#The CW is too cowardly to come out and say it

[gutterfuuck]

Human!Mark with a Super-powered/Viltrumite!Reader

It’s cute he’s so possessive, as if we wouldn’t break him like a twig... 🙈

THISSSS this is incredible!! i am going crazy!!

i love this idea so much,, perhaps reader is an child of thragg. i am now putting my little headcanon in where i think that mark would have glasses and braces… real nerdy guy x girl that is only gentle with him… cute dynamic hehe!!

this is sfw since im writing a full fic currently, just some headcanons maybe to get the concept out there!! the fic will be called “the perfect girl”

cw: nothing really, as i have stated this is short, maybe a blurb? i am not sure haha,

the youngest viltrumite to be sent to conquer a planet. you’re sent to earth to take over another viltrumite’s mission that was supposedly cut short due to his untimely death. as soon as you burst onto the scene you’d had everyone’s attention; splattering kaijus like they were bugs, stopping criminals with your presence alone, saving those who were weaker, more susceptible to danger. you’re quick to rise as a favourite of the public, surpassing even the guardians in popularity.

mark meets you at a comic book signing at a con because of course he does. you’re there because you find humans interesting, that and you’d caught wind of a possible attack incoming at the event. you doubted they’d actually come along seeing as you’d made your presence known and you weren’t too kind with your beatdowns. you’d never admit it, but you found this type of media entertaining, the stories would interest you. even though you were a viltrumite, there wasn’t any law that said you couldn’t have a little bit of fun. (you also somewhat enjoyed the fame and the fanbases that had cultivated around you since you decided you didn’t need a superhero name, your name was good enough)

brown eyes stare at you through thick framed glasses, sparkling with interest and recognition, a goofy braced sideways smile forming on his face. you raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over your chest as you stared dead into his eyes. mark almost dropped the stacks of comic books he held in his arms, you were ethereal. he’d seen you on tv, you were all over the newsfeeds sometimes so you were hard to avoid. he thought you were beautiful before, thought you looked like an angel now. other people had gotten pictures with you earlier so he was sure there wouldn’t be a problem if he asked.

he got his picture but you had gotten his number, watched him walk away with pink cheeks, caught in a sort of daze. mark felt so comfortable to you, so… familiar..? maybe all humans weren’t so bad, mark was proof of that.

when you’d come over for dinner with his family one night, you’d finally worked out why. you’d never met nolan, but had heard stories about him growing up on viltrum. he’d been priming the planet for invasion but had been killed which put a cap on things until your arrival about two and a half years ago after you’d proved yourself worthy. you had the shock of your life when you sat at the table and squinted at your boyfriend’s father, heart dropping when you connected the dots. you and mark had been together for months now, you’d know if he was a viltrumite… had the great nolan faked his own death and fathered an offspring with no powers? you almost scoffed at the irony. what a tired and cowardly old man, the karma of having a child with no abilities must have been damning enough. you thought about you and mark’s potential future children and a warmth washed over you, the same warmth that made you feel all gooey and sickly sweet inside.

“tell me about your planet.” he’d say, resting his head on your shoulder as you watched the stars together, “ah, viltrum… haven’t you heard of it before?” you questioned, head tilted into his. you couldn’t wait to report back in a few years, couldn’t wait to tell everyone about how you’d found nolan and he hadn’t been killed… but mark would’ve been heartbroken. you couldn’t do that to him, not yet at least, it seemed cruel. plus, he had no idea what a viltrumite was, though your pride as a viltrumite felt attacked as you’d figured his father hadn’t even mentioned mark’s background to him.

you told tall tales about how you’d created the best civilisation, how your kind helped other planets and those less fortunate… you’d tell him the truth eventually, you’d have to seeing as you wanted to keep mark for as long as human lifespans allowed you to. he would open his mouth and his eyes would widen in awe, saying something about how you were like a character from his comic books which made you nod in turn, the conversation slowly changing to the subject of the comic book he’d been talking about. before you met mark, you would’ve probably never been able to experience life in such a human way. before it felt as if you had no sense of individuality, now it felt like you couldn’t stop being yourself even if it was a little alien to you.

#💬 sparkie is typing… #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #fem reader #viltrumite!reader #💬🙈cheekiechops anon is typing…

[this-is-a-nice-show]

What I love about destiel is that it is both simultaneously cannon and not cannon. It's not cannon because y'know...it wasn't reciprocated. But it is cannon because in my heart I know that Dean loves Castiel.

#Dean: I love Cas like a brother #Me: This is true love #For some reason this show really doesn't like queer people #I say people but iirc there were two cannonically (Including Cas) #I mean they killed off Charlie (a lesbian btw) twice #In an extremely violent way #I feel like I should include Dean because not even reading into it too much...like he's a bisexual man #The CW is too cowardly to come out and say it #There's an episode where Charlie has to flirt with a man but she isn't able to do it #Not because she doesn't try her best (this was a very necessary step to defeating some sort of monster) #But because he is a Very Masculine Manly Man #So Dean tells her word for word what to say and what to do #So we've established that (according to the rules of supernatural which is not super accurate to real life) #1. Lesbians are incapable of flirting with men (and are NEVER attracted to men) #2. Dean can flirt with men #So therefore if someone can flirt with men...they are attracted to men #Bam. Dean is bisexual #Y'know in good omens when Multiple Characters called Aziraphale and Crowley gay #And this was cited as one of the reasons they were/are queer? #That happened to Dean many times #Someone: You look gay . #Dean (to Sam): Why do they say I look gay? #Sam: Because you look gay. (wtf do you mean 'why do they say I look gay?' look in a mirror. dumbass) #I didn't even have internet when I was watching this show (got the dvds from the library). #And I was so convinced that he was bi (and still am tbh) even without analysis videos or posts. #Me: A bisexual character in my fantasy media? #Captain Jack Harkness: It's more likely than you think. #destiel #supernatural #my post

[yawnderu]

Final Girl — Slasher!Keegan P. Russ x Reader (2/?)

cw: stalking, noncon. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Your life was never meant to be a punishment.

"Are you listening?" The man in front of you asks the moment your gaze starts to drift off for the third time since you arrived at the office.

"Sorry. What did you say?" The dark circles around your eyes make you resemble a raccoon more than a human, the memories of your friends dying and their blood splattered all around the pale wallpapers. Images of nature that were supposed to be remembered as calming do the exact opposite, forever engraved in your broken psyche.

"Do you remember anything about the suspect?" The detective's voice is calm, laced with nothing but pure understanding and compassion, a man too passionate about what he does— and the man you're about to lie to, delaying the investigation of your friend's death just to save your own ass.

"Nothing other than what I've told you, sir. Everything is just so..." The pregnant pause makes him fidget with the pen in his hand, grey eyes focused on the way you look away from him, eyes squinting as you try to recall memories from that night, memories that are so painful he can see it written all over your face, making him feel a pang of guilt.

"It's okay. Call me if you remember anything else, yeah?" His warm hand rests on your shoulder after you get up, trying his best to give you a reassuring smile that is only met with weary eyes, making your way out without saying anything. There's hesitation in your steps, your heart almost beating out of your chest the moment you stop walking and look over your shoulder, briefly meeting his curious gaze.

“He had brown eyes.” Mr. Smith doesn't waste any time on adding the information to his notes, only making the guilt spread all over your insides like black mold, taking over what used to be your soul— it's all his now.

Your life was never meant to be a punishment, yet what do you call seeing the man who killed your friends everywhere you go? He's been taking over your entire life no matter how much you try to push the memories away, no matter how much you try to forget it all happened, only serving as a constant reminder that you didn't do enough.

Dreams colliding with reality isn't something new, yet your nightmares are so realistic that it almost feels like you were there. Even while you were hidden away in a dark closet, you can see your friends struggling against the much bigger, armed man, innocent bodies butchered while they were alive, a mess of limbs spread all over the rented cabin, blank eyes always staring at you, watching you run away and leave them behind.

Were you losing your mind? It all seems so real, to the point you're not even convinced you only saw your best friend die. Are you sure you didn't peek the kitchen the moment you cowardly decided to escape? The kitchen was blocked by a wall, and yet.

Cold water splashes all over your face, feeling the softness of your palm rub the skin, trying to come back to reality, to remind yourself that it's impossible to have seen the other bodies. The crime scene report is repeated over and over like a mantra, serving as a permanent reminder that you weren't there. No, not when only a body was found in the living room.

The person looking back at you in the mirror is a far cry from who you used to be. The dark circles in your eyes resemble more a dead girl walking than a real, healthy body, and perhaps that's what you are. If it weren't for the constant feeling of crippling dread and the tears spilling down your cheeks like a broken dam, you could've fooled a mortician.

The sound of your phone vibrating against the vanity brings you back to reality from your trip to Self-Pity Land, slapping some more water on your sweaty face before deciding to take a peek at the screen.

1:38 PM.

From: Ali💗

Almost there.

It's enough to make you scurry around the room, applying enough makeup to not make your friend worry, knowing that she wanted to get you out of the house just to give you a worthy distraction.

For what seems like the first time in forever, the corners of your lips tilt up into a smile the moment your friend wraps her arms around you, holding you close despite the odd stares you're getting from the people in the diner.

“Hey, you.” Her cheerfulness was contagious, to the point that even if only for a second, you get a sense of normalcy. A sense of community, despite your own feelings about the entire situation.

Your friend can talk for two. Something that you never noticed until now, listening to her ramble about anything and everything for the past hour. In a way, it gave you the chance to dissociate in peace, the words mixing together to the point they barely made sense anymore, completely entering one ear and leaving the other.

“He's looking at you.” Alina says in a teasing whisper, nudging you with her elbow. You give her a confused glance until she looks between the man and you, giving you the look.

Your gaze connects with a pair of baby blue eyes, forcing a sharp pain to cut through your soul. His eyes look too familiar, resembling the pair you see every single day in your nightmares. His entire demeanor screams ''cocky bastard'', manspreading on the seat of the table across from you, his arm propped up on the backrest.

“Awful timing, but I have to go.” Alina says with a small frown, though it quickly changes to a little smug smirk the moment she realizes the man is still looking at you. If she even notices your pleading gaze, it goes completely ignored as she gets up from the booth, giving you a strong, goodbye hug— and the stare from the man makes it clear that it might be the last one.

“Get some.” She teases in a whisper, quickly making her way out of the diner after paying for your drinks. You feel the urge to empty your stomach, yet there's barely anything there, only the slow-growing sense of pure dread the longer you keep staring at each other. Even when you force yourself to look away, you can see him staring at you from the corner of your eye, almost able to tell he has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Leaving a halfway done drink behind, you make your way out of the diner, hoping that being out with more witnesses can save you. Is that really him? You barely got the chance to see his eyes yet you never saw his face, starting to doubt yourself the longer your tired feet drag you around the street. He could be an innocent man falling victim of your trauma, simply looking to get laid— you could probably use that, too, yet his icy stare and cocky grin is carved into your damaged mind.

“Need a ride?” A deep, gravely voice offers, nearly giving you a heart attack the moment your eyes meet his. Your hand goes up to your chest, trying to calm your fast-beating heart even when he gives you a reassuring, charming smile.

“No, thank you.” Your tone is far too polite and kind, still wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt despite the fight or flight screaming at you to flee— to get away from the man you're now convinced is the same masked man who murdered your friends.

“Get in the fucking car, princess.”

The charming smile he was shooting your way is gone within a second, his icy gaze piercing through your soul now that he knows you saw through his bullshit. Your gaze drifts down to the hand lifting a part of his shirt up, revealing part of his dark, happy trail— and his handgun.

There's hesitation in your steps as you walk to the passenger's seat, already feeling the smoothie you drank starting to crawl up your throat, almost making you throw it all up, yet you do your best to hold it in, shakily getting into his car.

“… My house's up ahead.” You purposely give him the wrong address, trying to protect your family and yourself from the deranged bastard. The ride is eerily quiet, almost making you even more nervous than if he was trying to make conversation with you. There's no music playing, no humming— nothing, other than his fingers tapping against the steering wheel and his calm breathing.

“We're here.” Maybe you're reading him wrong, but there's hints of teasing bleeding through his deep voice, his eyes shining with mirth when you step out of his truck, making your way to one of the houses. You reach the front door after what feels like minutes, your hand shaking as you think of what to do. You can hear the engine of his car still behind you, not driving away even when you told him that's your home.

I don't want anyone else to die because of me. If someone opens the door, would he murder them too? He has a gun, and the way he brutalized your friends makes it clear that he's not afraid to get his hands dirty no matter the weapon. His loud laugh makes every single muscle in your body tense up, hesitantly looking back at him, the pure amusement dancing all over his face doesn't ease your fears in the slightest.

“Come back, sweetheart. I'll take you home.” And he stays true to his word, driving back in silence, his warm hand resting on your bare thigh. You don't dare look at it, simply staring out of the window, feeling every single callus on his hand while the scenery gets more and more familiar. The black mold in your soul spreads by the second, threatening to rot you from the inside out, bubbling up into a disgusting brew as he stops in front of your house.

Your eyes briefly meet his, his pupils starting to dilate the same way they did when he was done brutalizing your friends; just like a predator who has never failed to catch his prey. You never gave him your address— in fact, you didn't say a single word since you got back into his truck, yet he still found his way to your house.

It's all starting to make sense. Despite assuming it's all a product of your paranoia, you've been catching hints of the masked man everywhere you go, blue eyes always staring right into your soul.

“Not gonna invite me over for some coffee?” Technically, it is a question, yet you both know saying no to him is not even on the table.

“Sure… I can make you a coffee.” Perhaps inviting a serial killer is not the brightest idea, yet what other options do you even have? He knows where you live and the places you frequent, you're not safe anywhere. His hand drifts down to the small of your back as you open the entrance door, hesitantly letting him back into the only safe space you had, willingly allowing him to invade your life.

“Atta girl.” What should feel like praise from an older man only serves as additional mental torture, the sound of the door closing behind you making all hope of surviving him fade away.

“Come sit on my lap.” He walks to the living room as if it's his own home, not even asking for directions, simply being able to navigate his way around like he's been here before— deep inside, you know he has. Your nose starts to sting as he sits down on the couch and forces you to straddle him, your thighs around his, allowing you to feel all the muscle.

“Don't cry…” He taunts, only now making you aware of the hot tears dripping down your cheeks, your lips trembling as he pushes you closer by the ass, pressing your clothed cunt against his hardening dick. His face is buried on he crook of your neck, loudly inhaling your scent as his starts to grind against you, calloused hands roaming all over your pretty body.

“Wanna feel my cock?” The vigorous head shake you give him is enough to make him laugh, open-mouthed kisses planted all over your neck and shoulders, not caring about leaving any marks. You can barely register the sound of his zipper coming down until he's guiding your hand to his warm, hardening dick.

You're too shaky to even do anything about it, disgust and nervousness turning into a dangerous mix, yet Keegan is a patient man. A patient man who gently makes your fingers wrap around his shaft, guiding your movements to jerk him off, getting even harder underneath your touch. Low grunts and muffled moans are spilled right into your ear, clearly getting off despite your very clear fear.

“You're doing so good, princess…” He murmurs. Keegan's free hand starts to sneak his way inside your shirt, slipping past your bra, his thumb brushing past your hardening nipple. Your brain is able to recognize that fight or flight aren't options anymore, so just like a wild animal trying to avoid a fight; you freeze.

Your shaky breaths mingle together, only interrupted by the low groans he lets out, his hand leaving yours for the first time, leaving you unsure of what to do. Despite the tears falling down your cheeks and the muffled whimpers, your hand keeps moving up and down his shaft, not wanting to die by his dirty, blood-tainted hands.

Keegan's mind isn't broken enough to not know it's wrong, yet it has been broken enough to the point he simply doesn't care. Thrown away by his brothers in arms and the marines, he doesn't have anything else to lose. No life purpose, other than to bring others the same pain he has suffered for years.

A quiet whimper escapes your lips as he moves your hand away from his cock, using his tip to move your underwear aside. His free hand goes to the back of your head, encouraging you to hide your pretty, tear-stained face on the crook of his neck, fully muffling your cries the moment he penetrates you. His dick is way too thick for his own good— stretching you open forcefully, despite the way he's actually going out of his way to make it as painless as possible.

“Shh, it's okay, kid. Just enjoy it.” He whispers into your ear, running a reassuring hand up and down your back, starting to move inside you, as if what he's doing could be even remotely enjoyable. A low, throaty moan makes its way out of his lips the moment he manages to bottom out, your body responding to the forced intrusion by getting you wet, not able to register that you don't want it.

Breaking you apart is the closest thing to religion he's ever gotten. Keegan's lips crash against yours as his hips start to thrust up faster and deeper, growing more desperate by the second despite how wrong he knows it is. He shouldn't be enjoying this, yet he's just a broken, terrible man, the little sobs leaving your lips only making him fuck into you harder.

The human body works in odd, awful ways. You don't want this, yet every single nerve inside your cunt is being stimulated by his long shaft, sending signals to your body that make it feel much better after you got wet. The small moan that gets ripped out from your throat makes him break away from the kiss, amusement written all over his face.

Keegan's forehead leans against yours as his hips rock against yours, his breath hot against your face. From this position, you're able to examine his face, taking note of as many details as possible in case he decides to let you leave, no matter how slim the chances are.

Thick, black eyebrows, buzzcut, dark scruff covering his pale cheeks. High cheekbones, light blue eyes, no visible scars or moles.

You repeat it inside your head like a mantra, trying to use it as a replacement to keep your head occupied from the knot starting to tense in your stomach, tightening up more and more with each thrust. You know for a fact you're hating this, yet your body is betraying you, coating his cock with slick.

He pulls out only to slam himself back in, dragging more pathetic moans out of your lips the moment he hits your spongy cervix. The stimulation is enough to make you hide your face on the warm crook of his neck, biting your thumb hard to muffle your own sounds the moment you start tightening up around him, finally giving in to the stimulation.

Your teeth sink deeper into your skin despite the small whiny moan escaping your lips the moment your forced orgasm hits, barely conscious enough to register the cocky laugh above you, feeling his lips connect against your temple, his breath hot on your skin as he manages to pull out, shooting ropes of thick cum all over your stomach.

“See? It wasn't that bad, was it, princess?” You collapse against him with a loud exhale, not able to hold it together anymore.

“Why…?” It's all you can ask, and you're not even sure about the reason you're asking why. Why did he kill your friends? Why did he let you live? Why is he stalking you? Why did he force himself on you? Why is he caressing your body like you're made of glass, as if he didn't just destroy you into thousands of shards?

“Because I'm not right in the head anymore.”

