seungcheol barks an order—“Trim the foresail, two degrees starboard. Watch the reef under the bow.”—and the men obey. His voice cuts through the fog with precision, and the ship shifts just in time to avoid a jagged outcrop lurking beneath the surface.

You watch him. For all his scowls and grumbling and sharp-edged arrogance, he’s in his element here. As he charts the way through a corridor of destruction, his presence pulses beside you—commanding, tangible, frustrating.

The air grows heavier. The mist thicker.

And then—You hear it. A whisper, tucked beneath the creak of the hull and the lapping of waves.

A melody.

It doesn’t make sense at first. It could be the wind. The groan of old wood. You brush it off. But it comes again.

A few soft notes, drifting upward like bubbles from the deep. It’s not music exactly, but something close—a kind of calling.

You turn slowly, looking out across the water.

Mist clings to the surface in swirling patches. Light plays tricks here—turning shadows into shapes and reflections into illusions. You narrow your eyes. Just beneath the waves, something moves. A shimmer of silver, gone as quickly as it came. You blink.

The music—if it is music—is louder now. It’s still not clear, but it’s beautiful. Ethereal. It pulls at something in you, something distant. You shake it off.

You turn back to the helm—and freeze. Seungcheol is slumped over the wheel. His hands no longer hold the handles, and his posture is slackened. His eyes are far away. Unfocused. Glazed with a sheen of awe, as if he’s staring into a dream, not the rotting shipwrecks ahead.

“Seungcheol?” you ask, your voice low. He doesn’t respond. You step closer. “Captain?” Still nothing. You reach out, placing a hand on his shoulder. It’s rock-solid—tense and unmoving.

Voices. Singing. Soft, lilting harmonies that weave into one another, are beckoning. Your blood runs cold.

You run to the rail, lean over, and that’s when you see them.

Figures in the water. Pale, otherworldly, gliding just beneath the surface. Long hair fanning out behind them like ink in water, eyes glowing faintly beneath the waves.

Sirens.

You don’t think. You act.

The only thing you can hear now is your own breath—ragged, quick, almost desperate. The melodies rise in waves, crashing over the crew in pulses. And they fall, one by one. Not physically, but mentally. Pulled under the spell.

You reach for the wheel, grabbing it with both hands, the polished wood slick beneath your touch. The ship has already veered off-course, inching dangerously close to a spire of rock waiting like a fang to tear through the hull. You spin the wheel hard—your shoulders scream with the force—and the ship groans in protest. The hull misses the stone by a breath, scraping along the jagged edge with a deafening screech.

Your pulse hammers in your ears.

“Get it together,” you mutter to yourself, blinking the sweat from your lashes. The ship pitches under your feet as it glides forward. You grab hold of the spokes for balance as you scan the deck.

The crew is drifting—towards the edges.

You spot Soonyoung first, eyes glazed, a hand outstretched as if reaching for something just out of view. You grab the nearest length of coiled rope and sprint toward him. “Not today,” you hiss, looping the rope around his waist and yanking it tight, tying it off to the mainmast. He doesn’t fight you. He doesn’t even see you. He just keeps humming to himself, leaning with the sway of the song like a child in a lullaby.

You do the same with Chan, catching him just as one foot lifts onto the railing. He stares into the water with such adoration it makes your stomach turn. A siren surfaces a few meters off the starboard side, her mouth half-open in song, her eyes eerily void of life. You tie him off. Tight. Firm. You shout his name to wake him—nothing.

Wonwoo is slumped near a barrel, his book forgotten, his fingers twitching faintly to the rhythm of the melody. Mingyu is halfway to the prow, his hands limp at his sides. You tug him back by the loops of his pants, and he stumbles with a surprised grunt—but doesn’t react.

You secure them all to the mast, fashioning a web of knots in the chaos, your fingers bleeding against the rope. There’s no time to feel it.

The ship shudders again, scraping another submerged frame. You turn back and race to the helm. You spin the wheel again, the wood grating beneath your grip. The bow turns slowly, but it turns—avoiding a splintered mast impaled on a reef.

And then—A shadow moves beside you.

Seungcheol.

He’s walking down the stairs of the quarterdeck towards the side railing, his steps slow but sure, his eyes empty.

“Seungcheol!” you shout, but he doesn’t hear you. He moves like a man being called home. You leap down the steps two at a time and reach him just as his hands touch the rail, and he starts to hoist himself up. You grab his collar and yank him backwards.

He stumbles, surprised, blinking. But the trance still lingers. He stares at you like you’re not quite real.

“Snap out of it,” you grit out, pushing him against the wall of the cabin. You turn to head back to the helm—there’s no time to waste—

But his hand shoots out and pulls you back. Before you can react, his lips crash on yours.

You gasp, the surprise of it ripping the breath from your lungs. His mouth is fierce, desperate, all wild edges and instinct. His hands are at your waist, his mouth claiming yours. And despite yourself—despite everything—you melt into it. Your fingers curl into his shirt. You lean in. And gods help you, you kiss him back.

It’s fire. Heat. Tongue. Teeth. Unspoken fury. Unspoken want.

But suddenly, you remember where you are and who you’re kissing. You rip away. Your fist flies on its own accord, and it lands square on his jaw.

Seungcheol drops like a stone, knocked out cold.

Your breath is ragged as you stare down at him, trembling. What in the gods’ names—

But there’s no time.

The bow misses another reef by inches—but the hull clips it. The ship lurches, wood cracking. You run to steady her, but she’s wounded.

Suddenly, a scream rings out. You spin, eyes flying to the crow’s nest.

Minghao. You see the rope slacken. Then his body falls. “No—!”

You race to the rail as he crashes into the water with a splash. For a second, he’s still—then he’s flailing. Awake. But a siren is already approaching, gliding fast, her eyes locked on her prey.

You remember Soonyoung’s harpoon.

You dash to the foredeck, fingers flying over the latches of the weapon. You aim, inhale—fire. The harpoon slices through the mist, striking the water just as the siren reaches Minghao. He sees it and grabs the rope.

You throw your whole body weight onto the crank, activating the recoil system. The rope whines under pressure. Inch by inch, you pull him back toward the ship. The siren lashes out, claws raking through the water, just missing his leg. With a final pull, Minghao crashes onto the deck, gasping, eyes wide with fear and clarity.

You collapse beside him, your heart beating so loud it drowns out everything else. For a moment, you just lie there, winded, soaked, and shaking.

Then, your eyes find the wheel again. “Shit.” You stagger to your feet, dragging Minghao with you. “Can you stand?” He nods, coughing. “Yeah. Yeah, I can steer.”

Together, you limp to the helm. He takes the wheel while you shout directions, dodging the last gauntlet of stone and wreckage. The Chimera slams through the remnants of an old galleon’s hull with a crack, the wood splintering against the bow.

You burst out of the grotto’s mouth, the water opening up wide again, blue and endless. The ship is damaged. Her hull is scraped, and her sails are torn. But she floats. You lean over the rail, sucking in air as your lungs finally relax.

And somewhere on the floor, Seungcheol groans and stirs awake.

The men awaken slowly. One by one, groggy and confused, they blink into the sunlight.

“Ugh… what happened?” Chan mumbles as he wrestles with the rope tying him to the mast. Soonyoung blinks up at the sail, completely unfazed by the fact that he’s trussed like a holiday ham. “Was it rum? Did we hit the good casks again?”

“Wait,” Wonwoo mutters, tugging free. “Why are we tied up?”

Minghao leans weakly against the wheel, drenched and pale, but he’s breathing, and that’s all you care about.

The crew untangles themselves in a chorus of grunts and confusion, stumbling across the deck. Mingyu, dazed, rubs the back of his neck and looks around. “Where’s Seungcheol?”

The man in question is sitting up against the wall near the stairs, touching his jaw gingerly. His brows are furrowed, clearly trying to make sense of whatever fragments the sirens' spell didn’t erase.

Soonyoung squints at him. “He’s not tied up. Was it him who saved us?”

“Would make sense,” Chan adds, already beaming. “He’s the captain, after all.”

Then, a voice cuts through the rising chatter, calm but loud, carrying the weight of quiet authority. “It wasn’t him.” Everyone turns.

Minghao clears his throat and pushes off the wheel. “It was the Princess.”

You blink. You weren’t expecting him to speak up—as far as you knew, he is pretty reserved, comfortable in the shadows, not speaking unless spoken to.

Soonyoung gawks at you. “Princess—you. You saved us?” You nod slowly, not quite ready for the way they all light up at that piece of information.

“You tied us up?” Chan exclaims, both horrified and awed. “That’s—wow. Amazing.”

“She shot a harpoon at a siren,” Minghao confirms. “Pulled me out of the water. Just in time.”

“Damn,” Soonyoung whistles, clutching his heart. “I think I’m in love.” You let out a breathless laugh, brushing a wet strand of hair from your cheek. “Please, it was just—”

“—heroic,” Chan cuts in.

“Brilliant,” Wonwoo nods.

They swarm you in a chorus of praise, clapping you on the back, asking questions all at once. You smile, flustered but proud.

Until, of course, the storm cloud re-enters.

“My hand-carved railing,” Seungcheol’s voice suddenly booms from the starboard side. “Gone. Shattered.”

“What the—” You mumble.

“And the hull,” Seungcheol barrels on, stalking the deck with his arms thrown up. “My beautiful mahogany hull—scraped! Do you know how long it took me to sand that by hand? Chan, did you see the gouge?!”

“Oh boy,” Wonwoo mutters, exchanging a look with Mingyu. Mingyu folds his arms and smirks. “Ten silvers says she doesn’t let him finish his next sentence.”

“You’re on,” Wonwoo says.

You step forward, arms crossed, not hearing the murmurs of the crew. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Seungcheol spins to face you. “What?”

“You’re seriously yelling about cosmetic damage when you’d all be fish food if I hadn’t stepped in?”

“I’m yelling because my ship looks like it got chewed up and spit out by a Kraken!”

“And yet—” you gesture dramatically, “she’s still floating. You’re welcome.”

“I never asked you to save me,” he growls, jaw tense.

“No, you were too busy trying to kiss a siren to ask me for anything! Oh, but it wasn’t a siren, was it?” That shuts him up for half a second. His eyes narrow, and the muscle in his jaw jumps. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“That much was obvious,” you snap.

“You’re lucky I don’t throw you off this ship myself—”

“For what? Daring to be useful?” you shoot back, stepping into his space. “God forbid the delicate balance of testosterone on this ship gets upset by a woman actually doing something right!”

“You crashed through a royal galleon!”

“I saved your life!”

You’re nose to nose now, practically vibrating with rage. His eyes are molten, dark and burning with the same fire that sparked the first time you met. You hate how handsome he is when he’s angry. You hate that he kissed you, and you felt something.

“Honestly,” you snap, “you are the most boorish and pigheaded man I have ever met!” His eyes flash.

“Princess,” he mocks, “I’ve seen the high-born boys your type hangs around with. I’m the only man you’ve ever met.”

You let out a shriek of frustration and stomp your foot. “Ugh!”

You spin on your heel and march toward the cabin door, slamming it shut behind you so hard the wood rattles in its hinges.

The silence on deck is deafening. Seungcheol turns back to face his crew, fists still clenched from his outburst. Six pairs of eyes are locked on him with unimpressed expressions ranging from judgmental to deeply disappointed. He blinks. “What?”

Soonyoung crosses his arms. “You could say thank you, Captain.” “Yeah,” Chan adds. “She saved us all. You could at least act like you have manners.” Minghao sighs. “Unbelievable.”

Seungcheol mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “goddamn woman,” and stalks toward your cabin.

He knocks once. You fling the door open. “What?” He scowls. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Fine. I won’t.”

You slam the door again.

Back on deck, Seungcheol breathes out once through his nose. “Well?” he asks, throwing his arms up. Minghao shrugs. “Could’ve used a bit more sincerity.”

Seungcheol glares at them all. “Whatever. Mingyu, find the nearest island. We need to fix the damn ship.”

As Mingyu steps toward the wheel, Soonyoung sidles up to Chan. “I ship them.”

“Same,” Chan nods.

“They’re gonna kill each other first,” Wonwoo adds.

“Wanna bet?”

“Always.”

You’ve never seen a ship come back to life so fast.

After a quick stop at a small, uncharted island to gather wood, sealant, and rigging parts, it only took two days for the Chimera to look almost as good as new. The hull still bears scratches, and the sails have a few new tears, but morale is oddly high. Everyone is doing their part—scrubbing, sawing, hammering, knotting, sealing. And you? You’re elbow-deep in tar, laughing with Soonyoung as you try to patch a crack in the starboard railing.

“You’re not bad with your hands, Princess,” he teases, handing you a brush. You raise an eyebrow, dipping it into the thick black tar. “And you’re not as annoying when your mouth is shut.” He barks a laugh, utterly delighted. “Ooh, she’s spicy today.”

Across the deck, Chan lets out a long whistle. “Careful, hyung, she already survived sirens. You might not be so lucky.”

You grin at them both, trying your best to ignore the weight you feel behind your back. That brooding, glowering, impossible weight in the shape of one Choi Seungcheol.

Ever since the grotto, since that kiss—and the furious argument that followed—he’s barely spoken to you. Avoids you like the plague. Unless he’s making some smart-ass remark, of course.

But that’s fine. You’ve got better things to focus on.

Wonwoo actually asked for your opinion yesterday on a course route—“You’ve got a sharp eye, might as well use it,” he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Minghao taught you how to tie a bowline knot. Chan insisted on bringing you extra water rations as you scrubbed the deck. And Soonyoung, gods help him, has taken to calling you Captain Princess.

You pretend it’s annoying. It’s not.

Which makes Seungcheol’s reactions all the more confusing. He’s been sniping at the crew left and right like a wounded bear.

“Soonyoung, if you’ve got time to flirt, you’ve got time to check the damn ropes.”

“Wonwoo, she’s not your first mate, she doesn’t need your damn charts.”

It’s exhausting. And worse, none of them even take him seriously anymore. They just roll their eyes and laugh him off.

What you don’t know is that while you’re still patching up the railing with Soonyoung, Mingyu sneaks up on Seungcheol, his voice low and teasing. “You’re jealous,”

Seungcheol scoffs. “I’m irritated. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

“They’re not focused. We’re sailing into unknown waters. This isn’t a game.”

Mingyu turns toward him, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You’ve had your crew flirting in taverns and stealing ladies’ hearts for years, and now you’re mad because Chan called her pretty?” Seungcheol glares. “She’s not part of the crew.”

“She’s the reason any of us are still alive.”

That shuts him up. Mingyu’s voice softens. “Whatever this is… deal with it. Before it consumes you.”

But Seungcheol doesn’t answer. He watches the horizon.

You, meanwhile, are cleaning your hands off with a rag when something shifts in the air.

Where the sky was painted in warm gold and soft blue, it now bleeds grey. Fast. Clouds roll in. The wind picks up so sharply you nearly lose your footing.

“Hey—” Chan shouts from across the deck. “Is anyone seeing that?” Thunder cracks overhead. The water darkens. You squint at the sky. “That wasn’t there five minutes ago.” Soonyoung’s smile falters. “Feels... wrong.”

Minghao climbs down from the crow’s nest, eyes narrowed. “There was no storm indicated this far south. This isn’t natural.”

You see Seungcheol’s figure, already moving into action, barking orders in that deep, commanding voice. “Tighten the ropes—drop half the sails. Minghao, check the compass. Chan, prepare the storm rigging.”

Everyone’s rushing now, hands on sails, feet racing across the deck. You grab a rope and instinctively help Soonyoung fasten it. “Is this another challenge?” you ask, breathless.

He nods grimly. “It has to be. Storms don’t rise like that unless something calls them.”

The sky rips apart.

Thunder explodes above your head, and the Chimera lurches violently beneath your feet as the first true wave of the storm crashes into her hull. You stumble, catching yourself on a rope, heart racing in your chest as the wind screams around you.

“Hold the sails! Batten down everything that moves!” Seungcheol’s voice cuts through the chaos, barely audible over the howl of the wind. “Brace yourselves!”

You look to the others—Minghao already scaling up the mast, Chan clinging to the rigging, Soonyoung barking orders and running lines. Everyone’s in action, fluid and fierce. You mimic their movements, tying knots, steadying loose items, and gripping any anchor point you can find. But panic prickles at the edges of your throat.

This storm isn’t natural. You feel it in your bones.

A hand lands on your shoulder. You whip around to see Mingyu, rain slicking his hair flat against his forehead, concern etched into every line of his face. “You should go below deck—ride it out in your cabin. This isn’t just a squall, Princess.”

“If they can handle it, so can I,” you shout back, voice trembling slightly despite your resolve. Mingyu hesitates, eyes flicking toward Seungcheol. His jaw tightens. “Alright. Just stay sharp.” You nod once and return to the chaos.

Rain begins in earnest now, slicing sideways through the wind, soaking every inch of you in seconds. You’re drenched, shivering, boots slipping across the deck, hair sticking to your face.

Still, you stay.

Seungcheol is still at the wheel, knuckles white around the handles, shirt plastered to his chest, jaw locked tight. His gaze flickers to you, once, twice—his expression unreadable in the flicker of lightning. But it lingers.

Then, the unthinkable happens.

“Maelstrom!” Soonyoung shouts as the sea splits open.

Your eyes follow the direction of his trembling hand.

A great swirling vortex opens just ahead— deep and wide, churning with impossible violence. The water doesn’t move naturally—it spins with an eerie cadence, as though summoned by something ancient, something furious.

“Hard to starboard!” Seungcheol yells. He spins the wheel violently, trying to angle the ship away from the pull of the current.

It’s not enough. The ship begins to drag sideways, inch by inch, into the spiral. “Throw everything we don’t need overboard! We’re too heavy!”

Mingyu leaps toward the mainsail. You rush to help the others who have moved below deck—boxes, crates, barrels, anything not bolted down is passed along and hurled into the sea with panicked shouts and splashes that vanish into the stormy swirl.

The ship jolts again, water flooding over the railing. You sprint across the deck, nearly slipping, carrying what you can and tossing it over the edge.

And then it happens. One of the crates—a heavy box of scrap metal—catches on your foot. The rope slithers around your ankle and then tightens with sudden force as the crate slides across the deck, pulled over the railing by the ship’s tilt. Before you can cry out, it yanks you off your feet, face slamming into the soaked wood, pain blooming across your cheekbone.

You scream as your body is dragged backwards, feet first, the deck rushing by beneath you until your arms latch—barely—onto the railing. Your body already half overboard, legs dangling above the abyss.

“Arghhh!”

Seungcheol’s voice pierces the roar of the storm. “PRINCESS!”

And then he’s moving.

You see him abandon the wheel, Mingyu diving in to take his place without hesitation. Seungcheol barrels across the deck, boots skidding, eyes locked on yours with something that looks far too much like fear.

“I can’t hold on!” you cry, your voice breaking. The railing is slippery. Your strength is fading. “Don’t you dare let go,” he growls, dropping to his knees beside you. He grabs your arm and tries to pull—but the rope tugs you again, your hand slipping. “You’ll go over too!” Seungcheol’s eyes flash. “Like hell, I will.”

Then—without hesitation—he grabs his dagger, clenches it between his teeth, and climbs over the side of the ship.

Rain is slamming into his back, the waves crashing over him, but he reaches you. “I’ve got you,” he shouts, pulling the dagger free. Your voice breaks. “I’m scared.” Seungcheol’s movements falter for half a second. Then he growls, “I know. But I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Seungcheol cuts the rope, over and over, until it finally snaps free. The sudden release sends your body plummeting as your fingers lose their grip.

But you don’t fall into the sea. Seungcheol reaches out and clutches you to him, one arm locking around your waist, the other gripping the ladder in front of him. You wrap your arms around his neck instinctively, sobbing now.

“It’s okay, darling,” he mutters roughly, mouth by your ear. “You’re safe.” You pull back, just slightly, your eyes meeting his in the torrential downpour. “Thank you,” you whisper. His gaze softens. And for the briefest heartbeat, he whispers back, “Anytime.”

He hoists you both upward, muscle and willpower carrying you until you crash onto the deck once more. The two of you collapse in a heap of limbs, gasping, drenched, rain battering down.

But you’re alive.

You stare at him for a long moment, his face so close to yours, the adrenaline still pumping in your veins. His hair is soaked, brow creased—but he’s looking at you with something akin to relief.

Then Mingyu’s voice pierces the haze. “Cheol! We need you!”

You both snap out of it.

The storm dissapears as quickly as it came.

The roar of wind and water settles into a hushed murmur. Rain trickles to a stop. The sky peels open, dusky purple bleeds into soft orange and navy at the edges.

You stand on legs that barely feel like they belong to you. Shaky. Damp. Numb. The wood beneath your boots creaks and shifts with the gentle sway of the ship, no longer at war with the sea. No more maelstrom. No more screaming.

Around you, the crew slowly reorients themselves. Soonyoung rests his hands on his knees, panting. Wonwoo slouches against the railing. Chan leans back and exhales one long, broken breath. Minghao is seated on the deck, soaked through, running a hand through his wet hair. His eyes meet yours briefly. He gives you the faintest nod.

You’ve never seen men so strong, so wild, suddenly look so... human.

On the quarterdeck, Seungcheol is holding the wheel like it might still rip from his hands. Mingyu claps a hand on his shoulder. “You alright?” Seungcheol nods once, sharp. “We’re out.”

“You did good,” Mingyu says, and then—because he’s Mingyu—he adds, “Told you she wasn’t just a pretty face.” Seungcheol gives him a sidelong glare, his jaw working before he huffs through his nose. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting. I’m just saying—if this is you pretending not to care about her, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.”

Seungcheol grunts, but doesn’t argue. He turns his gaze back to the deck. At you. And you feel it like a tether tugging at your chest. You meet his gaze. He doesn’t look away. Everything else blurs: the crew, the remnants of the storm, the creaking ship.

It’s just you and him.

You, standing with seawater still dripping from your hair, your shirt sticking to your skin, your lip sore from where you bit it in panic. Him, forearms tense and shoulders set, chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths, eyes unreadable, but softened—a storm in his own right.

Mingyu steps in, subtle as always. “I’ll take over. Go.” Seungcheol raises a brow. “Go where?” Mingyu just smirks, hands already moving to the handles. “Go.” There’s a beat of resistance. But then Seungcheol pushes away, descending the stairs.

He stops just in front of you. Close enough that the heat of his body, still radiating from adrenaline and effort, warms your chilled skin.

You lift your hand. It’s steady, palm open, and fingers stretched toward him.

He stares at it for a moment, brows knitting together, as if it’s a puzzle he doesn’t quite know how to solve. You raise your eyebrows, the barest edge of a smirk playing on your lips. You wiggle your fingers slightly, urging. He blinks once before chuckling low in his throat.

Then, he takes it.

His hand is warm. Calloused. Larger than yours, his grasp firm but soft. His palm envelops yours, and for a moment, your breath catches—not from fear, not from shock, but something else entirely.

“Hello,” you say with mock formality. “I���m the princess who doesn’t know how to stay below deck, apparently.” That draws a real laugh from him. His smile is a little too pleased. His fingers tighten just slightly. “Seungcheol,” he replies, the word dipping low in his chest. “Captain of the Chimera. Horrible temper. Worse manners.”

“Yes, I noticed.” His mouth twitches. Your fingers linger in his. Just a bit too long. You look up at him, and you see none of the biting, brooding edge he usually shows. Just Seungcheol. Just the man who saved you from the sea like you weighed nothing. You cough lightly, clearing your throat as you gently extract your hand. Your face is hot. “I should clean up.”

“Right,” he says, still smiling. You nod and turn.

The men are suspiciously quiet as you pass—Chan nods his head softly, Soonyoung smiles brightly, and Wonwoo mutters something half-intelligible about “stormproof royalty.”

You flash a quick smile their way, half-formed, half-distracted. But your mind is still reeling. Your boots squelch as you approach your cabin. Your hand wraps around the brass handle, ready to go inside, but something—something instinctive—makes you glance back.

There he is.

Still standing in the middle of the deck, watching you like you’ve unravelled something inside him. Like he can’t stop looking, even if he tried. You inhale deeply and slip inside, the door shutting softly behind you.

And your heart—traitorous, fluttering thing—won’t stop pounding.

You can’t sleep.

Not from the cold, not from the rocking of the ship, not even from the aches that linger in your body after the storm. It’s something deeper. Something woven into your chest and bones and memory. The kind of thing that no amount of time beneath a blanket can soothe. So you dress quietly, wrap a shawl around your shoulders, and slip out of your cabin.

The deck is slick from the rain, shining faintly under the glow of the stars—more brilliant than you’ve ever seen them. Clear and cold and endless. You make your way toward the foredeck, your bare feet almost silent against the planks as the soft snores of the crew travel upwards from below. The wind is cooler out here, brushing through your hair and tugging at your shawl. You let it.

You close your eyes and… breathe.

The sea tonight is nothing like the one that tried to kill you earlier. Tonight, it’s still. Endless. The sky meets the horizon in a velvet embrace, and for a moment, you forget the chaos. The Book. The weight on your shoulders.

You don’t hear him until he speaks. “Can’t sleep?” You jolt, spinning toward the voice. But your tension eases the second you recognise him.

Seungcheol.

He stands a few feet behind you, hands tucked into his pockets, his hair slightly mussed from sleep—or the attempt of it. His voice is low, quiet enough to let the silence breathe between his words. You nod faintly, offering a ghost of a smile. “You either?” He steps closer, just enough to stand beside you as he leans on the railing, mirroring your stance. “Not tonight.”

His voice carries a kind of tiredness that extends beyond physical exhaustion. You recognise it. You feel it, too.

For a while, neither of you speak. You don’t know why you say it. Maybe because he saved your life. Maybe because you saw something behind his eyes when he held you. Maybe it’s just the hour—the strange truth of midnight, when secrets don’t feel so heavy.

“I fell in love with the sea when I was eight.”

He glances at you, curious. You keep your eyes on the endless abyss. “The palace walls in Mdina were too high to see the water. But there was one tower, this crumbling old thing the guards had stopped patrolling. I figured out how to climb it. There was a ledge on the roof. And from there… I could narrowly see the sea.”

You smile faintly, remembering. “I used to watch the ships. They looked like tiny ants, just dots. But I made up stories about them. I used to pretend I was on one of them. That I wasn’t a girl in a dress being groomed for court. I was a sailor. A pirate. A hero.”

He nods, slowly. “For me, it was the docks.” You look at him again. His voice is softer than usual. “I grew up in the lower district of Syracuse. Slums, really. My mother cleaned houses. My father died young. I used to scoop up fish guts at the port to make ends meet. Smelled like rot every damn day.”

He chuckles, a little bitter.

“But the sailors… they were different. They had stories. Gold teeth. Worn hands. Laughs like thunder. I used to watch them and think, ‘Maybe I could be like that.’ Maybe I didn’t have to stay where I was.” He smiles, but it’s a sad thing. “I wanted that life. Not the guts and coins—the freedom. The idea that you could leave. That you could choose who you wanted to be.”

Your heart twists.

“Then I met Joshua.” His voice drops further. “He was different. He didn’t treat me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his boot. He taught me how to read. I taught him how to climb walls and steal apples.”

That makes you laugh, even though your throat is tight.

“But the king hated me. Always did. Thought I was corrupting his perfect son. I guess in his eyes, I did.”

You want to say something. But you don’t. You let him speak.

“One day, we did something stupid. There was this abandoned building near the market—a half-finished palace, supposed to be part of some expansion. We climbed it. Dared each other to go higher. Joshua fell. Part of the roof caved in.”

His hands flex on the railing. “I pulled him out. But someone had to answer for it. The building collapsed. They blamed me.” He exhales slowly. “The King would’ve ruined me. Maybe worse. So I left before he could.”

You step closer. His eyes flick to you, but he doesn’t move. You can see the weight in them—the shadow of old scars he’s never let anyone see. You reach out and gently take his hand in yours. He tenses, just for a second. But then his shoulders ease. You lift your other hand to his face, fingers brushing lightly along his jaw, turning him to face you. He lets you.

“After the book was stolen,” you say quietly, “The King said horrible things about you. I didn’t understand it at the time. I thought—maybe you deserved it.” His brow twitches, but you go on. “But he’s wrong.” Your voice is firmer now.

“You’re not what he says. You’re good, Seungcheol. You’re brave. You’re strong. You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever met, yes—but you didn’t hesitate to save Joshua all those years ago. And you didn’t hesitate to save me.” He huffs a small laugh. “Even when you were annoyed with me.” You smile softly. “Even then.”

There’s silence again, but it’s warm now. Comforting. Seungcheol’s eyes flutter closed for a second, his face leaning slightly into your touch. When he opens them again, they’re locked onto yours. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Princess.” His voice is low, hoarse. “But I don’t want you to stop.”

Before you can speak, he closes the space between you. His hands wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You don’t resist. You don’t want to.

And then his lips are on yours.

It's nothing like before—nothing like that trance-induced kiss during the siren’s song. This one is real. All-consuming. It feels like every second of tension, every argument, every half-glance, and silent heartbeat between you two has built up to this moment.

You clutch him, fingers tangling in his hair as his hands slide around your waist, drawing you closer until there’s no space left between you. You gasp into his mouth just as his hands slip lower—down your sides, over your hips, and finally, they settle on your bare ass. His breath hitches at the feel of your skin, his fingers tightening reflexively as he realizes what you’re wearing.

Or rather—what you’re not. No pants. No underwear. His groan reverberates through his chest, and it sparks heat through your core. You nip at his bottom lip, suck on it lightly, and feel the slight tremble in his breath.

But then, he pulls away. Not completely—his forehead still brushes against yours, his hands are still on your skin, his breath fanning across your lips. But something has shifted. You feel the hesitation before he speaks, the uncertainty tucked behind his usual bravado.

“I want you, Princess.” His whispers hoarsly, his thumbs rubbing small circles over your tailbone. “God, I want you. But—”

You blink up at him. “But what?” you whisper, your voice breathless from the kiss.

He sighs. “I’m not—” He swallows. “You’re promised to someone else. I’m—” He trails off. “I’m not what you were supposed to have. I don’t want to be the thing you regret. The man who ruins your perfect little royal life.” His words are quiet, but you can feel the weight in them—the insecurity.

You lift your hand and press your fingers to his lips, silencing him. His eyes flicker up to yours, uncertain, soft, searching. “That marriage,” you say, “was arranged five years ago. I never had a say in it. It was politics. An alliance. A duty.” Your eyes don't leave his. “I care for Joshua, I do. I don’t want him to die. But I don’t…” Your voice lowers. “I don’t long for him.”

He stares at you, unmoving, his hands gripping your hips like you might slip away. You lean in closer. “But I do, with you. I want you.” You kiss him again, and that’s what finally breaks him.

He growls softly against your mouth before gripping your thighs, and lifting you effortlessly. You gasp, giggling at the sudden motion as he carries you toward his cabin. The door swings open with a bang as his shoulder knocks it open, then slams it closed behind him with his foot. Inside, the space is dim and warm, filled with the scent of salt and leather, and something uniquely him.

He kisses you like he’s been starving, pressing against you, devouring every sigh and gasp you release. He spins you both before lowering himself onto his bed, you straddling his lap.

The room is cluttered with maps, artefacts, weapons—chaotic but oddly personal. You don’t care. It feels like him.

Your shirt is the only thing concealing your naked flesh. He unbuttons it—one, two, three—leaving kisses along every patch of newly exposed skin. His mouth lingers at your collarbone, dragging open-mouthed kisses along your neck. And then your shirt is open.

You shiver as the cool air hits your skin, but the feeling disappears the second his mouth wraps around your nipple. Your head tips back, a soft moan escaping your throat as your fingers tangle in his hair again. He groans as you arch into him, and his hands begin their slow, reverent path—skimming your thighs, your hips, your waist. One hand cups your breast, the other trails lower.

He finds your pussy and hisses through his teeth. “You’re soaked.”

You grind against him in response, your heat pressing against the hard length of his cock, straining through the fabric of his pants. “Seungcheol,” you whimper, shifting your hips. “Please…” He looks up at you, chest heaving, lips red and swollen from kissing. “You’re sure?” he whispers, his mouth a breath away from yours. “Yes,” you breathe. “God, yes.” His mouth claims yours again, rougher this time. Needier.

And finally—finally—his fingers press against your clit. You moan into his mouth. Two of his fingers slide inside your wet heat, slow but deep. The stretch to your walls steals your breath, your body clenching around him instinctively.

“Fuck, Princess,” he groans against your neck, “you feel—” He cuts himself off with a growl as he thrusts his fingers again, and again. His mouth returns to your abandoned nipple, suckling, licking, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin until you’re writhing in his lap.

Your hips grind in rhythm with his hand. One of yours is still in his hair, but you slip the other past the waistband of his pants. Your fingers find him there—hot, hard, throbbing in your palm, his tip leaking precum.

“Shit—” He moans into your skin when you wrap your hand around his cock, matching your movements to the rhythm of his fingers inside you. The sensations overwhelm you—his mouth on your breast, his fingers working inside you, your own hand wrapped around the length of him, the quiet, desperate sounds he makes just for you. You don’t last long. Your body begins to quake, your hips stuttering.

“I’m—Seungcheol—” you gasp. His other hand grips your thigh as he presses his thumb firmly to your clit, rubbing short, hard circles over it. “That’s it,” he breathes. “Let go for me.”

And you do. You come with a sharp cry, the world shattering around you. Your grip on his member fluttering slightly.

Your body clenches around his fingers as you tremble, shaking in his lap while he continues to move his fingers inside you slowly, helping you ride it out. His mouth finds its way to your shoulder, murmuring something you can’t quite hear over the blood roaring in your ears.

Seungcheol’s fingers slip out of you slowly, and the sound is obscene in the quiet room—a slick, wet squelch that makes your body shudder. He brings his hand up without hesitation, the pads of his fingers glistening with your juices, and then—he sucks them into his mouth.

You watch, breath caught in your throat as his eyes flutter shut, a low groan vibrating in his chest. His cheeks hollow slightly as he licks them clean, dragging his tongue between his fingers.

“Delicious,” he mutters hoarsely.

You stifle a moan, biting your lower lip. Heat burns at the base of your spine. Gods, this man.

Your hand is still wrapped around his length—thick and throbbing in your palm, his tip slick with precum. He twitches in your palm, the veins on his shaft pulsing.

Slowly, you give his cock a firm stroke from base to tip. Then another. You pause at his tip, run your thumb along the slit, gather the moisture there, and spread it down his shaft. He groans again, his hips twitching slightly, breath hitching.

“Shit—” he hisses.

Your strokes become firmer and more deliberate. Your other hand drifts up his stomach, exploring every inch of his skin—feeling the way his abs clench and how his skin jumps beneath your touch.

