#all she does is sleep scream and scamper

[polygonal-trees]

I think Soundwave's next cassette should be a guinea-pig

#all she does is sleep scream and scamper #and chew on cables #and everyone loves her #maccadam #beeping

[slafkovskys]

What’s the conversation between scottie, jimmy, and ryan about them dating her?

it’s almost one am when she notices that hall light is still on. they had departed almost an hour before, she retiring to ryan’s room, jimmy to his own, and ryan to the couch, and she had been tossing around ever since. she couldn’t stop thinking about the way that ryan had touched her, the way that jimmy had so readily offered to host her for the night-

she hears their muffled voices and decides then that it was time for answers. she rolls out of ryan’s bed and opens the door, quietly toeing down the hall. she stops just short of the livingroom, eyes going wide when she hears jimmy’s familiar voice, “i don’t think it’s fair that you get to have her-”

“i’m older!” ryan chimes like a child.

“i brought her here. i made the first move. that’s what we agreed on, chesley,” she can hear the annoyance in jimmy’s voice, “i’m asking her out in the morning.”

“she’s sleeping in my bed right now, dude. do you think you’re getting to her first or something?” ryan sounds amused and it’s at that moment scottie somehow loses her footing, slamming her hand against the wall to stop herself from falling. the room goes quiet before ryan calls out, “scottie?”

“sorry, i was just-” she pokes her head around the corner. under the gaze of the two boys, she feels small, “i got thirsty.”

“you drink that whole bottle of water already?” jimmy questions and she swallows a lump in her throat. they had sent her off with basically a jug of water and she knows that she’s caught. “how much did you hear?”

“nothing-”

“scottie,” ryan warns and her eyes drift to him, “how much did you hear?”

“do you two have a problem with sharing or something?” she blurts out and both of their eyes go wide, “i mean, you’re arguing about who can have me. why does their have to be a choice?”

“i-”

“we didn’t know that that was an option,” jimmy says the words carefully and ryan nods along.

“it’s an option,” scottie confirms with a shy smile on her lips, “why don’t you boys figure out if that’s something that you would be interested in and we can talk in the morning, yeah?”

with her heart pounding in her chest, she leaves the two boys behind and all but scampers back to the safety of ryan’s room. she closes the door maybe a little too loudly and covers her hand with her mouth to prevent the scream from escaping.

scottie larsson, who hadn’t done more than a stupid makeout session at her graduation party, had just proposed a throuple with two guys she’s known for maybe four hours?

what the fuck was minnesota making of her?

#the golden au #jimmy snuggerud #ryan chesley

[izaralevine]

➵  BASICS

NAME: Izara "Kit" Levine GOES BY: Kit. AGE / D.O.B: January 5th, 1991. [33 yo.] FACECLAIM: Olivia Swann GENDER & SEXUALITY: Cisfemale. Bi. HOMETOWN: East Side, New York. CURRENTLY: Bronx, NYC. AFFILIATION: N/A | Civilian JOB POSITION: Auto mechanic by trade. (Renting her own garage: GASKIT & WHEELS in the Bronx.) Graffiti artist and tinkerer by night. EDUCATION: High School Diploma. Apprenticeship in Auto repair. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single. CHILDREN: None.

➵  TRAITS

POSITIVE: Humorous, Adventurous, Patient, Independent, Kind. NEGATIVE: Flighty, Temperamental, Difficult, Untrusting, Abrasive.

➵  BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGERS: parental abuse tw, toxicity tw.

A single moment has more power than anyone would dare admit; a split second; a mistake; an error of judgement that decides the fate of the next second, and then the next… until there’s no more left.

A loose bolt — shaken loose, can dismantle a well oiled machine. Send it crashing to pieces; a crushing weight of responsibility acts much the same.

There is nothing sanctimonious about it, there is no pleasant drift off into an ocean to be taken by darkness. It is brutal, unforgiving and without mercy. The only comfort that clouds the minds of those prey to their own misdeeds, is the haunting curse of hindsight.

The what if’s; the if one could turn back the clock and change something —- those futile little pleads can be heard, loudly, but often, it’s even more regrettable than succumbing to the inevitable abyss.

A broken heart outweighs it all; there are far worst things than death, in some eyes.

There’s always been stories of things that go bump in the night. Often passed down from one generation to the next, real horrors that would sicken the unsuspecting. And what young impressionable child ever expects to hear the chilling tales detailing how monsters stole lost loved ones? The kind of beasts that send little girls to bed with one eye open and invoke nightmares the moment that eye falls shut.

Because it does only take a moment.

And the difference between those little children and Izara Levine, was that Iz would wake up the next morning. Sweating, screaming — a nightmare invoked by a mother who loved to scare her child to sleep. There was no comfort. A household of toxicity; there was always a lesson to be learned, somewhere.

Not everyone had the blessing of being protected by innocence, parents who ensured she was prepared for the never ending war of the world; a childhood without wool over ones eyes. She’d sleep with a knowledge of the harshness of outside her walls, knowledge of exit strategies and made promises she didn’t understand to troubled, paranoid parents who believed the world was out to get them.

Izara has no explanation for her bravery, besides childish wonder — because she wasn’t always afraid to go to bed at night. Didn't cower when the doors locked. Sometimes, on good nights, she'd scamper through the dark with a torch — crawl through those little shortcuts curious children discovered when their guardians weren’t looking, and find a reason to no longer be scared.

A child can only get so terrified before they become desperate for sanctuary.

Axel Reyes was hers.

And he had been since she could write her own name, then later his — and then still when they both signed off school papers, and found reasons to enjoy the slithers of childhood they had left.

She was a spirit, always smiling then — fuelled by the belief that they could defeat all those stories her mother told; the fairytales with dark endings. Numb, and desensitised as she grew, she found comfort in tinkering - engineering things that would trap night time monsters; did everything she thought could give her an edge in a brutal world. And always the mischievous one sneaking additional crafting supplies into school, and parties.

The next morning, new graffiti ended up on the walls of the science block.

To counter the vandalistic tendencies, she had an eye for recycling the things lost to time, and making them anew. Trinkets she could artfully redesign for art pieces, another kind of gift for Axel and eventually, on a larger scale, they planned to rent a garage when they left home. She liked the carpentry, the paint that clogged up the cracks in her art gear. A knife her pallet knife, often clamped between teeth as her hands busy away with her makeshift tool belt. Made herself.

She saw less of her parents; their monsters, and more dreamlike things in the way she echoed old traumas to new creations.

Just as when they got older, matured; it became obvious that Izara and Axel were not sharing a bed because she was avoiding nightmares anymore.

The Kit she was rarely seen without, worn with each day attached to her hip. From art supplies, to crafters tools, to bandages. Izara liked to be prepared for it all — when creativity struck; when the world became a little too much for someone who were forced to enter the outside with different eyes; the childlike ones, she knew reality was as truly unkind as her parents had once taught her.

But, with Axel. She made the very best of it. And after high school, she apprenticed at a mechanic’s garage. Dirtied fingers, an oiled up tool belt — and a sight for the crafts. She found that monsters from childhood seemed so far away. Stories were spun into Grimm fairytales, and she had charge of her own path.

Eventually, amongst the garage, it became a running joke; “Kit” became her doted name - and emergency response would just be “Get Kit”, and everyone just knew. A car needed a better set of eyes, a bike needed a custom mod nobody wanted to take on. She’d take the challenge, and she’d charge them for the extra creativity.

Axel and Izara were good; a team, had secrets between them that would never be voiced to another soul. Bravely fierce in how they overcame unorthodox childhood’s, nobody made her smile quite like Reyes could. Or laugh, or gave her quite the muse to mural the walls they passed with such passion — mostly, at the cost of taxpayers — and another, as a finger to the government for trampling on her engineers of the art world.

Kit had made waves as an apprentice, learned the trade — had a standing; proven herself to be a creative just as she was a proficient mechanic. Found the mischief in her smile; her place amongst the dark of the world.

By the time they’d ended their teens, they were known to be inseparable.

So came the ring.

And so came the downfall.

The day her heart broke into pieces and shattered the visage of there ever being good in the world. Monsters, like in her childhood stories had nothing on this — nothing on the pain of heartbreak. She knows dramatics. She remembered dropping her gear, she remembered running to find answers, fingers in her tool kit for something to help — like she could tinker her own heart back together; bandage it up. Anything. She did not understand that New York was rife with unpleasantries. Distance, fears, and the distrust that had driven a wedge between them had extinguished the beacon of hope.