Taglist: @h0ney-mushroom @bangtandaze @elentiyaiswriting @lollycotton @sleepydang @billiousserpent As always, thank you so much @moosch for the amazing art!! 💗💗 world-building with her has been so fucking exciting and I'm happy to finally be writing about Slasher!Keegan after we've been talking about it for months!!<333

#call of duty ghosts keegan #keegan p russ #cod keegan #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ #call of duty #cod ghosts keegan #cod ghosts x reader #cod ghosts #call of duty ghosts #keegan x reader #cod #keegan p. russ x fem!oc #cod keegan p russ #keegan p russ x reader #keegan russ cod #keegan russ x you #keegan russ headcanons #keegan p russ imagine #keegan p russ x you #keegan p russ x female!reader #slasher!keegan #slasher!keegan p. russ #final girl!reader #final girl #tw g0re #slashers #tw violence #tw noncon #tw gaslighting

[satorisoup]

YOUR NUMBER, TO GO .ᐟ

ft. kento nanami

cw : fluff. bakery owner! reader. nanami being absolutely smitten with you.

wc : 897

nanami absolutely despised work environments. he didn’t like the exhausting feeling of sitting in an office, day to day, with nothing but papers and an annoying ring of the telephone to keep him company. he didn’t enjoy the daily routine of work, eat, work again, sleep, repeat. it was getting far too repetitive, and quite frankly, boring. how could he enjoy anything when work was always in the way?

that was until he spotted the cute little bakery on the corner during his lunch one day, practically calling his name to come inside.

as fate would have it, he entered through the dainty doors out of pure curiosity, and with the “—ding!” of a bell, he was greeted with the brightest, cheery smile he thinks he’s ever come across. the excited “ welcome! ” and delicious pastries reeled him in like a fish on a hook, met with a sweet girl dressed in an apron behind the counter. nanami believes he may have just found a gold mine.

he browsed the desserts from behind the glass case, unsure of what to decide on. the strawberry scones? maybe tiramisu? wait, there’s chocolate chip cookies too? he was stuck in his thoughts, options seemingly endless.

and you, an angel sent down to earth, began to speak again, tone sweet like honey, “ first time here? i can recommend you a few things if you’d like, sir. ”

nanami left with an entire box of pastries that day, and he didn’t have one single regret.

the next day, the same situation followed. and the day after, and again after that. his own legs began to betray him, automatically leading him straight down the path to your beloved bakery every time the clock hit 11:15. soon enough, he became one of your most loyal regulars.

you were incredibly warm and inviting. a breath of fresh air, giving him the push he needed to continue through his primitive work day. lunch time was his secret guilty pleasure, which was getting to buy some sweet desserts from an even sweeter girl, who called him “ mister nanami ” as she welcomed him in with a honeyed hello. over time, nanami started to realize that not only were you a pleasant person, but you were also incredibly endearing.

that now leads nanami to his latest predicament, which was how to ask for your phone number without looking like an idiot.

it starts with him showing up to your shop, dressed in his usual work atire, you looking in his direction at the sound of the bell. he makes his way to the display case, mind still whirring with what he should say.

“ oh! mister nanami, i have a new treat today! would you like to try one? ”

nanami is snapped out of his churring decisions, turning to you as you hold out a tray of what you had decided to make today. ah, strawberry sundaes.

“ oh, i’d love to. ” is what he responds with, smiling as you nod your head, taking one to neatly package up for him.

nanami watched your soft, delicate hands wrap his dessert in a pretty cellaphane, all the while you hum to yourself in content as you tie a bow to close it off. your soft humming to the tune that plays like a melody is all too enticing, and— oh, he’s staring. you’ve really got him wrapped around your sugar coated fingers, without a single idea of it. nanami curses himself, really, for not being man enough to grab your phone number before this. hm, how improper and cowardly of him.

“ here you are ! please, tell me how it tastes. i tried a new recipe ! ”

nanami is about to hit his thirties and yet, he feels like a child with the way his heart rate picks up at the sound of your voice. he shovels the comically tiny spoon into the sundae before taking a bite with everything on it.

you’re beautiful and you surely can make a mean sundae. that’s one thing for certain.

“ it’s delicious, as always. how much do i owe you ? let me grab my wallet— ”

“ it’s on the house ! ”

and another thing, you were just so damn generous.

“ i couldn’t possibly— ”

“ mister nanami, i insist ! you’re here almost every day, it’s the least i can do for my favorite customer ! ”

oh ?

nanami thinks all of his logistics may have been thrown out of the window, because the second he heard the implication of him being your favorite customer, accompanied by the precious blush that covers your cheeks, he really doesn’t mind being bold for once in his life.

“ ah. well i don’t want to be greedy, but i wouldn’t mind having something else on the house… ”

“ of course ! anything at all really, what would you like ? ” you innocently asked.

“ is your phone number on the menu ? ”

not a day in nanami’s life would he of ever expected himself to use such a cheesy pick up line on the sweetest girl, but when he sees that same old smile that drew him to you in the first place, he doesn’t regret it one bit.

“ for here or to go, mister nanami ? ”

#supa old draft that i decided to finally finish >//< nanami kento the man that u ARE !! <3 #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami x reader #nanami drabbles #kento nanami #nanami kento #jjk x y/n #jjk drabbles #jjk headcanons #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami fluff #kento nanami fluff #jjk kento #kento x reader #kento x y/n #kento x you #jujutsu kento #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen drabbles

[the-kr8tor]

...And The Deep Blue Sea

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 13.2k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW food mentions, TW blood, CW violence, TW death, CW gore, CW injury, CW guns.

A/N: it's the end.

Navigation

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

CHAPTER 15 >>>

“Hello, little birdy.” Mathias cackles like there's a pebble stuck in his throat.

He roams his sickly yellowed eyes at your body, sending shivers down your spine with every glance. “Or should I say Viscountess?” He laughs again. “You wear that gown well,” his eyes flick behind you, “Eugene, my boy!” The man beside you stiffens up. “Come get your bride and sit with me.” He drums at the table. “The Food is comin’, I heard that the bride and groom usually don't get to eat after everything is said and done. We don't want you to starve, ain't that right, lieutenant?”

The eye patched man standing in the corner nods slowly. His hands are neatly tucked behind his back like an obedient dog waiting for his master.

“You're alive?” You say breathlessly, teeth gritted, knuckles clenching tight on the skirt of your dress. Pulse rapidly thrumming, sending alarm bells to ring in your ear.

“‘course I am! No one can kill the king's flame, not even the red hydra,” he spits the name out. “or even a real fuckin' hydra.” Chuckling, scars mar his neck and hands, the only visible ones under his navy blue officer's uniform. It's still red and angry, you can tell some parts of it hasn't healed yet. You plan to add more, whether it's by your bare hands or a piece of cutlery; you're prepared to hit him where it hurts.

Numerous medals are on display on his jacket, shining under the sunlight filtering through the closed curtains. “Can you believe it? I go out to hunt the red hydra and I get myself a pretty bird.” He continues annoyingly, voice crackling, a dry cough escaping his pale mouth.

Mathias notices you still standing in the doorway, his eyes are dull, like a hurricane that's about to devastate a whole town. Eugene notices and he reaches for your arm to sit you down. You flinch away from his touch, eyes trained on the man before you.

“I said sit down!” Mathias’ booming voice rings out in the dining hall, his fist slamming on the table, champagne flutes fall over like dominoes with a harsh crack. “Fuckin’ grab her, Eugene! Don't be such a fuckin’ cock and grab her!”

“Y-yes uncle.” Your ‘fiance’ tentatively guides you towards the chair by your elbow, you brush off his touch, angry eyes gazing at his cowardly face.

Sitting down on the right side of Mathias, you intentionally choose a chair as far away from him as possible. But before you could sit, he clicks his tongue, finger wagging in front of his scarred face.

“Not there, gorgeous.” He pats the seat closest to him. “Right here.”

“No,” you stand your ground, shaking from anger, or is it fear that climbs in your stomach and crawls upwards to your quickening heart?

You refuse to get near the monster as Eugene stares across from you with anxiety in his eyes.

“Sit. Down.” Mathias enunciated, “or Lieutenant Dubois here will make you sit down.” Said uniformed man grunts, hazel eye roaming across the table, gaze boring a hole in between your twitching eyes. The sheath of his cutlass is engraved with tally marks among the ornate laurels and lions. “You already know what he'll do to you, he's quite amazing with a sharp object.”

“I am too.” You clench your jaw, still refusing to sit.

To your surprise, Mathias grins, a sickeningly hideous smile, teeth bared, tongue lapping at the gold in place of the fangs, lips wrinkling, he chuckles softly as something passes by his yellowed eyes.

“Sorry ‘bout that, you just reminded me so much of your father.” He leans on the back of his chair, hands gesturing towards you. “I literally saw him instead of you! It's fuckin' crazy innit?” He shoves Eugene by the shoulder, the viscount flinches, wincing at the ache. “Y’know, I recognized you— wait, lieutenant! Grab her and make her sit down! This story deserves to be listened to properly.”

“No!” You try to run back to the hallway, but the man is too fast for you. With the heavy skirt and weak leg, you didn't have a chance against him. “Motherfucker—!” With his arms around your torso, you kick and flail about, Mathias gives him a look and the man headbutts you from behind.

The room spins as he carries you towards the chair. The ceiling swirls, ears flooding with your rushing blood. With your muddled hearing, you swear you heard Eugene defend you, and you swear you heard a slap right after.

With a heavy thunk, the door closes behind you, your exit closes behind you. The only remaining door is across you, it's currently closed but you're sure it's unlocked judging by the draft coming from it. Head still aching, vision warbling, the one eyed man stands in front of the only exit.

“Now where was I?” Mathias continues like nothing happened. You glare at him through the corner of your eyes, your skin feels like spikes from the goosebumps rising above. “Ah, yes! I recognized you on the ship, before a literal myth came eating my crew. By the way, what the fuck was that, huh? Fuckin' weird, right?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You say weakly.

“Anywho, You looked a lot like your father but with your mother's beauty. I knew them, your father more so. Once upon a time he was my lieutenant, he was pretty good at it too. Too bad he had to disobey orders and marry above his station.”

“Why don't you ever shut up?” You lay your elbows on the table, arms flat, slyly covering the steak knife under your arm. “Are you a narcissist? Do you like hearing your own voice—?”

Mathias hurls a salad plate at your head. You dodge it in time before it shatters on the floor. You don't have time for this, you need to get to Hobie immediately, before it's too late. You have no plan, no weapons, but you'll be damned if you don't try. And you can still hear his screams echoing in your ears, as if he's already dead, as if he's already haunting you.

You need to try. Or it'll be your end too.

The monster before you clears his throat. “Don't be rude.” He points a finger at you.

You now notice how worse for wear he is, under the white paint and powdered wig lies injuries that haven't healed since the fight. You smell it, the herbs hastily smudged, and the rot in his flesh. It seeps into his bones, poisoning his body. You just wish it'll eat at him faster.

You're suddenly not afraid anymore.

“Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted. Your father, well, he fought a good fight on the Demeter. He stood his ground till the very end until a dozen or so bullets pierced his skin.”

The crescent in your palms gets deeper.

“He was smart though, smarter than you probably. You see, he rigged the ship to blow. He had the fuckin' balls to do it even though his entire family was inside. Ain't it funny—?” The double doors swing open.

The butler interrupts his speech, a handful of staff bring in an entire chicken at his plate. One pours him a glass of wine before he snatches the entire bottle and places it right next to his glass. Hot soup and meat pie is brought in also, the smell is appetizing but you place your hand over your plate wordlessly, telling them you're not hungry at the moment. How could you be when Mathias eats in front of you like he hasn't eaten in decades?

The tension is thicker than the cream placed in front of Eugene.

He munches loudly as he takes apart the roast. String of meat flies all over, the former white table cloth turns brown when he wipes his hands on it. Eugene spares you a look, eyes staring forlornly at his empty plate. His hand inching closer towards his goblet before deciding to just drink the ruby liquid.

You're on your own.

The wolves devour their fill whilst you plan your escape. Your mind screams for you to run, to run where no one can find you. The voice echoing in your ears is right at one thing, but you'll never hide anymore, not from Mathias, not from your past, not from anyone. You'd face it with fire in your veins just like your father had.

Mathias snorts, and you wish it was a choke. “He fought well, got a few of my men. How do you think the lieutenant here lost his eye?” He points at the stoic man using a half eaten chicken leg. “Your father was brilliant with a sword. A crack shot with a blunderbuss too. But, eh, it was all in vain. He shouldn't have messed with the crown and polite society.”

He continues to loudly eat, hands slick with oil, mouth full of meat. “You see, your mother was that fuckin' woman. Wealth, looks, title, she had it all. And the king wanted it too, greedy bastard he is.” There it is, the confession. But you still listen because you know something else will come after. “But your mum decided to run off and elope with the bastard son of an unpopular lord. The king was pissed off.”

Mathias laughs roughly. “But he got over it.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could hide it, the devil noticed.

“I knew you ain't as smart as your dear old dad.” He smiles, you can see the meat stuck in his golden teeth.

“He was the crowned prince,” Mathias rips open the chicken in half messily. “And he needed a wife from one of the big families.” He doused the meat in salt, “and the greedy fuck chose someone who didn't want him, just for the fun of it. Who could blame her, all he ever wanted was a brood of children to pass on his blood.” He takes a generous bite, teeth meeting flesh, the sound of his chewing makes you hasten your plan. “Thank fuck Frederick's father ain't as stupid as his son. That man sought out the opportunity when given to him and fuckin' took it. Too bad he didn't live long enough to see the fruit of his labour.”

Anger settles in your stomach, fury in your eyes and flesh, you want to damn him, and everyone involved. Especially her.

“It's her isn't it?” You say as you slither your hand towards the ceramic bowl. “The Queen, it was all her.”

Mathias smiles genuinely, “You finally got it, little bird!” He claps. “She's fuckin' brilliant, and so are her coffers. The pay,” he whistles out, “the pay was magnificent, still is by the way. I didn't even need to become an admiral for the money when I'm earning more than a fuckin’ duke.” Kicking Eugene under the table, he makes his godson choke on his drink. “See, I told you the little duchess here is just your type.”

His voice fuels your fury. Each vowel is grating in your ears, every wheezed breath he takes is a reminder that he still lives. A reminder that your knife isn't stuck in his throat.

“It ain't as bad as you think it is,” The navy man continues. “Married to my boy, you'd have a title, a home and a decent family. At least now you don't have mister Brown crawling all over you. He'd be dead by sundown, and I can't wait to see it.”

Mathias thinks his words would make you do something drastic that'll have his hands wrapped around your neck. But you've learned your lesson, so you bide your time, taking their attention away from your wandering hands.

“You're dying.” The heat from the bowl matches the fire in you. Your voice doesn't shake, nor your resolve. “Even with all the coin she gave you, you still can't save yourself. You are riddled with sepsis, I can smell it on you. A collapsed lung from the way you cough, and whatever the fuck disgusting shit you have in you. You are dying, rotting from the inside like how it's meant to be. And the world will be better off without you. They will forget you, first, your poor family, then your men, then the entire country. Even your bitch of a queen will forget you. Then the world. But Hobie will be remembered. His name will be etched in the annals of history while your name fades into obscurity.” You laugh humorlessly, teeth bared, eyes aflame. “And I can't wait to see it.”

He seethes in his seat, hand clenching around the cutlery. The devil doesn't show his anger bluntly this time, he hides it because you struck a nerve. With a grin, you promise to Hobie and to your parents that Mathias won't live to see the day end.

“Do you remember what I told you in the revenge?” You continue with a smile that sends shivers down the spine of everyone in the room. The quiet lieutenant remembers the day he lost his eye. “I intend to fulfill that promise.”

Through a clenched jaw, he coughs again, hiding his weakness from everyone in the room and how a drop of blood stains his pale lips. “I love it when women show me their claws. But I can't stay. I would love to see the ceremony and the festivities, but I can't miss the execution. That's why I came here earlier so I could pass on my blessings.” Mathias wipes his mouth clean harshly. “If you'd excuse me, I places to be—”

Before he could stand up, you quickly fling the bowl right on his painted face. The hot soup splashes on his skin, melting the white powder off his face. With his guttural scream, within a split second before his man could intervene, you take the steak knife and plunge it into his hand and into the table.

The screams he let out was music to your ears, holding the hilt of the weapon, you twist it before yanking it out of his flesh, tearing his hand in half, ripping the nerves and letting waterfalls of crimson into the white tablecloth. With a determined yell, you aim for his throat.

Mathias recovers a second before steel meets his skin, he backhands you with the same injured hand. The knife falls off your hand. Pain blooms on your face, and you go blind as your head hits the floor. His blood dirties your pristine white gown, splotches of red drenching the bodice.

Your left eye stings, cheek heated from the harsh slap. Despite your lungs gasping for air through your possible broken nose, you crawl over to Mathias. Your scorn drives you to grab his leg, pulling him down with a strong tug, he falls hard on his back, splitting the floorboards in half. Taking the crown off your head, you use the pointy end to stab his leg and his knee in quick succession. He yells and yells but you don't stop. The ichor from his wounds drenches your face and hands, you see red, and you see his untimely death in your blood soaked hands.

Climbing further up, you use the opportunity to aim at his groin. But a pair of arms stops you before you could hit your mark. Thrashing, slashing the hands around your shoulders, you mark the man with the same bloodied tiara.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” Mathias stands up, limping, he unsheathes his lieutenant’s cutlass from his hip. With a stomp over your thigh, he pushes in the heel of his boot as you let out a cry. The steel is pointed at your heart, his eyes demand blood for blood. “I should've just killed you instead—”

A shot rings out, the bullet hits the blade, breaking it in half. Mathias flinches before he smiles at the one who shot him. There on the opposite doors, stands Miguel O’hara with his gun raised, barrel aimed at his former comrade. Lyla stands next to him, her own blunderbuss raised towards the man holding on to you.

“Let her go and there won't be any more bullets flying around.” Miguel's voice is steady, back straight, eyes flicking over to you writhing on the floor.

“You better listen, cyclops, O’hara here might hesitate but I won't. Let our girl go.” Lyla reassures you with a nod, and you bite your captor's hand.

You tear his flesh open with your teeth, ichor filling your mouth as he hisses in pain, dropping you unceremoniously on the floor.

Mathias looks at you with wide eyes, disbelief in his burned face. “I guess you learned a thing or two from your man.”

You spit out the chunk of flesh whilst your eyes never leave his. Crimson dripping off your lips like rain, teeth the same colour as the wine spilled on the table, you smile at him.

“Come near me and I'll show you what else he taught me.”

The man before you laughs genuinely, yet his eyes never leave yours, making sure you stay away from him. You're more than ready to close the gap. The cutlass is still trained on you, you're about to pounce when Miguel calls your name with urgency. As if he can read your mind.

“Your girl is fuckin' insane ain't she?” Mathias addresses Miguel, like how a family member speaks about a niece he hasn't seen in years. Proud, there's a sense of pride laced in his tone. “Just like her dear old parents, eh?”