His mouth leaves a trail of fire along your skin—down your collarbone, along the swell of your chest, up your neck. When he pulls back, you can see the flush painting his skin, the way his jaw trembles with restraint.

“You’re going to make me come,” he pants, looking at you like he’s never seen anything more devastatingly perfect. “Fuck, baby, you are—unreal.” You don’t stop. You just smirk. “That’s the idea.”

You grip his cock tighter, twisting your wrist slightly at the end of each stroke, dragging your palm over his head with calculated pressure. His hips start to buck, chasing the sensation. His breath is ragged. His forehead falls to your shoulder.

Suddenly, his hands shoot out, grabbing you by the hips. You yelp, breathless with laughter, as he flips you both over, laying you flat on the mattress under him. His hair is mussed, his chest heaving, and his cock—straining against his pants—is nestled between your thighs, pressing hotly against your entrance.

He chuckles breathlessly as he looks down at you. “You’re evil.”

“You love it.”

Your shirt is tossed somewhere over your head. You reach for him, fingers slipping under his waistband, shoving his pants down with a little too much urgency. He chuckles again, sitting up briefly to kick them off the rest of the way.

“Impatient?”

“Desperate.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. His cock slides along your folds, slick and hot, and it makes both of you stutter, gasping against each other’s mouths, as his tip catches on your clit.

He pulls back slightly, his chest heaving, just enough to line himself up at your entrance. His eyes search yours, asking the question again—but not with words. And you answer him with a nod, small but certain.

Then—he pushes in.

The rhythm he sets isn’t gentle. It’s deliberate. Powerful. Deep, rolling thrusts that send jolts of sensation ricocheting through your spine. You gasp, your head falling back against the mattress as he fills you, again and again, harder each time. His breath is warm against your neck, his body tight above yours, every muscle in him working to give you pleasure.

“God, baby,” he growls against your ear, voice raw. “So tight—so fucking good.”

You whimper beneath him, your nails digging into the hard planes of his back as you cling to him, every thrust making you feel like you’re unravelling.

“Cheol—”

“That’s it,” he hisses, kissing your jaw. “Say my name. Say it again.”

“Cheol—fuck, yes—”

His hips slam into yours again, harder this time, and a loud moan escapes you. He swallows it with another kiss—it’s messy, perfect.

He adjusts his angle, one hand slides upward—first across your ribs, then higher, until his palm wraps gently around your throat. He squeezes gently. His fingers press against your vein, his thumb brushing your jaw, your pulse beating steady beneath his palm. The gesture is tender and possessive all at once.

“Too much?” he asks.

You shake your head slowly, biting your lip. “No,” you whisper. “Don’t stop.”

His other hand slides down your body until he’s between your thighs again. His fingers find your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that counter the pace of his thrusts. You shudder beneath him, crying out his name again, and he groans in return.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “Fuck, baby, you’re driving me crazy.”

His fingers circle in rhythm with his thrusts, the pressure building unbearably fast. It’s too much, too good—the heat of his body flush against yours, his breath on your skin, his cock sliding in and out of you with aching precision.

“You’re so good,” he groans, his voice cracking as he starts to lose control. “You take me so well. Look at you, wrapped around me like you were made for this.”

You can’t help it—you cry out, a desperate sound from deep in your chest. He’s hitting every place inside you that drives you wild, and his fingers are moving faster now, chasing the climax that’s rising too quickly.

Suddenly, his other hand grabs your leg, lifts it, and hooks it over his shoulder. He thrusts again, and the new angle makes you see stars. His cock is even deeper, stretching out your walls.

You swear aloud, a high, choked moan, as your hands fly to his biceps, clutching him like a lifeline. He fucks into you hard, deep, relentless, hitting that spot inside you with every powerful stroke.

“Right there, huh?” he pants, eyes locked to your face, drinking in every expression like it’s salvation. “You gonna come again for me, baby?” You nod frantically, incoherent with pleasure. He’s everywhere—his mouth on your neck, his hand on your clit, his body pounding into yours like he’s trying to fuse you together.

“Please—Cheol—”

Your voice breaks on a sob of pleasure. He doesn’t stop. “Come for me. Let me feel you, Princess.” And you do. It crashes into you like a tidal wave, your back arching off the bed, thighs trembling, mouth parting in a silent scream. Your vision blurs, the breath ripped from your lungs as your climax pulses through you, wave after devastating wave. Seungcheol groans low in his throat as your walls clamp down on him like a vice.

“Shit—fuck—” He stutters inside you, his rhythm faltering as the tight squeeze of your pussy sends him hurtling after you. His hand clenches your thigh tighter. One last thrust—and he comes with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside you, his whole body shuddering with the force of it.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing, the quiet tremble of your bodies still clinging to the aftershocks. He lowers your leg from his shoulder gently, his palm stroking down the back of your thigh. Your hands find his face. You run your fingertips along his jaw, tracing the line of it, soft and slow. He turns his face to kiss your palm, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses your digits.

Then they open again—and you look at each other. You both chuckle at the same time.

“Hey,” you whisper, brushing a damp strand of hair away from his forehead.

“Hey,” he replies, and kisses you again.

You don’t know how long you’ve been talking. Hours maybe. The sun has long since gone up, and you’ve laughed more in the last stretch of time than you have in years.

“Wait, wait—” you say, still laughing, grabbing the wrist that’s been stroking your side so his fingers stop distracting you. “You’re telling me you got your entire crew banned from a tavern... for winning too much?”

Seungcheol smirks, scratching the back of his head as if caught red-handed. “It wasn’t my fault they didn’t notice Minghao was using marked cards. I just happened to collect the winnings.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You say that now, but you’d have taken your cut too.”

You scoff, pushing at his shoulder, though your smile doesn’t waver. He catches your hand easily, presses a kiss to the inside of your palm, and doesn’t let go. The touch makes your breath catch.

“Alright then, your turn.” He leans back again, watching you with that unreadable glint in his eye. “We’ve covered your rebellious rooftop climbs and your hatred of court shoes. What else don’t you like?” You hum, pretending to think. “Hmm. Peaches. Overrated. Sweet and slimy. They remind me of Duke Alberon’s awful moustache.”

Seungcheol bursts out laughing, his whole body shaking beside you. “I am never going to eat a peach again without seeing that man’s ratty little face, thank you for that.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing too loud, smug at his reaction. His hand slides from your stomach to your thigh, lazily stroking the skin again, and you don’t stop him. “I like this,” you murmur after a moment, your voice quieter now. “Talking. With you.” His expression softens. “Yeah. Me too.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full. That is, until the door slams open.

“Hey, Cap—” Soonyoung’s voice booms into the room before his body does, stomping in without knocking. “The mist’s rolled in heavy, and Mingyu adjusted course, Wonwoo says if we keep east by southeast, we’ll—”

Soonyoung blinks once. Then again. His eyes dart from you— naked and lazily sprawled across the bed—to Seungcheol, shirtless, clearly dishevelled, and unmistakably not alone.

“I—” His jaw opens, but no sound comes out. You raise an amused eyebrow and tuck the blanket a little higher over your body. Seungcheol, on the other hand, is not nearly so composed.

“Get out!” he barks, grabbing a nearby pillow and hurling it with precision at Soonyoung’s head. The poor man yelps as it smacks into his face.

“I didn’t see anything!” Soonyoung squeaks, hands flailing as he turns around hastily. “I swear! Nothing at all—except her legs, and maybe a bit of—okay, I’m going!”

“Soonyoung!” Seungcheol snaps, now using his hand to shield your chest like his body alone could restore your modesty.

“I’m going! I’m going!” Soonyoung yells back, already halfway through the door. “But Mingyu said he needs you at the helm like now. There’s fog and a current and—and I’ll just go!”

The door slams shut behind him. For a moment, the room is still. Then your laughter bubbles up. You can’t hold it back even if you try. “That was—” you start between breaths, “the most mortified I’ve ever seen anyone in my life.” Seungcheol groans and slumps back against the headboard, dragging a hand down his face. “He’s gonna tell everyone, isn’t he?”

“Oh, without question,” you say, nudging his side. “The betting pool has probably reopened already.”

“Betting pool?”

“Please. They were definitely wagering when we’d fall into bed.”

Seungcheol drops his head against your stomach, groaning dramatically. “This crew is going to be unbearable.”

“Hmm.” You run your fingers through his hair slowly, scratching lightly at his scalp. “You’re just mad they were right.” You feel the warmth of his smile pressed against your belly, even as he pretends to sulk. “I can’t believe Soonyoung saw your boobs,” he mumbles. You grin. “And I’m pretty sure I traumatised him.”

Seungcheol exhales a quiet laugh through his nose and shakes his head as he sits up. The warmth of his body leaves your side, but you don’t mind—not when you get the view that’s in front of you. You watch him stretch lazily, muscles flexing as he reaches up before grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head. Then he steps into his pants, tying the drawstring with practised ease. His back muscles ripple with every movement, and you don’t hide the way your eyes roam freely across the expanse of his torso.

He catches your gaze and smirks, glancing at you from over his shoulder.

“You staring, Princess?” he taunts, the smugness practically dripping from his voice. You smirk, stretching languidly on the bed. “Obviously. Wouldn’t want to waste the view.” That earns you a laugh. He finishes fastening the last button of his shirt and turns back to you, raking his gaze down the curve of your body, still on full display under the lazy fall of the blanket.

Then, without warning, he strides over to your side of the bed. His hand comes down with a swift, playful smack against your bare ass cheek.

“Up,” he says, voice low and commanding but tinged with amusement. “If I have to go face Mingyu and the crew after last night, you’re not getting out of it either.”

You yelp more out of surprise than pain, narrowing your eyes at him as you sit up. “I was perfectly content right here, actually.” He grins, stepping back as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. “Well, now you can be content getting dressed. And preferably before Soonyoung bursts in again.”

You scoff but move to your feet anyway as he tosses you some undergarments from the floor without even trying to hide the smirk on his face. You catch them midair. “Thanks, Captain.”

He steps closer again, slower this time. One hand catches your chin, thumb brushing along your jawline as his eyes flicker over your face. “Try not to look too smug out there,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Or they’ll start placing bets on when I’ll marry you.”

You raise an eyebrow, heart skipping—but you smirk instead of answering. “Then maybe you should kiss me goodbye properly.” Seungcheol stares for a beat—then grins like a devil before pulling you into him, crashing his mouth to yours.

“Get dressed, Princess,” he rasps, eyes lingering. “Before I change my mind.” And with that, he walks to the door, grabbing his coat. He’s halfway through opening it when he glances back.

“Five minutes. Or I’m coming back for you.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

The mist swallows everything.

You don’t even see it at first—just a soft shift in the air as you step out of Seungcheol’s cabin. You’d expected teasing whistles or knowing grins, maybe a few sly comments from Mingyu or Chan. Instead, silence meets you. A quiet so thick it pulls the breath from your lungs. The Chimera is cloaked in a pale grey fog, dense and unmoving, the deck slick with dew and the sails limp in the breathless air.

Your eyes move quickly, scanning the ship. No one is looking at you—not because they’re being polite, but because every man is on edge. Focused. Alert. Like something’s about to happen.

Above you, Minghao stands in the crow’s nest, his thin frame just barely visible through the thick veil of mist. He’s rotating slowly, scanning with a spyglass in one hand and a compass in the other. Every few minutes, he mutters something, too quiet to carry. Soonyoung and Chan move carefully near the weapons stash, inventorying each item with tight mouths and nervous hands. Their usual playfulness has been swallowed whole by the fog.

You walk further along the deck, your boots quiet on the wood, until you spot them—Seungcheol and Wonwoo near the main mast, crouched low over a spread of maps and books. Wonwoo is muttering frantically, his fingers darting between pages, eyes wild with thought. Seungcheol is tense. His broad shoulders are hunched, eyes narrowed, and jaw tight.

You move beside him quietly, and when your hand grazes his bicep, he startles before looking up. The hard line of his shoulders eases at the sight of you. His hand comes to rest on your waist, the weight of it grounding. He squeezes softly. You do the same in return. “Morning,” you say gently. “Afternoon,” Wonwoo corrects immediately, eyes not leaving the yellowed page he’s turned to.

You smile faintly and lean in to study the map, tilting your head as you glance from it to the thick book in his other hand. The letters are unfamiliar—twisting, ancient shapes carved in what looks more like inked bone than any written language.

Wonwoo’s voice picks up. “It doesn’t make sense—nothing does—but it’s all here, I know it is. I’ve read the entire Codex of the Four Winds twice now, and all the references to Tartarus, to the ferryway—Quod est superius est sicut quod inferius—it’s all pointing here. But I can’t decode the meaning of it. It’s like, like the pieces are there, but the puzzle’s missing half its edges—”

“Breathe, Wonwoo,” Seungcheol says quietly, trying not to snap. Wonwoo exhales sharply through his nose, flipping another page. “Do you know what the poets of Andelos called it? The place beyond the fog? The Cradle of the Dead. And every single account, no matter how fantastical, mentions a waterfall. But not a normal one. A falling of stars. Water going up and down, as if the sky and sea mirror each other.” Your brow furrows. “As above, so below.” Wonwoo snaps his head toward you, eyes sharp. “Yes.”

You kneel beside them now, brushing your fingers lightly over a different page. “There was a book in Mdina. An old one. Verses of the Vanished. I read it when I was nine and had nightmares for weeks. It mentioned a veil of silence, a place past the final sea where time collapses, and stars sink beneath the water.” Wonwoo is nodding quickly. “That’s it. That’s exactly it. But how do we find it?”

“Maybe,” you murmur, “you don’t. Maybe it finds you.” The mist swirls closer around the ship, like it heard you. Mingyu leaves the helm and strides toward you, his boots thudding heavily. “It’s getting worse,” he says. “Visibility’s almost zero. The current’s off too—subtle, but it’s pulling.”

“We’re near it,” Wonwoo mutters. “I know it.”

Mingyu looks down at the pages, then over at you and Seungcheol. “He’s been at this since dawn.” Seungcheol reaches out and flips a corner of the map. “Wonwoo, you said something about the water falling up. What if it’s not a place we sail into, but something that pulls us in?”

“Like a gate?” you ask. “Or a crossing,” Mingyu adds. Wonwoo slams his book shut. “It could be anything. That’s the problem.”

Silence falls again.

You glance up toward the crow’s nest. Minghao hasn’t moved, but now he’s gripping the rail tighter. You hear his voice float down, quiet and unsure. “Captain?” Seungcheol looks up. “What is it?”

Minghao slowly turns his spyglass. “I… don’t know.”

Wonwoo’s breath catches. “It’s beginning.”

The sound hits first.

A low, guttural rumble that shakes the air. It begins deep below deck, in the bones of the ship, before rolling up through the planks and ropes and sails. You freeze, eyes narrowing toward the horizon—or what should be the horizon—but the mist is too thick, the light too dim.

Then, as if guided by some unseen hand, the mist begins to pull away. It unfurls slowly at first, like curtains parting on a stage, but it quickly gives way to something utterly impossible.

There, ahead of you, rises a waterfall. Not falling. Rising.

A great column of water, impossibly wide, impossibly tall, rushes skyward, curling into the clouds above. Spray bursts from the base of it in violent gusts, catching the late afternoon light in prismatic flashes. You blink. “What the—” The words are half-formed before they’re lost in the roar of the ocean.

Seungcheol moves instantly.

“Raise the sails!” he shouts, already sprinting toward the helm. “To your stations! Man the lines! Chan—get those sails ready for shift, now!” Mingyu’s already right behind him, racing to the helm. “We’ll be in it within minutes if we stay this course!” The crew explodes into motion. Minghao descends swiftly from the crow’s nest. Soonyoung and Chan tear across the deck. Even Wonwoo doesn’t look up from the open book on his lap, only flips another page with frantic energy.

You remain frozen—just for a heartbeat.

Until Seungcheol turns toward you. “Princess”, he points, eyes blazing. “To the port lines. Watch the tension; call if we’re drifting!” He’s giving you a task. For the first time since you’ve boarded the Chimera, he’s treating you not as cargo, not as a complication, not even as a lover—but as crew.

You nod firmly. “Aye, Captain.”

You run, the wind lashing your hair around your face. Your feet are sure beneath you, heart pounding, and you grab the rope with firm hands, joining Soonyoung and Chan without hesitation. You glance once over your shoulder—Seungcheol is watching. And when your eyes meet, he doesn’t look away. Pride. You see it in his eyes.

“Steady!” he shouts. “We’re almost at the pull!”

The wind screams louder. The sound of the waterfall is deafening. The closer you get, the more the air warps and howls. Hair and clothes whip around every which way. Sails strain under pressure. The Chimera groans beneath you like it’s fighting not to be torn apart.

“It’s not just a waterfall!” he yells over the sound. “It’s a threshold! A crossing point—between realms! As above, so below—it’s—” “Wonwoo!” Seungcheol cuts in sharply. “What happens when we go through?”

“I don’t know!” Wonwoo shouts back, desperation in his voice. “No one ever has!” You don’t hear the end of that sentence because that’s when it begins.

A tendril of smoke.

No—not smoke. Something darker. Slick and slow, it creeps across the surface of the sea, winding around the hull of the Chimera. More follow—dozens. Hundreds. They rise like grasping hands, curling toward the deck.

“Captain…” Chan breathes, stepping back from one of the ropes, eyes wide. Minghao calls out from above. “Smoke! From the water!”

“Cordia,” Seungcheol breathes, barely a whisper.

“Seungcheol?” you call out, your voice trembling now.

His head snaps up. For the first time in this madness, his expression fractures. “Get to me!” he yells.

You don’t hesitate. You run—but before you can reach him— The mist turns black. The tendrils strike.

And the world goes dark.

You wake to the taste of ash in your mouth.

Your body feels heavy—every bone weighed down, every muscle groaning in protest as consciousness claws its way to the surface. The air is cold and wet, and the first thing you feel is a strange texture under your hands: gritty, soft, but wrong. You open your eyes.

Black sand.

You blink against the dim light. A haze clings to the air, the world around you coated in an eerie hue between shadow and flame. Ancient ruins loom ahead, crumbling columns and broken statues half-sunken into the sand. A river pulses in the distance—thick, dark, and slow, like black ink. The air hums with something foul and powerful.

You turn your head. Seungcheol is lying beside you. He groans softly as he sits up, running a hand through his hair before his eyes snap to you. “You okay?” His voice is hoarse. “I think so,” you murmur, looking around again. “Where are we?”

But you already know. You feel it in your bones.

“Tartarus,” he says, confirming it.

You sit up with a wince. The black sand clings to your skin. Seungcheol instinctively pulls you closer, shielding your body with his as you both rise to your feet. The river’s distant pulse echoes like a heartbeat. And then the smoke returns. It billows from the earth, curling and creeping toward you until the very air feels thick with it. From it, she comes.

Cordia.

She glides forward, her form half-shadow, half-woman. She circles the ruins before settling on a broken, throne-like seat made of obsidian stone. Her long fingers drum against the armrest as she regards you both with a smile too wide, too cold.

“Congratulations,” she purrs. “You made it.”

Her voice is sickly sweet. “No one ever has before. Well… not alive, anyway.”

Seungcheol squares his shoulders. “Give me the book,” he demands. “I fulfilled my end of the deal.”

Cordia blinks at him once. And then laughs. It is a terrible sound, echoing off every ruin, slithering into your skin. “Oh, darling,” she coos. “What makes you think I have it?”

Seungcheol’s expression tightens. “You stole it. You framed me. So you could have me executed.” Cordia interrupts with a smirk. “You?” Her voice turns mocking as she slinks closer. “It was never about you.”

Realization dawns on his face—horror blooming in his eyes.

“Joshua.”

Cordia grins. “Now you’re catching up.”

She circles you both like a vulture. “The golden prince. The next king of Syracuse. So noble. So predictable. I knew he’d take your place, just as I knew you’d run. And then—chaos. Twelve cities. No heir. No peace. No order. Glorious, isn’t it?”

She trails her fingers over a broken statue, sharp nails dragging against the stone. “He couldn’t help himself, could he? Defending you without hesitation. And you—” she turns to Seungcheol, “—you couldn’t help but betray him.”

Seungcheol’s voice is sharp. “I didn’t betray Joshua. I came for the book.” Cordia chuckles, walking toward you. You feel her presence behind your back.

“Oh, but you did betray him,” she hums. “You stole his fiancée.”

With a sharp motion, she pushes you forward, making you stumble into Seungcheol’s arms. Cordia tilts her head.

“Look at her, Seungcheol. Joshua isn’t even in his grave yet, and you’ve already claimed her.” Her voice is gleeful. “Or did ‘that’s my girl’ not mean anything to you?”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenches. You can feel the tension radiating from him. Cordia steps closer, her voice now a whisper. “Face it, pirate. Your heart is as black as mine.”

“No,” you finally speak up. You face her. “You’re wrong. You don’t know what’s in his heart.” Cordia’s eyes flash. She chuckles once. And then her smile fades. “Oh, but I do,” she says, her voice cold as stone. “And most importantly… so does he.”

Seungcheol’s voice is low when he finally speaks. “You’re wrong.” Cordia rolls her eyes. “Fine. Want to bet?”

And then it appears—the book. Suspended in midair, cradled by smoke. Glowing faintly with ancient magic.

“Two choices, Seungcheol.” Her voice cuts through the air like a blade. “One: Take the book. Return it to Syracuse. Save the heir. Save the alliance. Watch her marry Joshua, as promised. You restore your honour and lose the girl.”

You freeze.

“Or,” she continues, “Two: Refuse the book. Let Joshua die. Watch Syracuse fall. And sail away to paradise with the love of your life.”

Your eyes lock with Seungcheol’s. The look you give him is a plea and a promise all at once—don’t leave me. He stares at you for what feels like an eternity, agony etched into every line of his face. The war behind his eyes. The sorrow. The weight.

He loves you. But his heart is cracked open for the first time.

Then he turns to Cordia. And speaks. “...Let her marry Joshua.”

Cordia’s eyes narrow. Her smile fades. “Liar,” she hisses. “You could never let go of a treasure once it was yours.”

The book disappears.

“No—!” you cry, stepping forward, but Cordia is already fading, her face twisted in triumph.

Seungcheol grabs your hand just as the smoke rushes in again, tendrils wrapping around your legs, your waist, and your arms.

Cordia’s voice echoes as the world goes black again: “You’ll see… we always are what we choose.”

You gasp as your feet hit solid ground, stumbling forward as the world stops spinning. Black sand is replaced by cobblestone, and pulsing smoke is traded for stagnant city air thick with tension. You blink up—recognising the narrow curve of the harbour road, the looming cliffs, and the ancient colonnades of Syracuse’s port.

Seungcheol lands beside you with a grunt, steadying himself with one hand on the uneven stone. His eyes dart around, taking in his surroundings, the shadows, the distant sound of a crowd gathering near the square.

You both realise what day it is as you hear the bell—Joshua’s execution day.

“Oh gods,” you whisper.

You grab Seungcheol’s wrist and pull him into the narrow alley between two warehouses, pressing his back against the wall. The city might be grieving, but the guards will still be out—especially today. “You can’t be seen,” you whisper urgently. “We don’t have the book. If they find you now—”

“I know,” Seungcheol murmurs. His voice is calm. Too calm.

“I’ll talk to them,” you push. “I’ll go to the kings myself. I’ll tell them everything. That it was Cordia, that we got to Tartarus—”

“They won’t believe you,” he cuts in, voice cracking.

“They will. They have to.” You step closer, chest heaving. “They won’t kill Joshua if I tell them what we saw. If I tell them—if I make them understand.”

He looks down at you. And you feel it. A shift in the air between you.

“No,” you breathe.

“I can’t let you take the fall for this.”

“And I won’t let you—” your voice breaks. “No. No. Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare, Seungcheol—”

His hands come up, gently framing your face, thumbs stroking beneath your eyes as he places his forehead against yours. “You have to leave the city,” you whisper quickly, desperately. “We’ll go. Wherever you want. Right now. Just—just, please. Let’s run. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

He smiles softly, and that’s what undoes you. That smile. Tender. Wistful. “I can’t do that either,” he says, almost too quietly to hear.

You shake your head. “No. No, please. You’re not doing this.” Tears burn behind your eyes. But he’s already pulling away. And you know. You know.

Seungcheol has made up his mind. He’s going to take Joshua’s place.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, fists grabbing the front of his shirt. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I have to,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“No, you don’t.” Your hands fist in his shirt. “I love you. I love you, and if you walk out of this alley, I will never be whole again.”

His breath shudders. And then he whispers: “But could you love a man who would run away?”

You want to scream yes. You want to say I don’t care, that love should be enough, that you’d throw Syracuse to the gods if it meant keeping him safe.

But you know what he means. He couldn’t live with himself if he ran. He’s never been the kind of man who takes the easy road. He never could.

The tears spill over your cheeks. “Don’t do this,” you plead, broken. “Don’t leave me. I belong with you.”

His face crumples, his own tears finally falling. And then he lets go. He takes a step back. Another.

You try to grab him, but he’s already out of reach. Already walking out into the gloom-filled street, into the path of soldiers making their way toward the square.

And then—he stops. He turns back to you, tears streaking his face, mouth curved in the saddest smile you’ve ever seen.

“For the first time in my life,” he chuckles emptily, “I wish I was someone else.”

Your breath catches.

“I wish I was someone worthy of you.”

The sharp clatter of boots echoes down the cobblestones.

“Hey—!”

Three guards spot him immediately. Recognise him.

Seungcheol lifts his hands slowly, not resisting as they rush him. You scream his name, but it’s drowned out by the sound of steel and shouting.

They seize him and drag him away.

Your legs give out from under you, the grief slamming into you like a wave. But just before your knees hit the cobblestones—Strong arms wrap around you.

Mingyu.

His chest presses against your back, one arm around your middle, holding you upright, the other around your shoulder, shielding your trembling frame. You feel him shush you gently, but it’s broken, because he is crying too. Silent tears streak down his face as he watches his captain—his brother—being dragged away like a criminal.

You sob, your hands clutching his arms, unable to speak. Unable to breathe. Mingyu’s voice is thick. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. “I’ve got you, Princess.”

But nothing can stop the image from burning into your mind. Seungcheol, dragged into the fog of a city that forgot him. Head held high. Heartbroken.

The square is deathly still when they drag him in.

You see the moment he steps onto the square—his hands bound in chains, his jaw locked in that stubborn defiance you’ve come to know too well. He walks with that same confident gait, even though there’s no wind in his sails anymore. Even though he’s walking toward death.

Mingyu’s arm presses around your shoulders more tightly. Chan and Soonyoung hold their ground beside you, and even Minghao and Wonwoo have joined now, the five of them forming a silent, protective wall around you. But your focus is only on one man.

The crowd ripples with whispers as he passes—the pirate returns. The traitor dares to show his face. Where’s the Book? Did he come to beg for mercy?

But Seungcheol isn’t begging.

His eyes are fixed ahead, never faltering. Not even when he spots the platform of the Twelve Kings—gilded thrones stacked in a crescent high above the square. Not even when his gaze lands on Joshua.

He stands shackled near the edge of the platform, clothes rumpled, his shoulders hunched from the weight of days in captivity. You can see the flicker in his eyes when he spots Seungcheol. First confusion, then rising hope—But then his gaze drops to Seungcheol’s hands. No book in sight. Joshua’s expression crumbles.

But Seungcheol doesn’t stop. He’s led to the centre of the platform below the Kings, behind the ornate shadow of the execution block. The chains at his wrists clink as they force him to stand alone, surrounded by guards.

Then, the King of Syracuse rises.

He stands before his throne, draped in deep blue ceremonial robes, his silver crown catching the light of the pale, cloud-choked sky. His face is stern—no, cold. Cruel. And his voice cuts through the silence like steel.

“Choi Seungcheol,” he begins, voice echoing across the square, “you are brought before the Crowned Council of the Twelve Cities, accused of treason most foul. The theft of the sacred Book of Peace and the attempted destruction of our alliance.”

The King steps closer, looking down at him like one might a rat scurrying in the gutter. “You were given a pardon once, pirate—a chance to walk among kings. You spit on it. And now, you crawl back here in chains like a dog seeking a master’s mercy.”

Still, Seungcheol says nothing.

The King sneers. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

He looks up then. Seungcheol’s voice is quiet, but it carries. Measured. Steady.

“I take full responsibility for the course I’ve chosen,” he says. “I accept whatever sentence the Council deems fit.”

Gasps spread through the crowd, but the King only laughs—a cold, humourless sound.

“And what course was that, pirate?” he snaps. “My son claims you didn’t steal the Book, yet it vanished the moment you returned to the city. And now you return without it. Do you expect us to believe in your honour?”

“I expect nothing,” Seungcheol says simply. “I don’t ask for forgiveness. Only that you let the innocent walk free.” His eyes flick to Joshua, just once.

“He wasn’t part of this. Let him go.”

Across the square, Joshua’s eyes widen.

He steps forward slightly—chained though he is—and looks down at Seungcheol with something like dawning realisation.

He came back for me.

The King narrows his eyes.

“How noble of you,” he says, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You who fled in the dead of night like a coward. Who let your blood brother be imprisoned while you wandered free. You think claiming responsibility now will wash you clean?”

The King sneers. “There is no redemption for you, Seungcheol. You’ve already chosen your fate.”

Then he lifts a hand. “Release the prince.”

A pair of guards move to Joshua’s side. The chains fall from his wrists with a dull clatter, and for a moment, Joshua just stands there, stunned.

Then he sees you.

He sees the clothes you wear—still half-pirate, half-Seungcheol’s. He sees the tears on your cheeks. The way your entire soul seems pinned to the man at the block.

He smiles sadly.

The guards seize Seungcheol again, forcing him to kneel.

Your breath hitches violently as they press his chest against the worn wood of the chopping block.

The executioner steps forward, masked and silent, a massive blade in his gloved hands.

The King raises his voice for the final time.

“Seungcheol, former captain of The Chimera, for the crimes of treason, betrayal, and sacrilege against the Twelve Cities, you are hereby sentenced to death.”

Seungcheol closes his eyes as the executioner lifts the blade.

The blade is coming down.

Chan grips your shoulder. Mingyu holds your waist tighter. You bury your face into Soonyoung’s chest, unable to look.

But then— a sound like thunder.

You open your eyes just in time to see it — the blade, fractured mid-air, split into a thousand pieces. The metal clatters uselessly across the stone. The executioner stumbles back, horrified.

Suddenly, the smoke comes. It spills over the steps, hissing as it touches the ground. Shadows twist in unnatural shapes. She steps from it.

Cordia.

Seungcheol stumbles to his feet, eyes locked on her as the guards around him recoil in instinctive terror.

“Cordia,” he breathes. Her lips curl into a smile, sharp as a blade.

“Well, well,” she purrs, circling him. “So it worked. A last-second rescue. Just in time for the drama. Quite the scene, wouldn’t you say?”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightens. “Why are you here?”

“Why?” she echoes, spinning lightly until she perches on the wooden base of the executioner’s platform. Her fingers steeple together. “Because, unfortunately for me, you held up your end of the bargain.”

He stiffens.

“You came,” she continues, teeth gleaming. “You fulfilled your impossible task. And now, by the rules of the oath I made to you in that wretched cell, I have to keep my word.”

Seungcheol’s eyes flicker downward—to the faint, glowing cross on her chest. The mark. The promise.

His mouth parts slightly. Realisation dawning. “You can’t let them kill me.”

Cordia scowls, her lips thinning into a vicious sneer. “No, pirate, I can’t.”

The silence is deafening.

Cordia stands, flinging her arms open as black smoke bursts from the ground around her, swirling once, twice — and then condensing.

The Book of Peace.

Floating in the air like it was never lost.

Gasps echo through the square. Even the Kings are on their feet now.

Cordia glares at Seungcheol.

Seungcheol lifts his chin, watching her.

“Do you have any idea how close I came?” she spits. “One more day. One more lie. One more little betrayal, and the cities would’ve crumbled like dominoes. Syracuse would’ve fallen. Joshua would be dead. And you? You’d be just another pirate with blood on his hands and no compass to guide him.”

Her eyes flick to you in the crowd, narrowing.

“But no,” she says, quieter now. “You had to change. For her.”

Seungcheol takes a step forward slowly.

“And now you’re here,” he replies, eyes never leaving hers. “Because a promise is a promise.”

Cordia’s head tilts. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re no hero. You still betrayed your friend. You stole his future. You might not have stolen the Book, but you took her.”

Her hand sweeps toward the crowd, towards you.

Seungcheol’s gaze snaps to where you stand.

You don’t need to speak. Everything you need to say is in your eyes.

Cordia snarls. “You’re no different than me, Captain. Just another liar clutching at something that doesn’t belong to him.”

Seungcheol turns back to her, a small, tired smile curving his lips.

“You know,” he says softly, “I think this might be the first time I’ve ever beaten someone like you.”

Cordia freezes.

“I survived your challenges. I entered Tartarus. I gave up the girl. I faced the blade. And here I stand,” he murmurs. “Looks like I outplayed you.”

Her eyes flash. But she knows. The mark glows brighter now, a divine seal binding her to her word. With a snarl of fury, the smoke whips around her again, and the Book floats forward.

Seungcheol’s arm reaches out, his fingers wrapping around it just before it drops. Cordia’s eyes are pure fire. “Enjoy your little victory, pirate. I’ll get my chaos somewhere else.”

And in one last swirl of smoke — she’s gone.

The silence that follows is absolute.

Then Seungcheol turns. Joshua, still nearby, approaches slowly.

Seungcheol looks at the Book in his hands, then at him.

“It’s yours,” he says, extending it.

Joshua takes it carefully, his expression unreadable.

There’s a long moment where he just stares at it, running a thumb over its carved edge. Then he glances back at Seungcheol.

“You got your treasure back,” Seungcheol says, trying for a smirk, but it lands crooked. Joshua looks past him—to you, before turning his gaze back to him.

“Looks like you found some, too,” Joshua replies quietly.

Seungcheol doesn’t answer. He looks down, overwhelmed.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For believing in me.”

Joshua only nods. “It’s the least I could do.”

Seungcheol glances at the artefact. “Use it well,” he murmurs. “When you become king someday… make it worth something.”

Joshua’s grip tightens. Then, with a breath, he steps forward and opens the Book.

The light explodes. Blinding, radiant, pure.

It pours over the city like a tide, driving out the shadow, painting stone and sky in colours so vibrant it feels like the first day of creation. The clouds scatter. The sun returns. Flowers bloom in cracks along the walls.

And all you can do is stare as the world comes back to life.

And the man who saved it stands at the centre of it all.

The Chimera sways gently in the harbour of Syracuse, her sails rolled tight and her hull gleaming with a fresh coat of tar. Dockhands and palace servants had swarmed the ship earlier that morning, unloading barrels of salted meat, crates of fruit and wine, bundles of new linens, and enough gold to make a dragon blush.