It hurt more than the stranger offloading a bullet in the garage did.

Whilst the pain that tore through her shoulder was agony. The culprit was already gone by the time anyone came to Kit’s aid.

She didn’t understand; neither did the police. Unprovoked shooting, at a relatively small time garage. Where’s the motive? Where does the blame go?

Where was anyone? Where was he?

Kit thought she would die.

Maybe she wished she did, in that moment knowing Axel had cut her heart in two the day before.

Kit recovered. Her heart did not. Yet, her hands did, her muscle movements came back; her spirit snuck back in and she focused on her work, her engineering — the cars; the bikes. Felt new comfort in oil stained fingers that she did her best to be the survivor of sheer bad luck.

Her heart, it knows different.

Then, when the small world of New York finally become claustophobic; desires to see the rest of the world came. A backpack, a story in every new town, village, city — something other than New York, and it's small-minded people.

She’s haunted by those nights, plagued with memories that remind her of what she’s lost almost a decade ago. And eventually, when funds ran out, she had to come back. She had to work; to fix broken things.

Kit remains a crafter, found odd jobs across the city for businesses that required something that the vandal artist could capture. She started smiling again, albeit, a broken one.

But she never publicises where she came from, what she went through — her scar, if she could help it, a new fear that despite how near a decade of adjustment had treated her with as much kindness as a slow falling sledgehammer. Kit wasn’t about to trust anyone with any piece of her again.

➵  CONNECTIONS

SAL LEVINE | Father. ROSE WICKE | Mother. AXEL REYES | Ex-fiancé. CLARK CAIN | Friend & regular client @ Kit's repair shop. LUIS CARRASCO | Unoffical Bestie & Backpacker buddy.

➵  HEADCANONS

She wears her engagement ring on a chain around her neck.

Small hole-shaped scar above her left collar bone from the shooting, over a decade ago.

Free spirited, attempts to make light of any situation where she can.

A little rough around the edges type of gal. An entire list of bad habits she doesn’t think are actually bad habits.

Handmade Kit at her waist 90% of the time, tools and first aid equipment etc. She’d feel naked without her belt.

Reluctant to befriend anyone on the first encounter; trust issues through the roof; old habits die hard.

Likely to pull a wrench on someone if there’s some bad vibes there.

Estranged from her parents, cut them out after highschool. Doesn’t keep in contact if she can help it.

Has been through ( and sometimes still does ) a graffiti phase where she tagged some street art around NYC, with a ‘K’ for Kit. She’s not Banksy, but she’ll definitely say she’s the Van Gogh of wall murals.

Now rents out a garage space for herself; self employed, from a shady person she barely trusts. Asks for cash, which she provides. Usually, asks for cash from clients too. Makes life easier.

Like any good cookie, has some tough outside to get through, but is soft inside — once one breaks through the childhood, and teenage trauma.

#about #wb.intro

[daisy-mooon]

Every single Empires SMP character has to share a bed together Part Two

Surprisingly nobody is happy when they're forced to sleep in the same bed again. This time they are banned from sleeping on the floor.

Gem decides she hates everyone and sleeps on the very edge of the bed, closing her eyes violently and pretending to be asleep so her body will think she is asleep and let her sleep. She shifts around a little bit but settles for keeping her eyes closed and shushing Sausage every once in a while.

Sausage has taken up too much of the bed, oh no. He has pressed Fwhip against Gem, who is frantically clinging too his twin in an attempt to stop her from falling off the bed because she was so far on the edge she almost did and also for emotional reassurance.

Sausage decides he wants cuddles too and invades the siblings, doing nothing to Gem but squashing Fwhip half to death. Like last time, he and Joel keep giggling about random shit in the middle of the night but this time joined by Joey.

Pearl is once again a sleeping rock, not moving at all, but she scares everyone half to death when she sits up in her sleep. Like damn sis okay.

Shrub and Katherine both kind of huddle together and it's cute because Shrub is so small and also funny because when Katherine hugs her she just disappears.

Joel is even more squirmy than before, literally wriggling out of Lizzies arms every three minutes, and he scampers across the bed like those weird crusty dogs. Eventually he's forced to do ten laps around the room before he passes out. Then he wakes up again and torments everyone with bad knock knock jokes.

Lizzie is trying to keep the peace and Failing TM. With her massive stronk arms she hugs Jimmy, Joel, Joey and Pix all at once but they still talk about weird shit. Eventually she gives up and passes out in fish. However her eyes are still open when she sleeps so she freaks Sausage out when he wakes up at night.

Jimmy is just exhausted. He's already asleep. Joel draws a mustache on his face.

Pix wants very badly to fall asleep in the floor again but he is prohibited so he settles for being part of the weird Lizzie hugs. Lizzie hugs all of her allies goodnight. He's the one that tries to get Joel, Sausage and Joey to stop giggling and works but for like half a minute.

What's Joey doing? Being pathetic and missing Xornoth. He does giggle about random ass stuff though and does kissy faces at them

Where is Xornoth, you ask? Well, some gigabrain lad decided to put them on the end of the bed next to Lizzie. They call Joel short and he literally starts crying and disrupting everyone's sleep and everyone's like 'oh well done xornoth now look what you've done' except Joel isn't crying he was just a drama kid and being a little bitch

Unfortunately there was not enough room for Scott, so he's awkwardly crammed next to Xornoth. Awkwardly being the key word. He's pressed against Lizzie and trying to back away from them as much as possible but it doesn't work because there's like no room left so Xornoth's tail keeps brushibf his leg and his wing keeps brushing their arm and like good old fashioned siblings they start arguing with each other like 'fuck you xornoth why are you breathing like that' 'die'

Bonus: Pix has a prophetic vision in the middle of the night and wakes up muttering something about mangos. Everyone is very confused.

Bonus Two: to be an asshole Xornoth tells a scary story about a ghost and a rabbit and Shrub starts screaming at them. Like not even yelling words she just makes on big "AHHGGHHHHHH" in their direction, stares to assert dominance, and falls asleep again.

Bonus Three: Bubbles is there and cuddles on the pillow.

#empires smp #esmp #xornoth #shubbleyt #shrub berry #scott smajor #ldshadowlady #smallishbeans #fwhip #geminitay #solidarity gaming #mythical sausage #pearlescent moon #pixlriffs #joey graceffa #katherine elizabeth gaming #shitpost #mcyt #swearing tw #ideas #i should write this

[theadventuresofgarlandodra]

The Adventures of Garl and Odra Manyboots – Battle at Dimborough

Prev.

Traveling with Aunva and her party was quite enjoyable. Even if things started off on the wrong foot by Aunva announcing she’d gotten horses for the whole party and Odra screamed in terror, Garl quickly resolved things by plopping Odra on his back and declining to take the draft horse that she’d secured for him- even an enormous steed like that would struggle to carry a pure stone gargoyle. That was fine, they’d just use his horse to carry their supplies, and by every god masked and unmasked Aunva did not know how to pack light.

It was fun traveling at first. Aunva’s men always competed with each other to see who would be lucky enough to sleep in the same tent with her, striving to always have her approval. Dullahan was a hell of a story teller, keeping them all preoccupied in the daylight hours when they had to stop since Aunva couldn’t travel then. Sylvia’s dark sense of humor had Odra laughing and Sahsi looking paler than ever.

It was a great time… until they reached their destination.

“Now, the Black Knight should be reaching this next town within a few days,” Aunva said as the party walked down the road. “We’ll be there to make sure he doesn’t cause a fuss. I’ve sent a letter ahead to the mayor of this town, he’s expecting us and will have rooms ready at his home for the time being. I can’t wait to arrive, I need a bath. And a real bed.”

Sahsi glanced down at Odra, who was nodding and taking all of this in stride. “Is she serious? Doesn’t she have a bedroll stuffed with swan feathers?” she whispered.

“Miss Aunva knows what she deserves,” Odra said with a shrug.

“Damn right I do,” Aunva said with a wink. Sahsi blushed and stammered out apologies as the drow laughed.

They’d almost reached the bend in the path when Ficas came to a stop.  “… Wait. Does anyone smell that?” he asked.

The party all frowned, sniffing once or twice before it all hit them.

Smoke. Strong, bitter smelling smoke.

Aunva’s casual countenance immediately changed, she pulled her daggers from her belt and flipped them forward. “Leave the horses. Everyone, be as quiet as you can, ears open, eyes peeled… you see something, strike first, ask questions later,” she ordered.