“I'm warning you, Mathias.” Miguel keeps an eye out for the uniformed man behind you. “Take your captain, Alexander, before I put a bullet in his heart.”

Mathias scoffs, legs shaking from the wounds you caused. “Please, you'd shoot me? You didn't have the balls back then, why would you do it now?”

Miguel raises his gun higher, aiming for the man's head. “Because she wasn't there,” he cocks his head towards you, “you didn't have a weapon aimed directly at my goddaughter.” Eyebrows knitted together in anger, his hand doesn't shake, eyes glowing red in the sunlight. “Now let her go.”

Mathias posture sags, “fine, but only because I've got an event I cannot miss.” He nods at his godson. “Make sure you're married to her by the end of the day or there will be consequences.” He clicks his tongue, Eugene melts into his chair, face turned away from you and his godfather.

Mathias gives you one last look. “Happy marriage, birdy.”

“You're going to die today Mathias, one way or another I'll get my hands on you.” You flick your eyes towards the man clutching his hand. “Death is coming for you too,” you say nonchalantly. “I'll finish what my father started.”

They leave with their fronts turned to you, not even twisting around to show you their backs that are susceptible to your attack. Or in this case, your teeth.

Lyla appears next to you, helping you by the crook of your arm. Pain lingers on your leg and face. “Christ, he burst your fucking capillaries.”

Sure enough, you feel the sting in your eye, a throbbing pain that leaves you nauseous. Miguel, tentatively closes the distance, weathered hand carefully holding your chin. You wince, as he moves your face.

“Fuck, you need to see a doctor.” He says whilst you flinch away from his touch.

“I'm alright, I need a horse.” You begin to walk away, Miguel and Lyla follow close behind you. “And I need my fucking knife.” I need him back, your mind whispers to you. “I need to save him.”

“His execution is in two hours.” Eugene says meekly, and you stop in your tracks. “I heard the officers talk, they're not going to hang him for his crimes, the crown gave him the ax.”

With quick steps, you take Eugene by his collar, gripping tightly as you spill venom. Miguel tries to hold you back but you blindly kick his leg.

“Delay them.”

“I can't—”

“Do you want to be under his boot your entire life? If we marry I'll be crushed with you,” You stare determinedly at his scared eyes. “because that will happen if you don't help. You said you cared about me, then help me and all will be forgiven. Please, you're a viscount, you have the means to help.”

He sniffs, lips curled into a frown. “I'm sorry, I-I can't—”

You scoff, letting him go. “If I fail, Mathias lives and that means you'd be dead too.” Walking away, leaving him cowering in his seat, your small entourage follows.

“Where are you going?” Miguel matches your stride, walking next to you, he stares with concern. “Y/N, where are you going?”

“To my room to pamper my nose.” With adrenaline coursing through you, his face flashes in your mind with every step. Save him, your mind yells, save him, save him, or it'll be the end for you too.

“Cousin?” Collette asks as you make your way towards the apartments where your chambers lie. She roams her worried eyes around your bloodied wedding gown, her hands that are clutching a bouquet of flowers shakes. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I stabbed Mathias and bit through a man's hand.” You say without stopping, she squeaks in place.

John stops in his tracks, “w-what the fuck happened?” The twins are both dressed to the nines, all fine fabrics and hair all made up. “Cousin!” He calls after you whilst you don't stop for anyone.

“Thanks for the hot tip, kids!” Lyla yells back to your cousins. “A bit of advice, tell the catering staff the wedding’s off!” She cackles. “Save me a macaroon though!”

“They called you?” You ask, your heeled feet ache but you press on. “Where were you Lyla?”

“I'm sorry, duchess, I overslept.” She shrugs. “But I'm here now ain't I? Also I got Miguel here so...”

“You should stop, Y/N.” Miguel says sternly. “You're hurt—”

“No.”

“Y/N.”

You whirl around to face him. Anger flares up once again. “You should've shot him where he stood.” You poke his sturdy chest roughly. “He's the one who killed them, yet you let him get away!”

“I know, I— there are repercussions to killing someone. Especially if they're an officer.” He falters but he composes himself. “Revenge is not the answer—”

“He killed them, Miguel!” Your broken voice echoes out into the vast hallway. “Him and the queen are the reason why they're dead, and you let him get away so he could kill Hobie.”

“It was the queen? Not—”

“Yes, not the idiot king.” You turn around to continue your trek. You curse the large estate. “I have no idea why she did it, but I'm gonna get her too. But I won't live to see that day if I don't save him.” Your tone falters as you pass by your mother's portrait. “I need to save him, even if it's the last thing I do.”

“You won't succeed.” Miguel stands in front of you to stop you, and you roll your eyes, wanting to kick him in the groin. “He's a pirate, Y/N, he won't do the same for you.”

“He has, and he would. I need to try, I can't let him die.” You choke back a sob. Reality crashes around you. What would you do once you get there? Will you be able to save him on your own? You have no one, you have no idea where the crew is, and he's going to die. You can't live with yourself if you don't try.

“Y/N.” Miguel says your name like a reprimand.

“You said back in the carriage that I can leave whenever I want, all I needed to do was ask.” You chuckle without humour. “Here’s me asking, Miguel.”

“You'll die, Y/N, I can't lose you too.”

“And I can't lose him.” Tears gather in your eyes. “If no one will save him then who will? I have to go whether you like it or not.”

“The people will,” Lyla pipes up, she casually leans against the wall, checking her nails. “there have been…whispers since they announced his execution. If you go, I'm sure you won't be alone.”

You face the taller man again. “See, I have help—”

“Rumours aren't enough! Don't you get it? You're better off marrying Thompson at this point.” You blink in surprise. He backtracks. “I–I didn't mean it that way, I meant, I'd rather see you settled than dead.”

“You might not be as bad as Mathias, but you might as well be.” You brokenly say. Miguel's face falls at your words. “You claim to love my parents and me by extension, but you're complicit,” you spit out the word full of venom. “you're only helping them by not letting me go. I don't want to be settled, Miguel.” You shake your head. “It isn't love if you make me.”

Miguel visibly shatters in front of you. None of the composure he showed to Mathias is left in his body. He hasn't seen this much devotion since your parents. He hasn't seen this much love since he felt their presence. He hasn't felt this hurt since his daughter left this world.

“You had time to grieve for them, I didn't.” You push him out of the way, controlling your sob. “Please don't stop me, or I'll fight you like how I fought Mathias.” You open the doors to your chambers.

Miguel lingers outside as you and Lyla make your way inside the familiar room. The man that has your dagger sits in front of the vanity, the large man is currently trying on a spare tiara, and is wearing one of the ruby earrings.

“You can keep those,” Your sudden voice makes him jump away, large eyes staring at you with slight embarrassment. “I won't tell a soul, just take them, give me my dagger and get out of Hazelside.”

The cogs in his head move, swallowing thickly, he nods curtly. “Can I keep the necklace too?” He asks gruffly.

“Sure,” You shrug, Lyla stifled a giggle.

Wordlessly, he shoves a ruby necklace in his pocket, then he unsheathes your dagger and places it on the vanity.

“We good, duchess?”

“Actually,” you have an idea. “You're a muscle for hire, correct?” You've noticed how he doesn't move like the other foot soldiers do, or the guards for Hazelside. His disheveled uniform solidifies your theory. The man nods proudly. “How would you like to take my entire jewelry box in exchange for you and your men's services?”

“That depends, what kind of work are we talkin’ ‘bout?”

Lyla adds to the conversation. “Murder of some pompous nobles and free a bunch of pirates. With a main focus on the red spider of course.”

“Kill the red spider too?” He asks, a thick eyebrow raised.

“No!” You say quickly, “free him and kill anyone who stands in the way.” You mutter a curse under your breath. “I don't have time for this.”

The mercenary thinks once again, he seems to be weighing the pros and cons.

Stepping closer, you practically breathe down his neck. “I'll throw in my shoes and gowns too,” you raise a hand for him to shake. “As long as you'll be there before the execution starts, and you keep my uncle and aunt distracted, scare them is all. Just don't touch my cousins or the staff.”

The scarred man chuckles deeply. “An offer I cannot refuse, duchess.” He clasps your hand, shaking it once. “Creating chaos is our main specialty.”

“Yes and I saw a glimpse of that in the barn.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, eyes lit with tamped down anger. “You better hold your end of the bargain, or you'll have my dagger in your throat instead of my necklace.”

“‘course, my lady. My men will be there.” He leaves with a grin, shoving Miguel by his shoulder.

“What just happened?” Your godfather asks as you lift your skirt to rip the metal of your petticoat off using the dagger. He turns around, closing the doors to your chambers and shuts his eyes while still turned around.

“Our girl here just used her charisma to strike a bargain. Oh they grow up too fast.” Lyla dramatically wipes a nonexistent tear in her eye. “Don't forget to change your shoes, my lady.”

You stare at yourself in the vanity, blood coats the front of your gown, a smattering of crimson coats the lace, splashes of ichor paints the front of the bodice right next to the pretty embroidery. Your face isn't any better, the makeup the handmaidens painted you with is still there, but now it coincides with Mathias' drying blood. It drips down from your cheeks down to your neck, it hides the gold underneath the crimson. Your left eye shares the same shade, capillaries burst, spreading your blood into the whites of your eyes. The gloves meant to hide the callouses and fresh scars are sticking to your skin, drenched in ruby, drenched like the floors of the revenge.

You leave it on, a reminder of your goal.

“I haven't forgotten.” Tossing the heeled shoes away, you make your way towards where you hid your old friend.

The sight alone of the weathered leather shoes would make you weep but you don't have time for that. Lifting your skirts up, still wearing the ridiculous wedding gown that has become significantly lighter, you quickly run towards the unicorn tapestry.

Dagger in hand, you're surprised to hear Miguel's heavy strides following you inside the hidden tunnels. Once the sun greets you and the grass crunches under your feet, you beeline for the barn.

A stable boy jumps at the sudden intrusion, he stutters, moreso when he sees your blood drenched form.

“Can you saddle Bernard quickly?” You ask, and the poor boy almost has a heart attack. “Please? I'm a friend of Hobie and—”

“Oh, Hobie! You should've said it earlier then. You're her! He told me a whole lot about you." He smiles at you, already picking up the heavy saddle. "You know how to ride, My lady?"

“No need for that.” You wave away the title. “And yes, perks of running away for years, you learn how to run away in different ways.”

He chuckles, yet the nervousness is still palpable in his eyes. “I'm on it, your grace.”

Smiling softly, you don't correct him anymore. Turning around, you see no one accompanying you. “Lyla?”

“She went off to get her horse,” Miguel appears from behind the barn door. “I'm keeping a lookout.” He returns to his post, acting casual while leaning on the door.

“You don't have to be here if you don't want to, Miguel.” You walk behind him, the wooden doors are blocking you from his view and vice versa.

“I…pondered your words, Y/N, and you're right. I don't want to make you do something you clearly don't want. I won't make that same mistake again, it cost me years without you. It won't make me lose another day without you, even if it means saving a damn pirate.” He chuckles, and you take his hand from where you stood. You hear his breath hitch, “I'm sorry. I think your parents would hate me right now.”

“I don't know them very well but, I think they'll be proud of you. You found me, you brought me home. You were doing the best you can with good intentions.” You squeeze his rough hand, placing your forehead against the door where his shoulders would lie. “Thank you for letting me leave. I think it's best for you to move on, uncle. They'd want that for you.” You hear him sniff, squeezing your hand back.

“Yes, I think it's best.” He lets your hand go, “starting with this,” Placing something round in your hand, he closes your palm around it gently. “They’d want you to have it, something to keep close to you when you're at sea. It helped me back then, I'm sure it'll help you now.”

“You're not coming with me?”

“Not yet, I'll follow you once I can. I'll keep your aunt and uncle here, making sure that they don't get their footmen to follow you. And I'll make sure the ruffians you hired won't go overboard and actually do what you asked them to.” Miguel tearfully chuckles, “just promise me you won't lose your humanity after you take your revenge.”

“I promise, I won't let it consume me.” You whisper your promise just for him.

Taking a peek at the object in your hand, your heart almost shatters at the familiarity of it. It's the same one your mother was clutching in her portrait. Opening the golden locket, you see a portrait of your mother on the left, and on the right, your father. They look younger in the painting, happier, more alive. They were right, you bear a resemblance to your father just as much as to your mother's features. You finally got a good look at them together, and your heart squeezes at the thought.

Sniffing, you look up at Miguel with gratitude, “tell my cousins ‘thank you,’ please.”

“I will. Keep the locket safe for when we meet again?”

“I will, I'll see you in the water, uncle.” He's the only person who's worthy of the title you've bestowed him. Lyla gallops her horse in the distance. “Now get out of here, or I'll end up not letting you go.” You tease, it has half truth in it. Your smile falters, "Tell my mother—"

“Come back and you can tell her yourself. She's still staying in the same town. I know she's waiting for you.” He finally turns around to face you. “Before you go,” shrugging off his coat, he hands it to you. “You'll get cold.”

You look at the fabric with tears in your eyes. Taking the blue coat, he helps you put it on. Sniffing, he turns you back around, rubbing the creases in the sleeves away.

“There, it's perfect but it's missing something.”

“Something blue, and now I've got something borrowed.” Joking, you smile at your godfather.

Miguel hands you a blunderbuss, it's an ordinary looking one, save for the purple leather handle that decorates it.

“It was your father's, he gave it to me when he named me your godfather.” He points at the silver barrel where three letters are etched on it crudely. “It's our first initials. He said that it gave him extra luck.”

“I—I can't take this.”

“Well, you've already taken my locket and coat, what harm falls on me if I gave you his gun? You're gonna need it wherever you're going.” Miguel shoves it in your hands, “just— save a bullet for Mathias and the queen.”

“That I can do.” You grin at him despite the pain in your chest.

“The party's here.” Lyla’ horse stops just outside, she exclaims with fanfare. “Ready to kill some motherfuckers?”

“Aye,” you nod with determination. The fire is blazing under your eyes, lightning in your fingertips, you wear the locket around your neck with pride.

For your parents that you've never met but came to love. For Miguel, for the crew and for all they've sacrificed for you. for Hobie, the love of your life. And for MJ.

—

You ride off on Bernard's back, flames in your chest, wind whipped cheeks, and hands clutching the reins tighter. Your father's blunderbuss weighs heavy on your hips, the smell of Mathias' drying blood stings in your nose. But the putrid smell keeps you awake, a reminder of your goal, a reminder of what truly matters— Hobie. Your love that is currently in shackles, hands bound tighter than the rope around his neck.

Lyla snaps you awake, her own horse huffing from the intense speed.

“Your eyes keep glossing over, duchess, keep ‘em clear for me, yeah?” She yells above the loud hoofbeats.

“I will, are you sure about your plan?”

“My guild consists of a bunch of sacks of shits that'll do anything for a quick coin.” You knit your eyebrows in worry. “But they're loyal to a fault, ‘sides, your captain used to be one of us, once upon a time.”

“What?” You spot the capital's sign, entering the city without stopping. There's a fork in the road as you ride towards the center of the city. The familiar smell of the sea fills you as you ride closer and closer to your destination.

“A story for another day, gorgeous.” She rides faster, her guns clinking against the saddle. “I'll ride ahead, gather as many as I can. Go to him, and disrupt the festivities.” Her voice fades as she hurries off.

Lyla heads towards the left whilst you ride on the right, trying to remember the directions she told you during the short ride.

Numerous buildings whizz by you as you ride faster and faster. Rickety stone buildings turn into elegant carved marble. The streets become smoother as you get closer to the palace. You heard the crowd before you saw them.

Bernard stops in his tracks, right at the edge of the thousands of people clambering to see the execution. He whines as you try to calm him down. Some of the common people are quiet, eyes straight towards the stage where a large man with a black hood stands. The scraping of the ax getting sharpened makes your heart stop.

The palace looms overhead, its golden terrace holds the royals, faces smug, wigs high as they look down at the crowd. Right next to them stands Mathias, hand hastily bandaged, still dripping in blood. His face contorts into pain as he clutches at his injury. You draw your father's gun out, resisting the urge to shoot at the man, but with how far you are, you know you'll miss.

Scanning the stage, you bite your tongue, preventing a pained whimper from getting out.

You've made it, and he has too.

Clad in a white undershirt with the sleeves too big for his frame, trousers too short for his legs, hands tied behind his back, face beaten. Hobie stands with his back straight despite all the red gashes under his thin shirt.

You whisper his name like he can hear you above the yells of the people. You're frozen, hands shaking, eyes unblinking at his form.

The uniformed men make him kneel, his knees slam harshly against wooden floors.

Hobie was never afraid of dying before, he avoided it a hundred times. Yet, his binded hands quiver, dull grey eyes scanning around the crowd, he tries to find familiar faces amidst all the strangers. Trying to find his crew, not for help, but the thought of dying in front of them fills him with sorrow. He doesn't see them, and he's glad. Moreso when he doesn't see your face, he doesn't want you to experience what he had seen before.

But there's a part of him that wants to see you for one last time before steel kisses his neck. He wants to feel your lips against his again, but for now, having the memory of it is enough. The pearl you gave him is cold against his chest, he wishes to hold it again.

Having you in his arms however brief is enough for him, he'll think of you when the blade strikes him down for the last time.

Even with his imminent death, he still finds the will to smile, the same smile you love so much. It's enough to snap you awake.

A navy officer yells above the crowd, scroll in hand, voice booming and commanding. “Here stands the notorious pirate Hobart Brown, he stands here waiting for his sentence. The crimes he has committed are atrocious enough that the crown has automatically given him the guilty verdict!” The people don't cheer, some even boo and hiss at the man. You inhale deeply, hand holding on to the reigns tighter, as you weave Bernard through the crowd. Surprisingly, they part for you.

“What say you, Hobart Brown?”

Hobie chuckles deeply, lips split and bloodied, he grins. “It's captain, actually!” His voice drives you to ride faster, gun raised. He twists around to look at the nobles in their high tower. “It's captain Hobie Brown, you fuckin' wankers!” Cackling, the officer kicks him down. He falls, gasping, neck landing harshly at the stone slab that still has remnants of its last guest.

Still, Hobie yells obscenities, “you haven't won! You might cut my head but two more will replace me! Just like how I replaced the emerald bastard from the south!” He tries to sit up but another man holds him down. “They'll be stronger and better than me! From my death, the people will gather at your gates and break your golden walls!”

The executioner raises his large ax, the sun bouncing off the metal.

Hobie quiets down at the glimmer of the ax shining in his eyes. Whispering the names of his loyal crew, then he softly calls for you like an acolyte prays for forgiveness.

The crowd parts for you like the sea parts for a sailing ship. Giddying up, hooves hitting loudly against stone, you aim.

It's the end, but it doesn't have to be.