The King of Syracuse, for all his pride and disdain, had come through in the end—Joshua made sure of it. A debt repaid in coin, jewels, and an official pardon carved into parchment and sealed in royal wax.

Seungcheol walks across the deck with sure, measured steps, hands tucked behind his back as he surveys his men and his ship. He’s never seen her look better. The wood gleams, the ropes are neatly coiled, and his crew is laughing. Alive.

Mingyu leans lazily against the helm, tossing a peeled orange slice into Chan’s open mouth. Soonyoung is checking the tension in the sails with exaggerated flair, and Wonwoo—unsurprisingly—is sitting cross-legged near the gunwale, rereading a book they all swore he’d already memorized.

“Oi, Chan!” Seungcheol calls, pointing to the uneven crates. “If you stack that any higher, you’re going overboard with them.”

“Relax, hyung!” Chan chirps. “I tied them.”

“Like you tied the dinghy last time, and it floated off?”

Laughter echoes. Soonyoung snickers while Mingyu shakes his head, lounging smugly.

Just as Seungcheol opens his mouth to continue scolding, something thunks heavily onto his head.

He flinches, already turning with a scowl. “Minghao! I thought I told you—”

“Wasn’t me, Captain,” Minghao replies from near the foremast, barely glancing up from his map as he smiles. “Try higher.”

Seungcheol squints and cranes his head back.

Up in the crow’s nest, a familiar silhouette grins down at him, hair tousled by the wind, one arm looped around the mast. Your shirt’s tucked in lopsided, and your boots have seen better days, but you’ve never looked better.

“Thought you might need someone competent keeping lookout,” You call.

Seungcheol’s face breaks into a full smile, sunlight warming every line. “That so?”

Before he can say anything else, you swing effortlessly down the ropes. You land squarely in front of him with a thud and a slight bounce, and before he can even steady himself, you jump up in his arms.

He catches you easily, hands firm around your waist. “You always make an entrance,” he murmurs.

You smirk, hooking your arms around his neck. “You always look like you need one.”

He laughs, leaning in close. “You think you’re ready to join my crew, sweetheart?”

“That depends,” you tease, pressing closer. “What are the dangers of sailing with the infamous Captain Choi?”

“Oh, let’s see,” Seungcheol hums, trailing his hands up your back. “Terrible food. Terrifying storms. Occasional gods of chaos. And a captain who gets distracted by pretty girls in crow’s nests.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

“Unforgiving waters.”

“I’m a strong swimmer.”

“Unruly crew.”

“I’ll whip them into shape.”

Seungcheol grins, pulling you flush against him. “You’re hired.” Your eyes sparkle. “That easy?” He leans in, voice low. “I’ve seen what you can do.”

Your lips meet before another word can be said—slow, smiling, deep. The kiss is full of promise and freedom and all the things you haven’t had a name for yet, not until he almost died. Around you, the crew lets out a round of whooping cheers.

Chan whoops the loudest. “About damn time!”

Soonyoung claps his hands. “So, when’s the wedding?”

Mingyu shouts down from the helm, cutting through the noise, “Alright, Captain! Where to now?”

Seungcheol looks down at you, arms still around your waist.

You tilt your head thoughtfully. “I thought we were going to Fiji?”

Seungcheol raises a brow. “Fiji’s nice...”

“But?”

He smirks. “What about another adventure instead?”

You don’t even hesitate.

“I say lead the way, Captain.”

A/N: Another idea I've had in my head for a very long time. Took a bit longer to write but I'm really proud of it. Thank you to those who joined in the poll and chose Seungcheol as the MMC. Hope you enjoy! 💟

Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

(Collage created by me. Credits to owners of the pictures taken from Pinterest)

[orthosispsychosis]

me: well i might as well start "re"reading sehhinah since the other people who've been around lately have ongoing intense performance anxiety* about living up to expectations. the guy who read it the first time went wild about it and thought it was enormously personally relevant and transformative so let's see what it does for me.

the first line of the prologue: at this point, tamar's pretty sure she's not who any of her friends think she is.

me: ah.

[sh4nksslvt]

One Month With You

In the final month of your life, you cherishes fleeting moments with your crew, hiding a terminal illness until only memories—and a letter—remain.

red hair pirates x reader | whitebeard pirates x reader | strawhats x reader | ONE SHOT tags: angst, sfw, ooc, major character death, grief, terminal illness a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe and akward word count: 2.6k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

RED HAIR PIRATES

The sea was calm that morning, the kind of quiet that made even the waves seem to hold their breath. The deck of the Red Force was alive with chatter and light laughter, but you stood by the railing, letting the wind sweep through your hair. Your fingers curled around the wood, your gaze far off—not at the horizon, but somewhere past it.

One month. That’s what Hongo told you when he unknowingly confirmed your own suspicions. You’d been hiding the worsening symptoms for months—fatigue that sank deep into your bones, the relentless pain in your chest, the occasional blood you’d spit out into the sea, unnoticed.

You knew he’d figure it out eventually. He was too good not to.

But you hadn’t expected him to burst into your quarters the night before, shaking with barely restrained panic.

“What the hell is this?!” Hongo had yelled, thrusting a tattered medical report into your hands. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say something?!”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. “Because I didn’t want to be watched like a ghost who hasn’t died yet.”

Silence. Deafening.

“...You have a month, Y/N, maybe less. You’re—” His voice cracked. “You’re dying, and you're acting like it's nothing?”

“I have a month, Hongo,” you had said quietly. “Please… just let me have it. Don’t tell the others. Let me spend it with them. Please.”

He didn't answer for a long time. When he finally did, it was with a whisper: “You’re a fucking idiot.” But he pulled you into a hug and didn’t let go until your shoulders stopped shaking.

From that day, you lived more fiercely than ever. You laughed at Shanks’ dumb jokes and drank with him until the world blurred. You challenged Benn to silent stargazing contests, betting on how many shooting stars you’d catch. You dragged Limejuice to island carnivals and flirted shamelessly until his face burned red. You played cards with Hongo, even when your hands trembled too much to hold them.

They all noticed. The Red-Haired Pirates weren’t stupid.

“You’re real clingy lately,” Limejuice teased one night, bumping your shoulder with his. “You sure you’re not sick or something?”

You smiled, heart twisting. “Would you be mad if I said I might be?”

He laughed, oblivious. “Nah. I’d carry you myself if you keeled over.”

You didn’t say anything. Just leaned into his warmth.

Shanks was the hardest. He noticed too much. Noticed how often you disappeared below deck when the coughing fits hit, how your eyes stayed on the ocean longer than they should have.

“You thinking of leaving us?” he asked once, half-joking.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “No,” you lied.

Benn just watched. Always watched. He didn’t say much, but you could feel his eyes lingering on you, searching. You gave him your brightest smiles.

The day you left, the crew didn’t know.

You made breakfast with Chef-level effort, joking with the kitchen staff, slipping kisses to Limejuice's cheek and hugging Shanks tighter than ever. You sat with Benn for hours on the deck, your head on his shoulder, watching the sun creep across the sky.

“I think you’re my favorite,” you whispered, teasing.

He snorted. “Don’t let Shanks hear that.”

He didn’t know that was the last time he’d feel your heartbeat against his side.

That night, you slipped away. A letter for each of them tucked under your pillow. A note for Hongo too:

"Thank you—for letting me pretend I wasn’t dying. I love you all too much to say goodbye."

Morning broke in chaos.

“Where the hell is Y/N?!” Limejuice shouted, tearing through the ship.

“They’re not in the galley, or the crow’s nest!” Benn called out, panic rising in his usually calm voice.

Shanks was quiet, unusually still, staring at the empty hammock where your scent still lingered.

The notes were found soon after. One by one, hands shaking as they read your last words.

You didn’t say goodbye, but each letter bled with love.

“To Shanks — Thank you for making me feel like I belonged in the stars.”

“To Benn — You saw through me. Thank you for not saying anything.”

“To Limejuice — Thank you for reminding me how fun life could be.”

“To Hongo — I’m sorry I made you carry this alone. Thank you for letting me be selfish.”

They thought you ran. Were taken. Benn demanded a search party. Shanks was pale, silent, gripping your letter so tight his knuckles bled. Limejuice punched a wall. Hongo said nothing—for two days.

And then, he snapped.

He threw your medical file onto the table during a heated meeting, eyes wild. “They didn’t leave!....They died. And...I let them.”

The room fell to a breathless silence.

“You knew?” Benn whispered.

“They had a month. They begged me to let them spend it with us, like nothing was wrong. And I let them lie.”

Shanks stumbled back, as if struck. “No. No, they were… they were fine.”

“They were dying, Shanks! They couldn’t breathe without pain, they were—” Hongo’s voice cracked. “They spent their last strength loving us.”

No one spoke.

Limejuice fell to his knees. “We didn’t even say goodbye.”

Later that night, Shanks sat by the railing where you always stood.

“I hope you’re watching the stars from up close now, Y/N,” he murmured, tears streaking his face. “Because we’ll never stop looking for you in them.”

WHITEBEARD PIRATES

You’d always imagined dying quietly, maybe on an empty shore, wrapped in salt and wind. But fate had other plans. Your end would come not with isolation—but surrounded by laughter, drink, and the stubborn, unbearable warmth of the Whitebeard Pirates.

The diagnosis came on a cold, cloudy day—so ordinary it felt like a betrayal.

You'd passed out during training. Woke up with Marco’s worried face looming over you. He’d examined you in complete silence. But his shaking hands and tight jaw told you everything.

“It’s not good, is it?” you asked, voice barely a whisper.

“No,” Marco had said, the word cracking as it left him. “It’s... terminal. A rare degeneration of the lungs and heart. I don’t—there’s nothing I can do.”

You didn’t cry. Instead, you laughed. “So, what—you’re saying I won’t outlive my goldfish?”

He didn't laugh. He looked like he’d been stabbed. “You have a month. Maybe.”

You made him promise to keep it secret.

Just him and Whitebeard.

When Oyaji found out, he sat beside your bed and gripped your hand with those massive, shaking fingers. “You are my child,” he rumbled. “And if this is your last voyage… then let it be the greatest of your life.”

You had never cried before. But you cried then.

From that day, you threw yourself into every moment.

Ace was all fire and impulse, but when he was around you, something softer flickered beneath the surface. He took to dragging you along for sparring matches, even when you claimed your muscles ached.

“I need a challenge,” he’d smirk, sweat glistening down his neck.

“You just want to show off,” you’d tease, raising your fists anyway.

He was always careful not to hit you too hard. Not that you said anything—but he seemed to know. When you tripped one day, coughing blood into your sleeve when he wasn’t looking, he’d jogged over, helping you up without a word. His hand lingered on your arm just a second too long.

That night, you sat beside him, both of you perched on the edge of the ship with your legs dangling into the air.

“You’re weird lately,” he mumbled, eyes on the moon.

You bumped his shoulder with yours. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”

He blinked at you. “To be with us?”

“To be with you,” you said, gently. And he froze, eyes wide, like he didn’t know what to do with that.

“…You’re gonna break my heart, aren’t you?” he whispered.

You smiled, because you already had.

Izo became your confidant without even knowing it. With every eyeliner flick and matching kimono, you gave yourself permission to feel alive. They would hum as they painted your face, hands warm against your cheeks.

“You’re glowing,” they said once, adjusting the red ribbon they tied in your hair.

“Death becomes me, huh?” you joked, and they slapped your arm, scandalized.

“You joke about dying too much.”

You didn’t mean to, but your voice cracked. “It’s easier than pretending I’m not scared.”

Their fingers paused, lips parting. “…Are you scared?”

You looked at them in the mirror, the shimmer of gold powder across your eyelids catching the light. “Yeah,” you said. “But not when I’m with you.”

They smiled then, a bit sad, and leaned in to kiss your temple. “Then let’s live like hell until we drop, dear.”

Thatch was joy personified. It was impossible to be sad around him for long, and that’s what made it hurt worse.

He caught you sneaking dessert at 2 a.m. once and acted like you’d committed a crime.

“Oh-ho! So this is where my pudding went!”

“Your pudding? I thought it had my name on it.”

“I’ll accept bribes in the form of kisses or cleaning dishes.”

You kissed his cheek, and he nearly dropped the bowl.

Every stolen moment in the kitchen became a memory—dancing while covered in flour, whipped cream fights, drunken baking experiments that ended in fire. You’d laughed so hard your sides hurt, even as your lungs begged you to stop.

“You’re making memories,” he said one night, tousling your hair. “That’s what this is. You’ve been clingy lately. Like you’re trying to make every second count.”

You froze, the spoon halfway to your mouth. “…Would you hate me if I was?”

He blinked. “Nah. I’d probably try to hold on tighter.”

You didn’t tell him then. Just leaned into his side and let him talk about his dream of opening a cake café after he retires.

You knew you’d never see it.

Marco was the one who saw the cracks, and it destroyed him. You kept him close because you trusted him most—and that made it hurt more.

You caught him once crying at your door. He didn’t think you were awake.

You opened it, silently wrapped your arms around him, and whispered, “I’m still here.”

“You shouldn’t be this calm,” he rasped into your shoulder.

“I’m terrified,” you admitted. “But I’d rather spend what time I have being loved than dying slowly in a bed.”

He pulled back, staring at you with reddened eyes. “You could have told them.”

“They’d look at me like I was already dead.”

He said nothing, and you reached up to cup his cheek. “Promise me… promise you’ll wait. Let me leave on my own terms.”

“…Okay,” he whispered. “But I’ll hate you for it.”

You kissed his forehead. “I hope you do.”

You left them on a quiet morning.

Then you slipped away, leaving only a bundle of letters on Marco’s desk.

Your final message was simple:

“Don’t let them hate me for this. Please. Just let them think I ran.”

The ship erupted into panic by nightfall.

Ace punched through a wall. “They’re gone?! What do you mean GONE?”

Izo ran through the corridors, calling your name until their voice broke.

Thatch turned the kitchen inside out like he expected you to be hiding in the cupboards, laughing.

Marco couldn’t speak.

He stood at the rail, gripping the wood so hard it splintered beneath his fingers.

Whitebeard stood behind him, silent, his massive shadow cast across the deck like a shroud.

“Do I tell them?” Marco rasped.

“No,” Whitebeard rumbled. “Not yet. Let them rage. Let them mourn in their own way.”

“But—”

“They wouldn’t understand it now,” he said. “Wait.”

A week passed. Then two.

No sign of you.

Your room remained untouched. Your absence echoed louder than any cannon fire.

They scoured islands. Questioned strangers. Considered kidnappers, Marines, even betrayal.

Ace refused to accept it. “They wouldn’t leave us! Not without a word. Not without—something.”

He went to Marco, desperate. “You know something. Tell me.”

Marco finally broke.

He gave Ace your letter.

Ace read it once. Then again and again. Then crumpled to the ground, screaming into his fists.

“They died?! All this time—they were dying?!”

Marco stood frozen, guilt crawling like acid beneath his skin.

“They didn’t want you to mourn them before they were gone,” he whispered. “They wanted to be loved, not pitied.”

Ace couldn’t answer. He just sobbed, curled around your crumpled letter like it could still warm him.

That night, Whitebeard gathered his sons and daughters.

He read your letters aloud. One by one. Each one aching with truth, memory, and love.

“To Ace — You made me feel alive, even when I was already halfway gone.” “To Izo — Thank you for making me beautiful when I felt invisible.” “To Thatch — You made every day sweeter, even the ones I didn’t think I’d survive.” “To Marco — Thank you for holding my secret when it crushed you. I love you most for that.” “To Oyaji — You gave me a family when I had nothing left. Thank you… for letting me die a Whitebeard Pirate.”

By the end, the deck was silent.

No sobs. Just breathless grief.

They didn’t throw a funeral.

They held a feast.

Not because they weren’t mourning—but because they knew you’d hate to see them broken.

They told stories. Passed your favorite drink around. Laughed, cried, and danced with ghosts.

And when the fire died down, Ace stared at the embers and whispered, “I hope you found peace, flame-heart.”

STRAWHAT PIRATES

You didn’t plan on dying at sea, but the Grand Line has a way of making plans for you. The first signs were subtle: a lingering fatigue you chalked up to busy days, aches you blamed on training, the dull pain in your side that you laughed off when Chopper asked if you were okay.

You knew before he did. Deep down, your body had been whispering the truth long before the words made it onto paper.

It wasn’t until you collapsed in the hallway between the kitchen and the infirmary that Chopper realized something was seriously wrong. When you woke up, it was to the sterile smell of the medical bay and his wide, terrified eyes.

“I ran every test,” he said, voice trembling. “And then I ran them again. It’s… it’s bad. Really bad.”

You nodded. Your throat was too dry to answer.

“I—I can’t fix it. Not with what we have on board. Maybe if we got to a major medical port, but even then, I don’t know if—”

You reached out, resting a hand on his tiny shoulder. “How long?”

He hesitated, ears flattening. “A month. Maybe.”

You didn’t cry. Not then. Not even when he begged to tell the others.

“No. Please. Let me have this. Just a month, Chopper.”

“They’ll never forgive me.”

“They will,” you said. “If they knew now, it’d ruin everything. I don’t want pity. I want memories.”

So you began to live. Fully, recklessly, as if the pain eating away at you was just a shadow at your back.

You started with Sanji. He was the easiest to be around, the one whose affection was loud and constant. Every meal became a moment: you insisted on helping in the kitchen, even when he protested. You chopped vegetables until your hands hurt, stirred sauces while leaning against him, snuck little bites when he wasn’t looking.

“You’re here a lot lately,” he said one afternoon, handing you a bowl of soup.

“I like watching you work,” you replied.

He grinned. “You trying to steal my heart, love?”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Maybe.”

He went quiet for a beat. Then, more softly, “You look at me like you’re memorizing my face.”

You didn’t answer. Just smiled.

Zoro came next. You sparred with him almost every day now, ignoring the way your lungs burned, the way your legs shook. He didn’t say anything the first time you collapsed mid-match, just silently carried you to the infirmary.

“You’re pushing too hard,” he said.

“I need to,” you whispered.

“Why?”

You looked at him, really looked. “Because I don’t want to forget what it feels like to fight beside you.”

He frowned. “You’re acting like you’re running out of time.”

You forced a smile. “Aren’t we all?”

That night, he found you on the deck, staring at the stars.

He sat beside you, arms crossed. “You’re not saying something. I don’t like it.”

“I’m just tired.”

“I’d carry you, if you asked.”

Your heart ached. “I know.”

Luffy was harder.

He didn’t notice at first. You were careful around him—too careful. You laughed with him during meals, ran across islands with him, challenged him to stupid games on the deck. But he began to notice the way you lingered during hugs. The way you stared at him too long. The way your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes.

One evening, you lay beside him on the figurehead, watching the horizon.

He turned his head toward you. “Are you gonna leave?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You look like you’re saying goodbye.”

You looked away. “I’m not. Not yet.”

He was quiet for a while. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to either.”

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and didn’t let go until you both fell asleep.

ou made time for everyone else too.

With Nami, you spent lazy afternoons in the library, pretending to study charts. She taught you how to draw maps. You traced the oceans of the world with your fingers and imagined places you’d never see.

“You’re getting good at this,” she said.

“I want to leave something behind,” you murmured.

She didn’t understand then. But she would.

Usopp was a light in the dark. You asked for bedtime stories, exaggerated tales of heroism and romance. He performed them with full sound effects, arms flailing, voice booming.

“You always laugh now,” he noted one night.

“It’s easy, when I’m with you.”

He blushed, scratching the back of his head. “You’re acting like I’m the best part of your day.”

You smiled. “You are.”

Robin gave you quiet comfort. She didn’t ask questions. She simply read to you, let you rest your head in her lap, brushed your hair back from your face.

“You’re calm,” you told her.

“You’re storming,” she replied.

You didn’t deny it.

Franky built you a swing on the back of the Sunny, facing the sea. You spent hours there, feet brushing over the waves, eyes on the endless blue.

“Super chill, right?” he said, adjusting the ropes.

You nodded. “It’s perfect.”

He caught your hand before he left. “You’re not okay.”

You looked up at him. “No.”

“Okay,” he said, voice tight. “You don’t have to be.”

Brook played lullabies for you. Sweet, simple things. You danced with him once, slow and clumsy.

“If I still had a heart,” he said softly, “I think it would ache.”

You rested your head against his chest. “Mine already does.”

Chopper was breaking. Every day, he looked at you like you were already fading. You caught him crying in the storage room once, holding one of your jackets.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered.

“You’re stronger than me,” you said, hugging him.

“I hate lying.”

“I know.”

You waited until they docked at a small island for supplies.

You left at dawn.

Left behind the stargazer chair. The flowered book. The slingshot. The meals. The love.

Left behind a stack of letters in Chopper’s room.

When the crew realized you were gone, Luffy panicked first.

“They wouldn’t leave! They’d never leave!”

Zoro was already on the dock, scanning the shoreline. Sanji lit a cigarette with shaking fingers.

They searched the island. They waited at the ship. They called for you until their voices cracked.

You didn’t come back.

That night, Chopper gathered them in the infirmary.

“I didn’t want to break the promise,” he said, voice trembling. “But… they’re gone. They were dying.”

No one moved.

“…What?”

“They only had a month. They asked me to let them live… without pity.”

Nami burst into tears. "They should’ve told us,”

Zoro punched the wall.

Luffy stood in stunned silence, until he screamed your name into the ocean wind.

They read your letters together. All huddled in the infirmary, hearts shattered.

“To Sanji — You made me feel wanted, even when I felt like a ghost.” “To Zoro — You were my anchor. I always knew where I stood when I was beside you.” “To Luffy — Thank you for being the sun. I needed the light more than you’ll ever know.” “To the Crew — You made me part of a family. You made me more than a dying story.”

They held a quiet vigil on the deck.

Brook played your song one last time. Robin scattered petals into the sea. Chopper lit a lantern and let it drift across the water.

They stayed on that island for days.

Then, they sailed forward—quieter, heavier—but with your memory in their hearts.

You were their nakama.

You were their heart.

You always would be.

[nanivinsmoke]

❥ Make U Love Me

logan ‘wolverine’ howlett x mutantfem!reader

♪ you’re tired of going places where you can’t scream and shout ♪

tags: featuring the biggest asshole, scott! cheating, a little angst, violence, mentions of blood and death, slight exhibitionism, kissing, edging, dom logan, sub reader, creampie, pregnancy, oral, multiple orgasms, falling in love, etc…

note: heavily inspired by robin thicke’s song with the same title. wc: 4.7k — put my heart into this.

you were scott’s girl. nothing more, nothing less.

it wasn’t what you thought it would be, well back then at least.

scott was loving when you two first started dating. he would take you out, treat you like a queen, and was very attentive. but, that all started to change when his first love died in the midst of battle. jean grey.

the day she died, is the day your relationship did too. that same guy you fell in love with, turned into the guy you hated. everything stopped. he was no longer the perfect boyfriend, he was more of a royal asshole.

he wouldn’t make love to you, he wouldn’t put you on missions with him and when you confronted him about the change—it would always end in a fight. you didn’t deserve this, you knew you didn’t. but, you couldn’t break up with him. that small piece of your heart wouldn’t allow you.

you knew there was a part of him that still loved you. well, you thought he did. that all changed when you and the crew got the news. jean was alive.

“i don’t want you going after her, scott! what’s so hard to understand about that?” you raised your voice, brushing past your boyfriend and putting the onions you just chopped into the hot skillet—continuing your recipe for tonight’s dinner.

when the professor told everyone that she was alive, scott’s ears perked up and practically begged the professor to let him be the one to go and find her. charles urged scott that it wasn’t a good idea. something could go wrong and she might no longer be the jean we all knew….she could be possessed by an evil force. the dark phoenix.

but, of course scott wasn’t trying to hear that. his mind was clouded with thoughts of the red head. he was still deeply in love with jean. just the thought of her had him going crazy. you knew it and it pissed you off, which brought upon the current argument you two were having now.

“what i don’t understand is why not? she’s one of us! i have to bring her back, with or without your permission!” you turned to him, eyes slowly turning into a deep red; the flames from the stove started to rise—searing the vegetables that sat in the iron pan.

scott started to slowly back up, swallowing thickly as you inched closer to him; afraid of what you might do next. he locked his visor onto the burning food, which he tried to pull your attention on to, but you didn’t budge. that is until you heard someone clearing their throat.

your eyes went back to its normal state and you calmed down once you took a look at logan, who stood there watching the whole ordeal. you looked back at the food and turned the stove off before looking back your boyfriend, “come back with her and see what happens, scott.”

———

you didn’t come out of your bedroom for dinner that night and neither did he. hell, you barely got any sleep last night—too busy tossing and turning in your bed, thinking about scott and jean together. and when you finally did get some sleep, the sun started to peak over the horizon—a beautiful hue of orange painting the sky.

when you finally woke up, you pulled yourself into a much needed hot shower, before putting on your favorite pair of flare jeans and a cute top paired with some leather boots—heading downstairs to see what was happening for today. the children passed by, running and walking to hangout after class, while you made your way down the wooden stairs—looking for your boyfriend.

you wanted to talk to him about yesterday, hopefully to make peace with what transpired—but it seems like he had other plans when you spotted him holding hands & walking with the newly resurrected jean. and to top it all off, he was wearing a big toothy smile like he was kid in a candy store. oh you were pissed.

they disappeared further into the mansion as you stormed downstairs—eyes darkening while you were hot on their tails, ready to confront them; that is until you were trapped between two big muscle bound arms. “let me go logan!” you tried to free yourself from his grasp, but there was no use. he wasn’t letting you go.

“need you to cool off. don’t need you to go all ‘flame on!’ on them today.” he chuckled and ushered you towards the front door, both of you going towards the academy’s garage and pulling off in his car.

you tossed back your shot of vodka, grimacing at the strong burning sensation, before tapping your glass for more. logan had took you to a bar, so you could drink to your hearts content and stop that flame from igniting within you.

“he’s a fucking asshole.” you spoke, downing your drink again then turning to look at the male sitting right next to you. he nodded in agreement and sipped on his whiskey, letting you vent to him.

“I feel like such an idiot, falling in love with someone who doesn’t love me.”

“his fault he couldn’t see what right in front of him.” you passed, wide eyed, looking at the side of his rugged face while he finished off his drink. what did he mean by that?

“pretty lil thing like you deserves to be treated like a princess, not by someone like him.” his compliment made you press your thighs together and shift in your seat.

“and who’s gonna treat me like one?” you hummed, placing your hand on his arm, pressing against him. it might been the liquid courage that had you feeling so bold, but you knew exactly what you were doing.

logan grunted and smirked, shaking his head before his pretty hazel eyes locked on yours, “careful, doll. don’t know what you might be getting yourself into.”

“maybe i do~” you flirted back, lips ghosting his ears, making goosebumps rise on his skin. you wanted him badly right now. you didn’t care that the two of you were out in a bar, it made no difference. you wanted to take him right here and now.

“let’s play some pool.” he got up from his seat and grabbed your hand, making you sigh in response. maybe you were getting ahead of yourself?

———

the two of you played pool for the next couple of hours. logan was surprised to see that you were really good at the game, even more shocked that you had him on a losing streak. “good thing you didn’t put money on it.” you teased, striking the 8ball into one of the holes, winning your fifth game for the night.

“would ask you to play another game, but it’s time we get back to the mansion. bar’s bout to close.” he pointed out and you took a look around, seeing only four patrons left and the bartenders cleaning their glasses. you pouted and racked the balls back into the middle of the table, before grabbing logan’s hands and leaving the bar.

the two of you stood outside of the car for a bit, logan puffing on his cigar while you enjoyed the night’s cool breeze—mind running rampant with what happened in the bar between you and him.

“lo—“ you began, making him turn his attention towards you—the sight of him blowing out smoke did something to you; everything about the male aroused you. why didn’t you see him like this before? maybe you would’ve been happier with him.

“can i kiss you?” you breathed out, stepping closer to him; body heat overpowering the crisp air outside. “doll….” he began, but you stopped him—not ready for him to reject your feelings just yet.

“I know you felt something in there with me. if i felt it, i know you did. so, kiss me. prove me wrong….” you pulled him by his flannel, eyes sparkling with hope and desire; as they flickered to his lips. he searched your face, before he flicked his cigar on the ground and pulled you in close—his lips melting on yours.

you wrapped your arms around his neck while his hands moved to the middle of your back, before falling to your ass—squeezing the plump flesh through your jeans. as much as he wanted to pull back, he didn’t—you were so addictive, he just had have all of you.

his tongue slipped into your mouth and he picked you up and placed you on the hood of the car—kiss becoming passionate by the moment. the taste of the cigar he just smoked and traces of his whiskey had your mind spinning, and your cunt throbbing. “logannn~”

“i know, princess. smelled how bad you wanted it inside of the bar.” he grunted and his thick fingers quickly unfastened your jean’s button, tugging them down slightly—before he slipped his hand into your pants, rubbing your throbbing clit through your yellow panties.

“shit you’re soaked. he’s never made you feel like this, right?” he grunted in your ear, pulling your panties to the side and finally connecting the tips of his fingers to your aching clit, rubbing it slowly.

“no never, he never made me wet like this—fuck—only you lo~” the sweet moan you let out drove him insane, it fueled him and he couldn’t help but to quicken his pace; making your back arch off the hood of the car. gasping, you reached down to hold onto his wrist, trying to stop his pleasurable torment—but it did nothing. he kept going, making you buck your hips up into his palm.

“so needy. summers is such an idiot for letting this go.” logan moves his fingers down to your sodden hole, palm pressing right down onto your clit, making your body jolt in response. despite the tight confinement of your pants, his hand was able to work wonders on your lower half—pumping in and out of your cunt.

you gushed over his fingers each time it hit your spot. the pressure that was building up in the pit of your tummy was becoming unbearable. you desperately needed to let go, show him how good he made you feel.

“gonna cum—all over your fingers!” you warned, eyes starting to roll back into your head as you felt that feeling you loved so much start to burst. that is, until he pulled his fingers away. your eyes shot opened and you watched him suck your juices off of his digits.

“gotta get you home, doll” he fastened your pants and helped you off the hood of the car; before going to the passenger side, opening the door for you. shooting daggers at him as you stomped your way to the car, you watched as he hopped in the driver seat—ignoring your stares.

you didn’t bother opening your mouth to speak either. too frustrated, tired and horny to talk. so, you opted to lay your head against the window and watched as the trees became blurred on the way back to the mansion.

as logan pulled the car up the school’s drive, you could see the resurrected red head and scott standing outside—their lips glued on one another. you shared a look with logan and shook your head. you didn’t have the energy anymore, it was obvious where his heart lied.

getting out of the car, the two pulled back once they noticed the both of you approaching—scott looking like he had seen a ghost. “baby! i-i—“

“go to hell scott” brushing past them, you slowly made your way to your room—logan a few feet behind. logan looked at scott and just shook his head. idiot.

he just planted you right into his hands, and boy was he going to keep you there.

———

the following weeks started to get better and better for you. getting closer to logan was the best thing to ever happen to you. the two of you would spend almost everyday together, most of the days ended with you finally getting to cum around his fingers and all over his face. you were happier, almost like you were in the beginning before scott ruined it. and he noticed it to.

but, you didn’t care what he thought about what you were doing. he ruined his chances of being happy with you ever again and he knew it.

currently you and logan were in an empty class room, with him between your plush thighs; working a third orgasm out of you for today. small hands were tangled in his soft brown locs—tugging them as you grinded your orgasm out on his face. logan pulled away once you calmed down, his beard and half of his face being covered in your slick—which he happily licked up; well what he could.

he helped you off the table and pulled your skirt up while peeling your cold wet panties off. “these? are for me,” you blushed, watching him put them in his pocket before pulling you close. his hands fell to your rear and those eyes that you loved to get lost in, stared right at you; before he pressed his lips against yours.

you melted in the kiss. your body relaxing as the two of you moved in sync, hands moving across each other’s bodies. ever since that day at the bar, you noticed a change in yourself. a change you slowly welcomed. love. you were falling deeply in love with the wolverine. it was different type of love you and scott had. this one felt like one of those love’s where you could see the two of you grow old and have a bunch of mutant babies.

you wanted to tell him how you felt, how he made you feel, but you were scared. scared that he might reject you. so, you opted for the latter. being his friend with benefits.

“logan, I wanna suck your dick~” you pulled back, eyes traveling down to his noticeable bulge, then back up at him.

“don’t wanna hurt you princess. plus ive got a class in fifteen minutes,” he warned and you smirked, slowly sinking down to your knees. “so? ill make you cum in ten~”.

the clinking sound of his belt being dropped to floor, along with his pants, filled the room. he watched with low eyes as you pulled his fully erect length out—cock twitching when he heard you gasp. you now understood why he never fucked you, he was way too big. there was no way your walls would survive that, right?

your mouth salivated at the sight and you could slowly feel yourself becoming even more aroused. gripping his cock and swiping your tongue over the tip, you moaned at the taste of his sweet precum, before you took him into your mouth. he tossed his head back, loving the feeling of your warm wet mouth around him, while you slowly started to take him even deeper.

his big hands practically flew to the back of your head when he felt you gag around him, once he hit the back of your mouth, slowly creeping into your throat.

“did you just cum? hm, princess?” he locked eyes with you, smelling the familiar scent of your arousal—knowing exactly how you smelled when you came.

you whimpered, still slobbering all over his cock before the grip on your head got tighter and he pressed your pretty little head down harder; nose nuzzled in his bush of brown hairs.

you gagged, but he didn’t give you time to adjust as he continued to repeat his actions—pulling you off of his cock by your hair before forcing you right back on; fucking your mouth to his liking. the more he moved the more arousing it became for the both of you, causing you to relax your throat, letting him fill it with his thick cock.

the sound of you gagging and sucking on his cock along with the smell of your cunt dripping with excitement, had the six foot two man going feral. his pretty eyes fluttered in the back of his head and he forcefully pushed your head deep in his bush— letting out one of the sexiest growls you ever heard as he poured thick ropes of cum down your throat.

the warm sensation had you dripping right onto the classroom’s wooden floors, moaning at his taste before you swallowed. his grip loosened and you pulled back, gasping for air.

“told ya i could make you cum~”

———

finding yourself back into your room, you were scared by the dark figure sitting on your bed; making you jump out of your clothes like a cartoon character. flickering on the light, scott sat on your bed wearing a plain look on his face.

“the hell you doing in my room, scott?” you kicked off your shoes, glaring at the brunette. he adjusted his visor before getting up, towering over you a bit.

“you and logan been really close lately. what’s up with that?” you stared at him before giggling. he wasn’t possibly serious? you ignored him and tried to move around him, only for him to grab you and pull you back.