Odra’s heart thumped in her ears as the party slunk quietly around the bend, weapons drawn at the ready. Past that turn was Dimborough, just down the hill… or what was left of it. Odra skidded to a stop as she stared at the smoldering remains of the town.

Razed to the ground.

Odra walked through what was left of the iron gates, only one left barely hanging on by its hinges. What was once a beautiful marketplace was a ruin. The smell of burnt wood and flesh hung heavy on the air. Stores had their doors busted in, the stalls turned over and anything of value taken from them. Anything that wasn’t worth the time was stomped into the paving stones. Bodies laid still on the ground, twisted in agony and burnt beyond recognition. Other than the crackling embers of buildings that would occasionally collapse into nothing but charcoal and ash, it was dead silent.

Aunva took a deep, shaky breath and rested her hand on Ficas to steady herself. “Nuo, Odra, scout ahead. Everyone else, start going through the stores. Quietly. They… maybe someone’s still alive and needs healing. And I don’t think I need to remind you all that whoever did this could still be here, so exercise caution.”

Garl scowled but Odra patted his leg. “We’ll be back in a bit, don’t get all weepy on me,” she tried to tease, but it came out sounding hollow. Rather than try to recover with another halfhearted joke, she scampered on ahead, Nuo following close behind.

Odra’s skin crawled as she walked through the burnt town, stepping over corpses and rubble in silence with her new partner. This couldn’t be right. Aunva said they had days before the mystery Black Knight showed up. How could she have been so wrong?

“Holy… fuck,” Nuo spoke, breaking the painful silence that had stretched on for the hour they’d been searching for anything. “Did they just destroy everything?”

“Probably everything that they didn’t want,” Odra paused as she looked at the remains of a grocery cart. “If they can’t use it, no one else can. Greedy much?”

“That’s rich coming from the goblin,” Nuo snorted.

Something about that set Odra off and she spun around. “Hey, I’m not in the fuckin’ mood today, so let me set this straight- my village used everything we took. We never wasted a damn thing. If the thread’s not long enough to sew a new pair of boots, then use it to sew one, that’s what we said. We never just destroyed everything that we couldn’t carry. There’s no point in that.”

Nuo balked for a second before he recovered. “So… past tense.”

“Huh?” Odra glanced up, cocking an eyebrow. “What’s that mean?”

“You talk about your village in the past tense. Something happen?”

Odra swallowed the forming lump in her throat before she responded. “Some adventurers, humans like you, came on through. Wrecked the place. The survivors scattered after that.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Odra snorted. “Unless you were there, and I know that for a fact you weren’t. You’re a fucking ginger, the only bastard that got away was-”

It was just a moment too late that Odra spotted a quick movement behind a mostly whole wall.

“NUO!”

Odra flew herself to the ground to dodge the incoming arrows, but Nuo wasn’t so lucky. The human stumbled back, staring at the arrow sticking out of his gut. He fell to his knees, red blooming across his shirt.

Shit.

Odra tried to grab Nuo, but he shoved her back and clumsily unsheathed his shortsword. “Go! Fucking go and get Aunva!” He said, trying to get up but immediately collapsing again.

A lot of other adventurers would insist on holding their ground. Never leave a friend behind, all that jazz.

Odra was not like most adventurers. She took off running the moment Nuo told her to go. The villains started coming out of the shadows like wraiths, all wearing black cloaks with a golden bird inscribed on the hoods. Charming. They had a theme. Assholes.

An explosion rocked Odra’s ears and she was on her knees before she realized there was blood spilling from her side, accompanied by a hot burning pain.

… Oh. I’m bleeding.

“Leave it to the goblin to start running the moment there’s an opening.”

Odra grit her teeth as she stumbled back to her feet, turning around and clamping a hand to her bloody wound. Unsurprisingly, the smooth talking bastard was the black knight in the wanted sketch, golden axe and all. The raider next to him had flicked his hood off, a hobgoblin wearing goggles and carrying a strange device in his hand that Odra could only describe as a hand sized cannon.

“Shall I shoot its head off, master?” The hobgoblin asked, flicking the device and watching it spark. “It won’t know anything.”

“Get FUCKED!” Odra swore as she unsheathed her rapier and held it at the ready. “Put the toy away and fight me, goblin to goblin!”

The black knight cocked his head to the side. “… She speaks Common,” he noted in a flat, bored tone.

“Huh.” The hobgoblin popped its goggles up, Odra flinching as she saw that both of his eyes were bloodshot, like he hadn’t slept in days. “Interesting. Maybe it will know something then. I’ll just blow its legs off then so it can’t run away.”

It. He kept. Calling her it. It was bad enough coming from elves or humans, but hobgoblins were just a step away from goblins! Odra breathed in slowly before lowering her hand from her bloody wound. It looked worse than it was, she told herself as she glanced around for any escape.

The black knight hummed softly before he took out his axe. “I’ll handle her,” he said as he started walking forward.

Odra felt the blood drain from her face as the black knight walked up to her. “Right, didn’t your mom tell you to pick on people your own size?” she said, keeping her blade up.

The black knight paused for a moment… and then he laughed.

“Oh, you’re stupid. The fun part about this is that you don’t know that you don’t stand a chance, little Manyboots.”

The axe came crashing down and Odra shrieked as she rolled out of the way.

What the fuck he knows my name what the fuck-

“It’s your piercings on your right ear.” The black knight hefted up his axe for another blow. “The Manyboots clan specifically used two piercings of bone and one leather loop in between. Come on, I thought you’d recognize an old friend.”

“Your face escapes me,” Odra deadpanned before she jabbed at the knight’s leg. Her sword just bounced off the armor and she barely avoided another blow. That axe embedded itself so deep in the earth Odra didn’t have a doubt if he actually landed a hit, she was one dead goblin. “And I have met so many assholes, you all just kinda blend together after a while.”

The black knight laughed again, twirling his axe before coming in for another sweep. “I’m hurt. I haven’t forgotten you. It’s surprising, you goblins are a dime a dozen. I’d take a bugbear or a hobgoblin any day compared to you little pests. You’re barely worth the slop it would take to feed you.”

Odra swallowed as she and the black knight circled each other. “Then why do I stick out to you?” she asked.

“Because you’re different, little Manyboots. Back then, you didn’t have so many scars on your ears. You’ve put yourself through the wringer over these long three years, haven’t you?”

Odra froze.

No.

No fucking way.

The black knight laughed against before he reached up and took off his helmet, shaking out his dark hair. If the situation was different, he’d be called beautiful, with clear blue eyes that had a luminescent glow to them.

That face was a punch to the gut.

“You going to run again?” The black knight cocked his head to the side, smiling like the smug prick he was. “That’s the only reason you lived, you know. The only survivor from the anthill I kicked over.”

“Fuck you!” Odra charged forward. Her mistake.

The flat of the black knight’s axe whacked her and sent her flying, her rapier bouncing out of her hand. Her head swimming, Odra pushed herself up onto her elbows as Crowley walked up, dragging his axe behind him.

“Well, to be fair, the only reason I lived was because I happened to get up for a drink of water. By the time I returned, two of my party members were already dead. The rogue killed with his own rapier, the ranger still asleep in his bedroll when you landed a killing blow. The cleric was bleeding out next to the fire, and you’d cornered the fighter. You made him beg before you pierced his throat. Did seeing what I did wake something in you? That sneaky little side in all goblins just magnified in you a thousand times over? You followed us to our campsite, waited for your chance, and killed my party when they least expected it.”

Odra almost managed to get up when the black knight stomped on her chest, knocking the air out of her lungs before he leaned down. That cold smile on his face was like nothing Odra had ever seen before as he picked up her rapier. He twirled it around in his hand before he lifted it up and drove it through her shoulder.

Odra screamed as the black knight tilted his head to the side, drinking in her pain. “For that level of cleverness, I commend you. You made yourself an exceptional little ant. Tell me, Manyboots, do you want to know what it sounded like? When I tossed the torch into that pen of squalling goblin brats and watched them burn?”

The black knight twisted the blade and Odra shrieked again, blood spurting out of the wound.

“I have to say, your screams are much more impressive. The babies died far too quickly.”

Tears streamed out of Odra’s eyes as she tried to grab at her rapier’s handle, but her vision was starting to swim. This wasn’t real. No way she was the only one who got out. She wasn’t the only one who survived this actual monster of a man.