“Hobie!” You scream as loud as you can before you shoot.

He blinks in surprise for a second, the man holding him down scampers away as a shot rings out. Now free, Hobie quickly moves away from the stone slab as your bullet hits the executioner's hood right in-between his eyes.

Gasping, the ax falls next to Hobie's head with a thud. The edge is embedded in the wood, missing his face just a few inches away. Eyes staring at the clear sky, he thinks he has died when your face suddenly appears in front of him.

“Scuttlebutt,” he softly says in disbelief.

“Hi, captain, I'm here to rescue you.” You smile at him, “hold on a minute.” Sitting up right, you shoot at the remaining officer. A body thuds, and you return to his side. “I've got you.” You say as you help him sit up, hands already untying his bonds.

Hobie looks at you like a sailor looks at the sea for the first time, with reverence, and awed by the sheer beauty. “You've got me.”

Ropes falling off his aching wrists, he moves to hold your face desperately. Without a second thought, he kisses you fervently. Life spreads back to him, fingertips electric as he holds your face close. Lips warm, you kiss back like it's just you and him. Hands instinctively sliding to his head, you pull away when you feel scruff under your palm.

“What did they do to your hair?!” You almost weep, hands roaming across his bare head. “Oh my god, they have to pay for this.”

Hobie laughs, still holding your face like holding on to a precious pearl. “It'll grow back.” Tears prick your eyes, mirroring his own. “I love you, you did good, scuttlebutt.”

“I did good?” You peck his chapped lips once more.

“Yeah, love.” He prevents you from looking at the military that has their weapons raised and their eyes targeting you and him. “You did very well—” tears escape his grey eyes when he hears the familiar click of a gun.

It's the end.

“I love you too,” you know it's the end. “I'll see you back at the revenge?”

“Save some of Finn's bread for me, yeah?” Hobie leans his forehead atop yours. “I'm sorry.” His voice falters.

“Don't be, I'm glad I fell in that net.” You hold on to him for dear life. Etching his warmth in your brain so you remember it until you're cold. “I'd run towards that dock all over again if I had the chance again.”

It's the end, and you hold him close.

As you embrace each other, as your love is displayed for all to see, your warmth radiates through the crowd. You burn together with him.

Fire consumes and burns but it also lights the way.

The silence wraps around the city center, then, someone yells, pushing off the officer who has his gun aimed at your head. The people follow, rioting against their oppressors.

You both stare below in disbelief, hand cradling your head, he shields your eyes from seeing the violence unfold. Just when bullets hit flesh, and knives slash at necks, an explosion booms above.

Hobie holds onto you tighter, battered arms wrapped around you protectively as debris and smoke fills the whole place. The building across the palace is in flames, and from the billowing ashes out comes a familiar face.

Gwen takes off her hood, feet precariously standing on the ledge, then another form comes out of the smoke, Miles takes his stance next to the first mate, handing her a long rope.

“Holy shit! It's them!” Hobie exclaims, letting you see them with your own eyes.

You grin as you spot them above, “it's them,” you say in shock. A second later, they jump off the building effortlessly, guns raised as they land on their feet right next to the stage.

“I'll cover you!” Miles yells above the chaos as more and more buildings around the palace erupt in a chorus of explosions.

Gwen clambers next to you, relief on her face, hugging the two of you. Embracing back, she leans away to stare at you and her captain.

“You fucking idiots! I'd slap you over the head if I didn't love you both.”

“We love you too, Gwendy.” Hobie smiles amidst the aches.

“What he said, Gwendy.” You beam at her with overwhelming love.

“Love you too, now we need to get you out of here.”

“I have a ship docked somewhere, it's called the osprey. Take it and—” You start but Hobie and Gwen interrupt.

“You make it sound like you're not comin’ with us.”

“Y/N,” Gwen warns as she helps you two on your feet.

“I’m coming with—” a gun goes off.

Blood splatters across your faces. Crimson blooms across Gwen's stomach.

“...oh” she looks at you with her eyebrows knitted together, hand pressing on her belly. You catch Gwen in your arms as you feel the fear in you spread. She calls your name weakly.

Hobie stares at you with terrified eyes as he clutches the back of Gwen's head.

“No, no, don't speak—just… oh fuck!” You try to stop the bleeding by ripping a part of your gown to stuff it inside her wound. Ichor spills out of her like waterfalls. “I've got you!” She yells in pain and you simultaneously hear Miles scream.

Flicking your tear filled eyes over to Miles, he has his back on the ground, face contorted into pain whilst Mathias has his boot on his shooting hand. Miles still fights, kicking and scratching at the man's leg.

“This is what happens when you disrupt—” Red appears on his side as Hobie uses your fallen gun to shoot him where he has his foot crushing atop Miles’ hand. Mathias yelps in pain, a throaty sound escaping from his pale lips.

Hobie is filled with rage, embers flickering in him, turning into flames and then a blaze that burns his insides into ash.

Miles coughs as Mathias runs away towards the enormous church right next to the palace. He pushes away people, blood trailing behind him.

“Miles!” You yell, in your relief, he stands back up, weaving around people to clamber up the steps of the stage.

“I'm here!” He crawls over to Gwen, gently clutching her pale face. “Oh god no, please,” Miles looks at you. “Fix her, please.” Tears slide down his cheeks. “Please.”

You look towards Hobie, not knowing what to do, but said man is nowhere to be found. You briefly spot him running around the crowd, cutting down coppers swiftly with your father's gun and a stray cutlass, following after the man who has shot at his family.

Not again, you think, hands drenched once again in crimson. Not again, not again. You've failed once again.

Someone calls next to you, familiar hands holding yours.

“Tell us what to do.” Yuri thaws you out from your frozen state. Gwen gurgles, grip around your wrist weakening. James appears next to Yuri as you see in your peripheral the same mercenary and his men shooting at soldiers. Lyla cackles near them, adding her guild to the mix in the chaos. “Y/N,” Yuri calls again sternly. “We need you.”

With a sniff, you compose yourself, for Gwen. “Keep your hands on her wound, pack it with cloth then keep pushing.” Gwen groans, you look at her apologetically. “I know it hurts, I'm sorry but we need to do this. Let us do this.”

“I saw a doctor's clinic near here.” James pipes up, “if we take her there will you be able to save her?”

“Yes, we need to—”

Pavitr runs towards the group, guns raised, eyes full of rage once he sees Gwen. “No…” he says weakly. He fixes his composure, for Gwen. “James and I will cover you while the three of you carry Gwen.” He instructs, voice steady.

“No, no, no!” Gwen protests. “It hurts— I can't—”

“You can!” Miles beats you to it. “D’you remember what I told you when we realized Y/N and Hobie weren't behind us after we got attacked?” She nods weakly, lips bitten to stop her pained whimpers. “I meant it, Gwen. I meant all of it yet I haven't shown it because I'm a goddamn coward. Let me show you how much I love you, but I can't do that if you don't let us carry you. So please, let us carry you.”

Gwen smiles, icy eyes staring fondly at Miles. They have a wordless conversation, then Miles gives her a gentle peck on her forehead.

“As long as the d-doc here follows our captain.” She says.

“What—? No, you need me.” You shake your head.

“We already know what to do,” she winces, “you're the only person that can stop him, he'll die, Y/N. Meanwhile I've got a chance with them beside me. And he's all alone.”

You look at the others, they all nod and you blink in surprise. “But—”

“We have her, wifey.” Yuri smiles kindly at you. “This isn't our first bullet wound. Go and fetch our captain for us would ya?”

You have no time to think about it, so you choose what they instructed you to do. “Keep your hands on her and support her back—” your eyes find the familiar large man wearing your rubies. “Oi!” He pauses from crushing a soldier's arm. “Get a handful of your men and help them get to the doctor's!”

“Do I have to?” He asks, shrugging.

“Yes! I paid you!”

The man sighs then he gestures to a few of his people to climb up the stage. Before you let go of Gwen, you stare daggers at the men in the fake uniforms. “Keep all of them alive and I might just give you a piece of Hazelside.”

“Say no more, duchess, we got ‘em.”

“Gwen—” You take one last look over to her.

“Go, I don't plan on dying today.”

“You better. Meet us back at the ship.” You roam your eyes at the crew like it's the last time you would see them. With a nod towards Yuri, you slide your hands away quickly, Yuri replaces the space you left with her own.

Wordlessly you turn away from them. You fight yourself from looking back. Running away towards Hobie, you hope that it's not too late.

Weaving through the crowd, dodging bullets and swords, you keep your head down and keep your eyes forward at the grand church waiting ahead. The spires are tall and sharp, reminding you of the dragons that rose up from the sea and blocked out the moon. Gargoyles decorate the roofs, all stone and eyes large, mouths agape, unmoving.

You lift the skirt of your tattered gown, it might be covered in blood but the white colour of it is a stark contrast to the dark chaos surrounding you. It acts as a beacon to the people as they see you in their ranks, a noble in their eyes that bears gold and silver around her neck and sleeves. Someone who fought everyone just to get to her pirate captain, they find it in themselves to continue fighting. A few even helps you get to your destination by blocking any guards or soldiers from laying their hands on you.

Smoke in your lungs, steel clanging against steel. Blades slashing at limbs, people screaming in all directions, both with rank and without, they all end up in the same fate. You run through the blood soaked field.

Feet sprinting across the field, people are few and far in between once you get nearer and nearer towards the church. Hands on the large doors, you push the heavy oak to no avail. It's locked, the evidence of it is the rattling noise it makes as you shake it in desperation.

Hobie's in there, and you'd do anything to get to him.

You go around the structure to find a window that's big enough for you to slither into. But all the stained glass windows are too high up for you to reach even if you try to break one. Losing hope, you turn a corner towards the back. You finally breathe when you see a wooden door. Without wasting time, you push it open with your shoulder, shoving it, the rust covered hinges creak with your strength. And finally, it bursts open with one final push.

The sight alone made you stop in your tracks. Clutching your dagger, a finely dressed man lays dead in a pool of blood. A sword embedded in his back, a cracked crown sitting next to his bloodied head. The person standing over the king is none other than his own wife, her face isn't one of sadness but of sheer happiness as she grins at her husband's dead body. Blood dripping off her royal hands, she lifts her head to gaze upon you.

“Hello, little bird, you finally made it.” Caroline stands in front of the altar, the kaleidoscope of lights from the glass windows acts as her spotlight. Her gown is in rich velvet, furs covering her shoulder. And a large tiara on top of her intricate powdered wig.

“You killed him.” Gripping your dagger tighter, you stay away from the bloody queen.

“I did,” Caroline giggles, a sound that sends shivers through your spine. “You look marvelous in your wedding gown by the way. A shame that you didn't get married to that fine young man.” Her voice echoes around the large church, its ceilings are high and painted with saints. They look down at you, eyes lifeless. “Lieutenant.” She calls and the man answers, coming out of the shadows and into the pews. “Do me a favour and kill her for me.”

The disheveled man walks over to you, hand still decorated by your bite.

“Why don't you kill me yourself? Like how you killed your husband.” You address the woman, taunting her.

The queen raises a hand and the navy man stops immediately. She smiles and takes the sword out of her husband's body with ease, then she steps over his body without remorse.

“With pleasure.” She unclasps her cloak, the heavy cloth thuds against the marble. “If I couldn't kill your mother personally, I'd settle for killing you instead.”

“What the fuck—!” The queen arches her sword, thankfully you parry it with your dagger. You know you'll lose in the duel with your smaller weapon against hers and her swordsmanship. A yell echoes from above, a distinct scream from who you hope is from Mathias.

“I wasn't lying when I said you remind me of her!” She slashes, right foot pointed towards you, dodging the sharp edge, the heels of your feet hit a pew, then you fall backwards, back and elbows hitting the hardwood. “But she wasn't much of a fighter just like you!” Her eyes are ablaze as you scramble away.

“Why are you doing this?!” Your voice carries off around the church. “You said you were friends!”

Raising your dagger to shield your face when she tries to slash at your chest, she stands atop you, knee right next to your thigh, leg perching her up. Steel dangerously close to your face, wrists aching from her push, you take your free hand to grip the sharp edge of your dagger to combat her own strength. You feel the knife dig into your palm.

“Why?” The queen cackles, leaning her mad face close. “Because she's the reason why I'm here, she's the reason why that man has ruined me until I couldn't even recognize myself—!”

Lifting your legs, bending your knees, you kick her right in her chest. Making her lose her balance, face falling flat on the marble floors. You take the opportunity to crawl and stand up, sprinting away from her. As you bolt off towards the altar, and towards the door to the bell tower, the stairs are within your reach, but Caroline yanks you by your skirt. You fall off the steps of the altar, body and dagger sliding off the smooth marble.

Groaning, she points her weapon towards your neck, taking your mother's necklace by her blade. “Why did you kill them? For revenge?” You ask, vision blurring from the way your head hit the floor. Everything aches in you, but you continue to fight.

“No, for the satisfaction of them being dead.” She eyes the golden necklace and you glare at her. “She was meant to take the crown, not me. Instead she ignored her duty and ran off with a bastard, and I was forced to marry that fucking beast!” Her voice booms, the saints above look down at the chaos. “Forced to carry his children, children I never wanted but loved nonetheless. Children that I never saw grow up because they were taken from me the second they came out of me!” Her hand shakes around the sword.

You slyly inch your hand towards your dagger that's only a hair width away from your fingertips. You let her continue as the tears in her eyes fall on your bloodied face.

“I never wanted to be queen, all I've ever wanted was to see the world. Your mother took that away from me, and now her daughter is living my fucking dream! The second I knew you were alive I wanted to wring your fucking neck. To hurt you just like her choices had on me.” She twists her sword so the blunt edge is kissing your neck, torture, she's planning on sawing your head off with the blunt edge. “If she can't pay, I'd settle for making you hurt instead.”

“You want to kill me because of what happened decades ago? You're fucking mad if you think sins are passed from parent to child! I never knew them!” You fight back despite the blade near your neck. “Do you understand that you caused the same pain to me that the king has caused you? Whatever you want to call it, it's still revenge!” Caroline pushes the cutlass closer, so close that you can feel it in your throat, choking you. “You're blaming the wrong people for your misfortune, blame the people who used you, who said yes to his every whim, not the couple who only wanted to marry the one they love!”

“I’m the victim here—!”

“You are, but who points the sword towards the innocent?” She blinks, lips wobbling. “Look at you, Mathias told me you're brilliant, but you never thought this part through, haven't you? What do you think the nobles of the land will do to you the moment they hear of your regicide? Who will they blame? Me, who bears the mark of your cruelty? Or you, who has the king's blood on your golden hands?”

You distract her enough to finally reach the dagger, swiftly, you plunge it to the nearest part of her that you can manage, her thigh. She screams in agony, sword and crown clanging loudly on the floor. The once favoured queen clutches her wound that's gushing blood, seeping out of her velvet dress and spilling over the white marble.

Unexpectedly, she cries as she desperately wraps her skirt around the gushing wound. You clamber up to your feet, eyes flitting over the stoic man when Caroline calls for him to kill you where you stand. He doesn't move from his position near the confessionals.

“Are you gonna fight me too? An eye for an eye?” You ask, hands shaking while you bend down for your crimson drenched dagger.

“No, your father and I are even.” The simple words turn your eyes the same shade as the fluid pooling around the queen.

“You're just gonna stand there?” You ask while Caroline's wails echo around the expansive church.

“I'm waiting for you to leave so I can help her.” He seems to be unbothered. A scream rings out from above, louder than the woman's screams. Alarm bells trigger in your mind. “Sounds like someone needs your help.”

“Don't follow me,” you threaten, knife pointed at him as you slither towards the door. “Don't help your captain.”

“Alexander!” She screams for the lieutenant.

“You're right, he's already dead anyway, not my problem anymore.” His eye follows you, “Good luck, duchess.”

With one look towards the mysterious man, you get a glimpse of him crouching next to the woman, hands casually tamping down the rushing blood. Locking the door behind you, you run once again.

The winding spiral staircase seems to go up forever, hand clutching your dagger, you don't even feel the pain in your ankles anymore. Numbness flashes over you for a second, but you carry on. The walls get smaller and tighter as you go on, the stone scratches your hands, the small windows barely provide any light for you. The sounds of struggle get louder, so you speed off with the last of your strength.

Rushing, you make it to the top where Mathias has his hands wrapped around Hobie's neck, with no ounce of hesitation, you plunge your dagger in the devil's flesh, right in between his clavicle.

With a shriek, Mathias lets go of Hobie. Your captain gasps for air, clutching his neck. You wrap your hands around his shoulders, relief washing over you just from seeing him breathe.

“I have you!” Holding his face, you thank the stars that he holds you back with his warm hands.

Hobie utters your name softly, “You have a habit of savin’ me, eh, scuttlebutt?” He smiles at you even with his left eye swelling, even with his mouth full of ichor.

You grin, getting him back to his feet. “The others are waiting—!” A large hand picks you up, wrapping a thick arm around your waist, the other is holding your own weapon in his cracked knuckles. Your own blade is placed harshly against your throat.

A trickle of blood drips from your flesh, and Hobie has the same look back on the revenge. Terrified, the swirling greys of his eyes are mortified at the scene in front of him.

Mathias still lives despite the laceration on his neck, despite his life rushing off of him in waves. He stands precariously on the edge of the tower, his back against the sea, the waves lapping against the cliffs below. He holds you tight as a noose when the wind rushes from behind.

There's a bout of silence hanging in between, Hobie's breath hitches in his throat at your fearful face.

“Don't—” Hobie's voice is broken, pleading desperately. “Please,” Not again, not again. The words scream at him. Not her, never her. “Take me instead.”

Mathias gurgles a response. “Just like old times, eh?”

As the blade kisses your neck, you could only look at Hobie. The copper bell is hanging behind him, large and magnificent, and he stands there with his hand desperately reaching towards you, his gun holds no bullets, sword lay broken in half near his feet.

It's the end, but he declines for it to end, for your life to end at hands of the same man that ended his old love three years ago.

He thinks fate is cruel, he thinks the fates hate him. He thinks his life is a Greek tragedy that was waiting to be written for the fates’ entertainment. He refuses to give them the ending they wanted.

You know it's the end, but it doesn't have to be the end for him too.

There's no other option, no other hope but, "No more sacrifices." You whisper to him even though you know he couldn't hear you, at the same time, you whisper an apology to him.

Images of the past six months flashes in your mind. Images of the tavern you once called home, images of the ship you still call your home. Images of the people you've come to love, images of your island and the sand in between your toes, and the sun on your back. Images of Hobie smiling down at you, images of him holding you close as you cry in his arms.

Images of you learning to love him.

You love him and all his sharp edges, all his anger and all his warmth. You loved him, and that's all that matters in life. To love someone so wholeheartedly that it burrows into your bones and digs deep into your marrows, never letting go. You loved him, and he's worth it for what you're about to do. To be loved back is a gift that he graciously granted you, you intend to cherish it until your end.