“grab me again and that’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do. get out of my room and go be with jean. me and you are finished.” you stared into his ruby red colored visor, making sure he got the point. the mutant scoffed and shook his head, “fine. go be a whore for logan, sure he’d love that.”

you didn’t even give him time to react before sending a fire induced smack to his face, causing him to yell out from the painful sensation. he was quick to recover, ready to aim his optic lasers at you; until a fist came flying at him—knocking him to the ground. logan stood there for a minute, taking a look at you to make sure you were alright, before pouncing on scott.

you watched as logan nearly beat him bloody before stepping in, tugging on his black button up—begging him to stop. however, the raspy voice of the professor entered all of your minds, stopping everyone’s movements.

‘the dark phoenix has risen and attacked me. jean grey is no longer with us. teachers, meet me in the infirmary’

logan looked at you and grabbed scott, slinking him around his shoulders, “go meet me in the infirmary. im gonna take him to his room and have hank look after him.” you nodded and practically raced to the infirmary, meeting the rest of the x-men. they surround xavier’s comatose body, talking amongst each other about what was going on, until ororo started speaking.

“the professor was attacked a few minutes ago by the x-men we once knew as jean grey. however, the friend we knew and once loved is now gone and is being possessed by a dark entity. this being is catastrophic and we must stop it before it’s too late—” she paused and took a look at her fellow mutants, before raising an eyebrow.

“where’s scott?”

“he’s out of commission for a while. ill catch him up later.” logan’s arm snaked around you waist, appearing behind you and answering her question. she nodded and continued with the details of the mission, before listing out names of those who would be on it.

you and logan were the main frontmen for this mission. storm had converged a plan on how it should go down, along with a plan b; warning you guys that there’s a slight chance it might end bad. she put her faith in you and the team, before dismissing everyone. the mission would take place tomorrow.

———

sitting on logan’s surprisingly soft bed, you relaxed while he was in the shower. your mind was running rampant about what could possibly happen tomorrow. being that this could possibly be the end, frightened you, especially since you haven’t told him how you felt.

“logan?” you called out, listening to the calming sound of the shower running.

“yeah?” he responded and you got up from his bed and stripped out of your clothes, joining him in the shower. the sight of his nude, wet body was breathtaking. so very breathtaking, that you couldn’t help but break down and cry—sobbing as the warm water painted your face.

those thick eyebrows raised and he immediately pulled you close, rubbing circled on your back; along with rubbing your head. “hey, talk to me. won’t be able to understand you when you’re crying like this, princess.”

you nodded in his hairy chest before pulling back, sniffling. this was the time to let it all out, let him know how you feel.

“i love you. i love you so fucking bad, logan. you’re all i think about. i think about us getting married and having a litter or two of kids…” he laughed at and kissed your temple, before urging you to continue.

“you’ve been there for me for a while now. you uplifted me and showed me what true love is. and it pains me to know that there’s a possibility that tomorrow could take this away from me.” more tears poured out of your eyes and he cupped your face, kissing away your tears.

logan honestly felt the same. he fell in love with you the moment you joined the x-men. even when you got with scott, he still loved you. he just knew it was fate that the two of you were meant to be. he moved his lips down to your soft plump ones, making you melt on the spot.

the kiss the two of you shared held such passion, that you wished you could stay like this forever.

“i love you too, princess. but, you will tell me this tomorrow; when we win.” he kissed from your lips down to your neck before stopping at the middle of your chest—kissing one of your mounds and holding the other; earning a moan from you.

“in the meantime, how about we get started on that litter?” you giggled and nodded your head, before your back was against the wall with his cock in between your legs—warming up from your heat, while he pinched one of your perky nipples and sucked on the other.

slick started to pool and drip onto his cock as he continued to tease your sensitive breasts, fueling your arousal. “please, baby….don’t tease me—wan’ you inside of me~”

he pulled away from your nipple with a ‘pop’ echoing after, still teasing the other one with his rough hands, a smirk painted on his rugged face. “you sure you’re ready for that, doll?” he asked and you nodded profusely. lifting up your leg, he rubbed himself on your slick coated slit, using your essence as lubricant and then pushed himself into your tightness.

he threw his head back from how you felt, and your walls clung to him; clenching and unclenching around him. the pressure he was putting on your clit, had you cumming prematurely. he smirked and pulled himself out, making you whimper; already missing how he filled you up—even though it was just the tip.

he repeated that process, pushing his cock in and pulling you out, earning more lewd noises from you and your pretty pussy. “logannn, please fuck me already!” he grunted in response and slammed himself inside—filling you to the brim with his cock. you squealed from the pleasurably painful sensation that coursed through you, kissing him to distract you from the pain.

the grip on your leg tightened as he started to pound your sweet little pussy, walls stretching past its normals limits. the more he fucked you, the more your cunt became molded to the shape of his cock. it was evident that you were made for him.

by now, the water had gotten cold and he continued to rut inside of you—cunt coating his cock with your creamy white fluids. he was drowning in your sweet fluids and he didn't need a floatie—he had reached nirvana.

in one swift motion, the shower was off and you were in his arms—legs wrapped around his waist while he was still inside; carrying you out of the shower & over to the bathroom sink. he pulled out momentarily as he placed you on your feet and turned you around, your fat ass facing him; while he plunged right back inside of your middle.

pushing your arch down, placing his hands on your hips—he reached deeper than before, causing you to scream. “dick too big for you baby?” you nodded and he chuckled, grinding himself against you until he started to pound you silly.

you tried to open your mouth to speak, to warn him that you were going to cum, but your mind was too fucked out to process anything; so you let out a sweet moan. “go ahead and cum for me princess. could feel her twitching around me.”

it was amazing how he knew your body so well already and it didn’t take long for you to heed his words, cumming hard on his dick while he continued to make your cunt his. the tightness of your walls squeezing him, broke him and he couldn’t help but to cum buckets inside of you—filling your tummy up with his kids.

the two of you panted, bodies shaking as your orgasms came over you—your head being pulled back so he could press a kiss to your lips.

“i love you, princess.”

———

blood covered the blue and yellow suits the team wore as the dark phoenix made paint out of their blood. the fight wasn’t going so good. some of you were gravely injured, possibly on the brink of death, while some of you tried to catch your breaths; still able to fight.

you looked over at a bleeding logan, worried about the wounds he had received, catching his eyes. “don’t worry, it’ll heal.”

he charged towards the being, claws fully unsheathed, with you and few others following suit; only to be tossed away like peons. you laid there in pain, ready to accept defeat, until you heard the crunching of the dirt nearby. turning your head you were shocked to see scott, staring down the possessed body of his old lover.

scott turned to look at you and logan, and smiled before inching closer toward them. your eyes shot open, you knew exactly what he was going to do. “scott! wait,—“ but it was already too late.

with the help of colossus, the leader of the x-men was tossed over to jean—grabbing onto her before a red flash of light blinded you all. once it cleared, the two were gone. the only thing that stood where they once were, was scott’s yellow & red custom visor.

you sat there in disbelief. you never expected this to happen. yeah, you his guts, but you never expected him to sacrifice himself. better yet, die.

“c’mon doll, let’s go home~” logan’s raspy voice pulled you out of your thoughts, holding out his hand which you gladly accepted. you turned around, looking at where he was one last time, before turning around heading back to the jet.

——

5 months later.

“and here lies the visor that was once used by our leader and hero of the x-men, cyclops. he will be missed.” logan spoke to the new students joining the academy—giving them a tour, stopping at scott’s memorial.

“logan~” your voice called out to him, making him turn his attention over to you—his beautiful pregnant wife. “alright kids, gonna turn this over to our new teacher; ms. frost,” the blonde stepped up with a smile and took over while your husband jogged over to you—kissing your growing belly before moving up to your lips.

“we’re gonna be late! this is the appointment where we get to see the baby’s gender!”

it might’ve started off rough, but you were finally happy and in love.

[imagine-horizons]

pairing: law x gn!reader

Warning: none - just fluff, and a bit of jealousy from the reader

—————

In the quiet of the Polar Tang library, that was where you found solace. Your fingers lightly brushed against the spine of each book, your eyes scanning each title and its author.

Most of the books that Law kept were medical and history, but there was a small collection of fictional classics. You scrunched your nose as you stopped briefly on “Romeo and Juliet.”

Seriously? You did not pen the Surgeon of Death as a hopeless romantic. You preferred novels with a bit of self -realization and romance, like Northanger Abbey. But Still, you pulled it off the shelf and flipped through the first few pages. It was worn at the edges with creases in its spine. It had definitely been well-read at one point. On the title page, a faded handwritten message had been scribbled. You stepped into a more lit area of the library to see what it said, and you felt your heart stop.

To my beloved Doctor:

Even if the world rejects our love, I will never deny our love , even in the face of death. When the day comes, may it rest forever in the City of Flowers.

You snapped the book shut, and quickly placed it back in its place. You felt like you had uncovered something private and intimate. The message must have been written to Law, but from who? Was it a secret lover that he met on his journeys?

You had never heard anyone from his crew mention anything , so either this mystery lover was a well kept crew secret, or no one knew. You glared at the book, and moved onto the next few books on the shelf. But you could barely focus, your thoughts still on the secret message. You glared at all the fictional classics - maybe you were better off reading non-fiction. You pulled a herbology book off the shelf, grabbed a pack of sticky notes and a pen , and headed towards one of the open tables.

“Y/N! What are you reading?” Ikkaku slid into the seat next to you. She was holding a novel in her hand that you unfortunately recognized.

“THat’s…” you started, and Ikkaku stared at the book.

“Oh yeah, I overheard some women during our last town visit chatting about romance novels,” she shrugged. “Our captain doesn’t exactly keep and extensive romance novel section, so I was surprised to see this.” She flipped to the first page and her eyes narrowed at the message.

“What are you two doing?” The sound of their Captain’s deep voice made the both of you jump out of your seats. Law was standing there, his one eyebrow raised at the response. “Why do you two look suspicious?” Before you could say anything, Ikkaku shoved the book at him.

“What’s this? Are you hiding a girlfriend from us?” Ikkaku teased.

“Girlfriend?!” Suddenly Penguin , Shachi and Bepo materialized out of nowhere next to Law.

“Where - let me see!” Penguin said , completely flabbergasted.

“Omigosh it’s a love letter!” Bepo gasped staring at the text. “It’s addressed to you, Captain.”

“You guys - “ Law said tersely. At that moment you stood up abruptly, startling all of them.

“You guys are so loud,” you managed to say. “I can’t focus.” And with that, you snatched your book up, and quickly left.

Why on earth did it bother you?

You and the Captain were not together. But there were moments were you felt your heart beat a little faster, with the attention he directed at you.

He would make you a cup of tea at night, while you took night watch, blanket in hand.

He would patiently explain some of the medical terminology , and procedures that he would perform. Which he would never take the time to explain to others, except you.

He was really good at following the stars as a map, and he had a weird knowledge of the Greek mythology behind its patterns.

You headed into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. You stared at the herbology book and the notes that you don’t remember taking , as you waited for the kettle to boil.

You were being petty, over a message.

“Y/N.” Your head shot up to see Law standing there, with the annoying book in his hand. “No books in the kitchen,” he scolded.

“Sorry,” you muttered. Law sat down next to you and you could feel him staring at you as you poured hot water into your cup of tea.

“That message was written for my father.” You felt your face turn red.

He knew it bothered you.

“My mother was a bit of a hopeless romantic,” he chuckled dryly. “But my father loved her for it, and she would read passages of it to him. When my sister and I were growing up in Flevance, she would read it to us.”

“Oh,” you managed to say. Law sighed.

“This was one of the only books I recovered from my home when I went back. I don’t remember the last time I read it, but it helps me to remember them.”

“And here I thought you were a hopeless romantic,” you joked, trying to break the awkwardness. Law set the book down in front of you and leaned forward to study you closer. You could feel your face heat up even more but you couldn’t pull your gaze away.

“I’m definitely not a romantic, and I’ve been in near hopeless situations,” Law said slowly. “But if there’s one thing I know, is I will fight for what means the most to me.” You didn’t know what to say, as the words sunk in. “What about you?”

“To death,” you said without hesitation. Law smirked and pulled back.

“You really are a Heart Pirate, aren’t you?” He said, with a hint of pride in his voice. With that , he left the room leaving you a little stunned at your interaction.

When your eyes turned back to the table, you realized that the novel was still sitting there. But there was something tucked into its pages - a note with writing that there was no mistaking , it was written by Law.

“There is nothing I would not do for [you]. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.”

You felt your heart stop , and you clutched the note in your hands, in awe and disbelief.

Contrary to his partial words, the Surgeon of Death was definitely a romantic, and you were falling deeper for him with every passing day.

End

A/N: That last quote is not mine - but I give you a cookie / part 2 to this if you guess where that quote is from hehe

[aventurineswife]

I was wondering if you still take requests if you do here’s mine

Can you do a Dan Hang x reader, a AE!Sunday and a Aventurine x reader on how during a battle they get badly injured while protecting them(they were fighting together) and they (reader) looses there memory

Idk if u have something like this it’s fine if u cant do it it’s my first request so I hope this is ok

- Starry Anon ✨🩵

Remembrance of Shadows

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, AE!Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Angst, Memory Loss, Protective Characters, Found Family Dynamics, Slow Burn Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Action, Heroic Sacrifice.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Injuries and Blood, Themes of Amnesia, Emotional Hurt/Angst, Near-Death Experiences.

The battle raged on with relentless intensity. Your spear clashed with the enemy's weapons, every strike filled with determination to protect the Astral Express crew. Beside you, Dan Heng fought with his usual precision, Cloud-Piercer dancing through the air with deadly grace. His quiet presence, though reassuring, carried an unusual tension tonight—a subtle edge of protectiveness that hadn’t escaped your notice.

The enemy launched a sudden ambush, aiming for your blind spot. You barely had time to react before Dan Heng was there, intercepting the blow with his spear. The impact threw him off balance, but he recovered swiftly, his expression unreadable as always.

“Stay close,” he murmured, his voice calm despite the chaos.

The next attack came too quickly. A towering adversary hurled a devastating strike, and you knew instinctively you wouldn’t be able to dodge it in time. Before you could even think to cry out, Dan Heng stepped in front of you, taking the full brunt of the blow. The force sent him sprawling to the ground, blood staining his clothes.

“Dan Heng!” you screamed, rushing to his side. His usually stoic face twisted with pain, but his hand reached out to steady you.

“You need to stay... safe.” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Your vision blurred with tears as you tried to fend off the enemies closing in. But the world around you tilted violently, a blow to your head sending you into darkness.

When you woke, the room was quiet. The antiseptic scent of a medical bay filled your senses. You blinked slowly, your head pounding as you tried to piece together what had happened. A figure sat nearby, his teal eyes watching you with an intensity that made your heart ache.

“Who… are you?” you asked hesitantly.

Dan Heng stiffened, his calm demeanor faltering for the briefest moment. “It’s me,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “Dan Heng. Don’t you remember?”

Your confusion deepened. His name felt familiar, yet distant, like a memory slipping through your fingers. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, guilt lacing your voice. “I… I don’t.”

Dan Heng looked away, his jaw tightening. He stood, his movements careful as if concealing the pain of his injuries. “It’s all right,” he said quietly, though his voice carried an undertone of anguish. “You’re safe now. That’s what matters.”

And yet, as he turned to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that losing your memories of him might have hurt him more than any wound from the battle.

The battlefield was a nightmare of chaos and destruction. Sunday stood by your side, his halo glowing faintly amidst the smoke. His tailcoat fluttered as he deflected an enemy strike, his eyes sharp with determination. Despite his usual serene demeanor, he fought with an intensity you’d never seen before.

“Stay behind me,” he urged, his voice calm yet firm. “I won’t let them harm you.”

But the enemy was relentless. In a desperate move, one of them lunged toward you, their weapon aimed directly at your heart. Time seemed to slow as Sunday stepped between you and the blow. The attack hit him squarely, and he crumpled to the ground, his blood staining the earth.

“No!” you cried, catching him as he fell. His eyes met yours, still filled with a quiet resolve.

“I couldn’t let them take you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with pain. “You’re too important.”

Before you could respond, an enemy struck you from behind, and darkness engulfed you.

You awoke to the soft hum of the Astral Express. The bed beneath you was unfamiliar, and your head throbbed with a dull ache. A man sat nearby, his hair framing a face etched with concern.

“You’re awake,” he said, relief evident in his voice.

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice weak. His eyes widened slightly, and his serene expression wavered.

“I’m Sunday,” he said gently. “We’re… friends.”

The hesitation in his voice made you doubt his words, but his presence felt oddly comforting. “I don’t remember,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Sunday’s gaze softened, though a shadow of pain lingered in his eyes. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “I’ll remind you, one step at a time.”

Even as he smiled, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of something unspoken—a bond lost to the void of your memories.

The enemy forces pressed closer, their numbers overwhelming. Aventurine’s laughter rang out, sharp and defiant as he dodged another attack. “Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted, his eyes gleaming with calculated mischief.

You fought back-to-back with him, your movements synchronized. Despite the danger, Aventurine seemed in his element, his every move precise and deliberate. But when a stray attack targeted you, he acted without hesitation.

“No cheating now!” he said with a grin, stepping in front of you. The enemy’s blade cut deep into his side, and he stumbled, blood dripping from the wound.

“Aventurine!” you cried, catching him as he fell. His ever-present smile faltered, replaced by a pained grimace.

“Don’t… worry about me,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just focus on winning.”

But you never got the chance. A sharp blow to your head sent you spiraling into unconsciousness.

When you woke, you were met with the sight of a man leaning against the wall, his hair tousled and his smile as enigmatic as ever.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said, his tone light despite the bandages wrapped around his torso.

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice laced with confusion.

For a moment, his smile faltered, and something akin to sorrow flashed in his eyes. “Just someone who’s really glad you’re awake,” he said, his voice unusually soft.

You wanted to ask more, but the warmth in his gaze stopped you. Though you couldn’t remember him, something about his presence felt safe—as if he’d gambled everything to keep you alive.

[unluckilyimnot]

Late night – portgas d. ace

In which you're drunk and you fantasize about Ace and it goes wrong (not really).

Note: first (and failed) attempt for my ace ver. of bed chem. I'll do something sweeter than that. again first time writing with him so he might be ooc. I didn't really like it at first, I wrote that at 3am but my bestie told me it was fine so here it is.

Fluff, mention of alcohol, being drunk and wanting to sleep with someone. Don't ask for smut. ~3k.

m.list | rules (read before asking for anything!)

You knew you shouldn’t think that. It was out of place, you’ve drunk one too much and he’s your superior. And yet there you are, another glass full of rum in one hand, the other holding your head from falling and your eyes fix on Ace, a few steps away.

He looks so hot, it’s taking all the space available inside your brain at the moment. His hair’s falling perfectly around his face – it doesn’t matter how many times he pushed it away, it always falls back perfectly. His hat’s resting on his shoulders, his weight is put on his arm as he holds his drink with his other hand – showing off his muscles for anyone to see. You wished you respected yourself enough to stop there. Stop looking. Stop your train of thoughts from going from his arms to his hair, fantasizing about your fingers dragging their way up his arm to his hair, grabbing it just enough for him to sigh. Your cheeks flushed at the thought.

You drank your glass in one go, receiving cheers from your crew. Ace’s eyes fell on you, a cocky, happy smile on his lips and you caught a light of excitement in his eyes that matches with half of the people sitting in the deck at the moment. The sun has disappeared for a moment now, the night is dark, full of stars and the light reflecting on his face is too much for you. It’s overwhelming, imagining him with you : strong arm holding you like you weigh nothing, pulling you on his laps, whispering things so sweet in your ear when you can feel him hard between your legs. It’s intoxicating. You shouldn't think about that, dream about that.

You shake your head, trying to push it away but it seems like it can only get worse when you think of him kissing your neck all the way down your chest. It’s too much, you shut your eyes, taking a small breath in before getting up.

“They're gonna be sick,” someone laughed, you can’t picture who, and honestly – you’d rather be sick to death right now.

You ran to the other side of the ship, far from the small party, from all the alcohol. Far away from Ace. Holding the fence with both hands, you take a deep breath. The salty air cleans your mind a little before an awful wave of shame hits your face. You bury your head in your arms before letting out a loud groan – they think you're sick anyway, so it doesn’t matter. If they even hear you. Ace is still on your mind, half naked, touching you, grabbing onto your skin harshly as he whispers sweet words to your ears and you sincerely think of jumping and drowning in the sea. Until you hear his voice.

“You’re alright there ?”

At first, you’re sure you’ve imagined it ; he’s everywhere, you can feel him on your skin when he’s not even next to you. Until he grabs your arm at your lack of response. You met his eyes lace with concern, his smile smaller and the fun disappeared in the background. You gulp hardly, almost choking on air. His hand is so hot on your cold skin, it does the opposite of grounding you, now thinking about his hot skin all over yours.

“Yes,” you choked out, pulling your arm away.

You stumble away from him, still holding onto the fence. You can barely stand, he can tell – anyone could. You’ve probably drunk your weight in alcohol tonight, you went too far. You felt hot, too hot. Your vision was betraying you and you failed to dodge his hand as it landed closer to your wrist.

“You don’t seem fine to me,” he chuckles, trying to not go too far when you want to keep your distances so bad ; but he doesn’t want you to get hurt. “I’ll take you back to your bunk, come on.”

Why does he have to care so much ? Why couldn't it be someone else. Anyone ! Thinking that he was the first one to make a move and make sure you were ok made your heart ache. He was so sweet without meaning to, or maybe he does but it never really seemed like it. He jokes around too much, flirts too much. Him doing both so well makes your heart beat faster, only for him. It scares you, so much, because as much as you want him, there's no universe he wants you back. Tears picked up at the corner of your eyes.

“Please, Ace, leave me alone,” you begged, looking around, anywhere, so your tears will go away and you won’t meet his eyes. “You're the last person I need right now.”

You speak quickly, not thinking twice and certainly missing the hurt written on his face. Your head hurts, it's spinning like crazy. Yeah, you could've gotten some help, but thinking about him in your bed was the main problem of the night. Thinking about how good you'll be for each another was the problem. You didn't need him close to your room, let alone inside it. Not until you were sober and could make sense of all of that in your head. He clears his throat.

"Don't move then, I'll get Marco," he says quickly as well, walking away without a second glance or at least you think so.

You can't miss the hurt in his voice, the faux smile he puts on when he's hurt and you hate it. But you know you can't fix that right now, right ? You can't think straight and you're scared you're gonna say something dumb. Your feet can barely hold you up and you can tell your knees are getting weak – but you push it away and follow him.

"Wait, Ace !" you yell out his name, looking for him. You're getting closer to the stairs and, as much as he doesn't want it, he's quickly back by your side before you can reach it. You grip his open shirt, fingers brushing on his chest.

"I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry, I'm–" you struggle to find your words, you don't even know what you're trying to say.

What you know is that you melt under his hot and soft touches. His hands are holding your arms carefully to not hurt you, but it’s still firm so you don’t have to hold your weight alone – you're not complaining anymore. His hands on you are meticulous, not going too far. It costs him at the moment and you're still mumbling nonsense. Your emotions are a mess, the last thing you want is to hurt him, you need to do something about it and it almost made you forget the heat in your core to have him close.

"It's fine," he tries his best to not be cold but he can’t even look at your face. You're flustered and desperately looking for his eyes this time. Your hand ends up on his chest, catching the rhythm of his heart. You want to lean in, hold him close, tell him how sorry you are.

"You're all over my mind, it's intoxicating," you're shaking your head. "It's hard having you around, I'm sorry, but I love you please I never meant to hurt you." You can feel his heart beating faster under your hand and you can tell his cheeks turned pink.

Ace covered his face with one hand, rubbing it before hiding his lips as his eyes fell on you. “You’ll be the death of me…”

You can’t figure what he just muttered but you can’t find the need to care – he’s looking at you, it’s enough. “I’m sorry, Ace.”

“I know, I know !” he doesn’t know what to do with his own body after that, or what he can do at all. “Can I help you then ? Or are you gonna argue agai– Hey !”

Before he could finish his sentence, your legs gave up on you and your vision went dark. He’s left there, with your body in his arms as you passed out – your head gently laying on his chest now. He groans, cursing under his breath before holding you close and coming down the stairs. You’re not really heavy for him, that’s not the problem.

The problem is that he can’t get your words out of his head. You saying ‘I love you’, being so desperate for him to look at you, to say you were sorry… And the hell did you mean he’s all over your mind ?! There’s a lot of things on his mind at the moment, too many for him to keep a track of and the alcohol surely doesn’t help.

Your weight is comfortable in his arms, when he stops beside your bunk he has a hard time letting you go. You seem so vulnerable, he lays you down eventually, staring at you for a second. There’s a small frown knitted on your face, he has to ease it down with his fingers  before sitting on the floor, next to you.

“The hell you meant I’m all over your mind…” he’s not getting over it. He doesn’t know what to do with it but it for sure works him up.

You were all over his mind all night, and it’s not the first time, so knowing you might feel the same felt – strange. The fact that you rejected him probably because of that left a bad taste on his tongue. He wants to talk about it tomorrow, but will you even remember ? He sighs as he thinks about it. It can’t be helped at the moment.

The next morning, you woke up with the worst headache you’ve ever had but also with a huge glass of water next to your bunk and a small note. 

Drink a lot today. Can we talk ?’

You don’t need a sign to know who it is, his bad handwriting says it all. You flush when you read it. You don’t remember well what happened yesterday, but you’re sure you must have said some bad shit to get a note from Ace.

You lay back on your bed, groaning at your blood pulsing in your temple like crazy, but it’s better than to get up and face him for now. What even happened after you left the deck ? You remember Ace coming to check on you, crying a little and running – or at least try to – after him. The rest of the night is blurry, you can’t figure what you did or say after crashing into his arms, and the only reason you’re sure you crashed into him is because you can still feel his warmth around you. It’s bitter sweet, you love it and hate it at the same time. You don’t want to crave it like you do.

You’re so lost in your mind, you missed the knock on your door. Twice. It makes you jump when the door opens out of nowhere in a loud creak and Ace’s face comes out of it. He looks at you with big eyes at first, seemingly lost and you can feel your cheeks turn hot. Pulling the cover closer to your chest, you winced at the pain in your head.

“Headache ?” he asks softly, a small grin on his lips as he walks in. He has another glass of water in hand but he keeps it for himself when he sees the first one barely touch. “Drink,up, it’s gonna help."

You nod and drink it all straight. You can feel the coldness running down your body and sigh in relief afterward. It doesn’t help in a second, but you already feel better. He gave you the second after you gave it a long stare. It’s awkward, you don’t know what to say, neither does he. After a moment, the silence is so thick you don’t know how to break it. So you clear your throat. 

“I’m sorry for last night,” you start carefully. “I don’t really remember what happened, or what I said but I was mean, wasn’t I ? I didn’t mean to.”

“You said that last night already, don’t worry,” It took him a second to answer, his eyes lost on the floor next to your bunk. “It’s forgotten already. You were drunk.”

There’s another silence. You sit up and let your legs hang over the edge, trying to catch his eyes since he doesn’t say anything ; he seems lost in his mind, and it’s never a good sign. Your fingers brush his arm gently, trying to bring him back with you. “Are you alright ?”

He shrugs, trying to play it cool but his eyes say something else. “You said you didn’t mean it… You think it works for everything you said ?” there’s a subtle hope as he stares back at you making you gulp hard.

“I don’t know, what did I say ?” you tried to joke, lightening the mood but you’re scared. What if you went too far and told him you wanted him that way ? What a mess it would be, but you guessed he would’ve been more cocky about it.

Your fingers are now brushing his hot skin without failing, grounding him in with you instead of drowning in overthinking. You wait for him to talk, not forcing him to, but you’re ready to wait for him. “You said you never wanted to hurt me because you loved me? You meant it ?”

Your heart stopped. Of course you said something like this and you want to hit your head on the wall for it, but you can’t back down now. “Yeah, I care for you Ace. You’re important to me."

“Enough for you to love me ? You also said I was all over your mind all night, that’s why it was hard to have me around.”

You flushed at his words, bringing your hand back to your chest as if he just stripped you off all your clothes. Why did drunk you speak so much, huh ? They were talkative for sure and you hated it. Your eyes fell on the floor and it was your time to avoid his gaze. You couldn’t say you didn’t mean it like that, you don’t want to see him hurt even if it breaks your heart.

“Hum, enough to love you,” you whisper, scared it’s gonna ruin everything. Closing your eyes hard, you wait for him to answer but nothing comes. Instead, he can feel his head leaning against yours. His forehead touches yours and you open your eyes, his are shut. A sigh of relief leaves his lips.

“You were on my mind too, you know,” he started softly, his voice low. “I was scared you’d never want to talk to me again if you knew.”

You can’t help the chuckle that left your lips, catching him off guard. He straightened his back quickly, leaving his hands on his lips – a suspicious look on his face. “What was that ?”

“You have no idea what I think of you, so don’t worry. It can’t be worse.”

With that, he laughed and the heavy, awkward mood lifted up by itself. And, without really putting words onto it, you knew how the other felt. It was still new, too soon to start something but you could laugh with each other openly. Ace could put your hair behind your ear without feeling like a creep and you could stay close to him without going crazy.

It’s simple, it feels like you’re already together for a lot. Yet, there’s still a lot on Ace’s mind. He took his time, until he knew he could do it without regretting it. Waiting for you to fall asleep in his arms, for you to hit his arm playfully when he goes too far with a joke without being upset, for you to open up to him – only then did he say it.

It was dark and rather cold outside, but he still found you sitting by yourself on the deck, looking at the stars. He can’t really get cold but he knows you do for sure, so he’s surprised to find you without a thick shirt on.

“Keeping the stars all for yourself ?” he chuckles as he sits beside you, making you giggle.

“I wouldn’t dare, they’re for everyone,” you answer. It sounded more deep than you meant to, but it’s fine. He has people to share them with too. For a while, neither of you talked but it’s comfortable now. He doesn’t have to play a role with you, neither do you and things got a lot easier after you two accepted that.

“You’re not cold ?” he asks finally, worried because of the shivers on your arms.

“Yes, I am.” It was blunt, unapologetic and it made him laugh out loud. Oh, how he loves you.

“Come here,” he grins as he gestures to you to come closer.

He doesn’t have to say it first. You sit up immediately and move between his legs, now resting in the hot embrace you learned to know. You let out a satisfied sigh as you get comfortable in his arms. “I thought you'd never say it.”

You made him laugh again, it happens more now you noted. You like it. His head finds the crook of your neck and he rested his nose there, inhaling your scent before sighing as well. His arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer. You call out his name softly, but he doesn’t answer. He’s feeling good, safe – at home.

“I love you too.” His voice is low, you barely heard him but your heart would never miss this. It felt like the right moment : under the stars, you safe in his arms as he warms you up during a cold night. He wants this to last forever.

More important, he never actually told you he loved you when you already did and he felt bad for it. He doesn't know why he hesitated for so long when every cell in his body was craving for your soft touches and words, but now it was done and he never felt happier.

“I didn’t even say it…” you argued but your cheeks were flush red.

“You did,” he confirms. “A while ago. I didn’t forget, never.”

Before he can make sense of it, you're turning around and grabbing his face with both hands before your lips rested on his for a second. It’s a small peck but it feels like you’ve been waiting for this all your life. He’s taken by surprise but quick to bring you back for another kiss, longer but gentle, careful. His hands don’t leave your waist, his thumbs drawing patterns on your cold skin before breaking the kiss.

“I love you,” you whisper anyway, not waiting for anything in return.

He nudges his nose with yours, a big smile on his lips as he hears your laugh at the cute gesture. He couldn’t ask for more and he wouldn't dare. He was lucky enough to be loved so gently.

Let me know if you liked it ! ♡

[alicedash2]

"My princess"

Whitebeard x Reader (f!reader, platonic)

without review

Shanks x Reader

---------

warning: persecution, mention of death, death, prejudice

------

you were just his princess....

------

Ah, those big, bright little eyes, full of life, that shy, forced smile, rosy, warm cheeks, you looked like a warm, cuddly little ball, even if you were a teenager, in the hand of your adoptive father, who adopted you and never let you touch a weapon, so fragile that you were, your delicate, small hands never knew what it was like to touch a weapon or anything heavy, you didn't know how to fight, let alone curse or offend, the true princess you were born to be.

 He felt devastated when you left, the persecution you suffered was too much, he thought he had saved you at the age of 12, from those ignorant people who thought you were a bad omen because of the culture you were born into and your ancestors, you were not to blame, your island, called "Flos Historiarum", was in a country at war, you had already lost your family, been taken away, they took your name and burned you with numbers, they tried to make you forget your name, but you always refused, you never submitted to that torture of prejudices, your whole island was devastated, and that filled you with hatred.

"I know how you feel, little one"

"no, you don't! I...hate them!"

"yes, I understand... and even so, I looked for things that could comfort me again..."

That's what Whitebeard said, bringing you close to his face, while you were sitting on the man's hand, malnourished, in pain and agony, he promised you that he would give you a new family, and so he did.

Whitebeard didn't usually have women in his gang, but he made a special exception at first, he just wanted to raise you and then let you live a peaceful life on an island he took as his territory, but as he saw you grow into a wonderful woman, almost 17 years old, he didn't have enough courage, he felt, for the first time, the love of a father for his daughter, he felt as if you were his exceptional daughter, as if you had come out of a dream that he hadn't even realized he had, being the father of a girl, that made him think that he would have liked to have had you earlier, learning to walk, talk, study, these silly but special things.

Whitebeard had time to see you grow, improve, develop your opinions, passions, fears and sorrows, from your island, the only thing you saved with you was your diaries, which were soon recovered before Whitebeard welcomed you into that place where there was barely any food, he knew, but he never touched on the subject, he knew, that inside, there was torture that you suffered.

During your adventures as Whitebeard, he always asked you to stay on the ship, or accompanied by a crew member, but not alone, and once, you disobeyed, left the ship, and went to explore the island in a more secluded place, but, it wasn't long before you found two heads, one red and one blue, discussing something, afraid, you left in silence when you ended up slipping and falling downs, making the boys look at you, curious...

"...?"

"ah!"

You tried to run away, but the fear was greater, the boys looked at you, still curious, they were your age at the time, 14 years old

"she's a civilian..."

"Are there any civilians here?"

"I don't know, maybe there's a village nearby"

"hey, are you a civilian?"

"igh?!"

You turned away, trembling, and denied it with your head

"oh... where are you from?"

"I-I... I..."

You tried to talk, you didn't want to admit that you were Whitebeard's daughter, you regretted going alone, until you heard a serious voice

"don't scare the girl! Stay away from her!"

A man appears, blond, called Rayleigh, by the boys, the man gently helped you up, he didn't comment on your origin, the boys became more curious, Rayleigh, took you back to Whitebeard, who when he went to check on you, hadn't found you, you were lectured and turned red with shame, blaming yourself for a moment before the man hugged you gently and asked you not to do it again, the red-haired boy, who looked at you intently, like a newly discovered species, decided to become your friend, he was curious about you, Whitebeard didn't say anything, but his intense gaze already said a lot.