No… no…

Out of nowhere Nuo popped up from behind the black knight, a warbling scream ripped its way out of his throat as he brought his blade down. The black knight instinctively ducked, but Nuo still slashed open the back of his head. The black knight finally released Odra’s sword and Odra grabbed onto it. She gritted her teeth and finally pulled it out of her shoulder, with more swearing than she’d done in her entire life.

The black knight grabbed his axe and got to his feet, blood dripping down the back of his neck as he glowered at Nuo, who was white as a sheet. “Oh, you’re going to wish you hadn’t done that,” he snarled as he held his weapon forward.

Nuo glanced down at Odra and mouthed ‘run’.

And Odra ran. She darted down the street, away from the mad black knight and his fucking insane raiders. She wasn’t even sure where she was going, she just wanted to be far, far, far away from all of this.

She wasn’t sure when she stopped. She just knew she was on the ground, soaked in blood, in agonizing pain as she sobbed and sobbed.

No. I couldn’t be the only one. I’m not the only one. I’m not the only… one… I’m… not…

Before her eyes closed and everything went black, she saw a shadowy figure standing above her.

… Garl?

Next

#writeblr #writers of tumblr #creative writing #writeblr community #fantasy #dnd homebrew #goblins #short stories #spilled ink #the adventures of garl and odra manyboots #fantasy comedy #fantasy stories #short fantasy stories

[squirrel-the-adhd-mom]

Chapter Seven- Why do I even try?

10/2/2022

You know it’s amazing to me how I try so damn hard to do something extra for my son and it’s not good enough. Literally never. Went to find myself a pair of fuzzy crocs to wear around the house. Threw a fit because he didn’t get something. Went to target saw a hat I thought he’d like. I want a watch but I’ll take the hat. Trying to avoid a melt down we grab the hat and start to leave. Got all the kids hot chocolate on the way home as soon as Theo takes it out of the holder it gets knocked over and spilled. Did I mention we mopped the fuck out of the floor yesterday? You’ve gotta be kidding me! Why can’t everything just stay done for 24 hours or even 5 damn minutes.

If it’s not one thing it’s another. If it’s not another things a different thing. If it’s not a different thing it’s a golly damn, fuck, frick, frack type a thing. Well and if it’s not that then you might as well burn it down and start over. How’s your day going? Better than mine I hope. Theo has been in a mood all day the ODD part of his ADHD is showing. For those of you who do not know what ODD stands for it is: Oppositional Defiant Disorder. You know the way the normal kids brain works is you ask them to do something and more times than not they do it. Some times they get distracted or fight you but for the kids brains who run like Theos brain does or mine as my parents would tell you. Insert eye roll here. You ask them to do something and they will look you dead in the face and as it goes in one ear and put the other they will turn around and promptly do whatever the fuck they want. Sometimes that means I’m going to look at you like your stupid. Sometimes that means they scamper off and destroy something. Hit their siblings. Cause a ruckus whatever. Regardless an entire day of this is to much. I’ve been overstimulated for 90% of the day. Sigh. Deep breathes. It’s almost bed time.

Remember the if it’s not one thing it’s another? Well here’s another one for you. Theo decided sharpen a pencil. Great, grand, fantastic if he would’ve done it over the trash… He proceeded to do it over the couch. Pencil shavings EVERYWHERE. So he then decided to use the vacuum without asking for help. Ugh. Got it done eventually and then decided to wrap the cord up and had the hook flipped upside down. This pushed him out of a relatively calm state to an overstimulated state quickly. Screaming and yelling “I can’t do this” and “I am stupid.” This point usually doesn’t last long but the words “I am stupid” sting. Because he is so incredibly smart and the way he tears him self to shreds at only six years old is heart breaking. Not only heart breaking but reminds me how much like me he actually is.

Addi was just sitting here talking to me. For like five minutes and I didn’t hear a single word she said. Here my friends is another toxic ADHD trait. Sometimes I could be doing something. Sometimes I could just be sitting here thinking about what color the sky is. I call this zoning. Usually it happens when I am hyper fixated on something and someone tries to talk to me. Poor Logan had to deal with it all the time. Especially when he starts talking about guns or work. Oops. I’m an ass hole. Shoulder shrug.

Having ADHD and being a girl has got to be the worst thing ever. Trying to sleep while my brain is going hay wire is for the birds. I’m going to try and shut down for the night.

#adhd brain #adult adhd #living with adhd #Wyoming #momlife

[erodasfishtacos]

HSLOT PHILLY

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-

Harry is predictable.

He falls into the same patterns during every tour since he was on the Up All Night with One Direction.

The excitement that comes with the first couple of shows begins to fade as he starts his world wide tour that doesn’t end for nearly eight months.

His constant adrenaline wears off and his exhaustion from not having toured in two years settles deep in his bones.

YN senses it from a mile away, has nearly eleven years experience dealing with her jet-lagged, exhausted, and stubborn husband.

It hits the day of the Philadelphia show, they got in late the night before, and YN always set her alarm for seven thirty in the morning to workout.

Ninety-five percent of the time, Harry got up with her and they either did a jog around the new city or they took advantage of the in-hotel gym.

Four percent of the time, he would whine and tug the comforter over his head, whimpering, “M’too tired, baby. Stay in bed w’me.”

And then the one percent, which was today.

The alarm emits a low, constant beep that rouses YN, in the time she takes to rub her eye and come back into reality - Harry hisses with a sharp edge, “Turn tha’ fuckin’ thing off.”

She bites her tongue at his tone, reaching to turn it off but she can already tell what day they’re going to have.

YN slips out from under the covers and automatically gets a comment from her husband, it another whiney demand, “Cover m’feet, y’too the blanket off them.”

“Yes, your majesty,” YN replies reproachfully, rearranging the blankets before quietly moving around the room to change.

“Stop makin’ so much noise.”

“Turn off tha’ light.”

“S’too early f’this, d’you not care that m’tired?”

She chooses to ignore the remarks, hoping that he can sleep off the attitude.

When YN is about to leave, he grumbles, “Y’need to kiss me goodbye.”

Harry purses his lips for a soft kiss, not moving a muscle, and after that - she leaves to head down to the gym.

YN is required a body guard, definitely when she isn’t with Harry or a group of people, and she decided not to follow those rules today.

She had her TPWK water bottle in hand, a cute workout set on ***, and her AirPods tucked in her ear with some Spice Girls playing.

It’s only about twenty minutes into her exercise, a light jog on the treadmill, that a young girl slips up beside the machine.

YN is kind, stopping the belt to smile for a selfie before the girl scampers off and she resumes her run - music blasting.

However, what YN didn’t know, is that fans had found out early in the morning which hotel they where at and a hoard was rushing towards the small gym.

It’s not even ten minutes later when a swarm of fans in rushing into the work area, lining up around her machine with their phones flashing and recording.

She tries to be nice, “Hey! Uh, I’m just trying to workout. I’m sorry, but no pictures please.”

Then there is loud protest and people shoving each other, begging and pleading for a selfie or for her to sign something - all because she was Harry’s wife.

There is literally no exit to escape to, so she relents and anxiously calls Frank - one of the body guards - to come retrieve her.

-

The whole way back up to her hotel room, Frank is lecturing her about safety and how she could have gotten hurt.

And when he scans the keycard for her hotel room, she feels her stomach drop because Harry is sat against the kitchen counter.

His brown locks are rumpled and going every which way, just in his briefs that are low on his narrow hips, and absolutely irate expression on his face.

“Are y’fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Harry snaps, brow furrowed and jaw clenched - his arms were crossed tightly against his chest.

“Good morning to you, sunshine,” YN mutters, shutting the door and kicking off her tennis shoes to the side.

“Don’t,” Harry replies sourly, “Please explain t’me why I get woken up by Frank to be told y’getting mobbed in the gym? And y’didn’t to call him.”

YN bristles at his tone, giving him a pointed look as she steps further into the room, “It’s not a big deal. I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Y’right about that, y’weren’t thinkin’. It is a big deal, y’could have gotten hurt - shouldn’t have t’babysit m’own wife,” Harry huffs, stomping back over to the bed and sliding back under the covers.

“You better watch your tone-“

They’re interrupted with a knock to their door, Harry throws the covers over his head and leaves YN to open the door.

It’s Jeff, who barges in with a coffee in one hand, “Come on, H. Did you forget? You have soundcheck early today and then you have to meet with FullStop to review the details of that new merchandise contract.”