You call his name like the softest of silk wrapped around your tongue. "Hobie," and you smile at him, letting your smile tell him that he wasn't born to be a knife, letting your smile tell him that you love him more than the moon loves the tides.

He whispers back your name, pleading with you, for he knows you more than he knows himself, and he knows what you're about to do.

With a loop of your foot around Mathias' ankle, you pull hard, then you let yourself fall backwards.

“Alis volat propriis” You softly say, prying the knife from Mathias’ hand.

And fly you did.

Fear encapsulates him as you fall, the same fear flows out of you like spring water as you plunge into the dark depths.

Hobie refuses to look, frozen on the spot, unblinking eyes still staring at the space you left. His heart feels like it's about to give out as he says your name over and over again like a mantra.

He's a knife meant to grieve.

Slowly, his feet move for him. Body stiff, he makes it to the ledge. Grief stricken eyes darting below, he lets out a guttural wail that carries on with the wind.

Clutching his broken heart, he falls to his knees. He keeps repeating your name as he stares at the bubbles rising up on the surface, the waves deliver seafoam on the beach below, and with it, hope still clings to him.

“No,” A sob breaks through when you don't emerge a second later. “...no, c'mon scuttlebutt, don't fuckin' leave me.”

Grief rolls over his skin like tiny pinpricks of sorrow puncturing his insides and into his scarred heart. Your face flashes in front of him, and the voice inside him asks, 'will it be bad if you follow?'

“Brown?” A familiar voice calls behind him, Hobie whirls around, grief evident on his face, Miguel already knows what happend. He shakes his bloody head profusely, “where's— where is she?”

Hobie doesn't answer, he turns back towards the sea. Agony filling his very being as he stares below.

“No!” Miguel follows Hobie's eyes. And then he screams for you. He searches for you under the waves.

Hobie lays his head on the wall of the bell tower. A minute, it's been a minute since you fell, yet no sign of a body has floated up. The sky is still calm, the sun still shines, yet, you don't resurface.

He blinks away when he sees fingers reaching amongst the waves. “Did you see that?” Praying, praying to any deity out there that is listening to him, he prays that his mind isn't playing a cruel joke on him.

“What?”

Hobie stands up, taking Miguel's face to turn it towards the waters. Something moves under the seafoam, someone moves under the seafoam.

His heart picks up speed, and he rushes down the stairs. Miguel follows close by, their feet thudding loudly on the stairs. They ignore the various pains in their body, what matters is you, and they intend to get to your side as quickly as possible.

They go through the broken door that Miguel kicked, and they run over a puddle of blood without a body. Sprinting outside, the sea breeze greets them. They don't stop for anyone or anything, even though the palace burns to the ground behind them, even though the heat from the melting golden gates sears their backs. They continue downward towards the path to the beach.

Hobie trips on a rock, Miguel helps him up swiftly.

From the tides, you rise once more.

Heaving from the swim, drenched and sore. You grin at the two men rushing towards you. Like the waves lapping at your feet, relief washes over them.

You raise your arms in time just before Hobie crashes his body to yours. His face finds safety in the crook of your neck. Arms holding you tight and comfortable, he breaths you in, taking a deep shuddering breath. You smell like the sea. He can't believe you're alive, can't believe that you're back in his arms.

“I lost the dagger,” you say against his cheek as you press cold kisses on his skin.

“I'll get you a new one.” Tears flow out of his eyes, he feels like he's dreaming, he feels like fate has finally granted him reprieve. “I’ll get you a hundred more, fuck that, a thousand more if you asked.”

“I just want one.” You chuckle.

“I'll get you one then.” Hobie peels himself off you, fingers roaming your face, the heel of his hand is placed atop your pulse, making sure he didn't fall off the tower himself. “You're alive.” He says breathlessly, “you fuckin' swam!”

“I had a good teacher.” You say as you hold him tenderly. “He's dead, it's over, Hobie.” Salty tears in your lashes, he pulls you in for another hug. Eyes closed, you savour the calmness with the sound of the rushing sea behind you, knowing that Mathias lays beneath its waves with your dagger embedded in his eye. “It's over, and I'm alright.”

Holding your hand towards Miguel who sits on his knees on the sand, eyes glowing with consolation. You flex your hand towards him so he could hold your hand. He stands up, taking it willingly, squeezing once like how he held your parents’ hands once upon a time.

Miguel nods proudly at you, gently pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, he gives you and Hobie space. You mouth a thank you towards the man.

—

“Shit!” James exclaims, jumping up and down on the docks. “Look at her! She's magnificent!”

“Spell ‘magnificent’, James.” Yuri taunts.

“Don't ruin this for me!” He turns towards you, grinning from ear to ear like a child in a sugar shop. “You're actually giving us this ship?”

“Mm-hmm—” before you could finish nodding, James sprints off towards the fine ship. Yuri winks at you before she follows behind James.

The sun slowly sets, bathing the waters in pink and orange light. James isn't wrong, the ship is magnificent. It's bigger than the black hellion, much bigger. Two crow's nests sit at the highest point of the masts. The body is well maintained, oak still shining in the late afternoon sun. Silver violets and hazelnuts decorate the sides, a reminder of what could've been.

Looking at your new home, you shift your gaze to Hobie, knowing wherever he is, as long as you're with him, you're home.

Your tired eyes flick over the figurehead of an osprey with its wings outstretched around the head of the ship. Hobie taps your head with his own gently.

“It needs some work done.”

You chuckle as you fix your hold on him. Still in your wedding gown, skin still smelling like the sea, you move impossibly closer to him. You're both winded, but Hobie has sustained more injuries than you and needed more help in standing up straight. “Do you think we should change the name?”

“Love,” he turns his head towards you, his smile almost makes you kiss him right there and then. “I think I've got a few ideas, for now let's get the fuck out of here.”

“Alright— wait, where's Gwen?”

“Here, worry much, landlubber?” She asks on her stretcher. Miles, Pavitr and an unknown blond man carry her.

“Well you were shot, Gwendy, I think I have every right to be worried.”

“I'm fine now, can't even feel a thing!” She smiles and you recognize her state.

“I think that's the medication talking.” You eye the stranger, “and who might you be?”

“Oi,” Hobie points at the man. “You better not cause any trouble Stacy.”

You lightly gasp, finally noticing the resemblance.

“Not planning on causing any, captain.” Gwen's father smiles and gives you a curt nod.

“Can we hurry the chit chat?” Miles groans.

“You telling me I'm too heavy, Morales?” Gwen teases but the fatigue must've taken a toll on Miles as he takes it seriously.

“W-what? Of course not!”

“You calling my daughter heavy?” Her father jokes back. They're father and daughter alright.

“No! Let's just get on the ship.” Miles pouts, you send him a smile, wordlessly giving him your thanks. He shakes his head, hiding his grin in reply.

“Pav!” You call after Pavitr, “tea later?”

He beams at you, happiness almost blinding you. “Hell yeah!” Jaunting happily, he practically skips off, to Gwen's protest, who still lays on the gurney, shakes from his little dance.

Miguel taps your shoulder, Hobie lets you go so you could hug the man.

“Room for one more?” He asks while patting your back.

Leaning away, your eyes widen, smile widening. “What!”

“I meant for Lyla, kid.” Miguel laughs, smile lines appearing.

“Oh, you're not coming with us?” Disappointment is evident in your voice.

“No, sorry. Maybe one day. I've got unfinished business” He holds your shoulders, “you better take care or I'll chase you again.”

“Oh god, don't say that!” You giggle whilst he mirrors your smile. “If you're not coming, then you can have this back.” Taking off the locket, you place it in his rough palms. “A reminder of them,” you close his fingers around the gold. “Besides, I already have his gun. You deserve something of theirs too.”

The sun shines in his eyes. “This was Gabriella’s, she gifted it to your mother when she got sick. It's a family heirloom.”

“She was Gabriella's godmother, wasn't she?”

“Yes, and your father was her godfather.”

You tap his hand. “It's back in the right hands then.”

“Thank you,” Miguel sniffs, neck craning towards Hobie who sits on a crate. “And you,” Hobie dramatically points at himself. “Take care of my goddaughter, or I'll come after you again.”

Hobie, smirks, “aye, aye, admiral.” He mocks a salute.

Miguel shoots you a look, “you sure about that one?”

You gaze at Hobie, your Hobie. “I'm sure.” He winks at you and you wink back.

“God, I gotta let you go before I get sick.” You chortle as Miguel hugs you one last time. Pressing a kiss on the crown of your head, he nods once, staring at your face, seeing his friends’ faces in yours, saying goodbye to the three of you. “Be good, I'll see you in the sea.”

“Looking forward to it, uncle. Don't get caught by the coppers.” He lets you go with a laugh, unhitching his horse and then getting on, he rides off.

Lyla suddenly appears from the dust with a big grin on her face, she carries suitcases upon suitcases in her arms. “Where to, captain?” She asks you.

“Not the captain, he is.” You gesture towards Hobie who doesn't even correct Lyla. He just waves at her with a small shrug.

“I thought whoever owned the boat was the captain, anyway! Off to adventure!” She cackles into the sunset, feet thudding loudly as she hurls all her luggage on the ship. You vaguely hear someone yell ‘who the fuck are you?!’

You ignore it for now, how could you not when Hobie stares at you so sweetly that you prefer this than chocolate?

“She's not wrong y’know.” He says whilst you saunter towards him. Stretching his legs, he gives you space to stand in between them.

“Are you planning on giving me your title, captain?” You tease, sliding your hands up and down his arms. His own is wrapped around your middle, staring up at you with endearment.

“You're already a captain,” you raise an eyebrow, tilting your head. He sighs, so full of love for the woman in his arms. “of my heart—”

“I knew you would say that!” You laugh, feeling like the weight off your shoulders has finally turned into dust. And he feels like the fish bone stuck in his throat is finally gone.

Hobie smiles softly at you, heart shaped grey eyes full of life. “Are you sure about this? Stayin’ I mean.”

You squeeze the back of his neck, already missing how his hair would tickle your palms. But you love him even with his scruffy head. He looks handsome with or without it, you'll never tell him or his ego would implode. At least now you get the pleasure of seeing it grow, you can't help but press a sickeningly sweet kiss atop his head.

The sound of the anchors getting lifted up fills your ears so you lean closer for him to hear your words better.

“I'll stay as long as you want me too.”

“Forever then?”

“Forever.” You kiss the tip of his nose. “Until I'm cold, you can't escape me.”

Hobie has a lopsided smile on his lips, grey eyes aglow with affection. “You're still in your white dress,” you raise an eyebrow. “Y’know what that means—” Lifting you up like a bride, he carries you towards the ship as you yelp and giggle in his arms. “Off to our honeymoon then!”

As the sun sets, you set off to new beginnings. You've found where you belong, you've finally found home.

A/N: And it's done!! Thank you all so much for reading, interacting and genuinely showing your support whether it's by making fanart or sending your thoughts, I'm forever grateful for all of them!! Love you ❤️

Already missing the crew? They'll be back for Between the Devil and the Sea Book 2!! You can check out my ☕ page for a lil sneak peek!

#bdas #between the devil and the sea #between the devil and the sea chap 15 #between the devil and the sea series #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #pirate au #pirate! hobie #pirate hobie x reader #pirate! hobie brown #cw food mention #tw death #tw blood #cw gore #cw violence #cw injury #hobie x reader #hobie fluff #hobie angst #if you're looking at the tags to take a sneak peek at the ending i caught u lol 😆 #fanfic

[oh-stars]

Say It

Love is terrifying.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 1547 words | CW: N/A | Rating: T

--

Eddie will be home soon. Steve’s stuck on the couch, elbows on knees and chin in his hand, as he watches the door. He’ll be home soon and Steve can’t run away from this conversation anymore. 

It’s been years since the world tried to end, since they fled Hawkins even. A lot has changed for all of them. Nearly all the kids have graduated high school and Dustin’s already out of undergrad. Erica has early acceptance at Harvard, Lucas and Max are at Duke, Mike is at Emerson, Will is at Berkley, and Eleven is working hard to get accepted at Emory for their nursing program. Robin’s working at the Met, Nancy’s at the Times, and Eddie’s been recognized in a tattoo magazine for his work. 

They’re all getting older, growing into their own people and finding their way in life. 

And then there’s Steve. 

He works at a gym as a personal trainer and he’s working with Robin’s partner, Janine, to open up their own gym so that they can make a safe place for everyone, but especially women and other gay people. He has so many ideas, but he knows they aren’t as cool or esteemed as his friends’ career choices. 

No matter how many digs he gets about his choices and being a dumb jock, Steve likes the flexibility and power his career gives him. He feels good about it. 

It helps that it gives him a purpose and reason to keep his body in fighting shape. Just in case. 

Steve looks down at his watch. Ten till. Eddie will be home soon. 

Why is he doing this? He could be doing literally anything else with his night, but now he’s subjecting himself to a potentially miserable and devastating conversation that could end the world as he knows it. 

Jesus, he’s been spending too much time with Robin lately. Catastrophizing every interaction he has, like a single conversation could hold that much weight. 

Except… This one does. If it goes wrong, if Steve missteps and assumes something he shouldn’t, then he risks the entire friend group collapsing in on itself like a dying star. And now he sounds like Dustin, maybe he just needs new, less dramatic friends all together. 

Oh, who is he kidding? He loves these weirdos with everything in him, they make him full, filling all the nooks and crannies of scars and gashes his past has left him with. It’s like they super glued him back together, a porcelain doll made stronger by the care of his friends. 

Steve runs a hand over his hair, scrubbing at his face. Fuck, maybe he’s spent too much time talking with Mike, with all his prose and fancy speak. He’s absorbing way more of his friends than he realizes. 

He glances back down at the watch. Only a minute has passed. 

This feels cruel. 

It’s not even a special occasion. There’s no insistent need as to why he has to talk to Eddie tonight. He just can’t take it anymore. 

Actually, Steve wonders if this is the right move at all. Should he wait until Eddie’s settled in? Ambushing him when he comes home is kind of a dick move. Oh god, he’s gone about this all wrong. He’s for sure going to blow it now. 

He looks down at the folder sitting on the cushion beside him. It’s bold, it’s presumptuous. It’s putting everything he has into one suspicion. 

No, he has to do this. 

They’re at a turning point, at the end of this chapter, and it’s now or never. Steve can either be brave or take the cowardly route and live in this limbo for the rest of his life, potentially ruining the best thing he’s ever had. 

Five more minutes. Eddie will be home in five more minutes. 

Steve’s knee bounces as he takes in a deep, shaky breath. He can do this. He’s got this. It’s just Eddie and the biggest conversation they’ve ever had. 

Or rather… the only conversation they’ve ever had. 

Okay, obviously they’ve talked but it’s rarely anything serious and usually the only serious things they do talk about are Upside Down related. Steve has accepted this, it works for them, but at the same time… If they don’t have this conversation, he may implode from the inside out. 

He just wants to know what they are. 

They’ve lived together for nearly five years, their routines and lives revolve around one another. Everyone they know, treats them like they’re a package deal because they are one. You don’t invite Steve to watch the big game without Eddie tagging along for the snacks or Eddie going to a concert without Steve and his trusty headphones. They’re typically completely in sync. 

But even more than that, Steve’s pretty sure they’ve been dating for six years without saying a goddamn word. 

Steve can’t remember the last time they slept in separate beds – including when Robin sleeps over, all three of them squished into one of the beds. And while they have separate rooms still, Steve can barely distinguish between the two. They go on dates, they cuddle on the couch, they’re always touching one another. 

And the sex! 

God, the sex is so good. Steve’s never had this amazing of a connection with anyone. Eddie treats him with the perfect balance of care, even when they try riskier things there’s always an undercurrent of care and… 

Love. 

Which is why he’s almost certain that this conversation, this first big one, should go well. 

So why is his stomach threatening to revolt against him? 

The door knob turns with three minutes to spare. He kind of wants to scream, to beg for more time, while simultaneously ready to cry with relief. 

Eddie opens the door, drops his bag at his feet and pauses when he sees Steve waiting. “Everything okay?” he asks as he slowly puts his coat up. 

He’s fought monsters. He stood up to his parents. He can do this. 

Steve stands up and wipes his hands on his jeans. “I have something to ask you.” 

Eddie slowly raises one eyebrow, but nods cautiously as he closes the door. “You’re scaring me.”

“I think it's a good thing,” Steve says, motioning to the couch, “but, uh, you have to decide that.” 

“I do?” 

Steve sits back down as Eddie sits at the other end, the folder between them. “Our lease is coming up,” Steve starts, “and George called the other day to see if we wanted to renew.”

“Well duh, why wouldn’t we renew? We’ve got a good set up,” Eddie says, leaning back against the arm of the couch. He crosses an ankle over his knee, fully relaxing now. “So we just need to sign something, right?” 

“What if…” Steve squeezes the back of his neck. “What if we didn’t renew?”

Eddie sits up. “Do you not want to live with me?” 

“I don’t want to live here,” Steve clarifies. He hands over the folder. “I’ve been looking at houses–”

“Houses?” Eddie asks softly. 

Steve winces. “Okay, a house. I’m kind of already in love and I can understand if this isn’t where you saw yourself. But I–” He groans and puts his head in his hands. “I’m butchering this.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

He had a whole speech planned!! Now he’s fumbling over himself and–

Steve jumps up and turns to Eddie. “I can’t keep living like this,” he starts, “where we just keep going without actually saying anything.” He wipes his mouth with one hand as he steadies himself, his other hand on his hip. When he looks back at Eddie, it all clicks back into place. “I love you, Eddie. I don’t care if that ruins everything and you want to move out. I can’t change how I feel and goddammit, Eddie, I love you.” 

Eddie’s mouth falls open as he leans forward. “You love me?” 

“Yes,” Steve says, biting at the inside of his cheek. “So you can see why I can’t keep doing what we’re doing, not without you knowing. We don’t have to consider the houses, I’m okay with renewing,” he says, “but I can’t…” 

“I hear you,” Eddie says carefully, “I do.” 

Steve nods. “Okay.” 

Eddie reaches out and tugs Steve in close, pulling him onto his lap. His hands slide up Steve’s body to cup his face in his hands. “I love you.” 

“You’re not just saying that, right?” 

He shakes his head, pulling Steve in closer. “I’ve loved you for so long, Steve Harrington. I just didn’t want to…”

“Ruin it?” Steve says with a smirk. 

Eddie nods. “I don’t want to lose you,” he adds. 

“You would never have lost me,” Steve whispers. “I can’t live without you.” 

The kiss they share is sweeter than any Steve’s had in his life. It’s simple and chaste, but god does it have Steve soaring. When he pulls away, his hand on Eddie’s face in a mirror of his own, Steve knows why he was so scared to mess up something wonderful, something beautiful by adding extra pressure. He knows it with the same ferocity that he knows Eddie’s feeling the same thing, the way he always did. 