 When you said goodbye on your last day, you commented on your diary, and let Shanks have a quick look, but he wasn't that interested, he thought that diaries were "girls thing", until you told him about your origin, which he doubted, so you showed him your mark from the numbers they had made on you, it was still scarred, very evident and about treatment, from then on, Shanks realized that he should also protect you, he felt obliged, even if you were from a rival crew, you carried a lot of history, of struggle, strength and pain, the young man gave you back your diary, knowing the things that would be there, and then, you got up, and Shanks accompanied you to your ship, where they said goodbye, making promises to meet again.

A few years passed, at 17, you met Shanks again, he was already independent and had his own ship, he invited you to be part of his crew, in which you refused in a gentle way, the man in love didn't insist, he told you a few things since they left and when Roger died, many things happened, but that he was happy to know that you were so far, and confessed, in which you also felt the same, again, they left, making new promises full of love.

 A few weeks pass, and you decide to live as a civilian again, making Whitebeard against it by asking:

"Why do you want to leave when you have everything here?"

"Daddy, I wasn't born to be a pirate, I was born to be a 'princess' like you said! I'm your princess, and a princess has a peaceful life, don't you think?"

Whitebeard didn't complain, he took you to a territory, still feeling insecure, something told him to take her and put her on the ship again, but he ignored it and decided to trust his daughter, who kissed him on the cheek before saying goodbye, everyone cried, except for him, but he knew where to find her.

A few days passed, and they found the diary in the old room, and decided to keep it until the next visit to return it to you, they knew how much you loved your diary, that it carried your struggle, and so it was, until the fateful day, when they arrived, they noticed something strange, there were fires all around, the island was green and flowery, with villages and a small town in the center. Whitebeard began to blame himself in advance, telling himself that he should have listened to his paternal instincts about stopping you from leaving the crew. It didn't take long for them to find you, lying lifeless in an alley, they recognized you by the numbers that were still visible on your arm, and quickly, everyone had understood, prejudice had found you again, but this time, it had caught you, and they had also set fire to the island, where not even the animals would escape, Whitebeard was flooded with sadness, he had lost his precious princess, who had never hurt anyone, but had been brutally hurt, and he, who had always promised to protect her, wasn't there.

After the unfortunate discovery, a few days later, they buried her delicate body on another nearby island, very small, left flowers and letters, and everyone said goodbye, Shanks was silent, not sure what to say, both crews left for their destination, Shanks with a clip, a pair of earrings and letters that would be sent to him, and Whitebeard with the diary and other things, Whitebeard felt so empty that he couldn't accept it, he wanted to make a promise that if she returned, he would give her something in return, but he didn't know what to give in return if his daughter returned, his promise was half-fulfilled, and Shanks, who wanted his love back, decided to make a promise, but, like Whitebeard, he didn't succeed.

18 years passed, Luffy was already on the seas, conquering crew members, Whitebeard, when he received a new newspaper in the morning, with new sheets of pirates with their rewards below, he decided to look, and when he looked at his new photo, on that sheet, smiling shyly, with rosy cheeks and bright eyes, he had a flash of all his memory, he was in a trance, He wanted to scream, to jump up and tell you that you were alive, but he could only cry slowly. Suddenly, he heard shouts of joy, seeing his crew celebrating his inexplicable return. Whitebeard held tightly to his diary, from his past life, the situation was the same with Shanks, his teenage love was back, alive, and with Luffy, his friend.

Whitebeard and Shanks began a race as to who would find you first and take you for themselves again.

Part 2(?)

[pluvioloulou]

A secret between you, me… and Ravi!

Rating: M

Word Count: 5,9k

Tags: Secret Relationship, Good Friend Ravi Panikkar, We love Ravi, Light Angst, very light, Like super light, Fluff, Mild Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Evan "Buck" Buckley & Ravi Panikkar Friendship, Tommy Kinard Loves Evan "Buck" Buckley, getting caught, Kissing, Making Out, Post-Episode: s08e18 Seismic Shifts (9-1-1 TV), Living Together, Fire Captain Howie "Chimney" Han, no beta we die like my sleep schedule

Summery: After how the 118 reacted when Buck was still pining for Tommy, Buck decides to keep his and Tommy's newly reformed relationship to themselves, with the exception of Ravi, his new partner who he trusts to have his back.

( Ao3 Link )

~~<3~~

They didn't mean to get back together like this, it sort of just happened. Buck needed a place to stay while he was looking for a new apartment or house to move into, and Tommy had a guest room. Not that Buck used the guest room much.

After Bobby's funeral, Tommy had been checking in with Buck, and when he moved in, he would send off the occasional text when he knew Buck was getting back from a shift and he still had a few hours left on his. He just wanted to make sure he was okay.

Then texting turned into meeting up for coffee after work, having lunch, watching movies, going grocery shopping for nights where they'd have dinner together. What was meant to be strictly platonic was fuelled with longing and yearning gazes, willing to give in but too worried to take the leap. So for a while, they tried to ignore it.

But, to no surprise, it didn't last long. One evening, when Buck had just gotten off a particularly long shift, he walked into Tommy’s kitchen to find the man cooking him Bobby's famous lasagna recipe. He was cooking it for Buck.

He remembered when they were together, how he taught Tommy the step by step of the meal, stood beside one another in his old apartment's kitchen.

And in that moment, all Buck could see was pure love. In quick strides, he made his way to Tommy, grabbed his face and looked him in the eyes.

“I can't take all this dancing around anymore, I am so hopelessly in love with you.” And before Buck knew it, their lips collided and hands wrapped around each other, a beautiful rhythm of what they once had found again.

Pulling away with a dopey smile, Tommy rested his forehead against his, “I am so hopelessly in love with you too.”

That night, after a romantic meal, they curled up on the couch, talking about them for hours, clearing up all and every misunderstanding they have ever come across together. And ultimately, they decided that there was no rush. No one needed to know about them just yet, they wanted it to be just them for a while, so they could figure out who they are before anyone tells them what they think.

Hidden away from the world in their own little bubble.

And if it was also because Buck still felt a little sad that everyone ignored him after Bobby’s death, then that was between him and Tommy, the man who has his back, always.

However, after two months back together, Buck was itching to tell someone. Just one person who he could brag to about how good his life feels again, and how amazing Tommy is. He just wanted to talk to a friend.

At work, he looked around at everyone, still no one had asked how he’d been and it was starting to get on his nerves a little. Eddie, now back, had barely spent any time with him since their fight, Hen busy with family stuff, Chimney was handling being the new captain, not to mention him and Maddie dealing with a new baby. It just felt like they were all too busy for him.

He went back to prepping dinner for the crew, still mulling over who to spill his guts to when he heard someone tap on the kitchen worktop.

“Hey, Buck, need some help?” Ravi asked, a friendly smile on his face.

With Chim as captain, the team was down a paramedic, so Eddie took his place as Hen’s partner. Which meant Ravi was his new heavy rescue partner, and he had grown to really like the guy.

“Yeah, Rav, that would be great.” Buck handed him some things to chop up, showing him how they should be sliced and thrown into the pan, “Hey, you free to get a drink after work?”

“You're not gonna make me play that stupid game with the quarters again, are you?” Ravi grimaced at him jokingly and Buck couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, no I’m not,” he added the sauce he was making to the pan and then turned to face his new partner, “it’s just been a while since we got a drink together, I just wanna catch up.”

Ravi eyed him suspiciously, but when he couldn’t see anything wrong he shrugged, “Sure, I’ve got nothing planned tonight.”

When their shift was over, they made their way to the bar they favoured, the same bar where Tommy was that night all those months ago. Sitting at one of the high tables with beers in hand, they got to talking.

“I still remember the look on my mom’s face, she was not happy!” Buck barked a laugh at Ravi’s story. He never knew why he hadn’t tried to be friends with him sooner. He was so easy to talk to and wasn’t afraid to be brutally honest when someone needed to hear the truth.

Plus, to Buck, he was the one person who seemed to acknowledge his efforts since Bobby died and the person he wholly trusted at that moment. He was happy to call him his friend, overjoyed even, it had been a while since he made a new one.

“Man, I wish I could’ve seen it.” Buck lifted his drink to his lips, his laughter tapering off.

Ravi sipped his beer and looked around, his eyes landing on the booth they had sat before. He smiled to himself before opening his mouth, “Ya’know, I never asked you about what happened with Tommy that night.”

Buck almost choked on his drink, putting it down, he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Oh, uh,” he coughed, “we… well, we actually… went back to mine.” He couldn’t look him in the eye as he felt a flush of red on his cheeks.

Unexpectedly, Ravi whooped a cheer and reached over to knock his shoulder, “Buckley, you sly dog!” And Buck almost felt embarrassed if it wasn’t for the memories of that night flashing through his head, because what can he say? It was an amazing night, with a not so amazing morning after.

“Wait, but you never mentioned getting back with him? Did my plan not work?” Ravi’s smile fell, maybe the alcohol was already getting to him, his already thin filter peeling away completely.

“No, we didn’t get back together, not right away anyway.” Buck lowered his head, only to whip it back up and give Ravi a questioning look, “Wait, what plan?”

“It wasn’t a very thought out plan, I must admit, but,” he held up a finger to Buck, “you were just acting so mopey and miserable, and always talking about Tommy and baking. So when I saw Tommy sitting at the bar that night, I thought it was the perfect time to play cupid.” He looked proud of himself, downing the rest of his drink, “Oh and also I wanted to go home so it was a way out without cutting your evening short. I’m nice like that.”

Buck just stared at him, had he really been that bad?

But then, suddenly, Ravi’s hand came down on the table, “Hang on, did you say ‘not right away’, as in you and Tommy are actually back together?” His eyes grew wider in anticipation.

Buck couldn’t help but laugh at his friend again, “Yeah, been back together for about two months now, I’m actually living with him.”

And with that new information, Ravi’s face fell again for the second time that night, “Am I the last to know? Even though I’m the one who got you two back to each other?”

Quick to respond in hopes to save him from hurt feelings, Buck waved his hands, “Uh, actually you’re the first to know, and the only one. And we would really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone.”

Ravi’s mouth fell open, taken aback by Buck’s confession, “Of course, but why me?” He sputtered out.

Buck shrugged and swirled what was left of his beer around the bottom of the glass, “You’ve just been a really good friend, and I trust you and know out of everyone, you wouldn’t think I’m being a complete idiot by getting back with Tommy.” He laughed a little tightly, it had an edge of bitterness, “Y'know what they say, I’m always Buck-ing it up.”

When Buck looked up, Ravi looked at him with something akin to sympathy with an undertone of adoration.

“I never thought I’d see the day where we would be close friends, I can’t lie to you, I used to find you scary,” they both laughed, remembering the chainsaw incident, “but now, I’m actually so glad we’ve made it to this point, that you trust me with this, man!”

“Well, I am also glad you think that.” Buck nodded. Having Ravi as a friend felt different to everyone else, he didn’t overshare but he didn’t keep things from Buck either. He also had a very opinionated personality, and sometimes that's a good thing with how the 118 can act.

Was this what it was like to have a true friend?

“I’m guessing though, you only wanted to tell someone so you could talk about your boyfriend and how amazing he is?” Ravi raised an eyebrow.

And Buck couldn’t help the growing grin, his face almost splitting in half as his cheeks grew rounder and bright with blush, “He is pretty amazing.”

“I’m happy for you, Tommy’s a great guy.”

After catching up on all things Buck and Tommy, Buck felt like he’s done enough talking about himself, “So, what about you? How’s your love life?” Buck was genuinely curious as he’s never heard him talk about it before.

“Me? Oh, um, I’m seeing this girl,” he looked almost embarrassed, “her mom is really scary though.”

“You’ve met her mom already? How long have you been dating?” Buck was surprised.

“We’ve only been dating about a month now, and I’ve not exactly met her mom formally yet, y’know, as her boyfriend.” His hand came up and rubbed the back of his neck, looking away from Buck.

“I’m sure she’ll love you.” Buck, the ever so positive beam of light, tried his best to reassure him.

“I hope so.” Ravi said quietly, like a prayer.

An hour later, they called it a night. Both men were worn out from the busy day and the alcohol didn’t help much.

When Buck got home, he crawled into bed and as soon as his head hit the pillow he was out cold, he knew that in the morning he would wake up to one Tommy Kinard, coming home from his shift.

And just like that, morning came. He woke up to the sound of the front door closing and heavy footsteps towards the bedroom.

He didn’t bother opening his eyes when the bedroom door opened, the noise of the steps replaced with the rustling of clothes being discarded and falling to the floor. Then Buck felt the covers over him being lifted as a weight settled on top of him, placing the quilt back over them.

He groaned out an appreciative hum, enjoying the weight of his intruder. Lips caressed his neck as he brought a hand up to bury his fingers in tousled curls.

“Honey, I’m home.” Tommy whispered against his neck, continuing to kiss all over his boyfriend’s neck, occasionally scraping his teeth lightly over his skin.

“Someone's energetic for just getting off a 24 hour shift.” Buck mumbled, eyes still closed as he immersed himself in the feeling of Tommy.

Tommy lifted his head, prompting Buck to open his eyes. He leant in for a kiss, “It was a slow one, actually got 3 hours of sleep before end of shift, guess no one needed air support.” He said, moving back to Buck’s neck, one hand supported his weight and the other glided down Buck’s bare chest.

His hand didn’t stop travelling until it hit the waistband of his sleep shorts. Fingers dipped into them as Tommy’s lips migrated back up to his face, the kiss instantly turned hungry as Buck let out an airy moan.

One of Buck’s hands reluctantly released Tommy’s curls and moved to the older man’s back, sinking his nails into the space between his shoulder blades. As if on autopilot, his legs wrapped around Tommy’s waist, giving him more access.

Buck had to admit, one of his favourite things about Tommy was his hands, he made an average sized coffee cup look small when holding one, so you could imagine how turned on Buck was when he put them to good use the first time they got intimate. And right at this very moment, Buck was on cloud nine.

With practiced movements, Tommy knew exactly how to get Buck off. His hand wrapped around him, and Buck saw stars as his back arched. His hands flew to grab at the meat of Tommy’s biceps, and Tommy grinned in satisfaction laced with pride.

Tommy gave his boyfriend a few minutes to breath and come down from his high, looking at him in complete bliss. Buck wiped the sweat that beaded at his forehead with the back of his hand, the rise and fall of his chest eventually slowing down and evening out.

Buck leaned up to offer Tommy a sweet kiss that he accepted with no argument, “Want me to return the favour?” He wiggled his eyebrows and Tommy couldn’t help but think about how much of a dork his Evan was.

Tommy retracted his hand from Buck’s shorts, looking at the mess on his hand and swiping his tongue across it. Buck went bright red. “Maybe later, I could do with another 3 hours of sleep.”

He rolled over onto his side of the bed, “Besides, I just wanted to make you feel good, I missed you.”

Getting up to put on some clean underwear, Buck laughed lovingly at his boyfriend, “Awe, I missed you too, and that was super sweet in the most horny way possible.” He said with affection in his voice as he climbed back into bed.

They laid there for a few minutes, just staring at each other in complete, comfortable silence. Tommy reached out and started playing with Buck’s curls at one point and just didn’t stop.

“So, how was your night out with Ravi?”

Buck took Tommy’s hand out of his hair to hold it in his own, lacing their fingers together, “I was good, he’s a great friend,” Buck bit his lip and moved in a little closer, “I told him about us, like I said I would.”

Tommy raised his eyebrow and smiled, “That’s great, how’d it go?”

“Really well, actually. He’s a very understanding guy, I think he even felt honoured that he was the one I chose to tell.” Tommy knew Buck thought of Ravi like a little brother, he mentored him after all, and maybe Buck was a little bit of a menace with him at the time, but they’ve come so far and now they’re partners.

“We should invite him for dinner tomorrow, or whenever he’s free.” Tommy’s eyes began to close and his words slurred a little, the adrenaline wearing off and being replaced by pure exhaustion.

Buck let go of his hand and cupped his cheek, leaving a kiss on his forehead, “Yeah, I’ll text him later, get some sleep.”

From then on, it felt really refreshing for Ravi to know, it was like he could breathe a little easier now that someone knew. They could finally invite someone to their house and Buck was overjoyed that he could say the words, “Welcome to our house.” at last.

Ravi came over a few times over the next 3 months, they’d watch whatever game was on and Buck would pretend like he was interested, or they’d just have dinner and chat like civilized adults, or they’d find something in the house that needed help with fixing and use that as time to gossip between the three of them.

It felt so damn good for Buck, he was in a happy place, happier than before when he was last with Tommy, and he didn’t think that was even possible.

He went out more with Ravi too, sometimes Tommy would tag along, but usually it was just the two of them, building their budding friendship.

Telling the others had completely slipped his mind at that point, he was so caught up in the daze of it all that he would occasionally slip up.

“Hey, Rav, you left your jacket at mine the other night.” He brought the jacket into work to give back to his partner, not thinking anything of it.

“Oh, thanks man, I hadn’t even noticed.” As he walked away to put it in his locker, Hen sidled up to Buck.

He didn’t see her until she started talking, “So, when are we gonna get to see your new place, Buck? It’s been months.” He almost jumped at her words.

His hand rubbed the back of his neck, he was trying so hard to think of an excuse that she would believe, “Oh, y’know, it needed a lot of work done and I’ve been busy with the decorating, just haven't had the time to invite anyone over.” He stammered out.

“Except Ravi?” She raised him a questioning look.

“Yeah, he was helping me.” And before Hen could get another word in, Buck quickly backed up and jogged in the direction of the stairs, “Sorry, gotta start on breakfast.” He called to her over his shoulder.

Hen just thought he couldn’t look any more suspicious, like he was up to something, eyeing him as his long legs took two steps at a time up to the loft.

That might have been the first slip up at work, but it certainly wasn’t the last.

Ravi laughed at his phone as he threw his head back against the couch cushion, “Hey, what’s so funny?” Buck lightly kicked his foot.

“Dude, I was gonna ask you to tell your roomie to stop sending me those millennial memes, but some of these are actually really funny.” He continued to laugh as he sent a text back.

“Roomie?” Eddie appeared from behind, rounding the couch to sit on the armchair, “You're in your thirties and you got a roommate? Is this why none of us have seen your place?” He uncapped his water bottle, “Well, except Ravi, who seems to be pretty good friends with them.”

Buck could hear the annoyance in his tone. Eddie had asked if he could bring Chris around to his new house and Buck had simply said no, told him it wasn’t ready yet and there were too many trip hazards. He felt awful for lying about that last one.

“The housing market is expensive at the moment, you just expect me to find a place I can afford without a roommate? After moving out of two other places in the same year?” Buck was quick with his response, still a little irked with how their whole housing situation went down.

Eddie just threw his hands up in defence, clearly feeling the chill in the air from his friend, “Sorry I asked.” He got up and walked down the stairs after that, probably to hit the gym and let out some energy.

Ravi, having silently watched the whole ordeal go down, quietly apologised to Buck, but he knew he didn’t mean anything by it.

The next time wasn’t really a slip up, more like bad timing.

As Buck washed up the dishes from the meal they just finished, his phone started ringing from where he left it on the kitchen counter. He dried his hands on a dish towel, leaning over to see who was calling.

Tommy’s name flashed up on the screen and his face lit up. He reached out to grab it, but it was too late, Hen had already scooped it up off the side.

“Nope, you are not answering it, it’s been too long to just fall back into it all now.” Hen shook her head, his phone still blaring out the jingle he set it as in her hand.

“Hen, give me my phone.” He went to snatch it back and Eddie ran past, swiping it before he could get it.

“Come on, Buck, you’ve finally stopped baking, I can’t have you going back to that.” He waved the phone around, avoiding every one of Buck’s moves to take it back.

He held his arm out behind himself, pushing Buck back with the other, he started to laugh at the look on Buck’s face when the ringing stopped. But then his hand was empty, turning around he saw Ravi holding it.

“Yes, Ravi!” Eddie cheered, but Ravi didn't look too impressed. He walked around him and handed the phone back to its rightful owner, “What? No, Ravi!”

“Dude, it’s his phone.” He simply said and walked off, not wanting to be a part of their little game.

Buck pocketed his phone, frowning at both Hen and Eddie before following behind Ravi without a single word.

“Has he seemed a bit off to you lately? Because he has to me.” Eddie raised his eyebrow in judgment.

“I don't know, it seems like Ravi and Buck have gotten pretty close though.” Hen said to Eddie as she watched them go, she was a little shocked by the whole situation. They just thought they were trying to help Buck and spare his mentality, but maybe they took it too far again with passing his phone around like children.

“Maybe we should just tell them.” Tommy had said at dinner that night, “Then at least you won’t have to feel like you need to watch what you say around them, there'd be no secret to keep.”

“I don’t know.” Buck pushed his food around his plate, he did think it would be a whole lot easier if he didn’t have to hide the truth anymore, it had been 6 months. “Hey, have you spoken to any of them lately? Aside from Ravi, obviously.”

Tommy swallowed the mouthful of food he just ate before talking, “I’ve been texting Howie, mainly to talk about little Bobby,” he got his phone out and showed Buck a picture Chimney had sent him, “see, he sends me photos of him.”

Buck thought it was absolutely adorable how excited Tommy got over photos of the latest Han baby. And he had to admit, his nephew was pretty cute, so it’s totally understandable.

Tommy hadn’t got to meet him yet, too busy to find the time and Chimney hadn’t exactly invited him over, he didn’t want to over step by asking, especially if he knew Maddie was still a bit wary of him after he broke up with Buck.

“Well, if we do tell them, that means you’ll finally get to see little Bobby in person.” Buck saw the sparkle in Tommy’s eyes grow, he was technically the kid's uncle too, so he couldn’t blame him for his reaction.

“Maybe you should tell them then, no pressure, but this is totally your sign.” The pilot said, pushing all excitement out of his voice to come across like he wasn’t as such, making Buck laugh.

Still thinking about his conversation with Tommy, Buck grabbed the firecrew’s coffees with Ravi, using it as an opportunity to talk to him about it all.

“Do you think it’s been long enough and I’m just being ridiculous now?” There was a hint of a whine in his voice.

“You’re ridiculous a lot, Buck, and I'm not saying it as a bad thing.” Ravi deadpanned as he paid for the drinks.

“I’m being serious, Rav, do you think I should tell the others?” Buck grabbed one of the trays, waiting for the other to be filled.

“Honestly, it’s up to you, man. Only you can decide that, but,” he turned to look Buck in the eye, “if I were you, I would have probably told them by now.”

Buck groaned, he couldn’t think of anything more to say so he switched the subject on Ravi instead, “I don’t see you revealing who you're dating.” It was childish, but Buck didn’t care, he was in the mood for some teasing.

Ravi stood up straighter and took the last tray of drinks, Buck would say he looked a bit embarrassed, “That’s different.”

“Oh, is it?” And Buck's teasing tone continued.

The younger firefighter had eventually spilled the beans on who he was dating a few nights back. Buck, Tommy and him were drinking at their favourite bar when he finally let slip on the lucky lady.

All that time, Ravi had been seeing none other than May Grant. No wonder he mentioned being scared of his girlfriend’s mother, Athena could be quite scary at times.

“Yes, it is, because unlike you, no one cares about my love life.” They start walking out of the cafe back to the 118 truck, “Honestly, I don’t get the obsession they have with that part of your life.” Ravi shook his head, the 118 had a habit of gossipy behaviour.

And that’s all it took for Eddie’s ears to prick up like a dog, “Love life? Are we talking about Buck’s love life?”

“See.” Ravi gave Buck a pointed look.

“Fair enough.” The taller man dropped his head low in defeat and brushed off Eddie’s question.

“Speaking of love life,” Chimney began and took his coffee from the holder, “have you heard from Tommy lately?” He asked innocently.

Buck tried not to jump in shock at the question, he thought he was being careful, what gave it away? No, maybe he didn’t know and he was just curious, Buck thought. He cleared his throat, standing a little stiffer, holding his ground, “No, why, why would I have heard from Tommy?”

Chimney looked at him like he had grown two heads, “Jeez, I was just asking, I was thinking of inviting him over soon to meet the baby, I’ll obviously need to talk it over with Maddie first.” He sipped his coffee and opened the door to the captain’s chair in the fire engine.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Buck shook his head, maybe he shouldn’t have reacted like that. Chimney was only asking a simple question. It probably just made Buck look even more suspicious than he'd already been.

There was a lot of back and forth the few days after that, he’d be about to tell them and then just chicken out. He didn’t know how to phrase it or start it for that matter.

He was no longer keeping a secret, but stuck in a lie.

Tommy didn’t seem to mind all that much, he managed to tell a few of his friends at Harbour and was always there to encourage Buck that the right time and words would come soon enough, there was no rush. Tommy would still be there.

But for Buck, it has always been hard to say what he really wants to say without blowing up at people, it’s like the words just don’t want to come out the way he wants them to. Tommy had been on the brunt of his explosion before and so had his parents.

He had his head on his and Tommy’s dining room table, Ravi sat next to him with unbothered look upon his face, watching him have some sort of breakdown.

“Maybe I should put in for that transfer after all, just so I don’t have to tell anyone.” Buck head still on the table, turned it to face Ravi.

“Don’t be so dramatic, babe, you’ll get there eventually.” Tommy said, walking in with mugs of hot drinks in his hands, handing one to Ravi and receiving a thanks in return.

“They're supposed to be your friends too, why can't you tell them?” He mumbled against the table to Tommy.

“For one, Eddie still isn't speaking to me, and two, they might be my friends, but they're your family, Evan.” Tommy rubbed Buck's back in an effort to comfort him.

“Tommy’s right, stop being dramatic.” Ravi poked Buck’s shoulder, jostling him slightly.

After a few more minutes of wallowing, Buck lifted his head, taking the warm drink in his hands.

He watched as Tommy and Ravi engaged in a conversation on their own, they had changed the subject to something completely different without him even realising.

This was exactly what Buck wanted, for his friends to get along with his boyfriend. To feel comfortable enough to sit and have a conversation with him without Buck’s input. People Tommy could call his friend’s, not just Buck’s friends.

He told him that once, midway through making out, Buck had just pulled away and returned back to their conversation from earlier that night, about whether or not Tommy still considered the members of the 118 his friends after everything that’s happened.

Of course Tommy said a quick and simple, “yeah.” and yanked Buck into the passionate, with a side of sloppy, kiss.

Chimney, unprompted, seemed to be the only one in the dark that still occasionally sent Tommy a text. He guesses it’s because Chim has known him the longest.

He knows why Eddie stopped texting Tommy, and to be honest, Buck’s still a little mad about that one too, if he had known he definitely would have said something to him sooner.

Buck didn’t want to make them feel guilty for, more or less, shutting Tommy out, but he kind of did. He was their friend first. So what would they all say if he just turned around and said, “Hey everybody! I’ve actually been dating Tommy again for the last 6 months, and none of you knew!”

But a few days later, as fate would have it, the universe may have taken it into their own hands to end Buck’s suffering.

It was a pretty bad car pile up on the freeway. One patient needed urgent medical care, so they called air support, and none other than the handsome pilot himself, Tommy Kinard, stepped out onto the blocked off road, making Buck almost fall to his knees at the sight.

They had a few minutes to spare with final checks and loading the patient safely into the back of the helicopter. So meanwhile all of that was happening, Tommy was tugged between two fire engines and shoved against one by Buck.

Their lips crashed together, hungry and working quickly in their limited time frame. Buck always thought Tommy looked hot in his flight suit, his ass was amazing in it.

He never realised before Tommy that he really did have a thing for men in uniform, it’s like he finally understood all the girls he had dated.

Tommy’s hands worked their way into Buck’s open turnout jacket, grabbing at the plush around his hips and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

They were so distracted by the feeling of each other, the excitement of being on a call together, that they missed the staticy voice over the radio and the group of firefighters that rounded the corner. Only snapping out of their love bird haze when one cleared their throat.

Buck jumped away from Tommy like he was suddenly too hot to touch. Tommy just stayed as still as he could, back pressed up against the engine’s door.

“We can explain!” The words came out loud, louder than Buck expected.

“I don’t think you need to, Buck, we all have eyes.” Eddie laughed.

An awkward silence fell over them all, Chim breaking it when he felt like it had gone on for too long, “Tommy, you are needed to transport the patient now, we tried to call you through the radio, but it looks like you were… busy.”

“Uh, yeah, see you at home, Evan.” He rushed off towards the helicopter, leaving Buck to helplessly watch as he went.

Dinner that evening in the firehouse was tense. Buck could tell they all had questions but no one wanted to go first. They were all watching and whispering as he cooked the food.

Maybe this was a good thing, he could finally fully breathe, although that feeling hadn’t really come yet.

That transfer was still sounding real good about now.

The tension continued through dinner until Buck had enough, “All right, just ask your questions!” He placed his fork back on the table a little more forcefully than he had meant to.

“How long have you been back together?” Hen started off, nice and simple.

“6 months.” His answer got a few shocked faces.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Chim asked next.

Buck sighed, “Well, because when we broke up, you were all acting like Tommy was some bad guy who broke my heart on purpose, but he didn’t, and in no way is he a bad guy.” He looked around at all of them sat around him, “Obviously not you Chim, but Eddie, you shut him out, he was your friend and you ghosted him, you too Hen.”

They looked ashamed and now Buck was starting to feel like the bad guy.

“I also didn’t want you all thinking I was Buck-ing it up again,” he lowered his head, “plus, it was nice just being me and Tommy for a while, no one to bother us.”

Hen stood from her chair across from him and walked around the table, she sat in the empty seat beside him, pulling him into a sideways hug. “We are so sorry, Buck, we had no intention of making you feel that way.”

“Yeah, if I had known, I wouldn’t have been such a huge dick to you, sorry.” Eddie did his best to apologise, but he’s never been great at it, he tried his best and Buck knew that.

“Does Maddie know?” Chimney questioned softly and Buck just shook his head. He did plan to tell her now that the rest of them know, he’d have to do it sooner rather than later with Chimney now knowing.

“I for one am glad the secrets out.” Ravi, having been silent the whole time, spoke up.

Chim, Hen and Eddie’s heads all whipped around, facing Ravi with surprised expressions, “You knew?” Chim pointed at him.

Ravi nonchalantly shrugged, “Yeah, I’m Buck’s partner,” he stood up with his plate, taking Buck’s empty one as well, “we trust each other.” Walking away, he left everyone a little gobsmacked.

And for what felt like an eternity, Buck laughed so loud it echoed throughout the station. He needed to text Tommy this asap!

Buck felt a hand on his shoulder, the shoulder Hen didn't have her head rested on, he looked up to see Chimney giving him a proud smile.

“It’s good you found each other again, I've never seen you both as happy as you are together,” Chimney has never been one to judge his relationship with Tommy, even when they broke up he avoided talking negatively about it, he thought they made a great pair and was quite smug that he introduced them in the first place, “he's your person, and it may have taken you a while, but you finally have him, so don't lose him again, okay?”

Buck smiled softly, he appreciated his brother in law more than he would likely ever know. And he knew Tommy was glad to have someone like Chim as a friend too, he could even consider them family.

He worked hard to make what he has, his family, his life, his love. He wasn't ever going to let that go again.

“I don't plan too.”

“Oh, and just so you know, I'll be giving Tommy the same talk when you guys come over for dinner this weekend,” he gave Buck's shoulder a final pat, “he has to meet his nephew!”

~~<3~~

Tagged: @v88sy @fanaticallyfleeky @the-omniscient-narrator @freakishfandomfiend @whats-our-motto @freshwitchtimemachine @spence922 @lbltpsmspenguin @lesbianlaracrofts @swing-of-things @wiliamsiliam @g0atisgoated @jcc04220 @dana077 @onemorenerdhobbydarnit @superlock-in-the-tardis @introvertedkitkat @ohheyitsthatlfjrfan @rqgnarok @thefangirloutof-time @itsnourm @bybobbysbeard @mac-attack19 @cristalmystery @aristocratic-rats @icyfox17 @gvamps @consulting-goddess-of-deductions @bb8banner @lettieday @um-erm-why @selffawselffaw @peoplemakemesick @sweetcandygirl21 @bellamuerte-13 @emakataken @beauteous-beast @neotradpsyche @tinyynwords @eyesonstars-feetonground @simpleave @originalgoateewerewolf @piemaker93 @ribbit-ribbit-mfer @r--66 @blackholeofthoughts @katzenjammerd @iwannabethecoolestgirlinpigfarts @remarkabletrashunicorn @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @alynnefredericks @littlekatie101 @lockwood-and-co0 @perfectlyscrumptiouswolf @de-lphic @thegoddessc @brokenpiecesof @silentcicada7 @ev-baker @sherlockismarvelous9-1-1 @adhd-dean @buckevantommy @buckleyyevan @mayorjack @kroganairdrop

Oh my lord, I didn't expect that many people to be interested, I had to private the tag post! Thank you so much!

[ofstoriesandstardust]

i bet on losing dogs (t.o./k.c.)

a/n: i watched this film less than 48 hours ago and i'm already unwell. here is my kate and tyler angst but mostly kate! tyler was a moment but kate was the whole movie!

summary: Somewhere along the way, you end up in Kate and Tyler's orbit. They've got you. (tyler owens/kate cooper/female reader)

warnings: tornadoes, i'm from california cut me some slack, angst with a hopeful ending, nightmares, hurt/comfort, temporary character death

word count: 4.1k

It’s by chance you ever end up in the path of the Wranglers and into Tyler and Kate’s lives. 

They aren’t even looking for someone to help manage the team but even Boone and Lilly can admit that with the attention they’re getting, they need someone who can keep up. 

So by chance, by luck, or all because of a tornado, Tyler ends up connecting with you through a friend of his from UA. 

The job description is unorganized chaos, simply put. Managing the crew on a day to day basis is enough, not to mention helping them manage the finances, stay within legal code, managing the social media, and getting their foots in the door for grants and sponsors. 

Boone’s convinced you’ll run screaming from the team all the way back to the city, Javi too, but it actually ends up to be a seamless fit. 

You help Lilly and Boone with the sales, the production of merch, and all the channels. You’re even the one who sets up a Tiktok, their donations and attention increasing tenfold. You research grants and donors for Javi and Kate and you help Tyler source new equipment for the team. 

When all is said and done, three months have flown by and Tyler is forever grateful you’d been blown into their path. You’ve blossomed with this crew and they’re changed because of it. 

Not to mention the way you’ve grown into Kate and Tyler’s relationship. Although they never say it, unsure of how to fold you into their dynamic, you’re there in ways that complement their already existing chemistry. 

Kate’s quite fond of you too, he knows. He would’ve seen it a million miles away, the way Kate’s eyes had sparkled meeting you, the way they do in the field. But she’d say the same about him, citing the way he goes soft for you in a way he’d only ever done for Kate. 