“No, move it,” The popstar groans, muffled from the heavy blankets over him, and his manager and wife give each other a knowing look.

“We can’t. Get up, we need to leave in fifteen,” Jeff replies casually, unbothered as he sips from his to-go mug.

It has Harry dramatically ripping off the covers and getting out of bed, as he charges off towards the bathroom, he shouts backwards, “Wish someone would have fuckin’ told me! Like m’manager or m’wife!”

“Oh my god, here we go,” YN groans quietly to Jeff, snatching up the few things she needs for the venue as well as Harry’s and shoving them in his duffle.

He comes out a few moments later, dressed in running shorts and a vintage Queen shirt - going to tug on his Nikes without a word to either.

But in true Harry fashion, even when he’s mad, he’s still a gentleman. He slips the duffle off his wife’s shoulder so she doesn’t have to carry it.

“Thank you,” She murmurs but he avoids eye contact, being the first to open the hotel room and trudge towards the awaiting car.

It’s a quiet ride, Harry looks out the window with a deep frown and puffy eyes - eyes heavy from the lack of sleep.

Usually, he’d be curled into YN - snuggling as close as possible and asking for her to pet his hair to soothe him.

Not today. But he does have his hand on her thigh.

There’s already fans at the arena and Harry doesn’t acknowledge them - keeps his head down and walks quickly into the private entrance past the barricades.

When a irritated fan screams, “Asshole! We waited all night here for you!”

YN watches as Harry goes to turn, to say something but she pushes him forward through the door to prevent him from doing something he’d regret when wasn’t in a foul mood.

They manage through the long hallways, filled with bustling tour crew, and everybody there to make the show happen.

Sound check isn’t as fun as it usually is, the band stays low-key when Harry does exactly what he needs to do and nothing more.

And after the merch meeting, Harry has reached his limit apparently.

He was so tired, so fucking moody that he couldn’t deal with anymore human interaction.

YN has to step in when she gets a text from Harry Lambert.

Come get your husband. Sarah’s Kitchen.

She sighs, excusing herself from hanging out with Jeff and Glenne - she can hear him from the hallway and now she’s finally get irritated.

“I asked for that specific brand. It’s literally one of the only things I’ve asked for on this tour.”

YN takes a deep breathe before stepping in, there are crew trying not to stare as Harry complains to Sarah about something unimportant.

“Harry,” She says flatly, “Come on.”

He snatches his water bottle and follows his wife out without another word, trailing behind until they end up in his dressing room.

“You need to stop. You’re being a literal nightmare today,” YN tells him, watching him as he digs in the duffle.

“Where is m’charger? Did y’not pack it?” He ignores her words.

“I must have forgot. Harry, I know you’re tired but you can’t be treating everyone like-“

Harry pushes back the bag, seething for no reason, “I’ll treat people however the fuck I want!”

“You’re acting like a spoiled popstar right now,” YN replies, attempting to stay level-headed and calm with him.

“S’my show! M’tour!”

“Yes and everyone is here to support you and you’re treating them like shit. Including me, I’m your wife - the one person in the world that’s here for you no matter what and you’re being downright mean.”

“Y’so fuckin’ sensitive,” Harry mutters angrily, digging around to try to find a charger in a different bag.

And…that stung a bit.

When he doesn’t get a response, he looks up and notices how her demeanor had changed - it brings him back to reality for a little bit.

“I’m not going to stay here and be talked to like that because you don’t feel good. I’ll leave you alone because you are being insufferable.”

“Bab-“

YN is already out the door, storming back to Sarah’s kitchen to apologize for her husband’s diva behavior and everyone shrugs her off - knowing it’s not her fault.

She is sat down with the band and a few others when her husband saunters in, he doesn’t look at anyone else as he walks up to his wife.

“Baby, can I talk to you?” He mumbles, his warm hand coming to cup her shoulder.

“Harry,” YN says back, they’ve been together for so long that those words are all she needs to say for him to formulate a response.

“Come nap w’me please, need you. I’ll apologize t’you,” Harry says, his palm encompassing and big on her.

“Harry,” She repeats.

The crew looks on in amusement as Harry huffs, he lifts his head and speaks loudly to the room at once, “I apologize for my behavior. I have no excuse for getting upset like I have been today. I hope you guys can forgive me.”

Everyone assures him that they forgive him, most of them have dealt with actual spoiled celebrities and Harry was just having a bad day (which still really wasn’t that bad.)

“Okay, come on, bunny,” YN agrees, satisfied and can’t help but smile a bit when she stands up and Harry automatically intertwines their fingers to hold her hand.

The sofa in his dressing room folds out to be a bed and they still had hours before the show.

Once they’ve locked the doo and settled down on the mattress - they’re both laying on their sides, facing each other.

“M’sorry, darlin’,” Harry whispers, “I haven’t been very nice t’you today. I was just upset about the gym thing and just being so tired.”

YN hums, combing throwing his fluffy curls with her fingers as his hands explore over her hips and belly like always.

“You always get like this every once in a while on tour, like a little spoiled popstar,” YN says softly, no sharpness in her tone, “You also need to be nice to your wife.”

“M’always nice t’my wife,” He mumbles childishly, leaning forward to nip at her chin, “I am sorry, know tha’ when I act like that it embarrasses you.”

“You’re better than acting like that,” YN reminds him, allowing him to tug her into his warm, now bare chest, “I’m never gonna let you turn into some fame monster. You’re gonna stay the kind, funny, compassionate person I met when I was young.”

And when YN doesn’t get a reply, she glances to see Harry’s eyes shut, mouth slightly parted as he breathes rhythmically and his entire face relaxes as he sleeps.

“Still my boy,” YN murmurs lovingly, nuzzling before letting sleep overtake her.

-

#hslot!harry #hslotrry #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fic rec #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #Harry styles angst #husband!harry #harry styles huband #erodsafishtacos masterlist #file #Harry styles au #update #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing request #harry styles angst

[radiantsouth]

the protector

Susan was relieved that, for once, she wouldn't be tucking Lucy into bed alone. Heaven knows Edmund would never do it with her—he would simply hover in the doorway like an apparition to say good night to their younger sister, and he was much too squeamish to let Susan tuck him in, too. Well, when he was awake, at least; he couldn't protest if she crept to his room while he was asleep, just to make sure he was alright.

It was Peter who drew the blanket around Lucy's shoulders tonight. There was almost no reprieve from the moment he arrived—only a too-short breakfast, then it was off to the council room, fighting exhaustion as his generals debated and his siblings watched, hoping he wouldn't fall over then and there.

His eyes seemed especially sunken and bloodshot in the candlelight, bending down to kiss Lucy on the cheek.

“Good night, Peter.” Lucy looked expectantly at Susan, who relented and kissed her other cheek. “Good night, Susan. Night, Ed.”

“Night, Lu,” Edmund called out from the foot of the bed.

Peter turned to him with an impish smile. “Does Edmund want a good night kiss as well?” he teased.

“I'm alright, thanks,” Edmund protested, backing away from the bed, but Peter was quick to chase him and lift him up kicking and screaming out of the room. “Please, stop,” he whined as Peter nuzzled into his neck, laughing at the ticklish feeling.

Susan shook her head as she followed them, closing the door to Lucy's room behind her.

“Susan, help, he's torturing me,” Edmund wheezed between tickles.

“Come on, Ed, your brother missed you,” Susan said with fake sympathy. “In fact, I think you deserve a good night kiss, too—”

Edmund slipped out of Peter's grip and scampered to his room. “Good night!” he called out hastily. “See you tomorrow!” The door slammed shut.

Peter chuckled. “He'll miss this when he grows up.”

“I think we'll simply have to smother him until he's sick of us,” Susan agreed. “You off to bed, as well?”

Peter shook his head. “Don't think there’ll be any sleep for me tonight,” he said lightly.

“Oh honestly, look at the state of you—”

“Don't mother me, Susan, I know,” Peter sighed. “Believe me, I want to sleep.”

For once, Susan bit her tongue. Five hundred men lost, each one a weight on Peter’s conscience. The younger ones might have made him forget, just for a little while, but not Susan. Never Susan—it fell to her, all the bleak responsibility that came with piecing Peter back together. She was a reminder, not a distraction.

Sometimes she wished that she brought joy, like Lucy. Even Edmund's acerbic nature proved to be a worthy diversion. But this was her, and there were four thrones to be filled. This was all she had to offer.