All he had to do was say it.

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind!

Ao3 Link

#ohstars fic #steddie fic #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #ohstars posting challenge

[dreamerinthemoonlight]

Lisichka

Request: Hii ! I hope it's okay to request Tartaglia and (a very shy) childhood!reader reuniting after many years and pining for one another? Reader knows him very well so they're not rlly shy around him...until they developed a crush on him. Which makes them timid and mildly awkward around him, and it really shows more and more. I had a thought of what if Tartaglia also has a crush on them around the same time? I hope this is okay and have a good one! ♡

Summary: Tartaglia returns home after fighting the narwhal. You try to avoid him, unwilling to face your crush after so many years, but he manages to meet with you anyway.

Note: Lisichka means little fox

cw: none

Word Count: 1081

Tartaglia x gn!reader

“Have you heard? Ajax is back.”

You’re walking around the local market when you catch wind of the first rumors. The speaker--one of the old women who spend every market day discussing everything from local drama to the contents of this month's delivery of various newspapers--speaks in a hushed voice.

“That’s only news, Marya. My husband has already been to Lev and Anya’s place. Ajax looked pretty beat up.”

If Marya’s question hadn’t caught your attention, the second speaker would have. 

You lift your groceries and approach Marya and Elizaveta.

“Ajax is back?”

Elizaveta gives you a measuring look. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. You spent so much time with the boy before Lev sent him off to join the Fatui.”

“You mean until they started avoiding him.?”

“Yes, yes. And blushing like---”

“I’ve been helping around my grandparent’s house,” you blurt. “So no, I hadn’t heard.”

Elizaveta chuckles. “In that case, yes, Ajax has come home. You should go visit him. I’m sure you’ll make his day.”

“I’m not sure he’d remember me.”

“Nonsense. I’d put money on the opposite being true.”

You sigh and tighten your scarf around your neck. “I’ll think about it. But I still have shopping to do. Have a good day, Mrs. Marya, Mrs. Elizaveta.”

Several days later, you walk up the path to Ajax’s home, a heavily wrapped pot of soup cradled in your arms.

A boy with a shock of red hair sits on the porch with a toy ruin guard in hand.

“Good day, Teucer. Is your mother around?”

Teucer looks up and grins. “Big Brother! Y/N is here!”

“Teucer,” you groan, “I’m not here to see Ajax. In fact, please give this to your mother. Tell her Katia sends her regards and that we hope Ajax gets well soon.”

You place the soup next to Teucer and hurries back down the path.

This was such a bad idea, you think to yourself. I can’t ever keep a straight face when he’s concerned.

Ajax steps out of the house, smiling into the collar of his thick, woolen coat.

Unbeknownst to you, the young harbinger watched the entire thing.

He picks up the soup and looks down at Teucer. “Did you say thank you?”

“I didn’t have a chance,” Teucer pouts. “Why are they acting so weird?”

Tartaglia laughs. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

A few days later, you find yourself sitting on the bank of a lake. 

You keep your eyes trained on the hole you made and the line disappearing into the water.

This is the only place in town where there aren’t curious looks and questions about Ajax’s health. It’s the one place where you don;t have to be reminded that after so many years of being his friend, you’re now too cowardly to meet him face to face.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t hear the snow crunch behind you, though the footsteps are soft enough that it could be any small animal.

“Lisichka, Lisichka. Are you done running from me?”

The familiar nickname startles you out of your reverie.

You turn, ever so slowly, to find a pair of bright blue eyes twinkling at you.

“I never ran from you.”

Ajax sits next to you. “Are you sure about that, Lisichka? I recall that before I left to join Fatui, you wouldn’t look me in the eye. And I saw you run from my house the other day.”

“I---”

“Got a bite yet?” Ajax changes the topic of conversation, much to your relief.

“No. Not yet. Though I might not, now that your pretty face is here.”

“If a pretty face is all it takes to scare off the fish, you must never catch a thing.”

You open your mind to reply, only for your brain to finally register your words and his reply.

“I--- How are you feeling, Ajax? I heard you were hurt.”

This time you’re the one to change topics, though you’re certain he’s aware that it’s a desperate attempt to keep from addressing the proverbial bear in the room.

Tartaglia holds out a hand and you frown at the clear tremor. “Fontaine was a little rough,” he admits. “I don’t recommend fighting a whale for a couple months.”

“A whale? How do you fight a whale?”

“Not easily. And I lost miserably. I don’t like Fontaine’s Iudex--though I want to fight him again one day---, but I’m not sure I’d have survived if he and the traveler hadn’t intervened.”

“You were never careful with yourself,” you comment. “Even less so after your three day disappearance.”

Ajax huffs. “This wasn’t my fault. There was a lot of weird stuff going on.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure. You know you go looking for trouble and when you aren’t it has a habit of finding you.”

“You know me so well, my Lisichka.”

“I thought we were too old for pet names like that, Ajax.”

“Says who? You were my Lisichka when we were kids. Why can’t you be now?” 

You raise your eyes to the sky, where the constellations lay hidden.

“Because if you keep using pet names like that, I’m going to get the impression that you’re not just a childhood friend.”

Ajax reaches over and cups your cheek, turning your face so that your eyes meet his. “If you did I would be awfully happy. I’ve been trying to get your attention for years.”

“You mean…”

“Silly fox, I have liked you for a while now.”

“I bet I’ve liked you longer.”

“You wanna bet?”

Tartaglia tosses your fishing rod to the side and opens his arms to you. “Will you be mine?”

You let him pull you close, brows furrowing when the movement makes him stiffen. You rest a hand on his shoulder, feeling the bandages that deform his sweater.

“Of course, but please, please be more careful.”

“I love you, Lisichka, but I can’t make that promise.”

“I know. It was worth asking.”

As you start to doze in the safety, you can’t help but ask, “Why Lisichka?”

Ajax laughs, smiling into your hair. “Because, a teenage me had no other way to flirt with his best friend and you looked so cute playing in the snow.”

You join him in laughter. “I guess you win.”

“Oh?”

“I started running from you because I realized that I wanted it to be more.”

You yawn, eyes fluttering shut.

“Sleep, Lisichka. I will be here when you wake.”

#I think if tartaglia flirted with me like that I'd probably die blushing #"If a pretty face is all it takes to scare off the fish you must never catch a thing #It would probably work #At least if I was in the reader's place #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x gn!reader #childe x gn!reader #tartaglia fluff #childe fluff #tartaglia fic #childe fic #genshin impact #genshin #sfw #genshin fluff #teyvat talk #request: anon

[veala2]

“ᴅʀᴜɴᴋ ꜱʜᴇɴᴀɴɪɢᴀɴꜱ.”

✸ shanks n’ buggy ✸

SYNOPSIS - Being in a relationship with 2 pirate emperors is great, but one aspect that comes with a pirates life is a pirates thirst… no, not that kind, you dog!

CW - gn!reader, obviously there’s some intoxication on both sides, reader is explicitly said to be puking, Buggy is doing some dumb shit, shenanigans ensue.

A/N - I’m back from the dead (work), ready to deliver and slowly (painfully) write my next fic (Christmas themed?)

Probably the first to get black out drunk between the two of you.

He’s been a pirate for most of his life, and drinking was a pleasure he so stereotypically enjoys!

So, when you see his flushed face and goofy smile, you couldn’t help but indulge in his silliness. Letting him play with your hair or kiss you all over your face.

But… when the roles are reversed, he’s 100% on you to make sure nothing happens.

It’s not that he thinks you’ll do something crazy while drunk, no no. Rather, it’s what others would do that scares him.

Pirate bars are filled with crude men swinging their swords around, starting rowdy bar fights which leads to terrified bar owners and civilians to evacuate.

Yes he can take care of you with a simple look- his strong conquers haki coming in play- but he’d rather keep the chance of you safe as high as possible.

“Baby… baby, I’m fine, let me gooo…”

You whines fall on deaf ears, as Shanks adjusts you in his arms once again to make sure your head wouldn’t strain. He chuckles as he makes his way down the wooden steps out of Makino’s Bar, the pounding sound of laughter and drunk men filling his ears.

“I’ll let you go once we’re at the port. There’s no way I’m gonna let you throw up on me again.” He laughs, making you clip your tongue and rub your eyes.

“I didn’t even throw up on you!” You retorted. Which brought another chuckle out of him.

He can remember that scene like it was five minutes ago. Well, maybe because it was five minutes ago. He might be a little drunk himself.

Brushing off the warnings of having too many shots, you took your 21st and started to feel nauseous. Before he could drag you away before you hurled up yesterday’s breakfast. Which happened before he could even get out a word. Leaving him disgusted, but even more worried.

“Sweetheart, trust me, I’m not taking that risk again.” He says, planting an endearing kiss swiftly on the top of your forehead, pulling away at the smell of vomit, Making his nose scrunch up.

Shanks sat you down on the pier of Foosha Village. Rubbing soothing circles on your back, letting you take your course. The night sky shined when it hit the slow waves of the sea, a sky littered with stars. A calm, serene night he loved. Especially with you cuddling into his side.

“Are you feeling better, baby?” He asked, a decimal over a whisper. You nod, groaning into his shoulder.

“Good. Let’s get you home and clean up. And maybe apologise to Makino tomorrow morning if she catches us. Other than that, we can always outrun her fury.”

You let out a weak giggle, despite you still feeling not so great. He holds you in a tight grip, sighing happily and looking up to the sky. Allowing himself to indulge in the beauty of the night sky and the beauty that sits right next to him.

“Remind me to bring a bucket next time.” He jokes, landing him a swift punch to the arm and a goofy smile on his face.

Drinking with him has two outcomes:

Either you’re having good times! A couple of laughs, maybe making some great memories that overlap with some of the more confusing ones of drinking with him.

Or… You’re doing the most batshit crazy thing you’ve ever done in your life.

WITH HIM JUST STANDING THERE.

HELLO!?

When I tell you drunk Buggy can take over the world if he so pleases, I mean it

That man has no inhabitions, no thoughts, just a pure drive to do whatever the FUCK he wants for the next 24 hours.

You wonder how such a cowardly clown can become so brave by just a couple of shots.

And honestly, you can be the same way too. It’s not hard to get caught up in all the excitement and thrill of doing shots with a pirate group and almost ending up with a broken limb.

But MAN-

It’s a really mind boggling thing… Like, you could write a psychology paper on it.

“BUGGY, DON'T YOU DARE MOVE!”

“Huh!?”

Your shouts echo the inside of his towering circus top. There your boyfriend was, drunk off his mind due to some of the finest whiskey found in the Grandline (which he happily took), and placing his left leg inside the brightly human- cannonball. He looks back at you, confused but then displaying a goofy smile.

“Aw, c’mon, baby! It’ll be so much fun, just keep watching!”

The older pirate doesn’t stop himself from doing what he wants, and fully places himself inside the cannon, wriggling around as to get comfy. One of his lackies cackles as he reaches for a match, striking it upwards and starting the fire. Your heart only beats louder and faster at the sight of the small flame.

Of course it didn’t occur to you, that the moment that Buggy the Clown asked you to be his partner, you would have to be his temporary mother when he was shit faced on most Tuesday nights.

But, it’s not too hard to keep him in place most of the time. All he wants are some private cuddling, maybe some kisses and words of affirmation. And don’t worry, when the roles are reversed he’ll do anything to help you, too.

Unfortunately today, he decides to act like a crazed toddler.

Too bad he isn’t, it would be easier to wrangle him up.

“Buggy, baby, love of my life,” You start, slowly inching closer towards the red- faced man as he stared at you with lidded eyes and curiosity. “I really need you to step out of that cannon before you blow to infinity and beyond.”

Then there was silence.

And then there was laughter. A drunken one, slurred and almost high.

“I’ll be fine, I’m Buggy the genius- fuckin’- jester! hit it!”

It was too late, the match lit the tiny rope at the end, as it quickly rises towards where the gunpowder lies.

You plug your ears and close your eyes, not wanting to even look or hear the maniac jester shoot up into the circus top’s top, rip past the fabric and blast off again.

Oh yes… again.

#one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece x you #one piece headcanons #shanks x reader #buggy x reader #red haired shanks #buggy the clown #buggy the genius jester #shanks x you #buggy x you

[alcoholfreenayeon]

Don’t Call Me Again

Chaeyoung x Reader

CW: very light fluff, angst

Word count: 900

Synopsis: I regret from the very core of my heart for hurting you this bad, I am sorry.  

AN: Yes I know this is the wrong day for it😭but I feel it’s relevant right now and also because I need a bit more for the other one. I’ll post it tomorrow instead.

You watched as the car door opened and Chaeyoung got out, you couldn’t help but smile, her cute little jump to avoid the puddle, the way she smiled uncontrollably when she spotted you, everything about her was so cute, so perfect. She walked up to you still smiling sheepishly, looking at you for a moment before quickly grabbing you and embracing you in a tight hug. At this point, admittedly you were beginning to feel a bit emotional, but you managed to fight those emotions off, for now at least.

Still holding on to you, she pulled her head back and looked at you, still smiling happily, “It’s been so long”, she said before slumping her head against your shoulder, her tone changing to a more serious one. That stung a little, you knew it had been, usually her tours make you miss her a lot, but you never really considered that she might miss you just as much if not more. After all, she does become quite loving and needy when she’s stressed. Nevertheless, you both finally pull back and Chaeyoung slips her hands into yours and that’s something you can never get tired of.

The two of you walked a little, going towards the spot where you both kissed for the first time. As you both approached it, you began to brace yourself to tell Chaeyoung but before you could, she suddenly let go of your hand and turned. She was walking backwards, unable to stop smiling at you, her cheeks rosy. You were about to tell it her when she suddenly spoke, “Oh! Pretty!”, she exclaimed, plucking a flower off the ground, smelling it, and smiling at you. She then takes a step closer and tiptoes, tucking it behind your ear and kissing your cheek and smiling lovingly at you, her hand lingering on the spot she kissed. She is making this so much more difficult than it needs to be. Is this a mistake? How were you going to tell her that you wanted to break up…

“Chaeyoung…”, you said quietly, beginning to feel tears build up in your eyes, “This is-this isn’t going to work.”

“Huh”, She said, confused by your suddenness, “What are you talking about?”

Why, why is she making you repeat, you already felt like a monster for doing this to her. She didn’t deserve it, she doesn’t deserve this. But you just can’t keep going on like this, having her go off to the other side of the world for months. You know it’s selfish, you know it’s stupid, but you just can’t keep doing this. You want her all the time and it’s clear you won’t get that from her anytime soon. So its best that you end it now before you lose your nerve, before she makes you change your mind, before she makes promises you she wont be able to keep.

“I think we should break up.”, you said in a shaky voice as you felt tears beginning to fall. You didn’t deserve to shed tears, not after what you are doing. “We-we don’t spend enough time together, we can’t go out half the time or places, it’s just too much. I can’t handle it all. I’m done”, you say the last part more harshly than you intended. “I-I am sorry, but I can’t, I love you, I really do but I think it’s better for us”, you blurt out, regretting each word but you had come too far to back out now.

Chaeyoung looked back at you confused, panicked, hurt, betrayed, she tried to reach out for your hand, but you step back, hating yourself more than ever. She didn’t say anything, but you could hear her breath heavily in panic, she looked like she wanted to say so many things to you right now but couldn’t find the words. You see tears building up in her eyes and it’s too much for you. You turn around and speed off, not looking back once because you are a monster, because you are cowardly, because you are weak. You know if you look back, you’ll cry, you’ll beg her to forgive you, to take you back. And Chaeyoung will. She will take you back without any hesitation, she will cry her heart out, she will ask you what she did wrong, what she can do to change, what she can do to stop you from feeling this way. And the truth is nothing. Because she doesn’t need to change. She was, is perfect. It’s you who’s full of fault, full of insecurities, full of weakness. As you sit in your car, you begin to sob, looking at your phone, at your and Chaeyoung’s messages, knowing you need to block her before she texts you. But it’s too late, before you can gather her strength to do that, you receive a text from her, ‘Please don’t go.’. And you close your eyes in pain, what have you done, you hate yourself, you look at the block button and feel your heart pound knowing its now or never, you take a deep breath and make your choice…  

#angst april #ask me anything #answered asks #anon ask #twice #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #reader x idol #twice chaeyoung #twice scenarios #twice angst #chaeyoung fluff #kpop gg #chaeyoung x reader #chaeyoung angst #kpop angst #twice fluff #son chaeyoung #chaeyoung twice

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Prompts-a-Lot. cw: pensioner injury]

(1) (2) (3) 4: fall (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13)

'I'm fine, I'm fine,' Mrs Hudson is insisting when John finally makes it downstairs. After setting a land-speed record in nappy changing, which had not woken Rosie up enough to object to being put into her cot (thank Christ), he had got to their landlady's side as soon as humanly possible.

'Causing trouble, Mrs H?' he asks lightly as he crouches down beside her. She's supine but Sherlock has fetched a decorative pillow, antique-looking lace peeking out from under her ear as she turns toward him.

'Oh, John dear, will you tell your young man to stop fussing?'

John glances at Sherlock. 'Nah,' he replies as he takes her carotid pulse and scans her frame for obvious injury. 'You know he only listens to me when it suits him, and right now it suits him to fuss. I cannot work miracles.' He gestures to the smaller pillow under her left wrist. 'May I?'

She nods, but he sees the worry in her eyes before she deploys her stiff upper lip. He examines the wrist as gently as possible, then gives Sherlock a small nod. The detective pulls out his phone as John continues. 'I'm afraid that'll need x-raying, Mrs Hudson. Is there anything else? Or did the wrist take most of it?'

He doesn't have to ask what happened; the fall risk increases far too quickly in one's later years, and there's a shattered vase slinging out a puddle of watery daffodils a few feet away.

'I'm afraid so,' she frets as John helps her sit up. 'I won't be able to bake you boys your--'

'Hush,' Sherlock says firmly, pocketing his phone again, call completed. 'That's why we have John. You and I will be twins now, you see?' He holds up his cast. 'And he won't be able to resist taking care of us, it's in his nature.'

'Yeah, all right, settle down,' John says dryly.

But Mrs Hudson clasps Sherlock's hand with her good one, nodding happily. 'Oh yes, it'll be good practice for when you're my age, after you've grown old together.'

John coughs, and can't stop his gaze from meeting Sherlock's, if only for a moment. Tension unspools across the space of things unsaid, and John has never been more relieved-- or cowardly-- to hear a horn sound at the kerb. 'I believe that's your ride?'

Her palm is on his cheek, cold and tissue-soft, and for a moment her eyes are so full of sympathy it makes his stomach churn. 'Thank you.' She turns to Sherlock. 'Both of you. My dear boys.'