The problem is - he still can’t figure out how you even managed to end up here. 

“C’mon.” Javi says, nudging you. “How the hell does a city girl like you find her way to hell’s corner in Oklahoma, managing a bunch ragtag storm chasers?” 

You shrug, fiddling with your beer bottle, glancing out at the group sat around the crackling fire. You and Javi are sat a top Ty’s truck, the crew looking intently at you. “You just asking or you really wanna know?”

The group breaks into various calls, corralling you into telling them. 

“It’s kind of a long story.” You defend, a sheepish grin growing on your face. 

Javi nudges your shoulder again. “C’mon, tell us. We barely know anything about you city girl.”

“A couple months ago, at the start of tornado season, I was in Texas, for a friends joint bachelor/bachelorette party. We were at a rodeo and I had gotten separated from the group. An EF4 hit the place out of nowhere and I wasn’t able to get back to the shelter in time. I’ve always been terrified of tornadoes, we don’t got ‘em where I’m from, but- that was something else.” You shake your head, shaking off the memories. “I should’ve died. It should’ve killed me, but it didn’t. And all I could think of was that I had been given a second chance, just barely. And what I was doing just didn’t make sense anymore.” 

Boone lets out a low whistle as Javi’s hand finds your shoulder. Tyler can feel Kate tense in concern, his own brows furrowed. 

“Within the week, I’d quit my job, got rid of all my stuff, dumped my boyfriend, and broken my lease. I didn’t know where the hell I was going but I knew I couldn’t stay there. I just needed to- to find somewhere, someplace, where I could do something tangible. I kept thinking that what I lived through was only a sliver of a glimpse into what y’all experience your whole lives out here and I- I just wanted to help.”

“So you found the Wranglers.” Lilly finishes and you nod. 

“When I’d left town, I gave Lainey a call. Her and her fiancé had been the one hosting us at their ranch for the trip and asked Lainey if she knew of anything I could do, any place I could go. Next thing I know I’m on a plane to Oklahoma and some self-proclaimed tornado wrangler I’ve never heard of is picking me up from the airport.” 

“Is this why you refuse to go storm chasing with us?” Boone calls out as Tyler sits up straighter in his chair, Kate shifting as he does. 

“Hold on a damn minute.” He asks, the group falling silent. “Lainey’s fiancé, Smith, he’d been killed at a rodeo just this year.” 

Your eyes are cautious when they meet his. “Smith gave his life for mine. He’s the one who got me to safety and he paid for it. I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for it.” 

It goes silent in the group as you avert your eyes. After a few moments, you slide down the front of Tyler’s truck, chucking your beer in the trash. 

“It ain’t your fault, you know.” Tyler calls out as you begin to walk away from the group. 

You freeze. 

“These tornados, they ain’t what they used to be. They take and take. Weather cares little of the price of human life.” Tyler says. 

“Those reports you see on the news, they’re true. They’re getting worse every year, that’s why we’re out here. It’s why you’re out here.” Javi follows up as you turn back to face the group. “We’re gonna find a way, to make things better. We’ll never be able to stop the weather, not completely, but maybe we can find a way to keep up with it.” 

“It’s okay to admit I’m not contributing much. I mean I don’t know shit about science and I don’t want to get near a tornado for the rest of my life. I’m-“ 

“Helping.” Kate protests. “You are. You might not think it but you are. We could barely do this on our own, we need you.” 

You’re hesitant to accept Kate’s words for what they are but the group seems to be giving their consensus and Tyler’s beckoning you over to him and Kate. 

“Listen,” He says, once you’re sat between him and Kate. “We might be the most ragtag bunch of hicks you ever met. But as this grows we ain’t never been able to do it without you. If we succeed, if we do this, you’ll have played no small part in it. You belong here.”

You spend the rest of the night tucked into Kate’s side the both of you quiet as the group carries on. 

It’s only as the group is getting ready for bed, Tyler putting out the fire, Boone leaving to find a bush to pee in, that you speak. 

“Sometimes I wonder why I got to live and he didn’t.”

Kate looks down at you. “You’ll drive yourself crazy if you go there you know. What you have that they didn’t. What you could do that they couldn’t.” 

“Will it be enough?” You say but Kate has no answer for you. 

Instead, she shifts upwards and away from you. 

“You should really think about coming out with us sometime.” She says. “Tornados are terrifying but they’re sometimes the most beautiful things. The way they manifest, the way the world just changes. You should give it another shot.” She gives you a soft smile before leaning down to press a soft kiss to your head. “Night. Get some sleep.” 

You lose track of how long you stare at the dying embers before Tyler comes back with another bucket of water to put the fire out for good. 

“You couldn’t have saved him, you know.” Tyler says, setting the bucket down. “But you still have a chance to help us save others. You might not see it but we need you.”

You nod. “Thanks Ty.” 

He gives you a smile. “Anytime kid. Get some rest. We’ve gotta get on the road bright and early tomorrow morning. And uh, think about changing your mind on doing some storm chasing why don’t you? There’s a whole world you’re missing out there.” 

-

It’s late under the Oklahoma skyline. Your friends have either gone off to their motel rooms or are partnered up into their own conversations but you’re too comfortable to move away from Kate, wrapped around her side. 

Your fingers brush up and down her skin, the dying fire crackling before you. As your fingers come to gently trace over her scar, you falter, smoothing your thumb over the skin. 

“Can I ask?” You speak softly. “What happened?” 

In the months that you’ve grown into this group, Kate has shared little of the story behind the scar. While you’re naturally curious, you know even more that it’s a missing piece to a girl and a relationship you’re still learning. 

Kate’s eyes look up at you, firelight reflecting a soft something you can’t name. And then she sits, tugging on your hand. 

She leads you to her shared room with Tyler, leading you inside as Tyler looks up from his phone he’s scrolling through.

It’s not unusual these days, to find yourself somewhere with these two. Whether it was curled up in their bed or around a fire or a diner table or in the back of a truck, you found yourself more and more drawn into their presence. The three of you were standing on the precipice is something and lately, it too often looked like you were the one hesitant to take the dive into uncharted waters. 

You pause at the doorway, surveying them. “You sure?” Kate nods and you slip inside, shutting the door behind you. Kate nudges you towards the bed and you go, Tyler’s warmth radiating off of him as your back finds stability against his broad frame. Kate climbs in the bed next to you, careful to leave her legs intertwined with yours. You feel her hands reach around your body, hands grazing Tyler’s. 

She licks her lips, breath shaky as her eyes flicker down to the faded tear of flesh. 

“It was six or seven years ago now. This project we’re doing out here, the one you’re supporting, it all started because of what Javi refers to as my science project.” Tyler straightens as she talks. “We… we failed.”

“What do you mean?” You ask softly. 

Kate’s eyes finally meet yours. “My friends, we were supposed to release the polymer into an EF1, maybe EF2. But- I was wrong. It was an EF5.” She screws her eyes shut. “I lost them one by one. The tornado took them from me and left nothing but devastation in its wake. The scar- it’s a reminder of them, of what I lost that day. The cost of what happens if I don’t get it right.”

“Kate.” Tyler says softly, a firm note hidden beneath it. Something in it tells you they’ve had this conversation before, that Tyler’s heard this story before. 

You wrap your arms around Kate, tucking your head on top of hers. “You’ll get it right, Kate.” You whisper. “You’ve got this.”

-

The next morning finds you with a storm on the horizon. 

You sit on the top of Tyler’s truck as he beams at you, hands on his hips. “So you coming or what, pretty lady?”

You smile at him, hands wrapped around the chipped mug Boone had lent you. Six months in the field and all you still really had to your name was your toothbrush and a pair of pajamas. “I don’t know, you promise not to drive me right into the middle of that tornado?” 

Ty chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve got my word. No fireworks or nothing. I’ll give you the best storm chase you’ll ever see.” 

“Kate coming?” You ask, unable to stop the hopeful question from tumbling past your lips. He nods, though his grin falters. 

“Javi too.” 

You shrug, handing the now empty coffee mug to him as he offers you as hand to slide down his truck. “Just tell me when.”

No less than a half hour later, the four of you are in Tyler’s truck, cruising down an empty stretch of dirt road of an abandoned town. Your gaze is on the horizon before turning it back to the people in the van. 

“So Javi, you never did tell me how you and Kate had met?”

A grin forms on his face. “Kate and I go all the way back, man. She was the OG storm hunter.” 

You can see Kate smile in the rearview mirror, your eyes meeting. “They’ve got their own handshake.” Tyler comments, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

“When do I get my own handshake?” You comment, chancing a glance back out the truck. “Holy shit, that’s what we’re chasing after?” 

“She’s gorgeous ain’t she?” Tyler roars, the truck speeding up. 

“I never thought I’d see something like this.” You breathe, eyes going wide. “There’s so little sky to see in the city. Here’s that’s all there’s to see.” 

You can’t see the grin Javi is giving you, wonder taking over your features as you crane your head to look closer. “Yeah, you’re going to be sticking around a while.” He says softly. “You’ve fallen for the charm.” 

“Ty.” Kate says sharply, tilting her monitor. “Do you see that?” Tyler peers out into the distance where she’s pointing. The car rolls to a stop as them and Javi start using words you don’t understand. 

“What? What’s happening?” 

“Do we got time to get back?” Javi says, pulling his seatbelt off. 

Tyler shakes his head, pressing his seatbelt buckle as he presses another button on his truck. “No, we gotta get low. Now.” His door flies open, and you follow suit, shouting to Kate as you do, asking what’s happening. 

She grabs your hand as the wind begins to pick up around you. “I was wrong.” She says. “It’s gotta be an EF3, at least. We’ve gotta get down.” 

“Kate! Do you see any places?!” Tyler shouts, ushering the two of you away from the car. 

She pauses, scanning the area. “There!” She shouts, pointing to a storm grate a bit farther out more towards the main road. The four of you take off, but it’s obvious you can’t keep up. The wind rages as you feel your ankle twist. The collision to the dirt hurts less than you think it’s going to as the panic in you reaches its peak. 

You’re going to die here.

“No, you ain’t.” Tyler says over the wind, arms coming up to support your under your armpit.  “Not on my watch.” 

Another set of arms lifts you up, as Kate shouts to follow her. The boys carry you the best they can but your eyes are blurry with panic. Kate takes you from them, helping you over to the storm grate. 

“Kate, I don’t- I don’t want to die.” 

“Just hold on to that.” She says firmly. You do as instructed, laying on the ground. Tyler’s body follows yours, clutching onto the grate over your body. His body covers your own, sheltering you from the worst of the weather. 

It’s only then you realize you’re shaking, from the wind or the rain or the freezing terror, you’ll never know. 

“Stay down.” Tyler bellows over the wind. “Stay low and hold on.” 

You whimper, clutching tighter to the grate as the storm’s power increases overhead. “I’ve got you.” Tyler says, Kate repeating his words. 

You aren’t sure in the haze when it all stops, just that you can’t stop shaking and the tears rolling down your face won’t end. Kate’s fingers are around yours, gently prying them from the grate as she runs a soothing hand through your hair. 

“Are you hurt?” Tyler asks bending down next to you as Kate gets the last of your fingers off of the grate. Your shoulders are shaking, unable to stop the sobs wracking your body enough to answer. 

“You’re safe.” Kate whispers. “You’re safe, we’ve got you I promise.” 

And yet all you can do is cry. You feel Tyler tentatively reaching out for you, looking over your body for an injury he might’ve missed. His hands pause underneath the Wrangler sweatshirt you’re wearing, hesitating before they slip under. When they come back clean, he pulls you to your feet. 

“I’m going to carry you back to the truck.” He says cautiously. You feel him lift you up and your hands find purchase in his shirt. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” 

By the time you reach the truck, the tears have stopped, drying in tracks on your face. “Kate.” You say softly, as Tyler sets you in the back of the truck. He glances over his shoulder, where he can see Javi presumedly comforting Kate. 

“She’ll be here in a minute. You okay?”

You nod. “Just- just shaken up. I panicked and flashed back I guess. What’re the odds you almost get killed by a tornado twice?” 

Tyler shakes his head. “You stick around here long enough, it’ll happen more than that. Look, we were all gonna head back to town tonight anyways. Why don’t you come back to Kate and I’s? I don’t think she’ll want you to leave her sight and I don’t want you to be alone.” You nod as Ty’s thumb reaches up to rub away some of the dirt. “You’re okay. We got you. We’ll take care of you.” 

Kate returns to the truck a few moments later, wrenching the other side of the back open. “You okay?” She asks softly, climbing in next to you. 

You nod. “What were you and Javi talking about?” She glances at the man before shaking her head. 

“Nothing. Say, do you want to come back to Ty and I’s place? We’ll get your ankle all fixed up, some clean clothes. It’ll be a couple days before we’re out on the road again. Give you a chance to regroup?” 

You nod. “That would be nice. I’d like that.” 

She smiles softly, reaching out for you. “We got you.” 

-

You’re tucked up under Kate and Ty’s comforter, the fan on low as your fingers find purchase in the soft material. 

“Kate? It ain’t your fault.”

Your head peeks up at the low voices on the stairs. 

“It is.” Kate says lowly. “It is my fault. How many times is it going to take for me to learn? She could’ve died.” 

“But she didn’t.” Tyler insists. “Aside from a sprained ankle, she’ll be fine. She’ll be on the road with us in just a few days, scheduling more presentations and fancy grant sessions than we know what to do with. Fact of the matter is she’ll probably be on the phone with Lilly tomorrow morning bright and early about new designs for like, keychains or something.”

Kate sighs. “I can’t afford to get it wrong this time.” 

“You’re not going to.” Tyler says, the stairs creaking, meaning he’s probably moving closer to her. “She trusts you Kate.”

“At what cost? They trusted me then too.”

“There’s no price to be paid here Kate. She trusts you, this team. She’s got us, the same way we got her.” Tyler sighs. “Let’s just get to bed okay? I wanna be next to my girls.”

Something stirs in your chest at the way he says girls as in plural but you’re too tired and strung out to dissect it. Kate slips into the bedroom a minute later, Tyler not far behind her. She climbs into the bed next to you, quick to climb under the comforter. Tyler follows suit on your other side. 

“We got you.” She whispers, but this time, you think she may be assuring herself more than you. 

-

This was wrong. Something was wrong here. 

It almost felt, like in some weird haze, she’d lived this day before. 

This was definitely wrong. 

“Kate, c’mon! Help us!” Javi shouts. She breaks from her reverie, running to the boys to grab you from them. 

“I don’t want to die. Kate, don’t let me die.” 

But it’s some ill-fated prophecy, the way she keeps failing, because the minute the boys let go, you’re gone. 

Your screams pierce through the air as all she can do as watch. 

The wind comes to a stop, it all falling still around them as the boys stand there in horror. 

“What did you do?” Tyler asks lowly. “What did you do Kate?!”

She freezes, unable to understand what just happened. 

“How do you keep letting this happen? How do you keep failing? How come you can’t get it right when it matters?” Tyler’s shout grows. 

A breeze kicks up again, a torn, bloodied Wrangler sweatshirt coming to lay at her feet. 

She’s going to be sick. 

“It’s your fault Kate!” Tyler’s harsh yell comes as she stands there, rain and wind whipping around her. She stares numbly at the spot where you had just been, the only thing left being the sweatshirt, feeling her fingers clench around nothing. 

You had been gone in a matter of seconds, slipping through her fingers like smoke. 

“No, but I-“ She licks her lips. “No, it can’t-“

It can’t end like this. 

“Yes, Kate, yes it is!” Tyler yells, coming closer to her now. “It’s your fault that’s she’s gone! It’s her blood on your hands! It’s your fault she’s dead, just like all the others!” Tyler shouts, pacing closer to her. She flinches, raising her hands to cover her ears to block out his yells. 

“Owens, stop.” Javi calls out but it all sounds muddy as she squeezes her eyes shut, willing for this to be over. 

Behind her eyes, she could still see the terrified look in your eye, the way you had pleaded with Kate to not let you die. The scream you’d let out as the wind had pulled you away from her. 

Suddenly, there’s a hand on her, wrenching her wrist away from her ear. 

“It’s your fault she’s gone. It will always be your fault.”

Her eyes fly open, mouth around a scream.

-

Kate’s scream shatters any illusion of silence in the house as both of your heads whip towards the bedroom. 

You’ve barely had a chance to rise from the table, where you’d sat with Ty in the morning light, Tyler moving closer to the bedroom, when Kate’s rushed footsteps pound against the creaky staircase and round the corner. 

Her eyes are wild with fear but her body sags in relief at the sight of you. She pulls you to her chest, all but collapsing into your embrace, a sob escaping her chest. 

Tyler’s brow is furrowed in concern, at least what you can see of him over Kate’s shoulder. One hand stays wrapped around her waist, the other coming to rake your nails gently under Kate’s sleep shirt as she continues to sob.

“It’s all my fault. I knew the storm was going to be too big- but I-“ 

You shush Kate, continuing her movement. “I’m okay, Kate, it’s okay.”

“It’s not!” She shouts, wrenching herself away from you. She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand sniffling as she does. “It’s not okay! I could’ve gotten you killed!” 

“Kate, it’s not your fault.” You try to soothe, taking a step closer to her but all that does is prompt a fresh round of tears. 

“Yes, it is.” She nods sadly. “Yes, yeah it is. It was my fault then and it would’ve been my fault now too.” 

You shake your head, closing the distance she’s tried to create between the two of you. “No, it’s not Kate.” You say firmly. “It wasn’t your fault then and no one blames you for those losses. It wouldn’t have been your fault yesterday and I wouldn’t have blamed you either. The weather we chase is unpredictable and ever-changing. Loss is the name of the game we play.” 

She heaves a breath, her shoulders shaking. “You’re not an acceptable loss.” 

“Kate, if I had died yesterday, I would’ve died knowing you and Ty had done everything you could’ve to keep me safe.” You cup her cheek, brushing away a few tears as you do so. “You did everything you could’ve for your friends back then too.” 

“I couldn’t save them.” She croaks. “I couldn’t save you.” 

You crowd her space, nudging her nose with your own. “Hey, you know you did, right? You saw the signs. You knew to take shelter, where to hide. You did save me. The part that matters isn’t that you could’ve failed but that you didn’t.”

Kate’s forehead meets your own, her hand finding your fingers. “I- Please don’t leave.” She whispers. “Please don’t leave me.”

You feel breathless at her request, at the desperation in her tone. Your eyes meet Tyler’s. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” You whisper back. “I’m here Kate. We’re here.”

[acesinferno]

What if (Portgas D. Ace X Reader)

I made a big long post talking about how just a simple little phrase affects my everyday life. So I'm going to start putting it to use and maybe doing a 'what if' series for my favorite characters from One Piece. Like I said in the post all of this writing is for my own comfort, but I'm posting it in case someone like me who spends all their time reading fan fiction wants something to read.

Synopsis: Ace lives after Marineford but has to deal with the deaths of people on the crew dying. His best friend and partner is there to comfort him when he feels responsible.

Additional stuff: Hurt/Comfort and Fluff

Potential Trigger Warnings and other mentions: Mentions of Death, Spoilers for Marineford Arc, Grieving, Strong Language, Bathing/Washing

Word count: 2.5K

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace X GN! Reader

"Ace?" You call out as you walk into his cabin. It's been almost three weeks since Marineford and the deaths of your captain, Whitebeard, and so many other good people on your crew. Ace hasn't stepped out of his cabin since. Marco has had to go in to even change his bandages. 

"What?" He snaps as he turns his head toward you at the door. He looks like a total mess. His hair looks like a rat's nest, his face puffy and red from crying, and he just looks completely miserable. 

"Brought you some food." You motion to the tray of food in your hand. Ace never turns down a good meal. You walk over to his bed and sit down on the edge of it. He doesn't meet your gaze as you get a better look at him. His cheeks are gaunt and pale. The color and life you've grown accustomed to in them are gone. He looks to be a shell of his former self. 

"Don't really want to eat right now, partner. Thanks, though." He sighs. You set the tray down on the blanket adjacent to him and scoot closer to his side. He barely even glances up as you move. Once you're completely side by side next to him, you make a point not to look at him. 

"Ace. Talk to me. I really can't stand seeing you like this. It's not like you whatsoever." You tell him, blindly reaching to grab his hand and hold it in your own for reassurance. He mumbles something entirely incoherent. "What? I didn't hear you?" You question. 

"I said it's my fault! It's all my fault! If I hadn't been set to be executed, then no one would have gotten hurt! No one would've died! Pops would still be here!" He cries out. Ace has always held himself to a much higher standard than anyone else, thinking he has to work hard for people's love and approval. 

"Ace.... What happened, it wasn't your fault. Everyone there knew the risks that were included to get you back; we didn't care. We chose to risk our lives because we wanted to save you. End of story." You tell him. "Tell me. If it was Marco on the chopping block or Jozu or even Whitebeard himself, would you have wanted to leave them?" You ask him with a pout.

"That's completely different, and you know it." He scowls as he speaks. His arms going up to cross over his chest in a huff. He's glaring at the side of your head as you continue to face forwards. 

"How is it different?" You interrogate. "I don't see a difference. In fact, it makes total sense. You're the second division commander, Ace. That's not a title to let go of lightly. You're a high-ranking officer in the crew." You state, he scoffs as you bring up his rank. "You're also our family, Ace. Pops called you his son; that's not something to forget either. You're also my best friend in this whole world." You admit. 

"So many people died. So many good crewmates, including our captain. I'm not worth all of that." He winces. When you finally look over at him again, you see tears forming in his eyes. Ever the caring best friend, you lift your hand and cup his face in your palm. 

"You think you get to decide that? The people who fought to save your life decided what you were worth, and it was a whole damn lot." You grin at him. "So are you going to tell them they're wrong? Going to sit here and rot in your bed when people sacrificed themselves to see you continue to live and to thrive? I don't think that's very grateful at all, Ace." You explain as you caress his cheek with your thumb. "Make 'em proud, Ace. I know you have it in you." You voice your opinion on him out loud to break through to him. 

"It's not that easy." He proclaims. "I still feel like shit for getting put on the chopping block in the first place. I'm not just going to magically feel better about myself. They're still gone. Not coming back." He explains with an exasperated sigh, his hands on his chest, falling to his lap. 

"I didn't expect you to magically feel better, Ace. No pretty words can fix every feeling you have in an instant. You've got to work for it. Work to feel better and to learn to cope properly. But hoarding yourself away in your room and wasting away isn't the move." You profess. "Ace, it's going to take time. I know that; you know that. But you don't have to go through this alone. I'm right by your side." You tell him. Your other free hand goes to the other side of his face to force him to look you in the eyes. 

"What if I can't do it? What if I can't move on from this? You'd be wasting your time on a lost cause, partner." He looks so vulnerable as some of the tears start to fall down his freckled cheeks. 

As your thumb comes up to wipe the tears off his cheeks, you reply with a whispered tone. "What if you can, Ace?" He looks shocked. "What if you can move on from it? What if you prove Pops and everyone else right? What if you continue to live and make them all proud? Did you ever think of that?" You question. Tears are streaming down his face at a constant rate now as he takes in your words. 

Before he can fully gather his thoughts and respond, you move your hands from his face and wrap around his torso and pull him into a hug. He so obviously needed one. "Besides, you've still got Luffy to watch out for. Can't have you stuck in bed for the rest of your life. He needs his big brother." You laugh lightly as you hold him against you. He doesn't even try to respond as he soaks your shirt in tears.

"You've got your whole life ahead of you, Ace. So many people who wanted to see what amazing things you can accomplish. It's worth a try. I mean, really, what have you got to lose?" You hum as you hold him, rubbing soothing circles into the skin on his back. Running your hands up and down his Jolly Roger tattoo. "I'm sure Pops is waiting in the afterlife to see what great things you'll achieve." You announce with a smile on your face.

He nods against you as his sobs get louder. You can tell he just needed to let this all out. He's been bottling this up for weeks now. As you sit there and hold him, you begin to hum soft sea shanties to calm him. His sobs quiet into soft cries and then go silent, but he doesn't move against you. When you look down, you realize Ace has fallen asleep against you. You can't tell if it's his narcolepsy that knocked him out or if it's just been a long time since he's slept. Just the state of him lets you know how rough he's been on himself after everything. 

As you hold him, you begin to think it's more of the latter. You maneuver the two of you down on the bed and cover you both up, careful of the food you brought in. He's sleeping soundly pressed up against you, though he's lying completely limp. You decide to watch over him for the next few hours, foregoing your own sleep to make sure he gets peaceful rest. 

It's going to take a long time for him to fully recover and be back to his old self, but with you there by his side, you're sure everything will work out. You won't let your best friend stay in this hole forever. No way, no how. 

After about nine or so hours of him sleeping, he wakes up to the sun rising through his porthole window. He looks groggy as he wakes up, blinking like he's confused about what he's cuddled up to. "Good morning, Ace." You say in a teasing tone. "Someone cried himself to sleep in my arms last night. You must have been exhausted." You giggle. His face turns red as he averts his eyes from your gaze.

"Come on. I'm not letting you mope any longer." You tell him. "We're getting you a bath and taking you to Marco's office so he can change your bandages." You declare as you get out of the bed and grab his hands to drag him out with you. He groans as you pull him out but stands before he can fall onto the floor. 

"Marco's left me the stuff here to change the bandages myself. Do I really have to go to his office?" He whines as he gets yanked further into the bathroom. As you let go of him and start to fill the tub up with warm water, you look up and see the state of his bandages. 

"Have you even changed them once since he left the stuff?" You ask as you see how grimy they look. "It looks like you've laid down on the deck and rolled in the dirt everyone's tracked on." You comment. Once the water is filled up to an adequate level, you turn your attention to him completely. You begin to unravel all the bandages and see the damage that's left after this past month of healing.

Though his wounds look ten times better than when he first acquired them, there's still a long way to go until his physical health is back to its' peak. A lot longer to go for his mental health as well, that you know for sure. You try not to stare too long as you take in the yellow healing bruises, the large burns on his chest and back from Akainu's attacks, and the scrapes and cuts from some kind of sea stone weapons. 

"Come on. Let's get undressed and take a bath together." You grin at him. He blushes a bright red but doesn't object. He sees you take off your clothes first and climb into the tub. "Hurry up and get in, Ace; you look like someone's dragged you through a puddle of mud." You motion for him to get in the bathtub in front of you. He sighs but follows your instructions. He quickly sheds his shorts and climbs in with you. 

The water is already steaming warm, but just having Ace in with you seems to make it feel even hotter. As you grab the washcloth and begin to suds it up, Ace relaxes and leans back against you. He's completely boneless against you. You begin to clean him up at a slow pace so he can enjoy the feeling of being taken care of. 

Starting with his face, then moving down to his neck and collarbones, and then continuing your trail down his body, cleaning off all the dirt and muck on him. As soon as you're done with his skin, you move onto his shaggy hair. Normally looking pretty greasy, you decide it's high time you clean it and get the knots out of it. 

You have to start at the bottom and work your way up. Slowly going through each piece of his hair and working out the tangles with your finger, you know you're going to have to brush it when you get out to totally get the job done." Always had such greasy hair before, Ace. Wonder what it's going to look like shampooed and conditioned." You tease him lightly as you continue to lather his hair up thoroughly. 

"Maybe if you shut up and kept working, we'd know quicker." He scoffs with a blush on his face. You can tell you embarrassed him there with your words. You continue your ministrations for a few more minutes until you know it's time to rinse it out. You grab the hand-held sprayer and hose him down, taking good care not to get any in his face. After he is rinsed, you begin the process all over again with the conditioner. 

"Don't get feisty with me, Ace. I'll drown you like a wet dog with this thing." You threaten as you motion to the sprayer. He rolls his eyes and makes no motion to react. After a few minutes lathering his hair up again, you rinse him one more time. "Alright, hot shot. Get up. Going to have you dry off, and then I'll bandage you back up. Where's the stuff Marco left?" You quiz him. 

"Should be on my dresser, near the door." He sighs and stands up and gets out to dry off. You quickly move out as well. Grabbing the towel and going out to grab the care package, while you're out there you grab him some underwear and soft sweatpants and borrow yourself some clothes as well. You quickly slip on the stolen clothes and make your way back to where he is waiting. He's leaning against the sink counter with a towel wrapped around his waist. You set Marco's supplies on said counter and quickly get to work applying burn cream and soothing ointments to the wounds that litter his skin. 

Ace makes no motions of pain or any indications at all that you're even there. He's staring straight ahead into the wall as you begin to wrap him up in the bandages. "Hey, partner?" He speaks up in a soft tone. "What if I want to try? What if I want to get better, to not waste their sacrifice?" He gulps; his voice is quieter than usual, like he's scared of your reaction. 

"Then I'll be right here to support you every step of the way, Ace. Simple as that." You tell him as you tie up the bandages that are wrapped around him. As soon as you're done and stand back up straight, you're wrapped in a strong hug and caught up in a kiss. The hug was something you'd come to expect from Ace, but the kiss was new. It was filled with love and passion as you began to kiss him back. 

He pulls back first, breathless. "Thank you." He whispers out against your lips. "For always standing by my side. I know I'm a lot to handle. Luffy got that after me. But you've never once doubted me. It's going to be a long road ahead to get fully better, but I want to travel it with your help." He sniffles, tears pricking his eyes again as he leans back in to place another chaste kiss against your lips. 

He's right; the road would be long to recover fully from the losses, the grief, and the guilt. However, there's no one better to walk through it with than with a partner by your side. Ace just lucked out and found the best partner in the world to help him. And you, well, you got him. The greatest partnership of all.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Here I go again

Mamma Mia inspired

I hope you enjoy this, I’m hoping to write it as a pick your own so they’ll each have their own individual stories so you can pick who you want the father to be.

On a quiet island far from the chaos of the Grand Line, you’ve built a peaceful life raising your daughter. But as her wedding approaches, she realizes there’s one thing missing—her father. Determined to find out who he is, she secretly reads your old diary, only to uncover a shocking truth: there are three possible candidates.

Shanks - part 2 part 3

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting golden light over the small island you called home. Waves lapped gently against the shore as laughter rang from the bustling town square, where preparations for the wedding of the year were well underway. Your daughter, a whirlwind of excitement, had spent the morning running between vendors, making sure every detail was perfect. But now, hidden away in her bedroom, she sat cross-legged on her bed, an old, leather-bound diary resting in her lap.

Your diary.

With hesitant fingers, she traced the worn edges of the cover, feeling a strange mix of nerves and anticipation. She wasn’t proud of snooping, but she had no other choice. Ever since she was little, it had just been the two of you—no father in sight. And now, with her wedding just days away, she wanted to know the truth.

She took a deep breath and flipped to the first page.

Entry 1

It still feels unreal being out on the sea. The first real adventure of my life, and I don’t know whether to laugh or throw up over the side of the ship. This crew is crazy, but in the best way. I’ve never felt more alive. And him… well, he’s trouble. The kind that makes your heart race in ways it shouldn’t.

Entry 7

I shouldn’t like him this much. But when he smiles, it’s like the whole damn ocean stops to listen. The way he carries himself, all confidence and mischief, like nothing can touch him… It’s impossible not to get caught up in the whirlwind that is Shanks.

---

Your daughter’s eyes widened. Shanks? As in Red-Haired Shanks?The legendary pirate? She let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. That couldn’t be right. Could it?

She turned the page.

---

Entry 15

I knew he was reckless, but I didn’t think he’d drag me into it, too. We barely made it out of that fight in one piece. I should be furious at him. I should never speak to him again. But when he looks at me with that cocky grin and those burning eyes, all I can think is—Ace, you absolute idiot, you’re going to be the death of me.

---

She covered her mouth, heart pounding. Portgas D. Ace? Fire Fist Ace? The stories about him were legendary. Was he her father?

Her hands trembled as she turned the page again.

---

Entry 23

He doesn’t talk much. At least, not in the way most people do. But I’ve learned to understand him in other ways. The way he nods when he listens. The way he lingers just a little longer when we say goodbye. The way he fights like the whole world is depending on him. He’s rough around the edges, but there’s something in his eyes—something I can’t walk away from. Zoro might be the most stubborn man I’ve ever met, but when he holds me, it’s the only time I’ve ever felt truly safe.

---

Your daughter gasped, staring at the name. Roronoa Zoro?! The Pirate Hunter turned right-hand man of the future Pirate King?

She shut the diary, hands shaking. Three names. Three impossible names. And no answers.

Her heart pounded as realization set in.

She needed to find them.

And she needed to do it before the wedding.

[lisalamona]

𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 - XIII

Chapter XIII: Ruthlessness

. Summary: Despite your brother's insistence, you stubbornly decided to join him and his men in the war. Now, are you prepared to face the consequences of your actions? . Pairing: Various x Fem! Reader . Warnings: violence, kind of graphic depictions of death . Notes: You can blame/thank the quotev audience for making me write a very specific moment (you'll understand), they've been asking for it for a while. Jk I don't blame them.

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Masterlist

The only sound that cut through the unbearable silence of the crew was the rhythmic crashing of waves against the ships, the water churning violently around the jagged rocks looming before you. It was as if the sea itself had a pulse, a living, breathing entity filled with rage—its surface moving with the twitching agitation of a cat’s tail when provoked.

For a fleeting moment, you clung to the fragile hope that the voice you'd just heard had been a trick of your disoriented mind, a hallucination caused by the haze of just waking up. But that hope was shattered the instant an enormous hand tore through the water’s surface with no warning. The hand rested atop the sea as if it were solid ground, the only indication of the water’s true nature being the ripples it sent out, making the ships rock violently beneath you. You stumbled, barely catching yourself as a second hand emerged, followed swiftly by the rest of the towering figure.

The being heaved itself above the waterline, using its arms to drag its colossal body into view—though only up to its waist. Its face was hidden behind thick curtains of what looked like soaking-wet hair, but at the same time, it seemed like the very waves themselves clung to its head, cascading down in long, unbroken streams. Or was it water taking the form of hair? You couldn't tell. It flowed seamlessly into the ocean beneath him, blurring the boundary between hair and sea.

Not like you needed to see his face to know who he was.

The entire fleet did.

The Earthshaker.

The god of tides and the sea.

Poseidon.

Straightening his towering form, he pulled his head back and swept a hand through his drenched locks, pulling them away from his face. The water seemed to vanish the moment his fingers passed through, as though simply touching it commanded it away. His hair drifted behind him in fluid motion, mirroring the waves beneath him, following their rhythm as if they too bent to his will.

His gaze swept over the fleet with a slow, deliberate lack of amusement, scanning each and every one of you like he was deciding if you were even worth his wrath.

Everyone held their breath.

Then, in a voice as deep and vast as the ocean itself, he spoke. “In all my years of living, it isn’t very often that I lose my temper. I try to go with the waves… But you have crossed the line.” His tone remained composed, eerily so, as if he wanted you to believe he was still in control of his rage. But even you—a mere mortal—could feel the storm simmering beneath his skin.