She trailed after Peter into his bedroom, and he let her. When she closed the door, Peter was sitting cross-legged in front of the lit fireplace, staring into the flames.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she began softly. “It must have been difficult.”

“Yes, well,” Peter agreed, though his voice was sour. “Does it ever get easier?”

Silently, Susan sat beside him. “I think if it got easier, you wouldn't be as good a king as you are now,” she said.

This, at least, got a half-hearted laugh out of Peter. “You know, you're infuriating when you're making sense.”

“I know. I must resign myself to your hating me forever.”

Wordlessly, Susan laid her head on his shoulder. She felt the tension leech from his body, and was comforted that he felt some form of relief in her presence, just as she did with his. All of them were happy that he was home, but maybe her most of all, even though she showed it least. His absence meant that Edmund and Lucy turned to her, a responsibility much more familiar to him.

He was only one year older, yet she still remembered how determined he would be to lead the way. When she was four or five and Edmund couldn’t walk yet, she had broken one of their crayons in half. They shared everything, then, because there simply wasn't enough to go around. Susan had started babbling nonsense about how she was sorry—she hadn’t wanted to cry, but she did, and that made her even more upset.

Peter sat beside her, spreading more newspaper on the rickety dinner table. “They still work when they're broken, see?” he’d said, grasping the crayon half in his hands. “And look, now we can both use them. Don't cry.”

From the moment she was born, Peter never had anything that wasn't shared: clothes, food, toys, attention, all of which he gave to his younger siblings freely. The only thing that was truly his was—well, her, Edmund, and Lucy.

But this... this burden, Susan was determined to share with him.

“You know what I thought of, when all the fighting was over?” Peter said. “That Edmund and Lucy will have to see it with their own eyes someday. We can't protect them forever.”

Susan pursed her lips. She’d thought of it, too, how fast they were all growing up. She’d thought that at least in the Professor’s house, Edmund and Lucy could be made to forget, to play and be the children that they were. They couldn’t avoid that here.

“We prepare them for the inevitable,” Susan said eventually. “It's all we can do.”

“Right as always, Su,” Peter sighed. “You did well, holding down the fort.” The younger ones, the castle, the country—Susan knew he meant them all.

“We both do what we do best.”

His eyes fell on Rhindon above the mantelpiece. “I should tell you... next time, we might need you out there. Five hundred men aren't easy to replace, but with you there...”

“I understand.”

“I’m sorry to do this to you. I know you hate it.”

Susan sat up and hugged her knees. There was nothing but regret in Peter’s eyes; as much as she hated going to battle, he hated having to send her. “It makes no difference. I'll be where I'm needed.” On the battlefield, at Peter's side, whichever he meant. “I can handle myself,” she added, tacking on what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“And don’t I know it.” Peter reached out to squeeze her hand once. “Thanks for everything, Su.”

Susan knelt, placing a kiss on the crown of his golden head. “There’s no need to thank me. What you do need, though, is a good night’s sleep.”

“Yes, mum,” Peter said with another long-suffering sigh, but he smiled up at her all the same. “Good night, Susan.”

“Good night, Peter.” Tomorrow would bring a whole new host of problems, but for tonight, she could sleep knowing that her job was done.

#can you tell who my favourite characters are yet #peter pevensie #susan pevensie #the chronicles of narnia #narnia #tcon #narnia fic #book:lww

[weasleyswizardpleases]

Low Profile (reader x fred and george)

Summary: You and your best friends find yourself entangled in a secret polyamorous love affair, right under their family’s noses.

Warnings/Notes: Cw language, kissing (but no sex of any kind), family not accepting poly/queer relationship, bruising. This is for the wonderful and talented @lunalovecroft​’s 2.7k trope-inspired writing challenge! It’s also part of my loose series of fics that take place over the summer when y/n stays at the Weasleys’ house. No twincest- v shaped poly relationship. Here’s my masterlist if you want more! Enjoy!

Ever since you and Fred hooked up the first night of the summer, you’ve been joined at the hip even more than usual, and since George is always with Fred and usually with you, he had to be told once it was clear that you and Fred were gonna be more than a one night stand. You were a bit sad, knowing that it’d probably make him feel left out, in a way. You noticed that George looked a bit miffed when the two of you told him you were dating, in the loosest sense of the word. 

“What’s the matter, you jealous Georgie?” you tease, putting your hand on his knee flamboyantly. He blushes and you and Fred exchange a look.

“Oh my god, you actually are, aren’t you?” Fred asks, half-mocking. For once, George seems to be at a loss for words. He looks quite uncertain and a bit sad. You figure that you may as well break the tension and speak honestly; it’s more important to you to be frank and maintain your friendship than anything else. You clear your throat.

“George, honestly, if you’d been there instead of Fred that night, I’d probably have hooked up with you, too. We’ll all still be friends. That’s why we’re telling you, so we’re not keeping secrets,” you say, trying to goad him into speaking. He shakes his discomfort off and begins.

“Oh, I knew this would happen! We used to just be friends before the two of you started making eyes at each other all the time. Now I’ll barely be able to talk to the two of you- my two best friends, mind you- without all this lovey dovey shit. What an absolute nightmare!”

You open your mouth to speak, but George barrels on, looking at Fred this time.

“And you, some brother you are. You know how I feel about Y/N, I thought we had an agreement to keep it platonic all around?”

“It’s not my fault they’re interested in me!”

“George, I said I would have kissed you that night too! Actually, that’s what I’ve been trying to say to both of you. I’ve got feelings for you, both of you.”

They stop bickering and turn to look at you, turning the idea over in their minds.

“What are you saying?” asks Fred, looking a bit hurt.

“I’m saying,” you take a deep breath, “that I’ve never been better friends with one of you than the other. We do everything together. I don’t want that to change. Besides, you two are identical. Did you think your birthmark was that big of a selling point, Freddie? Of course I think you’re both good-looking, look in the mirror for goodness’ sake!”

They blink at you, then turn away to confer with one another in whispers. You tap your foot impatiently, but when they turn around, they’re beaming.

“So what you’re saying is you’d be fine with us sharing you?” George asks.

“More than fine. I’d be absolutely chuffed,” you say, returning their smiles.

“It’s settled, then,” Fred says, and plants a kiss on the top of your head. You look up at George permissively, and he puts his arm around you and gives you a squeeze.

“One thing, though. Mum and Dad can’t know. Mum especially. She’s not the most open-minded when it comes to this stuff. Especially with us. At least, I doubt she is,” Fred says.

“Yeah, funnily enough it never occurred to me to ask what she’d do if my twin brother and I started a poly fling with our best friend who also lives with us and sleeps in our bedroom, but if I had to guess, I don’t think she’d approve,” George adds, smirking.

“That’s ok. We have a pretty good track record when it comes to keeping secrets,” you say, a mischievous glimmer in your eye.

That evening, you’re helping Molly fold linens when she steps away for a moment to take the kettle off. You feel four hands slip around you from behind and soon you’re pulled into a kiss, Fred on your left, kissing you hard on the neck and collarbone, and George kissing your lips, taking your bottom lip gently between his teeth. You kiss them passionately but push them away after a second, regaining your composure.

“Not here!” you hiss, grinning. They exchange a cheeky glance and kiss you on each cheek before scurrying back to their room, giggling. You shake your head and turn back to folding sheets, just as Mrs. Weasley returns.

“My, my dear, that’s quite a bruise you’ve got there, what happened?” Mrs. Weasley clucks, gesturing to your collarbone where you’re surprised to see a dark, newly formed hickey.

“Oh, pickup quidditch match. I’m not very good, I’m afraid,” you say, the rush of the small lie filling you with butterflies.

“Well now, we are wizards after all. We can’t have you running about looking as if you’ve been sleeping under the whomping willow,” she says cheerfully. She extracts her wand and uses a quick healing spell on the spot, which fades quickly. You wonder if she really doesn’t recognize the bruise as a hickey, but you shrug. The twins have certainly gotten away with worse under this roof.

That night, you and the twins are in the kitchen having a midnight snack. The rest of the house is quiet. You’re sitting on the countertop, helping yourself to a biscuit, and George is leaning on the counter beside you. You feed him a little bite and he licks the crumbs from your fingers playfully. Fred is rummaging through the fridge across the room, and George peers into the fridge nosily. Something piques his interest, and he heads over, whispering to his brother indistinctly. You catch them giggling, and can hear snatches of their conversation. They appear to be working on something as they chat eagerly.