John ducks his head, smiling. 'Would you like us to ring your sister, have her come down?'

She shakes her head. 'I'd like you to march right back upstairs and work out whatever it is that's got you tiptoeing around each other. Before I'm home from hospital.'

'Er. Right.' John feels his neck redden, and immediately escapes to open the front door. And in the usual controlled chaos of paramedics, he manages to avoid her gaze until the very last moment.

'Promise me,' she says before the ambulance doors close.

He's desperate to get her on her way, on several levels, so he opens his mouth, ready to say whatever it takes. He briefly considers crossing his fingers behind his back.

But Sherlock's voice preempts him. 'Of course we will, Mrs Hudson.' He lays his hand on the blanket, over her ankle, for a moment, and gives her one of his rare, genuine affectionate grins. 'Anything for you.'

'Good,' she says sweetly. Too sweetly. John eyes her, but all she does is smile at him. 'Now shoo.'

[❤️]

#may prompts 2024 #mayprompts2024 #BBC Sherlock #Johnlock #Very wee ficlet #it's gonna be MAY 2024

[breezysuffers]

idk if this is any good but take angst cause why not

CW: Implied Major Character Death, Implied Suicide

Wrong

835 words/Written in 2ish Hours

Vincent barely recognized him. He’d watched Sam change, a lot actually. He’d been there as he went from closed off, to somewhat more inviting if you could call his gruff personality ‘inviting’, he’d seen him actually happy, that happened a lot once Sam started talking to the shifter. He smiled more, laughed more, dull silver eyes shined when he was talking to people that weren’t Vincent. Not that he’d ever tell anyone, but he could never wrap his head around the fact that in a few short months, he seemed so much more alive, than Vincent ever thought possible.

That wasn’t the only thing that changed though. Sam, at least to Vincent’s knowledge, never dressed up. The only times Vincent had ever even seen him a suit was at the Summit, and usually it would be something Vincent had picked out. They were more…modest than his tastes, but he thought Sam looked great in the colorful outfits he picked out, even if Sam didn’t.

Sam was wearing a suit. One that Vincent didn’t painstakingly pick out. A simple, black suit, without a tie. He looked wrong, Vincent thought distantly. He knew Sam too well to know that his eyes were too sunken. The expression he wore was…off. Not his usual grimace whenever he was somewhere he didn’t want to be, but not the easy look he’d come to wear around Vincent in the years after he was turned.

He just looked sad.

Really sad.

When he turned, Vincent hadn’t known him well, but that far away look in his eyes reminded him of William when he thought of some old friend, but less…faded. He always thought that whatever was going on in his head was torture.

If that was torture, Sam must’ve just felt hell for the first time.

He saw it in the way that his once impeccable posture was slouched slightly, in the way his nails dug into his palms so hard Vincent was surprised he couldn’t see blood dripping from his hands, the glazed over look in his eyes that just barely disguised the pure agony behind the sockets.

And couldn’t Vincent imagine how long he had he had left with his best friend.

Vincent knew a lot of things, especially when it came to Sam. That he liked the color brown more than black. That, no matter how much he denied it Sam’s favorite animals were horses. That Sam was head over heels for the shifter he’d found in Wonderworld all those months ago, no matter how much he denied that too. In the beginning anyway.

And that Sam wasn’t going to stick around for long.

Sam had never told Vincent that he was going to kill himself, he hadn’t needed to. It was a fact of life. Grass was green, Vincent loved his Lovely, and Sam wouldn’t be here forever. It pained him to think about, so Vincent didn’t. That may seem cowardly, but it wasn’t his choice, and the choice wasn’t exactly irrational in Sam’s situation, so he never asked. It wasn’t something for Vincent to know.

Distantly, he knew Sam had already set his mind on it, and he’s nothing if not stubborn. (Vincent wonders how long it will be before that sentence is grammatically incorrect.)

He never, however, thought that that day would come upon him so soon. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew Sam was locked a battle he was destined to lose. He simply thought he had at least another 50 years before he had to face the fact that he’d be putting his best friend in the ground soon.

He didn’t know if Sam had another week in him at this point.

Vincent couldn’t find it in him to be surprised by any of that.

He didn’t know what he would do if his Lovely died in his arms.

No amount of dwelling what could’ve happened that New Year’s Eve could let Vincent imagine the pure, unadulterated misery Sam felt right now.

But he wasn’t ready, (would he ever be ready?) but he found nothing that he could say to fan that flame in him back to life. Not that he hadn’t done it once before, blowing on those smoldering embers into steady candle-light all those years ago. But that shifter, they’d poured kerosene on that tiny flame, till it was a roaring forest fire, hotter than Vincent had ever felt from the vampire before.

That shifter’s kerosene had long since dried up, and Sam was almost out of fuel.

Vincent desperately wished that he could do something, say something, but Sam’s candle was nothing more than a dying match stuck in a miserable, tiny clump of wax.

But he has to try. Maybe, just maybe, Vincent will say the right thing, so Sam’s life can burn just a little longer.

(A week later, Lovely finds him at their graves just before dawn, trying to find solace in that his friend got to feel the sun he missed so much one last time)

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted vincent #redacted sam #redacted lovely #redacted darlin #my first fic pls give suggestions?? #idk

[gutterfuuck]

Can I request a mark drabble w/ breeding kink 👉👈 I'd love either bff mark or sinister mark but if you go the sinister route can I be a bit of a coward and ask that he be a little. Softer. Maybe specifically for the reader bc I am a little pansy and I get unrealistically offended when I'm condescended or treated like property, and while it would be hot if this man talked down to me I would also be inclined to punch him in the baby maker and then we'd all suffer bc no smut would ensue 😭

Sorry, I just dumped a bit of unwarranted baggage on u there but you come off as really sweet in all your posts so I hope it didn't bother you too much! Thank you for all of your posts btw your writing is delicious! Also your English is very good, you have a great grasp of the language and I respect and appreciate all the effort you must put into making all of your writing so articulate. English especially is said to be very hard to learn so I immensely respect the effort that goes into it, regardless of any/how much help you require/accept to do so. Manifesting a mild inconvenience to that anon a while back who accused you of faking for some reason I hope they step on a wet kitchen tile while wearing socks or something and rethink how they choose to speak to people online. 😊♡

hello anon!! thank you so much for your considerations, maybe it is because i am emotional since i get very choked up when it is birthday season but this had made me cry happy tears 😭😭 also, i agree!! if anyone was to talk to me like i am disposable in real life, i think that i would break down and disintegrate haha!! it is not cowardly to ask for things, do not be swayed!! baggage is never unwanted here, i am the baggage 😂!! i will do the upmost of my best ability, as i have been waiting to write for s!mark again 🤭🤭 also, i do agree people should be more mindful about what they say to others! you never know what anyone is going through, just because you can hide behind a screen mask doesn’t mean you should or can be mean to people!! i do not judge those who do though, they will learn as months and years pass, people do learn and change!!

cw: mdni, smut, breeding kink, just a little drable to warm up my fingers hehe!! minor injury, reader patches him up

you could hear your husband come crashing through the juliet balcony of your bedroom, bumping into the bed and waking you up fully. you bolted up, scanning the darkness of the room and staring at the silhouette of your lover, crouched over in the shadows. “mark?” you peep, eyes still adjusting as you clicked on the bedside lamp, your eyes instantly closing when the brightness took you by surprise.

he looks back at you, pulling his mask with its flimsy broken black goggles off of his face and discarding it to the floor with a heavy sigh. mark always found it so cute how you’d gasp with your hands flying to cover your mouth when he returned with an injury, your worried eyes looking him over as you jump out from under the covers, hands flying up to cover his cheeks and observe his cut nose bridge, one of his eyes squinted due to the budding bruise on his upper cheekbone, “gonna nurse me back to health, baby?” he asks, smiling down at you and placing a kiss to your forehead. he listens to you lecture him about being careful when visiting other planets, rolling his eyes like he’d really just die like that. you knew he was tough, but it didn’t hurt to be concerned.

he sits on the side of the bathtub in the bathroom, tilting his face to the side so you could rub his injuries down with antiseptic solution, mumbling something about how he was still half human so he still had to be a little careful. he didn’t know how many times he’d had to tell you that even though he was still half human everything else was 100% brutal alien. each time he told you, you ignored it. maybe you liked patching him up, placing cute bandages on his face to stop his bleeding. he was hardly injured but he’d be damned if he didn’t let his cute little wife dote on him like this, the sleeves of your fluffy gown he’d bought home for you rolled up your arms as you fiddle with the first aid kit.

“y’know what’d me me feel better?” mark says, taking your hands into his. god, he could just crush you right now, you were so adorable. you hum in response, intertwining your fingers with his as he brings them to his lips, trailing kisses up your arm and pulling you closer, inching towards you slowly. your mouth hangs open with a breathless silent mewl as his lips stop just by your jawline, finding it hard to hold himself back from nipping your skin and marking you up. you nod at his earlier question which draws a chuckle from him, hands moving down to grip your hips and pull you onto his lap, “let’s go to bed, then.”

you’ve got your face in the crook of his neck, holding onto his back as he pistoned his hips in and out of your tight heat, never being shameful of your moans. music to his ears, he thought, letting you cry out so desperately into the night. if you had neighbours you’re sure they’d complain. he groaned when he felt you clench around him, muscled thighs stuttering for a moment as you suffocated his cock within your walls. “oh, babygirl-“ he tilts his head back, holding you firmly as your legs wrap around his waist, practically bouncing you up and down on his dick himself, “m-mark..-!” you squeal, voice raspy and throat dry when you feel him buck up into your g-spot, weeping head poking at it repeatedly, trying to pull your orgasm out of you. you whine loudly, holding onto him like you’d fall apart if you let go.

“shhh, s’okay, hold onto me like that, there we go.” mark comforts you, such a strange comparison from when he’s out causing mayhem to now. if those who opposed him were to see him right now, they’d think he’d be a different person. he was so soft with you, treated you like you were made of porcelain and you loved it. you were glad that you’d somehow tamed him in a way, molded him into your perfect husband as he made you into his perfect wife. domestic bliss.

you stifle your noises with his shoulder, softly biting on it as he snapped his hips up into yours vigorously, his own orgasm approaching hard and fast. you could feel the way his cock throbbed inside of you, the way he slowed his hips a little before trying to keep up his pace. “so tight, always so perfect n’ tight f’me, aren’t you?” you nod brainlessly into his shoulder and he coos at you, eyebrows furrowed together as he gasps lightly.

“i’m gonna cum, princess.” he says breathlessly, humping against you for his own orgasm, “inside…” you whisper to him and he almost loses it right there, almost falls over when he thinks about the implications it might have. “inside? yeah-fuck, gonna let me cum inside, just for me?” mark pants, pussydrunk figure caging you in under him as he chases his orgasm, “gimme a kid… f-fuck, gimme a baby, wanna make you a mama… g’na look so perfect— fuh-uck..!” he babbles, vision blanking as he cums inside of you, wave after wave of his warm seed spilling into your cunt, seeping into your womb. he canted his hips a few more times, almost fucking himself into overstimulation as he continued talking, “..gonna give me a mini me, huh? complete our little family?” he asks as you nod in agreement, too fucked out to even process what he’d said to you just now.

#💬 sparkie is typing… #mark grayson x reader #dark blog #mark grayson smut #invincible x reader #invincible smut #sinister!mark

[flyingspacewhale93]

Surrender Your Soul To The Stars: A Jing Yuan/Reader story (Incubus AU)

CW: naked cuddling, discussion of consent/boundaries, self-loathing nothing outright NSFW actually happens but minors DNI

You wrote a letter to an incubus begging him to take your soul from you thinking the process would be quick.  You didn’t expect a response. As you stare at his face you notice that he has intense but kind eyes. You hardly expected a demon to look so kindly at you. “You said you had a useless soul?” His voice is deep yet gentle. “Why don’t we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” You say. “I’m ugly and can’t do anything right! I’m only a burden on society.”

“And why do you think that?” The demon lazily brushes his silver hair out of his golden eyes. “Come now. Let’s have a cuddle.” With a wave of his hands you are both naked and lying on a floating bed watching a sea of stars up above. “My apologies. I find clothes to be rather a bother.” He pulls you close to him, cradling you against his strong chest. “By the way, my name is Jing Yuan. And you?”

“Why should I bother telling you my name when you’re just going to use me and throw me down into the depths in hell?” You say.

“Did I say I was going to do that?” He says, a large hand rubbing your back. “I’m sure you have a lovely name.”

You whisper your name softly, but Jing Yuan somehow hears and nods. “Why do you want your soul taken and your mortal life to be at my own personal whims?”

“I don’t belong in society.” You murmur. “I don’t want to live for however many years with no future. No one has ever cuddled me like this.” Tears fill your eyes  as you stare at the red horns on his head. “I’m just too cowardly to make something of my life and too cowardly to pay for an escort to-to-pretend to like me. So I burdened you with listening to my problems.”

“What makes you happy in the mortal realm?” He asks.

“Oh, lots of things, I guess. I like hearing birds sing and looking at sunrises. But none of those things will ever bring me money or love.” You say.

“I’d like to hear about them.” Jing Yuan kisses the top of your head. “I find you interesting. You can tell me about your life and I can be a surrogate partner of sorts.” 

“You don’t find me annoying?” You say in surprise. 

“I like hearing what you have to say.” He says smiling. 

“There’s another thing too. I-I don’t really feel sexy or sexual right now but I don’t want to leave you hungry.” You look down at the sheets. “I-I’m sorry.”

“It's alright. You don’t need to be sexual to feed me. I can be fed by cuddles too. Would you feel comfortable with kisses as well?” He asks. “I do need your consent if you want to go any further.”

“I’m okay with kissing. But do I just tell you where I want to be touched for the other parts?” 

Jing Yuan nods.“The most important thing in any relationship is communication. For now, let’s just lie back and look at the stars. Personally, I find sex to be quite the effort. Much more relaxing to cuddle.” He looks at you with what appears to be affection in his eyes as you lean against him. You feel warm and safe for the first time in a while.

#honkai star rail fanfic #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail #g/n reader

[b1tcht0p1a]

Eternally Grateful - Ace D. Portgas

Summary」 Just some back story with reader and Ace.

CW」 Female reader

When you first met Ace, you were part of a different pirate crew. One that was near the end of its run. Your captain was a greedy and cowardly man. He was slowly losing the faith of his crew and causing issues for everyone. Especially you, since you were the only woman onboard. 

Ace saw this and offered you a spot with the Whitebeards. You denied it, claiming that you had hope for your captain; despite how he treated you and the others. He didn’t try to convince or force you to come with him; he simply nodded and walked off. “My offer still stands if you change your mind or something happens.” That was the first and last time you spoke with Ace for a while. 

You stayed with your captain until he was captured, and the crew dissolved itself instead of attempting to elect a new captain. Despite the actions of your former captain, the crew still cared for one another. The goodbyes were tearful that night. But come morning, you set off on your own. Looking for Ace to take up that offer now that it felt right. 

It took a while to find him, to the point you were about to give up. You had just reached another island, exhausted from the journey and the search for the elusive man. He was nowhere to be seen despite the locals saying he was, in fact, on the island. You walked to the local tavern, hoping to get lodging for the night. That’s when you noticed the familiar cowboy hat sitting at the bar, surrounded by a mountain of plates. Eating his heart away with some good food. 

You approached him from behind, and he failed to sense your presence. Too caught up in his eating frenzy. You leaned down slightly and brought your hand up so it was level with the back of his neck. And you flicked him ever so lightly, “Leave some for the rest of us.” He stopped, put his utensils down, and turned to look at you, a mean look on his face. It went away the moment he saw you.

“Hey, it’s sweetcheeks! What are you doing here?”

“Sweetcheeks? Really?” Ace shrugged his shoulders, turning so he was facing you completely. “Whatever, I was looking for you?” Ace gasped, placing a hand on his chest, “You were looking for me? What an honor. Whatcha need?” 

“Well, I’m here to take up your offer. My old group disbanded after our captain got captured. It felt right to leave after that….”  “No attempts to rescue him?” He cocked his eyebrow and brought his hand to his cheek, elbow resting on his knee. You turned to lean against the bartop. “No, you’ve seen the man. How he treated the crew. How he treated me….” Ace’s expression dropped, and he looked down at the ground momentarily. After a quick thought, he bounced back up. “Well, I’m glad you came to find me. I’m sure pops wouldn’t mind me inviting you.”

“Did you ask him before offering?” Ace just grinned brightly up at you. “Let me pay, and we’ll get out of here.” He quickly pulled out a sufficient amount of berries and paid for the enormous piles of plates. He promptly walked out the tavern doors, you following right behind. The walk was silent at first. You two just walking in a pleasant silence. “So, what made you want to be a pirate in the first place?”

“Well, one thing I will tell you is that I am well aware of the dangers of being a pirate. You risk a lot in this line of life. So don’t laugh or lecture me. Okay?”

“Never would sweetcheeks.”

“Well, I wanted to be one when I was younger because it looked fun. I remember always seeing pirates come to my village laughing and having a good time. And I wanted that. And that stayed true as I got older, but then I realized there’s a certain freedom with being a pirate, which drove me to become one. I can be myself, and no one can stop me.” Ace smiled at you, a softness in his eyes. He pats your back. “That’s cute and admirable.” You two continued in silence for a pace or two before you spoke. “So, what made you want to be a pirate?” Ace stopped walking momentarily, and you turned to look back at him when you noticed. “Ace?” He quickly snapped out of his thoughts and caught up with you. Placing his hand on your lower back, “That’s a story for a later date. Now come on, my boat is just up ahead.”

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #ace d portgas #Fire-fist Ace #op ace #fire fist ace #one piece ace #ace one piece #fluff #one piece fluff #Ace x reader #ace d portgas x reader #Ace D. Portgas x reader #Ace D Portgas x reader #fem reader #x reader #female reader #ace x fem reader #ace x female reader #ace d portgas x fem reader #ace d portgas x female reader #Ace D. Portgas x fem reader #Ace D. Portgas x female reader #Ace D Portgas x fem reader #Ace D Portgas x female reader

[kingofthe-egirls]

FIRST TIME: LUFFY x OC (no sex)

fox tales

(cw: angst, fluff, mention of past sexual hurt, love confessions)

Songs: "King" by Florence +the Machine, "Liability" by Lorde

words: 1.6k

🦊🦚🌱

The first time with Luffy is awkward, and scary. You’d never been with a boy this way before. You never knew you could feel this way, before.

Luffy is giggly and giddy, sliding into your bed under blue-dark moonlight from your cabin window. You scamper around, kicking your legs as you get comfortable with the new body in your bed. You’d shared kisses before, but never like this.

“There’s so much of you,” you gasp, marveling at his shoulders. You trace your palms over his muscular arms, his chest, his back. You want to devour him.