You found his claim difficult to believe. Poseidon? Not easily angered? But you swallowed the lump in your throat and kept your mouth shut.

“I’ve been so gracious.” That facade of restraint snapped. In an instant, he lunged forward, closing the distance between himself and your ship with terrifying speed. His massive form bent forward, his face now inches away from the ship’s bow, looming directly over your brother. Odysseus stood at the tip of the deck, frozen.

You all flinched at the god’s sudden movement. That made Poseidon smile. “And yet, you hurt the son of mine.”

A sickening realization settled over you, sinking like lead into your gut. From the horrified glances of your fellow crewmates, you knew they had reached the same conclusion.

Oh. Oh, no.

What had you gotten yourselves into?

“That’s right,” Poseidon continued, relishing the fear on your faces. “The cyclops you made blind is mine.”

Your blood ran cold.

He was enjoying this. He was toying with you all, drinking in the panic tightening in your chests. And yet, beneath that amusement, he was fuming.

Your pulse pounded so loudly in your ears that you barely registered the faintest breath of a word from Odysseus. “No…” It was barely a whisper. A useless denial.

Poseidon straightened once more, his colossal form rising like a tidal wave ready to crash down. “I’m left without a choice, and without a doubt.”

The sea churned violently at his command. The waters around the fleet began to swirl, the currents tightening in a deadly spiral, sending the ships into chaos. You all scrambled to hold your footing, gripping the rails, trying desperately to keep control of the ship before it capsized. The wooden hull groaned in protest as waves battered against it, the sheer force threatening to tear it apart.

And all the while, Poseidon watched with disdain.

“Looks like the pack of wolves is swimming with the shark now. I can’t let you go just like that. I have to make you bleed, I need to see you drown. I’ll make you learn how ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.”

Without warning, Poseidon’s massive hand slammed down on your ship’s front, stopping it dead in the water. The force sent you all stumbling forward, barely catching yourselves.

“You are the worst kind of good, because you are not even great!”

And then, he began to shrink. Taking on a smaller, more ‘human-like’ form. You’d think that taking on a smaller form would make one be less terrified of him, make him seem like less of a threat but you’d be wrong, it was just as terrifying. He moved with unnatural ease, stepping onto the ship in one swift motion. The air itself seemed to tense as he approached, his presence suffocating. He crept forward, closing in on Odysseus.

“A Greek who reeks of false righteousness.” Poseidon sneered. “That’s what I hate!” Then, at the last word, with a sudden movement too fast to react to, his hand shot out and closed around Odysseus’ throat.

The force of it knocked the air from his lungs instantly. His fingers clawed at Poseidon’s grip, legs kicking uselessly beneath him as he was hoisted into the air. Even in his smaller form, the god still towered over all of you, holding Odysseus at eye level as he struggled.

“You fight to save lives, but won’t kill, and don’t get the job done.”

Odysseus’ strangled gasps filled the air as his body fought against the crushing force at his throat. His limbs trembled from the strain, his knuckles white from how hard he gripped at Poseidon’s wrist. His face was turning red, veins bulging from the effort of trying—and failing—to pry himself free.

“If you had just killed my son, none of this would be happening.” Poseidon’s tone shifted. Mocking. “But no.” He rolled his eyes, the contempt in his expression unmistakable.

Poseidon slammed his face against the nearest mast with brutal force. Before he could even compose himself, the god wrenched him back and smashed the other side of his head against the ship’s railing. No mercy. No hesitation. Just cold, unrelenting wrath.

You stumbled back, bumping into Eurylochus. “We need to do something,” You whispered urgently.

“He’s a god—there’s nothing we can do,” He muttered back.

“We can’t just let him manhandle hi—”

“Oh?” A chill crawled down your spine. You hadn’t noticed the god’s attention now fixed directly on you. “What do we have here?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You should have kept your mouth shut.

The moment his eyes locked onto yours, the air in your lungs seemed to vanish. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t move, you almost went to plead your case but remembered this was a god, one wrong move and you’d be dead.

Poseidon’s grip on Odysseus loosened, letting him crumple to the deck, coughing violently as he gasped for air. His eyes were watering, his face twisted in pain. But you couldn’t focus on him. Because Poseidon was walking toward you.

Each step was slow, deliberate. Not a single soul on the deck dared to move or even breathe.

He stopped right in front of you.

His presence engulfed you entirely, his towering form casting a shadow over your own. His breath was cool against your skin—not warm like a human’s, but crisp, like the biting chill of the ocean depths. He radiated a cold, suffocating power, the kind that made your bones feel like ice.

Then he tilted his head, examining you like you were some fascinating little thing he had just discovered.

“Oh, do go on…” He murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “Don’t let me interrupt your little chat.”

His smile stretched wider, otherworldly, but not in a good way, his teeth were visible, sharp as a piranha’s or a shark’s, yes, a shark’s seemed more appropriate.

“Oh? Nothing to say anymore? Or is the little wolf all bark and no bite?”

You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to look away. But your body betrayed you. Instinct took over, and your gaze flickered downward for just a second.

A mistake.

Before you could react, his fingers clamped around your jaw.

His grip was rough, his fingers digging into your skin with a cold, unnatural strength. It wasn’t just firm—it was commanding, like he was holding something fragile, something beneath him. His palm was damp, like seafoam lingering against your flesh, and yet the pressure he applied made it feel as solid as iron.

"Look at me when I’m speaking to you."

His voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the thick, suffocating air like a dagger.

You tried to fight against the instinctual urge to turn away again, but his grip tightened, forcing your chin up so that your eyes locked onto his.

Dark pools of blue and black swirled within his irises, shifting like the endless tides, stormy and unfathomable. And beneath it all, glimmers of gold shimmered like sunlight breaking through a violent sea.

They were beautiful.

They were terrifying.

Your breath hitched. You were drowning, yet your feet were still on solid ground.

He tilted his head slightly, his brows raising in mock expectation.

“So? What did you say?”

Your pulse pounded against your ribs. Your mouth felt dry, like all the moisture in your body had been stolen by the ocean itself.

Every muscle in your body screamed at you to stay silent. To not provoke him.

But you knew silence wasn’t an option.

Swallowing hard, you forced out a response—your voice barely above a whisper, but steady enough to hold the small bit of decency you had left.

Poseidon’s smirk widened, his teeth flashing like the sharp edge of a harpoon. And he let out a roaring laugh that tore through the vast sea.

“Good girl.” The words slithered from his lips, rich with satisfaction, his tone dripping with something almost condescending. He patted your cheek lightly—mockingly—as if you were nothing more than a pet.

He hurled you toward Eurylochus, who barely had time to react before you two went tumbling to the deck in a heap, limbs colliding. The impact sent a sharp jolt through your body, but you hardly had time to register the pain before Poseidon turned his attention back to Odysseus, who was still struggling to regain his breath.

Eurylochus was the first to recover, scrambling to his feet and reaching for you. “Are you alright?” His voice was quiet, cautious—like he feared Poseidon might return and punish him simply for asking.

You could still feel the ghost of the god’s grip on your jaw, the icy imprint of his fingers lingering against your skin. But you swallowed hard and gave a single nod, letting Eurylochus help you stand. You didn’t trust your voice, not yet. Not when the air still felt so thick.

"Mercy has a price." Poseidon's voice was a low growl, his teeth gritted as he glared down at Odysseus.

Odysseus, still catching his breath, forced himself to meet the god’s gaze. "You reveal your name, then you let him live?" He let out a bitter, humorless laugh, as if the idea was so absurd it hardly deserved consideration.

Poseidon’s expression remained stone-cold. "Unlike you, I have no mercy left."

With that, he leapt off the ship in one fluid motion, his body slicing into the sea like a creature born from it. He vanished beneath the waves, swallowed whole by the water.

Silence barely had a chance to settle before a dark shape surged back to the surface. Poseidon rose in his original form, massive and towering, the sea itself bending to his will. His hand brushed the water’s surface with an eerie gentleness—yet the ocean obeyed, twisting into a monstrous wave. From its crest, massive horses of water thundered forward, their hooves crashing down upon the fleet.

The ships rocked violently, the impact sending sailors sprawling, wood groaning under the pressure. Water sprayed in every direction, waves slamming against the deck so forcefully it was impossible to tell where the sky ended and the sea began. You barely had time to process the chaos before you caught sight of something tumbling across the deck—the wind bag, sliding dangerously close to the edge. Determined, you lunged forward, managing to snatch it before it was lost to the sea.

Poseidon’s voice cut through the storm. "Today, you die—unless, of course, you apologize for my son's suffering."

His arms were crossed, chin raised, a cruel patience in his stance. There was no true offer of mercy there—just the illusion of it, the baiting of a god who wanted to see you grasp for hope before ripping it away.

Odysseus, having steadied himself at last, saw an opportunity. He stepped forward, standing at the very edge of the ship, his voice firm yet pleading. "Lord Poseidon, we meant no harm. We only sought to defend ourselves. There was no pleasure in his pain—we only wished to escape."

Poseidon’s expression remained unreadable, but his words carried the weight of something ancient and unyielding. "The line between naivety and hopefulness is almost invisible. Close your heart—the world is cruel. Ruthlessness is the only mercy."

As he spoke, the sea obeyed once more. Two massive tentacles of water rose from beneath your ship, lifting it high above the ocean’s surface. The sudden shift sent the crew stumbling, gripping the railing for dear life. The height alone was dizzying, and Poseidon—expression unchanging—held you all there for a moment, as if savoring the sight of your helplessness.

Then, he gave his verdict.

"Die."

Without hesitation, he turned his wrath on the rest of the fleet. Water surged forward in a merciless attack, waves slamming into the ships at full force. The force shattered hulls, splintered masts—men screamed, their desperate cries swallowed by the roar of the ocean. Men pleading—begging for their captain to do something, anything—but there was nothing to be done. Crew members clung to whatever they could, but it was useless. One by one, the ships were swallowed whole. The sea showed no mercy.

All you could do was watch as the fleet was destroyed, as bodies and wreckage alike were carried away by the current.

And then—stillness.

The waves calmed. The only sound was the wind, whistling through the broken silence. Poseidon let the ship down gently back onto the water, an eerily careful motion after the devastation he had just wrought.

Bodies drifted across the surface, unmoving. From where you stood, you could see them floating facedown, the life stolen from them in an instant.

"What have you done?" Your brother’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the quiet.

Poseidon tilted his head, a cruel satisfaction in his eyes. "Forty-three left under your command." His voice was almost smug, relishing the weight of Odysseus’ loss.

His form shimmered slightly, the water around him shifting, twisting. Slowly, a trident began to take shape in his hands. At first, it seemed as though it was made entirely of water—but as he lifted it, the liquid solidified, forming a weapon of rock and coral, a deep, muted blue with jagged edges and signs of ancient wear. Even in its imperfections, it radiated power.

Poseidon lifted the trident, readying to strike. He had drawn this out long enough. He had played with his prey. Now, it was time to finish it.

"Any last words?"

Odysseus barely hesitated. His eyes swept the deck—then locked onto yours.

And in an instant, you understood.

Poseidon was too slow to stop you.

"Where did you get that?!" His voice roared in anger, but it was too late. You tore open the bag, and the wind within exploded outward.

The ship lurched violently, caught in the gust’s embrace. The force propelled you, sending the entire vessel soaring through the air—away from Poseidon, away from certain death.

The wind howled in your ears, deafening. And yet, beneath the roar, you swore you heard something. A voice, distant but unmistakable.

"Remember me…"

. Taglist: @permanently-nothere @lemonberryberry @supernatural-bangtanboys @doodle-with-rhy @yonkersworld

(if you want to be added to the taglist just comment on this post or send me an ask or dm me, I don't really mind)

[domesticatedstew]

a little gaslight district fanfic i wanted to write (might make more) Basically a prequel to what happens in the pilot, like a few hours before the pilot happens

It had only been a few years since Jack joined the Whale Belly Butchershop crew. It felt like a fraction of a second and yet somehow not a single moment was dull or boring.

Ken was a pretty good boss, hard on his employees but Jack knew it was from a place of care (for his employees and the resturant.) Breadhead was always a goofball around Jack, he's lucky that he's never been on the receiving end of one of Breadhead's yeast filled rampages. Mud was a bit sketchy, but he was funny and was nice to talk to from time to time (while Jack desperately tried to bum a cigarette off of his sludgey coworker.)

Mel was... something else though. She was closer in age to Jack than anyone else (at least as close in age as two immortal zombies can get), and they got along better than anyone else too. But no matter how cool she was, Jack couldn't look passed how much different she was to everyone else.

She was still perfectly intact, no decay or scars or even missing limbs. Her hair was all natural and her eyes were still so full of life. He hadn't even seen her die once, while every other coworker had at least one death on the job.

Weirdest of all, nearly everyone around her had disappeared.

It wasn't all that weird that the crime family he worked for got rid of some people, it just made Jack worry he could be next at any time. Jack knew that something had happened to Romeo, and then Cathy, and then Syd. Which was an odd coincidence the more he thought about it. Unfortunately, Jack didn't have time to keep thinking about it.

"JACK!! BRING OUT THE CLEAN DISHES, AND PRONTO!!!"

Ken's loud, grumbly voice snapped Jack out of his train of thought, sending a chill down his exposed spine. "COMING SIR!" Jack scooped up every single clean plate, fork, and knife he could find (which was barely a dent in the mountain of dirty dishes the resturant accumulated.) He always wondered how this place got so many dirty silverware when most customers ate with their bare hands.

He raced through the back room and into the kitchen where Ken was chopping up some sorry fly person, still kicking and screaming until Ken brought down a larger butchers knife. Jack could see the bright red guts seeping out from different slashes from the torso, he began to wonder if he could take some leftovers home with him after his shift.

"Youre gonna have to help Mel bring out the food, it's chaos out there and people are ordering more food than I can chop up." Ken snatched the stack of dishes from Jack's hand and started portioning out the fly carcass. "Why can't the others help Mel? I've still got a million dishes to clean back there-" "You need to help because 3 of my employees ran off and the other 3 can't put plates on tables if it was the ONLY thing they could do!!"

Ken slammed the butchers knife he held into the table, walking off into the freezer to presumably thaw out some more bodies.

Jack didn't want to still be standing there when the butcher got back, so he stacked as many plates as he could on his arms and shimmied his way through the swinging doors into the dining area. "Holy shit, he really wasn't kidding."

People were sitting on any surface they could find, cluttering up the floor and making it practically impossible to navigate. "JACK!! IM DROWING OVER HERE," He swiveled his head to look for whoever was yelling at him.

Mel was trying with all her might to climb free from the swarm of customers, reaching out for Jack who was in the safety of behind the counter.

Jack grasped her gloved hand and pulled back with all his might, completely forgetting about the stack of plates in his arms as Mel sprang free from the horde. He realized too late that she was coming straight towards the stacks and stacks of plates. All that food would go to waste and Ken would for sure fire him on the spot, at least Jack he'd only be fired.

Before the food could even touch the floor, swarms of zombies and flies devoured every single scrap.

"Thanks for helping me out Jack, they act like they've never had breakfast in their life," Mel chuckled as she climbed off of Jack. Somehow she didn't get a single piece of guts on her, it made Jack just think she was cooler. "No problem Mel, I didn't want to see your crushed corpse on the job," He said in a joking manner, but he could have sworn he saw a different emotion somewhere within Mel's glistening red eyes.

"Hey, uh... where's Mud and Breadhead by the way?" Jack finally noticed the lack of giant bread men and tall gooey skeletons. He hoped they hadn't been devoured by the starving mass of customers.

"I'm not really sure if I'm being honest. Mud is probably hiding somewhere to avoid work like usual, but Breadhead should be playing the piano-"

Before Mel could finish her sentence, there was a sudden loud commotion coming from the kitchen. For a second Jack had thought someone had started driving through the resturant and was coming straight for them.

Ken burst through the kitchen doors, fists clenched around the necks of two rottlings who were trying desperately clawing at the butcher's large knuckles. Jack could feel his own throat tightening and his already clammy hands getting clammier.

"ALRIGHT YOU SCUM, EVERYONE WHO'S BEEN LOITERING HAS 5 SECONDS TO LEAVE OR ELSE." He tightened his grip on one of the rottlings necks, an audible crunch filled the silence of the once chaotic dining room.

Everyone started bolting out of any and all exits, busting through windows and nearly breaking the front doors off their hinges.

The rottling that was still somehow alive was dropped like a bag of garbage is dropped in a dump; struggling to breathe or stand while desperately trying to crawl away from the enraged butcher. Ken dropped the other rottling, who was quickly revived by the black hand and sprinted out the building. Being revived felt amazing, but that feeling wore off in a few minutes and all the pain that you endured would come crawling back into your body. Jack shuddered as he remembered all the times he died.

Ken sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "We're never serving breakfast again. MUD, BREADHEAD, STOP HIDING AND COME OUT TO HELP ME FIX THE DINING ROOM!!" Ken turned to look at the rest of his family with a look of exhaustion (Although Jack was pretty sure that expression was permanent.)

"You two are on dish duty, I don't care how long it takes just get it done."

Mel and Jacked looked at each other, Mel having a mischievous expression plastered all over her face.

"You still got that magazine, Jack?"

[tinytalkingtina]

Songs of the Heart

Rated E | 5.1k words | Ao3 link

Fulfills the "followed", "wounded", "lair", and "whump" Mermay Bingo fills for @stmonstercalendar

Summary:

When Captain Harrington's crew mutinied against him, they took everything and left him to drown in the uncaring ocean. But a curious merman has other plans for the beautiful "star-skinned human" he stumbled across.

Tags: Steddie, Pirate Steve, Pirate Billy, Mermaid Eddie, non-con touching (Steve/Billy), public humiliation/nudity, threats of rape/non-con, blood and violence, whipping, hurt Steve, hurt/comfort, healing, singing, magic, rescue, mildly dubious consent that turns into full consent (Steddie), confident Steve, hand jobs, courting rituals, weird biology, hand jobs, mating rituals, happy ending, alternating POVs

Please mind the tags. The unwanted sexual touching happens at the beginning of the story and could fall under the rape/non-con warning to some degree. If you want to avoid that described in detail skip from "are you happy now?" to "what, you want me to beg for my life?"

Entire story, author's notes, and bingo card are under the cut!

Steve

In the end, Billy didn't even let Steve have his dignity.

It wasn't enough to steal away his crew, his ship, his title as commander of their small fleet. No, Steve’s former second mate turned mutineer made sure he’d be forced to take every possible humiliation during his fall from grace.

Billy grinned as he stroked the cords of the cat, stolen captain’s hat perched high on those golden curls he was so damn proud of.

“You know boys, we really can’t afford to waste a good set of clothes. Take it all. Not like he’ll need it where he’s going.”

Steve got in as many punches and kicks as he could, but he was no match for the entire crew when they ganged up against him.

A dozen groping pairs of hands pulled off everything, even his smalls, leaving him bare and exposed on the deck. Tommy and Jason’s fingers felt like red-hot irons on his arms holding him upright.

“Are you happy now?” he spat out towards Billy.

The new captain gave Steve a once-over, from the top of his hair to the tips of his toes. Despite the warm sun beating down, he had to suppress a shiver.

“Oh, like you cannot possibly imagine, Captain. I used to look up to you, you know? Couldn’t wait to join Harrington’s legendary crew. But this past year’s been nothing but disappointment after disappointment. Who knew, the great King of the Sea turned bitch. Honestly it’s a pity how you managed to bury your head in the sand while I turned your crew against you. Practically rolled belly up and let me take over. But then, you never did learn to plant your feet while fighting, did you.”

Billy used the cat’s handle to lift Steve’s cock, lazily inspecting it for a long minute. It took all of his willpower not to squirm when he slid the handle down further to tap at his balls.

The attention, unwanted as it was, cut through the adrenaline and fear wracking his body. A flush grew hot on his cheeks, one he was helpless to resist. Billy’s grin turned sharp and feral as he watched Steve’s cock thicken.

“Then again, maybe you don’t need to die today. Pretty boy like you, shame to waste such a nice pair of holes.” Tommy sniggered at that, the asshole. “We could see just how loud you can squeal.”

“What, you want me to beg for my life? Fuck you Billy.” Steve spit for real this time. White-hot satisfaction surged in him as his spittle hit the mutineer square in the eye.

The satisfaction didn’t last for long though. Quick as a snake, Billy’s fist grabbed his hair and held him still with a knife at his throat. Steve squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for the end.

“You think you deserve a quick death after that?” Billy’s voice growled in his ear. “We’re not done, not even close. Go on, hump the gunner’s daughter while you take it.” Rough hands shoved him over a cannon. The cat’s tails swished through the air.

And then, Steve knew nothing but pain.

He lost count of how many lashes Billy made him suffer. On his back, his buttocks, his thighs, even the soles of his feet. Steve’s throat had gone raw from screams ripped out of him along with his flesh, robbing him of even his voice in the end. Underneath the cannon, he slipped and scrabbled for purchase on the planks made slick with his own blood.

At long last, the whipping stopped. Over the ringing in his ears, he couldn’t make out whatever final taunt Billy left him with while he tied his hands and legs, before shoving him unceremoniously overboard.

The shock of salt water sending thousands of stabbing needles of pain into his wounds stole what little air Steve had managed to take into his lungs before the plunge.

It was too much.

A warm pair of hands encircled his chest. Delirious, Steve leaned into the embrace, as darkness closed in.

At least his final memory would be of a soft touch.

Eddie

Eddie never meant to stray so far from his pod, from the lagoon and reefs that kept them safe from predators both two legged and finned. But a ship on the horizon meant humans. Humans who could produce more of their wondrous music.

By all accounts, he should have hated the noises that humans made, when it lacked all of the complexity of mersong. They couldn't even make more than one note with their voices at a time, much less infuse it with any magic.

And yet, something about it captivated him. Once, he’d seen a human play a stringed instrument so quickly their fingers blurred, and Eddie had fallen in love, mimicking the melody over and over until he could recreate it and keep it for himself.

So when the largest ship he’d ever seen came into view, its sails billowing in the wind like they were clouds themselves, he knew he had to journey towards it.

Eddie followed from a distance for a while, but heard no music. Swimming closer, he heard shouts and laughter. He let out curiosity-song with a huff, wanting to know what the humans on this large ship could possibly be doing if it wasn’t playing music.

His hatch-father would have told him to leave, not stick his fins in their business. That the open ocean held nothing but trouble, and to stay within the reefs that surrounded the pod’s lagoon. Where it was safe. But Eddie had never been anything but a little reckless, and this time he’d be careful. What happened last time wouldn’t happen again.

Hauling himself out of the water was no easy feat, but he worked out a way to stick his claws into the damp wood to gain enough leverage. Eddie clambered into a swinging smaller ship hanging off the side, grateful for once that his scales were deep-sea dark. Sure, his pod may view them with superstitious concern, but unlike their bright flashy fins, his scales did allow him to hide away unnoticed in the shadows.

Peeking over the edge, he saw humans all gathered together on the other side of the ship.

One human in the center seemed to hold all of the others’ attentions. Even if it was carried by dull human voices, Eddie could still hear the excitement thrumming through the air as the others stepped forward and began to remove its brown and white outer layers.

Aha, so those coverings weren’t a part of human bodies, he’d told Dustin they couldn’t possibly be fins. Eddie hummed of satisfaction. Maybe this would get rid of that know-it all attitude the fry was so fond of adopting lately.

Once the final coverings were gone, Eddie couldn’t help but stare more. This human was a male probably if the claspers jutting out from his body were anything to go by. Eddie frowned at that. Why would humans leave theirs out at all times? That was just asking for something to come up and nibble on vulnerable dangling bits.

Still the weird claspers weren’t what held his fascination.

The skin on one of his podmate’s would speckle if she sunbathed on the rocks for too long, and next to the bare one, he could spy a human with the same type of patterning. But Eddie had never seen anything like those large brown dots that marked this human all over. They were beautiful, each one a different star on his skin. He quietly hummed wonder-song, fins flaring out as he gazed at those constellations.

A human with golden hair and a large crest on top of their head stepped forward. Eddie didn’t like the look on their face: cold and cunning like a predator. Golden Hair even acted like a predator, touching the bare star-skinned human all over without hesitation, even on his claspers.

He watched, humming to fascination as the claspers swelled and grew in size under Golden Hair’s hands. Maybe this was all a human mating ritual.

Star-Skin rejected the mating offer though. With a cry, he squirted water into Golden Hair’s face.

Before Eddie could blink, the star-skinned human was pressed against a metallic object. With a growl, Golden Hair raised something in their hands and brought it down against Star-Skin’s back.

Eddie’s fins flattened in distress from the sounds of pain that followed. Golden Hair was merciless, cutting across those beautiful starmaps and drawing blood over and over again before they were satisfied.

Eventually, the star-skinned human was bound and dumped off the ship, landing in the water with a loud splash.

No one noticed a twin splash from the other side of the ship.

A trail of blood, dark and metallic, was left in his wake as Star-Skin sank. The human was writhing in pain, air bubbles leaking out of his mouth. Eddie hissed of displeasure. How dare Golden Hair leave such a beautiful treasure to die like that!

He darted over, shooing away a couple curious sharks that had already gathered. Seizing the human in his arms, Eddie swam the two of them back to the surface as far away from the ship as he could go. When they breached the surface, he turned to see if Star-Skin was still breathing. Eddie sang relief-song to find him drawing breath, even if his eyes were closed now.

The journey back to his pod and their lagoon took him nearly three times as long as it should have. Unable to swim quickly with such a large deadweight, he went through several configurations before hissing angrily at the ropes around his human’s hands and legs. One swipe of his claws tore through them, letting him settle the two of them into a side hold position above the surface. Occasionally, Eddie stuck his head back down to screech out a warning to any fish aiming for a free meal. He’d worked way too hard for more of Star-Skin’s body to be hurt; this human was his.

At last, the two of them made it to the cave where Eddie often came when he wanted to be alone, the only ocean-side entrance big enough for anything larger than a crab naturally barricaded against nosy podmates by a length of sand bar. In the center was a small tidal pool that shimmered with motes of light peeking through from the ceiling as he heaved his newfound human into it.

Eddie carefully set Star-Skin down so that his face remained above water, then got to work covering those awful wounds with seaweed. All the while, he sang of healing-song, trying to imbue as much protection as he could into his human’s body. There wasn’t much he could do for a scar that circled around Star-Skin’s neck, it was too old. But for those newly gotten, Eddie’s magic would guide his human back towards health.

Throughout it all, Star-Skin remained fast asleep. Eddie’s fins flared with pride to see that his human’s face had calmed, and his awful keening whimpers of pain grew fewer and fewer as time went on.

His human’s wounds tended to, Eddie allowed himself a moment to stare again.

The sun’s late afternoon rays poked in through holes in the cave’s ceiling, lighting Star-Skin’s face up with a warm glow.

Eddie swam as close as possible, practically climbing on top of his human to get a closer look. Star-Skin was so pretty , flushed with red all over. Poking a claw into his pink lips, Eddie was delighted to discover humans had both flat and pointy teeth. He ran his other claw through the human’s hair. Out of the water, it flopped over his eyes instead of floating around like a cloud, but it was soft and fine under his fingertips. And he had that fine hair everywhere, even on his chest and belly. Eddie hummed fascination. Giving it a tug, he also poked at the two pink nipples sitting in the middle of it all. Much like his clasper had, Star-Skin’s nubs grew harder the longer Eddie prodded.

A twitch against his tail brought his attention further down.

This close, Eddie could now see the human had only one clasper sitting on top of two round squishy sacs. On their journey back to the lagoon, the swelling had gone down to leave it small and shriveled in the water.

But now, he watched as it slowly began to fill out again.

His fins flattened against his body as Eddie hesitated. Would Star-Skin accept a mating offer so soon? But, then, Golden Hair had immediately brought out his claws when rejected. He wouldn’t do that to his human. He’d make him feel good. Eddie would prove what a proper mate should do for someone so special.

His mind made up, Eddie gave into curiosity and gave a small tug on the sacs underneath. His human squirmed slightly underneath him and his clasper gave another twitch. Emboldened, Eddie tugged a little harder. With his other hand, he ran the back of his claws up and down the shaft. Before his eyes, he watched as Star-Skin’s clasper grew larger and larger, until it pointed straight out. A shiny red tip emerged from a flap of skin, dripping small amounts of something slippery over Eddie’s hand.

Humming of curiosity-song even louder, Eddie licked at the substance. Bitter salt flooded his mouth. The taste was...odd. He went back and forth on whether he liked it or not as he continued to play with Star-Skin’s clasper.

A moan left his human’s lips. Oh, what a lovely sound! Eddie hummed back in harmony and kept up his movements, right up until Star-Skin gave a large shudder and opened his eyes.

Eddie shifted to pleasure-song. Even his human’s eyes were pretty. He could see flecks of gold and green in among the brown.

For a moment all was well. Star-Skin made no move to squirt water at him. But then:

“Wh-what are you doing?”

Steve

In the darkness, Steve floated. Bobbing up and down with the current of the water, he didn’t need to swim; something solid and cool held him aloft. Time passed, lost to the haze of discomfort. Better to sink into this in between space than face that for now.

In the void, music reached his ears: someone was singing to him, sweet and low. Each note gently burst against his consciousness, sending relaxation down his spine and banishing his pain.

Eventually, he became aware of the touch of another. Steve couldn’t help leaning into the caresses. It had been so long since anyone had treated him gently. He hadn’t let anyone in since Nancy. And after leaving everything behind for the sea, he couldn’t afford to seem weak in front of his crew.

His crew…

Steve’s mind skittered away from his last moments on his ship. The here and now by comparison was leagues ahead of anything Billy had inflicted upon him. No, better to focus on following this swell to its peak, to—

He opened his eyes to find a monster smiling down upon him.

Steve froze.

The thing might have passed for human at first glance. With wide dark brown eyes, dimpled cheeks, and soft plump lips, it bore the face of an attractive young man. Its hair was worn loose, with many colorful trinkets braided in that tinkled against each other gently when it moved. The only hint of otherworldliness there was a subtle sprinkling of scales near its hairline.

Its chest and arms similarly evoked the look of humanity. Unlike its hair, these were bare of any ornamentation. A row of jagged scars lined one side, from the side of his neck all the way down to where human skin melded into a tail with scales the color of the nighttime sea. As the mercreature flexed its muscles, it caught the light and sparkled with iridescence.

Catching his eye, the mercreature’s mouth stretched wider, revealing- sweet Jesus -rows and rows of sharp teeth, and it let out a series of chirps and trills. The sounds pushed their way into Steve’s mind, echoing sweetly. Unbidden, his head conjured up sense-memories of dozens of small pleasures: the smell of dirt newly alive on a warm spring’s day, the tart taste of strawberries bursting across his tongue. A past lover’s lips upon his skin. This creature must have been the one singing to him before.

It still held a firm grip on his cock with a claw-tipped hand adorned with tarnished metal rings. Had been touching him intently for some time, judging by the ache in his balls.

“Wh-what are you doing?” he asked, trying to push back against the siren’s call in that enchanting music. Steve was surprised to find his voice returned to him, his throat no longer full of knives every time he swallowed.

“Mate, yes?” Sweet Jesus, it, he, could speak too. Like the notes before them, the words coming out of its mouth were a small symphony all their own.

When Steve didn’t reply in confusion, the merman let go.

“No?”

“You’re not going to eat my cock or something, are you?” The merman tilted his head. Some of the words must have eventually registered because his nose wrinkled as he let out a series of clicks and low notes. He pointed a claw at Steve’s chest.

“Mine. No-” The merman made a gnashing movement with his mouth. Trying with all his might not to flinch at seeing all of those teeth on display so close to his privates, Steve failed miserably.

At that the merman frowned. He let out a few sharp barks whose reverberations made Steve’s head ring. He winced and covered his ears against the noise, only for a pair of hands to slowly pry them away.

“I’m sorry, the song is loud. I won’t sing it again. Mates shouldn’t hurt each other, Only want to make you feel good after this.” The merman stared at him. Did he expect an answer?

“You can speak English now.” Steve said flatly. His supposed captor shrugged.

“I opened my ears to listen to your words, and set a spell-song to my throat, so my words can reach past what your human ears can hear.” Steve blinked.

“Um, okay.” Those beautiful dark eyes continued to stare, but the fins across his back and tail fell flat.

“Are your wounds still painful?”

It was at that moment that Steve became aware his back did not scream out in agony, and that his wrists and feet had been freed from the ropes Billy bound them in. Twisting, he could make out what looked like seaweed, covering him from his shoulders all the way to his feet.

“You did this for me?” The merman chirped once and nodded.

“Healing-song made them close faster.” Steve swallowed. He’d heard tales of sirens luring men to jump off their ships into a watery grave. But he’d been half-dead already when he hit the water, an easy meal for anything that swam. This creature had done just the opposite, had helped him.

“Thank you. Not that I’m ungrateful, but, why?”

The merman gave a low pitched hiss, fins fanning out once again.

“The other humans were hurting you. Ruined your constellations. Because you didn’t want to mate with the golden hair human. So I took you. Healed you as much as I could.”

“I. Mate?” Steve sputtered.

“Yes. I saw Golden Hair’s offer. Do humans always do it in front of others?”

“That wasn’t—no, we do any mating in private. Billy just wanted to humiliate me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe he did want me to become his whore, I don’t know.”

The merman’s brow furrowed.

“In private…” Suddenly, he chirped again, his eyes lighting up. “You mean alone! We are alone, no pod-mates will bother us here. No one else has seen your clasper expand, I promise.”

The merman pointed towards Steve’s cock, still somehow semi-erect and sticking out of the water, the traitor. Steve slapped his hands over it, only just now realizing how much of a show he’d been treating the creature to, allowing him to poke and prod all over like he was some sort of stallion out for studding.

“Look, mercreature—” The merman gave a harsh quick bark and shook his head.

“That is not my name, do not call me that. It is EdΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ.”

Steve felt the beginning of a headache form in his temples.

“I’m not sure I can pronounce that. Was there an ‘Ed’ somewhere in there?”

The merman growled, what Steve chose to read as frustration coming off him in waves. He made a slow lap around the pool, emitting a series of short trills and clicks as he fiddled with the trinkets in his hair. Finally, he returned to Steve’s rock.

“Not Ed. Eddie ,” he said with serious eyes and a firm voice. “Eddie would be okay for you to use as mate-name. But only you.”

Oh. Mate-name.

Oh.

The mercreature, this Eddie, he wanted to—

“Um, not that I am flattered,” Steve sputtered. “But did you not notice I have legs?”

Eddie smiled once more, the dimples back on display. He really was pretty, Steve admitted in the privacy of his own mind.