“Take the…”

“... and the… yes! Use a…”

“... that’s just bad…”

“...dare you…”

You hear the familiar sound of compressed air decompressing, and Fred whirls around with a pie tin full of whipped cream in his hand, grinning devilishly.

“No!” you whisper-scream, nearly falling off the countertop, but you’re not fast enough. Fred flops the tin into your face with a splat, and George laughs so hard he winds up on the ground kicking. You lick the cream from your lips, hungry for revenge.

You know Fred is secretly quite vain about his hair, and you waste no time sliding off the countertop and wrapping him up in a hug from behind. He suspects your ulterior motives immediately, but it’s too late for him to escape.

“Oh darling, give me a hug my sweet,” you say, making exaggerated kissy noises while burying your pie covered face in his nice clean hair. He flails about, and you tickle his ribs defensively, causing him to buckle. You fall to the ground with him, giggling and shoving at one another. Just as George joins in, trying to drag you off of his brother, kissing you all over as he tugs on your legs, you hear a floorboard creak. 

Ginny, whose room is closest to the kitchen, stands at the foot of the stairs, gaping at you. You’re sure she saw the kissing, and, well, the whole situation does look a bit… familiar. You whack George on the head and nod in Ginny’s direction.

“Oh, hello Ginny,” Fred says, disentangling himself from his situation beneath you.

“Hello, big brother,”

“Hello, Ginny,” George says, surprise straining his voice.

“Hello, other brother,”

“Hello, Ginny,” you say uncertainly, standing up and wiping your face off with a tea towel.

“Hello, Y/N,” she says. “Some of us are trying to sleep, you know,” she says, raising an eyebrow knowingly. Everyone speaks in hushed tones once again, having remembered that it is indeed the middle of the night. She nods curtly and scampers back upstairs, smiling cheekily.

“Did she see?” George whispers.

“Oh, she saw,” you assure him.

“But she wouldn’t say anything, right?” Fred asks.

“Surely not,” his brother replies nervously. 

“But if she does…” 

“We’re toast. No way mum believes us over her.”

“You guys are being too paranoid. Ginny isn’t a snitch like Ron and Percy, she wouldn’t blab on us for a bit of… roughhousing,” you say hopefully. The twins agree, and you help each other get cleaned up, George dabbing your face clean with a wet towel, giving you gentle kisses in between. 

The rest of the week goes by uneventfully. As far as you know, Ginny doesn’t say anything about what she saw, and life in the burrow goes on as usual. In the mornings, you and Hermione read quietly in the living room over tea. She reads the paper, you look at the comics, every once in a while stopping to remark on a thought you’ve had. 

Then George wakes up. He’s quiet in the mornings, a bit slow, although not very grumpy. Then Molly gets up and usually whips up some sort of breakfast, and by the times everyone’s up you all gather round the long table and eat together. Then, if you’re lucky, you run off outside or to a neighbor's house or abscond to the attic with Fred and George, away from prying eyes and away from Molly’s commands. If you’re unlucky, Molly enlists at least one of you in some chores, usually out in the garden. 

The next time the three of you come close to getting caught, you’re doing just this- de-gnoming with Fred, George, and Ron when Ron gets a headache and goes inside, complaining that it’s far too hot. In reality, the day is rather mild, although the sun is bright enough that Fred and George both have pink sunburns radiating across the bridges of their noses. You flick Fred on his sunburnt cheek and he winces.

“Ow! What’s that for?!” he asks, nearly dropping a gnome right back into the grass. 

“I need your attention!”

“For what?”

“A kiss,” you reply devilishly. He obliges you and kisses you dramatically, dipping you low, holding you in his arms. “Like this, mi amore?” he asks in a silly accent.

“Lunchtime!” Molly calls from the doorway, causing Fred to drop you to the ground and George to leap in front of the two of you oddly, trying to obscure his mum’s line of sight. You brush yourself off and head for the house, hoping Mrs. Weasley didn’t see anything.

“Fred Weasley!” Mrs. Weasley says shrilly, and you all cringe. You hold your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Fred, did I just see you toss Y/n to the ground? That’s no way to treat a guest, especially when you’re meant to be doing housework!” You sigh deeply, relieved. “Come in, dearie, I swear, sometimes I don’t know who raised those two!” she says, putting an arm around you to guide you in the house.

#lunalovecroftstropechallenge #cw language #cw kissing #cw polyphobia #cwhomophobia #george weasley #fred weasley #molly weasley #ginny weasley #fred and george #gred and forge #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins #fred weasley x reader #george weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #george weasley x y/n #weasley #ron weasley #fred and george imagine #fred weasley imagine #george weasley imagine #fred weasley fic #george weasley fic #fred and george fic #weasley twins fic #fred weasley fanfiction #george weasley fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #reader insert

[wonunuu]

pretty pimple | hjs

genre: idk fluff?? it's just casual

wc: 300 plus

a/n: here's a v short drabble i pulled outta my ass. who knew i'd get an idea and motivation to write from a pimple convo w @sunflowergyeomie. n e ways, dis for u ig? :p

navi

03:14 AM

friend a: i'm not even old pleasee

friend b: she's saying that as she's applying anti aging cream on her forehead 👵🏻

friend a: shut up. you still potty training 🚽 cant have you wetting your bed anymore 👶🏻

you: AAKSKDKFJWKS GUYS SHUT UP JOSH IS SLEEPING I CANT BE LAUGHING LOUD

you cover your mouth with your hand, attempting to suppress yourself from laughing too loud as you chat with your friends at the ass crack of dawn. your boyfriend joshua on the other hand, is dead asleep beside you. the poor man is drained from attending back to back meetings all day yesterday with his members because they are preparing for an upcoming comeback. the last thing you wanted to do was wake him up, but that's exactly what you do... unintentionally.

"yn?" you jump a little from the sudden sound of your suppose to be asleep boyfriend calling your name. he turns on his side to face you. "are you still up?" he asks rubbing his eyes, voice groggy as ever. "sorry did i wake you?" you softly say as you bring your hand to his cheek. he closes his eyes and nods. "let's sleep?" he asks.

"just give me five more minutes," you say as you retrieve your hand from his cheek and use it to keep typing back to your friends. he doesn't respond - just wraps his hand around your waist and nuzzles his face to your shoulder.

"you know, if you don't sleep now you're gonna get a big pimple on your forehead tomorrow," joshua teases while his eyes are still shut, giggling afterwards. you roll your eyes and lightly slap his arm. "just shut up and sleep," you laugh, and he does what you say. he always does. he can't say the same for you though as you just go back to talking to your friends.

later that morning when you woke up, joshua wasn't home anymore. he usually leaves around eight o'clock, and you woke up two hours after. you drag yourself out of bed and head to the washroom. you pass by the mirror, quickly glancing at your reflection. you see a small red spot on your forehead, but don't think much of it and just continue walking. however, you stop on your tracks when you come to a realization as to what that red spot might be. you scamper back to the mirror, leaning closer to get a closer look. you gasped exaggeratedly. to your not so pleasant surprise, it's a pimple. you scream internally.

"the asshole jinxed it."

#caratwritersclub #kwritersworldnet #seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen au #seventeen scenario #seventeen drabbles #seventeen timestamps #svt imagines #svt fluff #svt drabbles #joshua hong #joshua x reader #joshua fluff #svt joshua #svt au #svt scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen joshua #joshua hong fluff

[babbushka]

Fathoms Below

Pirate Captain!Kylo Ren x Reader

17.2k ; CW: Graphic descriptions of violence, death, murder, sword fighting, blood & injury, mention of corpses, possessive behavior, NSFW (PIV, oral sex [F receiving] fingering, rough sex, praise kink)

Available on AO3

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

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

He can still remember it, all these years later.

He can remember the very first voyage, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, flush of excitement high on the bridge of his nose. As Kylo’s crew sails the Silencer through the calm waters of the Atlantic, he cannot help but remember. The crew know better than to question him now, lest they fancy a trip off the plank, so as the deep blue waters of the ocean split beneath the bow of his ship, Kylo climbs up to the bowsprit and straddles the long wooden post, letting out a deep breath.

The horizon is unchanging, as she ever is. Kylo squints into the orange of the setting sun, watching as the waves catch and sparkle in the froth that it makes as it breaks against the wooden hull of the vessel he has commandeered now for longer than he has lived ashore.