He giggles, running his hand over your gray tails, spotted from winter. It's almost spring, now. You’d be light grey soon for your new coat. As it is, half your tails are white, some are spotted, some are already fully grey. You’re happy you have nine. They flick around you like a comforter, warm and soft and fluffy. Luffy dives in like they’re his personal mattress, too.

“There’s so much of you!” He counters, landing with a bounce on top of the bed. You squirm over to one side, nervous and shy. His hands are warm to the touch, and you keep shaking over the thought of “mine.”

“You’re mine,” you say, unabashed. Deciding to glare up at him through your fear, chin lifted in defiance. “No one else can have you like this.” Both yours and his clothes are all scattered across the room, bare skin pale in the moonlight. His skin is darker than yours, scars glowing rose in the night.

“Alright,” he says, catching your palm on his chest, and squeezing. His heart beats steady beneath your hand. “I’m yours, Kit. And you’re mine, too.”

“Okay,” you squeak, temporary defiance now melting through your bravery. You want to be small again, cowardly and meek. You bring your legs up to your chest, wrap your arms around them.

How do you begin?

With a kiss, you guess, and reach up to take his face in both hands. He lowers down to your face, rough hands circling your wrists. Your lips meet, and you sigh. Something is aching in your chest.

“Do you feel that?” You grunt in discomfort, grasping at your chest. Your skin is bare, your breasts are out, but there’s something lodged behind your ribcage that needs to come out.

“Feel what?” He asks, innocent. He leans back on his heels. The bed creaks beneath his weight. You shift to one side, sit up.

“This—this aching,” you say, grimacing. He frowns at you, brow drawn tight over dark eyes. You twist your lips to one side, trying to explain. “Like…like I need you,” you hedge, and take a shaky breath before you can continue. He looks like he’s about to interrupt you, but you shake your head, holding up a hand.

“And not just need you, like how we are now. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you—,” you cut yourself off, shaking your head. You heave out a fiery exhale. “Like, I need you all the time. I need your scent, I need your air. I need your breath in my ear. I need your nose pressed into my hair, I need you to inhale. Just,” you shift to your knees, both hands pressed on your chest like prayer. Your tails float mindfully around you, irritated and awake. Your body is scratching for something, and you will give it what it needs.

“Just make love to me,” you say, finally. Chest heaving, sobs falling. “I don’t want you to fuck me for the sake of it. I need you to like me—,”

“I do like you!”

“I need you to be careful with me!” You shake your head vehemently, storms raging behind your chest. “I need you to make love to me!” You say again. Bitterness creeps its way up your throat. “It’s not enough to just get fucked, it’s not enough to just fall flat. I don’t want you to leave me, after. I don’t want you to leave me, ever.” You stare at him with hungry eyes, desperate for affection and pleading with care. Do you love me?

“Do you love me, Kit?” He voices the question in your head, and you’re taken aback. You swallow, thickly, and nod your head.

“Yeah,” your voice cracks, “I’m sorry.”

His face darkens.

He is on you in an instant, pushing you down back into the bed. You yelp, chest tight. His forehead is pressed against yours, his nose smushed into your skin. You feel his hot, angry breath puff out on your cheeks. “How dare you,” he speaks. Voice low, and gravelly. “Don’t ever apologize for that to me.” He is your captain, all grey eyes and lightning strikes, and you feel your heartbeat slam inside your chest. It rocks you like a rowboat, leaves you gasping for breath.

“L-Luffy,” you stumble, but he cuts you off with a kiss. It’s hard, fierce, rocks against your lips.

“I’m not sorry for loving you,” he says, “So don’t make me feel ashamed for it. I hate feeling ashamed. Especially about you.” His hands are rough around your wrists, pinning you to your bed. His weight is heavy over you, but he’s trembling, too. Taut, like a bowstring. Ready to be pulled. Ready to come loose.

“I’m sorry—,”

“Stop it!” He says, crashing his mouth into yours again. “Stop saying sorry! I’ll hate you if you say it,” his words are always brutal, honest to a fault. But the captain always gets whatever the hell he wants.

“Don’t hate me,” you squeak, eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t hate you.”

“Good.”

“I’m not sorry for loving you,” you decide, voice slow. His grip loosens, but only slightly. You swallow, staring up at him. He’s still smushed against your face. Your eyes are an inch away from his, and you blink. Try not to hiccup as you sigh out, “‘M sorry I won’t be any good at it,” you finally cave. Your face crumbles, and Luffy buries his own against the crook of your neck. He holds you as you start to cry.

“I’m lousy,” you continue, “I’m no good at love. I only ever use boys to get what I want. But I want you, now, and I—,” you sniffle, struggling for the words. You wrap your arms around him, too. His hair tickles your jaw. You turn to plant a kiss to his scalp, and smell sweat. You want to press him into your side like wax.

“I’m afraid of having sex.”

There, you said it.

Finally.

***

There, you said it.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and hot fat tears roll over onto your cheeks. Luffy’s spiky hair is pressed against your nose, and all you smell is him, him, him.

“Oh, really?” He lifts up, blinking down at you. “Why didn’t you say so? I’m scared, too!” he grins at you. Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“W-what?” You stutter, shifting to sit up on your elbows. Your brain is blank. Luffy, scared?

“Obviously,” he says, grinning again, “Isn’t everyone scared their first time?”

“I-I guess so…,” you hedge, pursing your lips. “I didn’t know you would be, though.” Luffy sits up next to you. He reaches out to hold your hand, and you let him. He keeps it on his knee. He’s bare, too.

Moonlight shafts in through the window, painting both of you in blue. The bed creaks a bit as you both shift around, your tails flicking absentmindedly. Luffy catches one at his wrist, wrapping his hand in the soft fur for a moment. “Have you ever had sex?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “But I’ve played with Nami a few times. She likes when I use my mouth on her,” he grins, letting go of your tail tip to scratch the back of his head. He looks sheepish, but not ashamed. You blush.

“Have you?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“A few times, with one boy. He would give me eggs from his family’s farm if I fucked him,” you admit. For the first time, to anyone. Your nose scrunches at the memory. “I didn’t like it very much, though.”

Luffy tilts his head. “Why not?”

You shrug. “It hurt,” you say simply. Laying there on a cold mattress, feeling nothing and smelling hay. You’d rather starve, you’d decided, after one time hurt too much and you’d cried. He’d left you in the hay loft once he saw your tears, too awkward and unfeeling to stick around for aftercare. You didn’t touch yourself for weeks, afterward. Too repulsed by your own body to even bathe. You hadn’t wanted to see your reflection in the water, anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Luffy says, touching the back of your hand. With a jolt, he brings you back to the present. “It’s not supposed to hurt,” he ducks his head to meet your gaze. “I promise I won’t make it hurt.”

The idea of sex without pain is foreign to you, but Luffy is Luffy and he never ever lies. You bite your lip, and nod.

“Okay,” you say, “I trust you.”

Words never spoken aloud by someone like you before, but they hang in the air, glittering like gold. Luffy grins. He runs calloused fingers through your hair. His knuckles are always bruised. (But yours are, too.)

You catch his bottom lip in your teeth, suddenly. He starts, gasping, but grips your hair tighter and pulls you in close. You kiss, deeply, and somewhere from your stomach you growl out a moan. Pleasure pools in between your legs, at the feel of Luffy’s touch. He is warm, and gentle, and firm, and rough. All of these things, at once.

You circle your arms around his neck, and climb into his lap. He smiles up at you, dopey, and you smile back.

#fox tales #fox tails #my writing #dumpster dive #luffy #luffy x oc #luffy x y/n #luffy x you #luffy x reader #luffy one piece #one piece #one piece fanfic #luffy fanfic

[shivunin]

Lock and Key

(Arianwen Tabris/Zevran | 2,298 Words | Hurt/Comfort | CW: Blood, brief references to torture and broken bones)

The torture, Zevran thought cynically, truly left something to be desired. 

Rather, he seemed to recall—when he’d been a young Crow, there’d been racks, burning oil, things hammered between one’s toes…But this? Breaking his fingers? Slapping him around?

It lacked  forethought.

It lacked…panache.

“I do not mean to complain,” Zevran told his torturer, spitting out a mouthful of blood, “But have you done this before?”

“What?” the hooded figure snarled, only their mouth and jaw visible beyond the hood and fabric they were swathed in. 

“Mmm,” Zevran said, peering up at them through one swollen eye, “It is only that you are…how shall I say it? Trying too hard, you understand? Most torturers—they adopt a certain style, a way of getting things done, and you seem—”

The figure reared back and kicked him in the chest. His lungs struggled to inflate for a moment, and when they did Zevran coughed convulsively. 

“Like that,” he wheezed, while the torturer stomped over to a small table of metal implements, “There is no sense of precision. You might have just stopped my heart, friend, and then where would you be? Luckily for you, I am made of sterner stuff than that.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” 

The voice came not from the figure to his left, but from above. It echoed against the far ceiling and the stone walls, spreading until it was almost impossible to tell where it had come from. 

Zevran, beaten and breathless, stretched his bloodied mouth into a crooked smile. 

“Ah,” he told the hooded figure, “I am terribly sorry for what is about to happen to you.”

The torturer, alarmed, snatched a blade from the table and hurled it into the darkness above the rafters. There was no sound; not the thud of the blade in flesh or wood, nor the sound of metal clattering to the ground. Half a second later, the blade whistled back down, thudding into the flesh of the cloaked figure’s arm. 

“Your aim is lacking,” the voice from above said.

“I said precisely the same thing, mi vida,” Zevran said, at long last allowing his head to fall back against the wooden back of the chair he was tied to, “I am sorry to say it, but there is a certain lack of professionalism at play here.”

“You shut up,” she said, and Zevran smiled, “I mean it. The smile, too. Flames, I could kill you.”

“It would not take much doing at the moment,” he told her. 

As they spoke, the torturer ripped the blade from their shoulder with a grunt of pain (a bad idea, that; anyone could have told them that it was wiser to leave the thing in place until a healer could take a look at it). 

“Show yourself, coward,” the torturer snarled, taking several more blades from the table and staring up at the ceiling. They turned slowly, as if trying to spot the shape of their assailant against the darkness of the ceiling.

If he’d been in a more charitable mood, Zevran might have told them it was pointless. 

Indeed, as he thought so, a low laugh came from above, and there was a clatter in the far corner, almost directly behind the torturer. The torturer spun, already throwing a blade toward the source of the noise. As soon as they turned, a cloaked figure dropped from the rafters soundlessly, thrust a dagger into the place where the torturer’s kidney ought to be, and vaulted back up into the ceiling again. 

“You know,” she said above him, “I think it’s more cowardly to beat a bound man. But that’s just me.”

A ring of keys fell from the ceiling and into Zevran’s lap. Of course; that was why she hadn’t killed his tormentor outright. She meant for him to do it instead. Balance, retribution; in her way, his Arianwen was all about balance. If he’d had the energy, Zevran would have thanked her for the effort and explained why he wouldn’t be doing that. It was hard to turn a key, after all, when most of one’s fingers were broken. 

He didn’t hear her move; he supposed the torturer didn’t, either, because Wen swung down, kicked the large human into the table, and vanished again before the fallen figure could get their bearings again. 

Something soft touched his wrist, bound behind him, and Zevran felt a quiet, shuddering breath at his back. She was going to be very cross with him as soon as she took care of their present company; Zevran winced at the thought, then hissed between his teeth when the motion reopened the slice over his eyebrow. 

This time, when Arianwen moved away from him, Zevran could hear her; that could only be on purpose. The torturer heard it too, and turned to face her as she cast off the deep blue cloak, variegated with grey and black around the hem. Arianwen stood before him revealed at last, her long braid hanging down her back, her armor blue and silver and gleaming in the light of the brazier. Zevran smiled; it was a fool’s smile, punch-drunk and high from his own relief, but…well. It was just so good to see her. It’d been too long. Too many days without feeling her at in his arms, too many days fighting himself to keep from returning to her side. 

“I was going to let him have you,” she said, “Or, if he allowed it, I was going to take my time. Fortunately for you, you’ve made me very, very angry. This’ll be quick.”

The torturer didn’t answer; they bent their head and ran, aiming right for her. Wen didn’t move for a long time—almost too long—and stepped aside at the last moment, exerting precisely as much effort as she needed to get out of the way. It looked, Zevran thought, turning his head as best he could to watch, like she simply floated away from him, like a feather in the breeze. The torturer rammed their injured shoulder into a column and let out a strangled shout. 

“Don’t worry,” Wen said to Zevran as she passed, “The building’s empty.”

“There were at least thirty—” he began, and interrupted himself with a cough. 

“As I said,” the Warden answered, casually lifting an iron from the fire and striding past, “The building is empty. Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.”

There were sounds that followed her statement, but he could not see their source. He didn’t need to know what she was doing, and he had the sense that not every time he closed his eyes lasted as long as a blink. Likely, that was not a good sign

“Zevran. Look at me, you fool.”

His eye fluttered open—the other seemed stuck shut—and Wen bent before him, her face beatific in its joy. Blood dripped from her ears and clumped in her hair, but she’d wiped her face clean, if the smears along her jaw were any clue. Zevran tried to smile up at her and was mostly successful. 

“I knew you would come.”

“You’re an idiot. I don’t know why I put up with you. That letter was—” she wound up the sentence with a sharp click of the teeth instead of any descriptors, but after a moment the blissful look crept back into her eyes. 

“Take your health potion like a good boy, hm? And I’ll haul you back to the safe house.”

Zevran might have made a crack about her wording, but as soon as he opened his mouth she pressed the cold glass rim of a vial in between his teeth and tipped it upside-down. The liquid was bitter and cold. Though there was a faint aftertaste of elfroot it was most certainly not a health potion.

“Wen—?” he gasped, and the room faded to black. 

|

Arianwen had been angry very often in her life. She enjoyed it, actually. There was a clarity of purpose to rage that most of the rest of life really seemed to lack. It was like…like crossing rooftops on a wire. Rage gave one a single clear path, and if one had the means to follow it things usually turned out alright in the end. 

But now—now her old friend turned on her, hounded her steps. 

Killing so many had been good enough in the moment, of course, but Zevran had needed to be unconscious for what came next, and she hadn’t wanted to give him the chance to talk her out of it. Now, all she could do was wait; there was nobody left to kill, and Zevran was not awake to argue with. As she paced the room, rage paced with her, shadowing her steps and clouding her concentration.

She crossed the room to open the window now, for the room was more or less empty of personality and furniture save an end table, a bed, and a chair. Zevran slept in the bed, his chest rising and falling easily. Few of his wounds would scar, not that he’d care about such things. He’d gained tattoos since she’d last seen him some…oh, had it been five months already? It felt like years. 

This waiting. 

Wen braced her hands on the windowsill, her fingers tapping out a staccato rhythm, and then she turned back to the bed. 

Maker damn him, she loved the man. She’d kill a dozen times as many for him with pleasure, but seeing him hurt like this was—it was—

“Mi vida,” he murmured to her left, and Wen spun on her heel to look at him, “And here I had thought you were some sort of dream.”

She crossed to the side of the bed, her heart in her throat. She ought to say…she ought to tell him what an idiot he was. She ought to tell him off; she’d certainly thought of doing so enough times. But words escaped her now, and when he lifted his hand from the bed it was to wipe the moisture from her cheek. 

“Ah,” he said, wincing when he lifted himself onto one elbow, “No, my Arianwen, no; do not cry for me. I cannot—”

“Why are you trying to get yourself killed?” she asked, and rage took her hand again, gave her the focus to keep talking. 

“I am not—” he began, frowning, but she interrupted him. 

“When will it be enough, Zev? Do you want to lead the Crows? Kill everyone who hurt you, who bought other kids like you? Do you want to be the King of Antiva? What? Because I can’t keep—can’t keep seeing you like this. If you need help, I will help; if you want me out of your life, then tell me to leave. But I can’t—”

She was crying again—so stupid. She hadn’t cried in years, and certainly never over him. He was staring at her with a sort of stunned horror that she might, if she’d had any sort of composure, have recognized better. It was the same face she was making, after all. 

Don’t leave me, she wanted to tell him; as she wanted to tell him every time he disappeared onto a boat. But she’d been too proud to force him into a cage when he wanted the sky, so she’d always turned away instead.

“What do you think I should do?” he asked. 

The hand wet with her tears fell away to the sheets of the bed. 

For one dizzy, breathless moment, she wished he’d stayed asleep a little longer, given her more time to find the right words. But she…she….

“I want you to marry me,” she said, and it was already too late to take back. His mouth fell open, lips moving as if to speak, but nothing came out. 

“Marry me,” she said again, grasping his hand in both of hers, “Tell me you want to live, and you want to live with me. Travel if you have to, but come home again. Live with me; be mine and let me be yours. I want a life, Zevran. I want a life for both of us.”

She searched his face, her heart racing harder than it had killing an entire house full of Crows on her way to her captured lover. Zevran stared at her, and slowly, slowly, a smile wrinkled the space on either side of his eyes. 

“Yes.”

Wen blinked and squeezed his hand. 

“Yes? You mean that? You’re not just—you aren’t going to take it back?”

“Maker’s pierced navel,” he said, struggling into a sitting position, “You do not believe me? And you were so persuasive, too.”

“No, I—” She clamped her mouth shut again and shook her head, “Yes, Zev?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes, of course, you beautiful murderess.” 

She didn’t mean to lunge for him; would’ve thought better of it if she’d had the wherewithal. But all at once she was in his arms, her own wrapped tight around his neck, and both of them rocked back with the force of it. 

“I love you,” she said into the salty skin of his neck, and kissed him there for good measure, “I love you. I love you.”

“I love you,” he murmured back, and inhaled sharply, “Ah—I should have known you would say something first.”

“I knew you wouldn’t want to force me,” she told him, but without any heat behind it. Her anger had faded away between one step and the next, gone in a breath and only a memory now. 

“If you’d died,” she told him, eyes squeezed shut, breathing him in, “I would’ve killed you.”

His laugh was uneven, a little breathless, and likely that meant she’d need to let go of him soon. But when his words came, they were certain. 

“Yes, I know,” Zevran said, “I love you for that, too.”

(For @14daysdalovers day 10: Captured)

#14dalovers #14dalovers2023 #day 10 captured #zevran arainai #arianwen tabris #zevwarden #zevran x warden #zevran x tabris #dao #my writing #da fanfic #blood cw #torture cw #broken bone cw #zevwen #i hope this isn't too dark for the guidelines of the event i wasn't quite sure where the line was. sorry if so! #i have trouble writing wen *not* killing anyone it's like her go-to #the wedding is day 12 c: #this is like. very shortly after him meeting hawke in kirkwall. wen knows where he is bc isabela told her where he was headed next #posting early because i forgot about my ao3 story yesterday and i have like six things to do today #shivunin scrivening