“Yes! You have legs and I do not understand how human claspers work but I want to learn. You...make pretty noises when you’re happy. And turn the colors of a sunset. Makes your skin stars stand out more. Want to make you happy. Will be a good mate if you want me.” He flushed green at the last sentence and ducked below the water so that only his eyes peeked out.

One of Steve’s hands strayed to the scar around his neck, a phantom rope choking him. “I haven’t tried to court anyone in a long time. It did not end that well when I did.”

A short dark claw touched him there, with more gentleness than Steve expected.

“Did Golden Hair give you this too?”

Steve shook his head and laughed without humor.

“No, no this wasn’t anyone on my crew. Just my own foolish decisions to blame for that one. She didn’t want me, in the end.”

He should have known that leaving Nancy behind to make a name for himself on the high seas wasn’t what she wanted. That she wouldn’t wait for him forever. That charm could make a privateer quite a lot of money and notoriety, unless he was captured by the wrong country’s navy. That his father’s patience and influence would only extend so far after saving him from the noose at the last possible minute. That Billy’s grumblings would turn dangerous, that Tommy’s loyalties could shift so easily. Eddie’s soft voice broke him out of his past bad choices.

“You can reject my offer.” He gestured to his scales. “My tail has no colors, bad luck. My pod says I was cursed at hatching. Now they don’t want me to be around any young ones after ChrΞΞΞΞ...she is gone now. Pod of the killer black-white whales hunted us down. Was an accident, but my fault. Understand if you do not want me, won’t hurt you like humans do when you reject them. Will bring you to other humans.” Crooning a soft mournful sound, Eddie jettisoned himself to the center of the small pool with a flick of his tail.

Steve hesitated to follow. There was nothing left for him back home. His own parents had made it clear they no longer saw him as their heir much less their son years ago, and Billy had stolen everything else.

And here Eddie was, right in front of him. He could have killed him while he was bound and helpless, and yet...he didn’t. The opposite in fact, the seaweed sticking to his back proof of that. When was the last time someone had cared about his well-being with no alternate motive, or wanted to make him feel good?

And well, he was already naked.

Shrugging to himself, Steve pushed off against the rock he’d been resting against and waded out to where Eddie floated.

“I don’t have a special name to give you,” Steve said. “But you can call me Stephen, if you want to use it.”

Eddie repeated it back to himself, the sound sending another pulse of happy sense-memories through Steve’s body. Slowly to not spook the merman, he reached a hand out to touch Eddie’s face, and slid his other hand into his hair.

Merfolk were warm, Steve was surprised to discover, and their skin soft. By contrast, Eddie’s hair, despite its uncanny appearance, was almost slippery. More like the seaweed currently plastered to his body than anything human.

Even while melting into his hands, Eddie’s big doe eyes went even wider. The merman let out a short squeak that sounded almost like a question.

“What you saw on my ship, what Billy did to me,” he murmured back. “That wasn’t how humans court each other. But this?” Steve pressed a kiss to Eddie’s pillowy lips, drawing back only just enough to whisper: “This is what humans do when they want to get to know someone better.”

Eddie gave a quiet pleased trill, before kissing Steve back. Well, tried to. It became rather apparent that merfolk did not normally do this, or maybe his merman in particular did not have any experience. Regardless, he more than made up for it with enthusiasm.

While they kissed some more, Steve trailed further down and laid a hand against Eddie’s back, just brushing the tips of his fingers against the edge of his fine silk-smooth fins. Underneath his lips, a shiver passed through Eddie’s body. His merman let out a little noise that went straight to Steve’s cock. He stroked against Eddie’s fins again more firmly this time, and rubbed his other hand on his merman’s hip, right where the skin melded into scales.

In his arms Eddie wriggled even more as he sang a fragment of another melody, whose deep notes fanned the fire coursing through Steve’s blood into an inferno.

“Backwards, move, please, Stephen,” Eddie gasped. “Want to—”

Steve looked down. Out of a slit in Eddie’s tail hadn’t even realized was there, he watched as twinned pale cock-like protrusions poked their way into the water.

“My claspers,” Eddie explained, his eyes glassy and even larger than before.

“Oh.” He could work his way around this. Steve experimentally dragged his fingers against them, causing his merman to moan and rut into his hand. He wanted nothing more than to rut back, but they needed better leverage.

Steve maneuvered (or well, closer to dragged) the two of them back towards the rocks lining the edge of the pool. Once his back was to them, he braced his newly healed feet against the floor and took both their arousals in hand. His cock fit snugly into the space between Eddie’s claspers, squeezing him in warmth with every stroke. The water, though it washed away any of his own, seemed to not be a problem for his merman’s excretions. It proved to be much more jelly-like, smoothing the journey of his hand.

Eddie squealed and shivered some more. his fins rustling rhythmically. All the while, he murmured a never-ending stream of “mate”, “mine”, and “treasure.”

It took very little time for his merman to reach his peak. His merman’s melodic whines and groans ripped Steve’s orgasm out of him, pushing him over the edge without warning.

As soon as they both caught their breaths, Eddie climbed into his lap, trills chirps and clear high notes bubbling out of his throat. The sound swept him away on a tide of joy, and all Steve could do was laugh.

His merman beamed back at him.

“My beautiful wonderful mate, such clever hands. I promise, I will learn. Will make you feel good, too.”

Eddie swam a lap around the pool before pausing.

“Oh! Forgot important part.” He sped back over to Steve and fiddled with one of the things in his hair, before presenting it proudly. “For you. So the pod knows you are mine.”

Steve took the offered trinket, a red triangular stone with a hole bore through the middle. Eddie had strung it onto a length of cord.

“Thank you.” He tied it loosely around his neck. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything to give you in return. Or anything else.” Now that the haze of want had faded, he wished desperately for a pair of trousers or a shirt. Eddie hummed thoughtfully.

“Yes, the other humans stole your coverings. Can find others for you but now—”

His merman dove under the water, resurfacing with an armful of the seaweed he’d covered his back in. He proceeded to wound it around Steve, until a barely passable loincloth was formed.

Eddie tilted his head considering, then ducked low into the water. He stared up at Steve’s privates and hummed, this time bringing a twinge of irritation into the air.

“Will add more. Your clasper is too exposed. Fish will bite.”

“What?” Steve protested. “I’ve never had that happen if I went for a swim, what kind of fish are you talk—”

“Pod shouldn’t see either.” Eddie flushed green again. “Not theirs to look at. You are not their mate.”

The possessive look on his merman’s face was well. Endearing . Steve didn’t object again, not even as Eddie wrapped seaweed over and over until the makeshift clothing came down practically to his knees.

“Good.” A wave of satisfaction rolled off him from a single chirp. “Now no one will know a human clasper looks like squirming worm-food.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Eddie pointed to a sea cucumber wiggling across the bottom of the pool. Much to Steve’s dismay, the thing was unfortunately somewhat fleshy looking. Rather than give his merman the satisfaction, he just crossed his arms and huffed.

Eddie giggled, causing more happiness to wash over Steve.

“Now can have you meet my hatch-father without pod-mates singing rudeness. He will like you. My pretty mate. Then we will find other humans and get coverings for you. Maybe steal Golden Hair’s crest off his head. Hatch-father is good at spell-songs, will know what to do.”

Steve found himself nodding. This was not the future he’d been imagining for himself last night, but he could easily see how much better the rewritten one could be. Taking Eddie's hand, he let himself be led out of the cave and into the sun.

Thank you to saradika-graphics for the divider!

Author's Notes:

-"kissing the gunner's daughter" was a real phrase used to describe how boys in the navy would take their punishments bent over a gun barrel, that we've had Billy adapt here

-Drew inspiration for this singing-based merfolk method of communication from Brandon Sanderson's Stormlight Archives, in which the Parshendi people attune to different rhythms that they can naturally hear to express their feelings to each other. Here I adapted this to have some magic infused into the words that may influence the listener's mood. This influence can be stronger on humans, which has contributed to the myths of sirens luring men to their doom

-In my head, Wayne is considered Eddie's "hatch-father" as opposed to his biological father. Mermaid eggs for this species are fertilized externally, so clutches aren't necessarily raised by their biological parents

-Eddie's genitals are a mix of shark and crocodile traits: male sharks have paired claspers to deliver sperm that look like modified fins on the underside of their bodies, and crocodiles are able to invert their penises from/retract them back into a pouch

That's a wrap on Mermay for me, had a lot of fun working on these <3

[a-killer-obsession]

Shared Smiles [Heat x Reader]

🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

Despite being forced on board against your will, you find yourself connecting with a commander, and finding solace in your shared traumas.

CW: wounds, off-screen amputation, loss of limb, comfort, trauma, mentions of mutilation, fingering, p in v sex, afab reader

WC: ~6k

Masterlist || AO3

The chains holding you creaked slightly as you swung back and forth, blood running down over your face and dripping to the floor below you as you hung upside down. Your ankles were bound together in metal cuffs, your hands tied to your torso with chains, and your body bare save for your panties and the many fresh wounds that littered your body. Two Supernovas of the Worst Generation stood in front of you, Eustass ‘Captain’ Kid and his first mate, Massacre Soldier Killer. The captain pressed his boot against your face again, letting back off and making your body swing, the ankle cuffs digging into your skin at the added pressure the movement created.

“Last chance,” the redheaded captain gloated, kneeling and grabbing a handful of your hair to force you to look at him. You could barely keep eye contact, not out of fear but, because you'd been upside down for so long that you were nearly unconscious. “I don't usually give out mercies like this, but your skills are useful to me, and my girls enjoyed your company before you fucked up”

Said fuck up was simply rejecting the large man of his sexual advances. You'd met some of his crew, a couple of girls named Hip, Hop, Quincy, Emma and Dive, at a bar nearby. You'd seen a lot on your travels as a for-hire mercenary, but female pirates were not common on the Grandline. They'd made you laugh, a rarity for you, and hadn't judged your unusual mask that hid your mouth and the end of your nose. Of course they hadn't, they were used to a first mate who covered the entirety of his face in white and blue stripes. They didn't even ask questions about it, which was a breath of fresh air for you, only commenting on how cool the sculpting that decorated it was - a relief of a open lion's jaw, with large, sharp teeth and a lolling tongue, trimmed by a nose and cheeks curled mid roar. The whole mask gave you the appearance of having a lion's snout, and along with the clawed gloves you wore during combat, was the guiding force for the moniker the marines had given you: ‘The Lioness, [Y/N]’.

Now, had your rejection perhaps been a little harsh? Maybe, by normal standards. A large, attractive man with such infamy as him was probably not rejected often, let alone with such sass. You knew you had a knack for being too brutally truthful, never filtering your words or pulling your verbal punches. It'd gotten you in trouble on more than one occasion, but you were a talented fighter, fast and agile, you didn't usually get caught in situations like this. When the Massacre Soldier snuck up on you in the alley outside though, you found you were no match for him, he had such a high bounty for a reason.

“How bout it little kitty?” Kid purred in faux sweetness, bringing you back to reality, blinking as you fought the pull of unconsciousness. “You can join my crew, or you can stay here and get tortured till you die. This is the last time I'll ask”

Did you want to be a pirate? No, you liked running solo, you liked having the freedom to go wherever you wanted and take whatever jobs were convenient. Having your life dictated by someone else was the last thing you wanted, and being around the same people every day would make it hard to avoid forming attachments. You had sworn to never get close to others again, after your last relationship resulted in the unforgivable reason you wore the mask. Making friends you'd never see again in bars was one thing, but you weren't looking for long term relationships, platonic or not. On the other hand, you liked being alive. You would not let a man be your death, not after everything you'd been through.

“Fine,” you spat. The single word was a struggle to push out, your head felt like it was in a vice and the rest of your body was going numb as a new droplet of blood rolled down your face and caught in your eyelashes.

“Wise choice,” the first mate noted from behind his unreadable mask. “One of our commanders is gonna love that pretty little smile of yours”

“Bite me,” you spat back, voice laced with venom.

“Tell the girls to clean her up and get her settled,” Kid addressed the first mate as he used his devil fruit to release your bindings, dropping you to the hard floor unceremoniously. He threw your mask at you, bouncing with an audible clunk off your already sore head, and you grabbed it greedily. Killer watched you with empathy as you desperately covered your mouth back up, he knew that feeling well and felt like an asshole for knowing what you hid underneath. You shot daggers up at him as the mask was settled in its rightful place, the room brightening for a moment as the door opened for the captain to leave before returning to its barely lit state.

As the months passed, you found yourself feeling surprisingly comfortable amongst the Kid Pirates. It'd taken you a while to heal and stop being so jumpy, but it came as no surprise to learn you were not the only crew member who had been hired via torture after pissing the short-fused captain off, and they all thought it was hilarious in retrospect. You hoped one day you'd find it funny too, but for now you still had aches from where new scars pulled taut on your skin as you moved. You found yourself at home among the other girls, and learned that Kid protected them with fierce loyalty. You had expected to have to reject more advances from him, but as it turned out, he treated the girls on his crew like sisters, and after months of getting past the violent way you were brought on the ship, you found yourself able to laugh in his presence. You never expected to enjoy the life of a pirate, but in truth it was nice to not have to fight for everything and take care of yourself, it was soothing to know someone had your back if you got into trouble. The girls had been diligent in tending to your wounds and nursing you back to health, and you'd gotten to know them well over the last few months. At first you thought about running every chance you got, but now you felt a pang of guilt whenever you thought of leaving the women you'd come to call friends, and ultimately pushed away the idea of leaving all together.

Much like the first mate though, you never removed your mask in front of the others. They'd allowed you to put up a curtain around your cot so you could sleep without it in privacy, you ate your meals in solitude sitting on the figurehead skull of the ship, and thankfully the showers were built as separate cubicles with doors. Nobody asked why you wore the mask, they respected your privacy the same way they respected Killer's, to ask what lay underneath would be a disrespect against both of you. As for the two that had seen, Kid and Killer kept your secret, even from the other commanders. Their word was gospel, so nobody pried, and it helped to make you feel safe here. You hadn't gone this long without someone asking about what the mask hid for months, the only questions you ever got from the crew were in regard to the mask itself. How was it made? Why a lion? Where did you get it? Is it annoying to wear? Curiosities that you couldn't fault, but always asked in a respectful manner.

This evening, like many other evenings, you found yourself drinking with the crew. It was a crew of around thirty, and although there were a few members held higher than the rest - the captain, first mate, and four commanders - it was clear the whole crew were friends, and there was no divide when they drank. You found yourself sitting next to Heat, a quiet, tall man with an almost grey skin tone, thick blue hair that fell in waves, and an almost perpetually sad expression. He was sweet, and easy to be around, and you often found yourself seeking his company. He didn't pry about your past as long as you didn't ask about his, and he was okay with a comfortable silence, making him one of your favourite people to spend time with, along with his best friend Wire, another commander who was similar in personality, though a lot more stoic, an a significant amount taller. Heat looked tough, but on a more personal level seemed far too soft to be a pirate. He didn't have a devil fruit, but he could breathe fire, and his long thorn-like tattoos fascinated you. He was an interesting man, someone you could see yourself opening up to in the past, if you hadn't sworn to close your heart from all men after the betrayal you experienced with the last one.

For obvious reasons, you didn't actually drink around the others, you just took part in the conversations. Unlike the Massacre Soldier, who could thread a straw through the holes in his mask, your mask was one solid form, the only holes being a mesh for ventilation hidden under the top row of sharp teeth, and the holes in the lion's nose where there the anatomy dictated, again so you could actually breathe. You enjoyed the company none-the-less though, and you'd never been one for drinking before the mask anyway so it was no loss. You didn't like the way alcohol made you feel, you preferred to keep your wits about you. That was another thing you enjoyed about Heat, he was your comrade in sober arms, also preferring not to drink. Apparently last time he got drunk he accidentally set fire to a bar, so he chose to stay sober for everyone's safety.

You laughed wholeheartedly as Quincy fell victim to a well planned truth or dare, admitting she'd had a raunchy sex dream about another crewmate, Bubblegum, the crew erupting in laughter as the two of them flushed bright red. The laughter died down and it was Quincy's turn to ask a question to the next victim, and your breath caught as you thought she was going to pick you, only to move one more over and pick Heat. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Truth or dare Heatie!” She coughed out, trying to quickly divert the crew's attention.

“Truth,” he replied calmly.

“Okay, mmmm,” she pressed a index finger to her mouth as she thought, “tell us who you have a crush on!”

A few of the crew went “ooooooh” as Heat turned bright red, and Kid sat up, his attention piqued.

“Look how red he is!” Kid barked, “there's definitely someone!”

“Tell us! Tell us!” Someone called out.

“It's… it's…[y/n]” he finally stuttered out, finally breaking, curling in on himself and trying to hide his flushed face from you. Your own face went pink at the admission, you hadn't expected it at all and there were butterflies in your chest. Heat quickly picked the next victim to move the attention, and you quietly excused yourself from the gathering.

“I didn't mean to offend you,” Heat said softly as he approached where you sat on the figurehead skull, facing the ocean. You quickly wiped your tears and sniffed, replacing your mask which you'd removed to keep it dry from your crying. “Were you crying? [Y/n] I'm so sorry, please forget I said anything, it's just a dumb game”

“It's not that, Heat,” you sniffed, “it just… brought up some not very nice memories is all. It's not your fault”

“Oh, well I'm sorry anyway,” he shifted awkwardly on his feet, “do you want to talk about it?”

“The last man I was with was not kind,” you tried to explain, “he… decided I was no longer worth the trouble, and he did this,” you pointed at the mask.

“Can I… see?” He asked shyly.

You looked out to the ocean, thinking hard about whether you were ready for that, ready to let someone past that heavily guarded wall. If anyone would understand, it was him. In truth, you didn't want to carry this burden alone anymore, and you knew he was more than willing to carry it with you. You looked around the deck for spying eyes, and seeing no other life you gave him a small nod and patted the figurehead next to you, inviting him to come sit. He climbed up and sat beside you, cross legged and patient. You sighed nervously as you unlatched the mask with shaky hands, turning to him anxiously.

“Oh,” he said softly.

Staring back at him, stretching from the corners of your mouth to the apex of your jaw, were the jagged scars of a Glasgow smile, just like his own. His heart stung when he saw it, he knew the pain you'd been through, physical and emotional, and the way you no doubt feel every time you look in the mirror. You turned away from him again, replacing the mask and looking back out to the ocean.

“Did you kill him?” He asked, shuffling a little closer so your shoulders touched, staring out to the sea with you.

“Yes,” you replied flatly.

“Good,” he huffed. “How long ago did it happen, if you don't mind me asking”

“Three years,” you idly picked at the cuticles on your fingers.

“The dysphoria will pass, in time,” he assured you, then pointed at his own scars, “rival gang, eight years ago. I wore a scarf over the scars for five years before I finally got comfortable with my own reflection. It'll pass, and nobody here will judge you when it finally does”

You nodded quietly and rested your head on his shoulder, and the two of you sat in comfortable silence till you started to fall asleep and decided to head to bed.

“MOVE, GET OUT OF THE WAY!” Heat shouted at the other crewmates that had crowded around your fallen form.

In a blink of an eye, everything had gone so very wrong. The crew had been raiding a marine base, rampaging through it as they always did, cutting down marines left and right. Nobody could have known the building you were fighting next to was structurally unsound, closed off from use years ago, scheduled to be demolished before it could collapse on someone's head. One small shake of the ground from a nearby explosion and the whole outer wall crumbled, burying you in heavy cement faster than you had a chance to register what was happening. The crew had been quick to dig you out, working together to move the large slab of concrete that was crushing you. Heat took in your seemingly lifeless body with baited breath, the limbs on your right side twisted in unnatural positions, deep purple bruises already forming on any skin that was visible, blood running from your nose and ears.

Your body moved just a little, and suddenly you were screaming. Awaking in absolute agony, everything was on fire, you could barely think through the pain. Only one coherent word escaped you, a shrill, desperate scream of his name, before the world went black again. Thankful that you were unconscious again so you didn't have to feel your injuries, Heat carefully lifted you, holding you close to his chest as he carried you back to the ship, tears silently rolling down his cheeks and neck as he tried his best to keep it together for you, to get you somewhere safe and start the long, hard process of healing.

For five days you slept in the infirmary of the Victoria Punk, and for those five days Heat never left your side, sleeping in an old metal chair next to you, his head against your arm and your good hand held gently in his, praying to whatever god that would listen that you'd wake up. His back ached from sleeping upright, he had deep, dark bags under his eyes, and he smelt as bad as he looked, still covered in the grime and blood from the battle, refusing to leave your side for long enough to shower. You needed him here, he needed to be here when you woke up, because you had to wake up, and he fought tooth and nail against anyone who dared to try and drag him away.

When you finally awoke, you did so with a small whimper, unable to remember what had happened, or understand why half your limbs weren't reacting the way you wanted them to. Heat had been asleep next to you, but was quickly at attention, standing over you and making sure you knew he was here before you had time to question whether you were all alone.

“Shh, don't try to move,” he said softly, stopping you from sitting up too fast with a firm but gentle hand against your chest, “you got hurt real bad, but you're safe now, you're gonna be okay”

Your hand flew to your mouth, feeling for your mask, looking up at him with wide shocked eyes when you found it was missing.

“Shh, shh, it's okay,” he took your hand back in his and removed it from your face, “only the doc saw, nobody else except Kid and Killer have come in here, and they said they'd already seen”

Your breathing calmed down again as you accepted his assurances, squeezing his hand and trying to sit up again. You wanted, no, needed to know how bad the damage was, you needed to see for yourself. You felt heavy, no doubt from painkillers, but you could still tell something was very wrong, your right arm and leg still not responsive. Heat saw your efforts and sighed, he knew there was no keeping you from it any longer.

“I'm gonna help you sit up okay?” He slid his arm around your shoulders and held the other against your chest, “But I need you to not panic. Your injuries were life threatening, Emma did everything in her power but she couldn't save everything”

You tried your best to stay calm but you couldn't help but start to hyperventilate as he sat you up and pulled the blanket that covered you aside, finally seeing the damage for yourself. Your right arm was in a cast, from your armpit to your hand, set in a bend. Your pinky and ring finger were missing, only stubs of them remained. You were wearing nothing but your underwear, your entire torso wrapped in bandages, healing graze marks and yellowing bruises peeking out from wherever the wrapping didn't cover. But the worst of the injuries was your right leg. Or rather, lack thereof, because from your mid thigh down was just empty space where your leg should have been, a bandage wrapped tightly around the short nub that remained.

Heat held you tight to his chest as you took in the damage and started to sob, your tears soaking into his corset shirt and rehydrating some of the blood and dirt on his chest. You weren't sure how long you cried for, at some point he climbed up on the bed and sat behind you, rocking you back and forth and cooing reassurances in your ear until you were able to settle your breathing and your sobs turned to teary-eyed hiccups.

“It's gonna be okay,” Heat assured, his arms around your torso as he pressed a kiss to your dirty hair, “Kid is already working on a prosthetic for you, Emma said the amount she was able to save is plenty to learn to walk again with one, it's gonna be okay, I'm gonna be here the whole time”

You nodded as you let yourself rest back against him, the weight of your emotional burden too much to bare alone anymore, letting him support your exhausted body and keep you afloat.

A few days had passed and Emma, as the ship's doctor, had cleared you to leave the infirmary. You couldn't walk given you would need two working arms for crutches, and with your dominant arm out of action you struggled at even the most basic tasks, so Heat insisted you stay with him. He'd pulled a spare mattress from the henchmen's quarters and was sleeping on the floor with it, leaving the entire queen size bed for you. As a commander he had his own room and a small humble bathroom, nothing compared to the grand rooms Kid and Killer had, but it was private and it was comfortable, and it kept you from embarrassing yourself in the middle of the night whenever you needed to go to the bathroom. He'd even rearranged his room for you, and made Kid install metal railings, all you needed to do was hop a few supported steps to make it to the toilet. If you had to travel any further he didn't hesitate to carry you, he didn't even need to be asked, all you had to do was look at him and he was moving.

The first thing you needed after leaving the infirmary was a good wash. Emma had done her best with Heat's assistance to sponge bath what they could to keep your wounds clean of the blood and debris you'd been covered in when Heat had carried you in, but you really needed a soak to wipe away the thick layer of grime. You couldn't wash yourself though, you needed to keep your casted arm out of the water, which meant a shower was out of the question - not that you'd be able to stand in one - and with only one hand there was no way you were washing your hair on your own. Even with the one working arm, your chest and side were still aching from the deep bruising you'd received as a result of being crushed, you were lucky you hadn't broken any ribs, but every movement hurt badly.

Emma had offered to wash you, but you'd surprised yourself and Heat by asking him instead. Somehow you felt more comfortable with the idea of him seeing you naked. Not that you had anything against Emma, you just felt safest with Heat. He'd carried you wordlessly to his room, wrapped in the infirmary blanket, and sat you on the closed toilet seat in his bathroom while he ran the water. Emma had given you the all clear to remove your bandages, though the one on your amputated leg would need to be replaced afterwards, so you worked on removing them while you waited. When the water was ready he helped you to your… foot… and held you steady while you used your good arm to manoeuvre your underwear past your hips, letting it fall to the floor at your ankles and leaving you entirely naked in front of him except for your cast.

He lifted you gently and lowered you into the water, your good arm around his neck for support. Using the old bandages he fashioned a sort of sling hanging from the curtain railing to keep your other arm out of the water, so you wouldn't have to worry about holding it up yourself the whole time. He was so careful and methodical as he washed you, a light dusting of pink on his cheeks the whole time, unable to look you in the eye for shame of how much he enjoyed seeing your naked body, how much he enjoyed touching you, when such horrible circumstances had led to this.

He avoided your genitals, letting you wash them yourself, and you sighed as his strong fingers worked shampoo into your scalp, washing away thick layers of grime that a sponge bath couldn't touch. It was quiet and intimate, the only words shared being him asking consent and you granting it as he worked on the different parts of your body, wiping away the blood and dirt. You whimpered as the cloth ran over your stump, burying your face in his chest for moral support as he diligently cleaned the old blood from it, the conditioner in your hair transfering to his skin.

Finally finished, he discarded the cloth and held you close while he knelt next to the tub, and you couldn't help but cry more at the awful state of your body. He didn't question your need to cry, he just held you while you got it all out till you took a deep breath and pushed yourself away from him, nodding that you were ready to move on. He rinsed the conditioner from your hair and drained the tub, wrapping you in a soft towel as he picked you back up and carried you to the bed. He held you in his lap as he dried you with an extra towel, patting dry your hair and wiping the dewdrops from your limbs. He held you firm to his chest, your arm around his neck, your head tucked under his chin as you listened to his rhythmic breathing. It was enough to lull you to sleep, so he carefully slipped an old baggy t-shirt over you, trying his best to not wake you, and tucked you into his bed, leaving you to rest.

It'd been close to six weeks since the accident. Your arm cast had been removed a week ago, so you were now able to get around on your own using crutches, though the distance you could go before tiring was limited. Kid had built you a beautiful prosthetic leg, even going so far as adding a lion's clawed paw for the foot to match your mask, and Emma had given the go ahead for you to try using it in a few more days. For now, your stump remained covered in a compression sock, to promote healing and make sure it was ready for the prosthetic to be fitted. Kid had become an unlikely ally in this battle, having lost a limb himself he understood how you were feeling, and had helped you through more than one dark episode while you mourned the loss of your leg.

Mostly though, it was Heat that was there for you. You were still staying in his room, even though you assured him you could manage on your own. He insisted you would be more comfortable here, and try as you might he refused to share the large bed with you to at least alleviate a little of your guilt, telling you over and over that he was more than comfortable on his mattress, even though it was clear to everyone that his back was hurting and his eyes had heavy bags. You could hear him toss and turn at night, his quality of sleep significantly diminished because of his chivalrous sacrifice, but he'd give up anything to make you even slightly more comfortable. You had to admit though, having the privacy to sleep without your mask without fear of peeping toms was a luxury in itself. You didn't wear the mask in the bedroom, more than comfortable without it in front of Heat. He still helped you bathe, but it'd become significantly less awkward, now a time for conversation and laughter. You no longer had a cast to keep dry, and you really didn't need help anymore other than getting in and out of the tub, but neither of you had said anything about it, so he happily continued to help you, and you graciously accepted the help and his company. Subconsciously, neither of you wanted to let go of that time alone together, and you secretly enjoyed the feel of his hands wandering over your body, and the way he silently scanned your curves, a quiet hunger in his eyes that never left no matter how many times he saw you naked.

On this night, the ship was on route to a winter island, the long reaching weather system already chilling the air significantly as Heat helped you into bed. He stole a chaste kiss on the top of your hair, as he often did these days, before excusing himself to his mattress on the floor.

Hours passed, and he woke as he often did, sighing to himself and twisting his torso to crack his sore back. He strolled in his sweatpants to the bathroom to get a glass of water, thankful that his natural abilities kept him well heated, so he didn't feel the chill of the snowy weather outside. You, however, were not a fire breather, and were very much feeling the cold. You were shivering in your sleep, hunched in on yourself to try and conserve any heat from escaping but failing miserably. He felt a pang of guilt at your shaking form, and opened a cupboard to get you another blanket, only to discover you were already using the extra one. What was he to do? His own blanket was barely anything, more of a thin fabric to cover him for comfort than for warmth, it wouldn't make any difference to put it over you. Should he go find you another blanket? Where from? Maybe he could wake Wire and see if he had a spare? Everyone else on the ship felt the cold the same as you though, they were no doubt all using their blankets.

Stressed that you would fall ill, he pulled at his hair, trying to find a solution, till a small whimper escaped you and the solution was abundantly clear. He lifted the blankets and slid in beside you, wrapping himself around your body, covering as much of your icy frame as he could with his hot skin. Your shivering quickly stopped, and a small smile formed on your face as you settled into a deeper sleep. He let go a sigh of relief and shuffled till he was comfortable, laying so close that his head was on the same pillow as yours. It felt like a violation of your personal space, but he couldn't bare to watch you shiver anymore, and he felt butterflies at being able to hold you so close in what was really his bed, even if it mostly smelt like you these days, not that he had complaints.

You were so warm when you woke up, wrapped in what felt like an army of hot water bottles, your skin sticky with sweat but you were too comfy to care. It took you an embarrassing long time to realise you weren't alone, a soft breath rustling your hair gently in a rhythmic pattern that matched the movement of the warm form next to you. Your eyes traced the thorn like tattoos that ran up and down the arm that was draped over you, a thick, muscular thigh trapped between yours, a pillow of pale blue hair intermingled with your own. You had wrapped yourself around him like a koala on a tree, seeking out his warmth in the night and clinging to it so it couldn't escape. You tilted your head up, your face now millimetres from his, inspecting fondly the scars on his face that matched your own. The dark eyeliner he liked to wear under his eyes was smudged, always too lazy to remove it before he slept, and his chin was covered in a fine layer of blue stubble. You blushed at how handsome he was, and how close said handsome face was to yours, his strong arms wrapped around you like he was just as unwilling to let go as you were.

His eyes fluttered open, his dark irises immediately focusing on you and his pupils blown wide in surprise as he realised the position he was in. He tried to pull away, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but you pulled him back to you, pressing your lips to his on instinct, in a desperate plea for him to stay. For a moment he didn't move, frozen in fear that this wasn't real, that you hadn't really kissed him, till he finally accepted the reality and kissed you back. His kiss was tender, full of devotion and longing, and you made a small moan as his tongue ran over your bottom lip and his hand wove into your hair. You opened your lips for him and his tongue dove inside, rutting against yours with his own quiet moan as you held him tight, pulling lightly on his hair to wordlessly beg for more.

He rolled you on to your back, pressing his thigh further up between your legs, and you whimpered into his mouth as you tried to roll your hips to rub against him, desperate for friction but unable to get it with your stupid useless stump. Understanding your frustration he ran his hand quickly down your front, threading it under the waistband of your pyjamas and your panties to slide between your wet folds. He pressed a thumb to your clit, circling it as his index finger toyed with your entrance, before sliding in and pumping you with slow, shallow movements that made you cry out. You hadn't realised how badly you needed him, how much you needed him inside you, filling you and sharing your breaths. He pulled away from the kiss and you could see your own feelings reflected in his eyes, all that longing and need and love. Love you didn't think was possible for you to even feel again, but it was there, without a doubt, and you knew he felt it too.

He watched your face carefully as he slid a second finger inside you, then a third, his pace quickening as your walls fluttered around his digits, his clothed erection rutting against the thigh of your good leg in his own desperate need for friction. He wanted to he inside you so badly, he wanted to feel your hot wet walls take him in and see your face contort as you came on his cock, the thought alone was almost enough to make him cum as he groaned and kissed you with fervour. He swallowed your moans as you clamped down on his fingers, your back arching off the bed as you came hard, shuddering underneath him.

As soon as your high had settled, you were sitting up and trying your best to claw away at his pants. You wanted him inside you so fucking bad, you'd already cum once but you ached with need. He pushed down his pants, his cock springing to attention, red and swollen with equal need, precum leaking from the tip. You eyed him hungrily, he was thick and longer than average, a set of three piercings running up the underside, you wanted to know how they would feel inside you. He helped you pull off your own clothes before settling between your legs, his tip prodding at your entrance but not yet inside, much to your frustration.

“Are you sure?” He asked nervously. You pulled him down by his neck and kissed him, forcing your tongue in his mouth before biting his bottom lip, pulling a groan from him.

“Please, Heat,” you begged, “I need you inside me, please”

He returned his lips to yours as he slid inside you, stretching you out, till the need to breathe was too much and you broke the kiss to pant, holding his shoulders tight as he sheathed himself inside you. You let out a stuttered moan, your breathing haggard as you rolled your hips to try and get him to move. He pumped you deep and agonisingly slow, just enjoying the pull of your walls on his length, till you wrapped your good leg around him and pressed your heel against his ass, moaning and clawing at his back as his pace finally picked up. He buried his face in your shoulder as he fucked you hard and fast, holding the headboard above you for support while his other hand held your hip tight, his fingers leaving bruises in your skin. You cried out a flurry of curses, mixed with his name and a string of yes yes yes as he groaned and panted in your ear, whispering sweet nothings and praising you for how well you were taking him.

His movements became erratic as you started to tighten around him again, your fingernails sinking into the skin on his back as you screamed his name and came hard, clamping around his cock and pulling him forcefully with you. His thrusts stuttered and stilled as he unloaded inside you, his hot thick load dripping out of you for lack of space as he shook and groaned. He collapsed to your side, pulling you with him, his softening cock still buried inside you as he held you to his chest. You draped your leg over his hip, kissing him softly, slowly, your tongues pressing together with more careful and tender movements, no longer driven by the carnal need for him to be inside you. You were full and content, comfortable despite his cock still buried in you, you felt like you could stay connected like this forever. He made you feel safe, and beautiful, despite your scars and mutilated body, as he pressed loving kisses over your Glasgow smile, and you returned the favour with kisses traced along his.