“Where are you?” He asks out into the waves, casts his voice as far as it will go, desperate beyond measure, sick with the want of seeing you again, as he remembers.

Oh, I bid farewell to the port and the land

And I paddle away from brave England's white sands

To search for my long ago forgotten friends

To search for the place I hear all sailers end

As the souls of the dead fill the space of my mind

I'll search without sleeping 'til peace I can find

I fear not the weather, I fear not the sea

I remember the fallen, do they think of me?

When their bones in the ocean forever will be…

He had been naught but nineteen, when the maiden voyage of HMS Finalizer sets sail. A crew of nearly three hundred men hoisted the sails of the warship, led by the decrepit Captain Snoke as they embark on a crusade of sorts in the warmer waters away from Liverpool. The old man, a battle-worn scoundrel with a sunken in face and long white beard has given this young boy his first chance of the open seas, and said boy has taken it. On his first voyage ever, the young skipper leaves behind the world of the land to instead live out his days on the sea.

And what a magical world it is! A world of adventure, loyalty and trust, of code and honor – unlike the petty realm of government and policy which he has so quickly abandoned, the realm of his mother and uncle; no, a desk job was never in the cards for him, not for him. He longed for the sea, and now he has her. Much like a sponge that lives on the bottom of the depths, he soaks up knowledge and skill as fast as he can, they will not regret the day they brought him aboard. For weeks he studies and practices and learns the ropes, learns the nature of the Finalizer and how to care for her.

He meets a band of older gentlemen, who take him under his wing.  Vicrul was the navigator, he taught the young boy how to read the stars with just his eyes and his compass. Cardo was the boatswain, and he taught the young boy how to seal the ropes so the braids wouldn’t rot, how to swab the deck until the floorboards shone. Ushar was the master gunner, who taught the boy how to load and fire the cannons, taught him to be grateful he wasn’t a powder monkey scampering through the rigging. Trudgen was the carpenter and taught the boy how to repair the holes which inevitably would find their way into the hull of their ship, taught the boy how to repair just about anything he could think of. Kuruk, the surgeon, taught the boy how to fix everything that Trugden could not.

And Ap'lek, why he might be the most important of the gentlemen of all, for Ap’lek was a musician and could play nearly any instrument placed in his lap. It is with Ap’lek that the boy spends much of his time, learning the melodies and harmonies of the sea, for it is by song which the whole ship works, and the ship does not work without it.

It is a song that they are singing now, the young boy in line with a row of far stronger and taller men. The salty spray of the sea splashes onto his face, as the skipper’s muscles are put to good use on the long-haul, as he and his brothers call out in time to the songs that the shanty master belts out with his strong lungs. That had been the one question Captain Snoke had asked of him,

“I’m fast, and strong, Captain, and am an excellent climber – ” He had boasted proudly, puffed his chest up to mask the lank of his limbs.

“Aye,” The old man had cut him off, glanced him up and down, “But can ye sing?”

Even if he hadn’t he would have lied, he supposes.

And even if he hadn’t, he would have learned soon enough. As he hoists himself up the ropes, as he feels the breeze and the sun in his hair, he thinks he might fancy being a shanty master himself one day. The work is hard, the work is brutal, but the songs make it worth it, they pass the time and fill everyone with a spirit that pushes the ship forward.

He had sailed halfway through the Atlantic fighting the enemy, blowing holes in the hull of their ships where he knew they had not a Trugden nor an Ushar to defend themselves, and in those few weeks he felt he had already outgrown this ship. Lying awake at night, he wished for a chance to one day commandeer his own, how he would be a far better captain than the likes of Snoke. If there was one thing he learned all on his own, it was that he would do anything to be rid of Snoke.

Oh, if only he had watched his words.

The storm comes as storms often do – a whipped up frenzy of wind and wave, Poseidon’s fury crashing down around them. Startled awake, his vision shorts out as the ship is illuminated by bright cracks of lightning as the sea churns inky black below. It crept up to them at night, with no warning save for the pressure in the air. That pressure, and the creaking groaning planks of the ship, the rocking of her belly.

By the time the storm was noticed by the rest of the crew, it was too late. Lightning strikes the staffs and catches the sails on fire, alarm bells ring, men shout and shout and shout and pray.

“All hands on deck!” Cardo’s booming voice rises above the thunder, above the shouts of concern that pour from the hammocks high in the rigging where the boys all sleep.

Down down down the shrouds they rush, shrouds which the wind whips and flings about in a panic. The integrity of the Finalizer is tested now, for they have survived cannons, but gunpowder is no match for the fury of the sea. The young boy feels a spike of adrenaline in his chest, this is the first storm he has ever seen, and he has a sickening feeling that it might be his last.

Heave and ho, the winds send the ship headed towards rocks hidden underneath the waves, a gash too large torn through the starboard side, water flooding in. He does not know which way to go – to pump the water out, to hoist the sails, to put the fires out; there is chaos, and he does not know where to begin. Men rush past him as the ship tils and lurches from one side to the next, chests and barrels and piles of supplies sliding dangerously to and fro, knocking crewmen over the sides before the swelling crashing deadly waves have a chance to sweep them off their feet.

Waves some twenty, thirty feel tall curl in on themselves and smash down onto the deck, and now those shouts turn to screams, as they realize, as they all realize there is no saving this vessel. Lightning strikes, and he is pushed, urged towards a small boat, and he does not know how if they cannot survive on the big ship, how a little one would be of much help.

“To the rowboats -- !” Someone calls, the boy does not know who, not in this frenzy. His vision is shaking, as he runs and runs from one side of the ship to another, trying to stay level, trying to stay upright as the Finalizer nearly capsizes.

“There’s no time!” Ushar growls, the pipe he holds clenched between his teeth nearly splitting in two, as lightning strikes once more, as flaming bits of sail flutter around and land on the flesh of men.

“Captain – where is the captain?” The boy demands, because surely Snoke must know what to do, Snoke is the only one who can give orders – except when he sees Snoke, he sees him frantically rowing out in the distance, far greater distance that he should have been able to row in the storm like this. The boy is thrown against the rail of the ship with another lurch from the waves, and he panics, “What is he doing?”

“Don’t be daft son, he’s leaving us to die.” Vicrul sneers, water sloshing in a grand arc behind him, lightning illuminating the mouth of gold teeth he sports, his mouth turned into a grimace.

That was the first time in the young boy’s life, where he truly felt fear. Snoke must have sensed the storm coming, and instead of raising the alarms, he had snuck out like a snake in the night. And in doing so, his captain had condemned them all.

“Will we?” The boy asks with terror in his wide brown eyes, as Kuruk and Ap’lek can only stare at one another (years later, sitting here on the bowsprit, he realizes that they were trying to find a way to say I love you  before it was too late).

He does not get an answer, before the cold smack of water carries him off and away, as the body of the ship splits in two, as lightning and thunder sear into his brain. Someone shouts for him, but he cannot hear them, all he can hear is the rushing thrumming sound of the ocean.

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

Beneath the waves, it is calm.

More than calm, it is quiet. He cannot remember a time where it had ever been so quiet. Up above the waterline, he knows it must be hell, but down here in the embrace of the sea, there is naught he can do but listen to the quiet and feel the burn in his lungs. The world around him is black from the lack of the sun, but the flashes of lightning way above him send shimmers of rich emerald greens all around.

The currents are too strong, there is no fighting them. With the burn in his lungs only growing, growing more desperate for air that will not come, The boy sinks sinks sinks, a chest of cannon balls pinned to his stomach, sending him deeper.

He thinks of his mother, he thinks of the look on her face when he told her he would follow in his father’s footsteps for a life on the sea.

He thinks of his father, of the smuggler’s word he had given to come back home.

It looks like neither of the men in Leia’s life would be making good on their promises of return, he thinks.

An impossibly darker blackness creeps up through the corners of his vision, and he feels empty, so empty. The lightning a thousand feet up ahead crackles through the water, as he begins to slip away. A last burst of breath bubbles out of his mouth, the water is cold as his back hits the soft sand of the ocean’s floor.

He stares straight up and takes one final look at the watery world above him, and he resigns himself to his fate – when the last flash of lightning backlights a figure bolting towards him, arms outstretched, fingers spread in a frantic push to grab him.

With the last of his strength, though his body is crushed, he lifts one hand out to meet them.

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

He rests at the bottom of the ocean, as your fingers twine through his. Your hair is long and it flows around your face, a face which he cannot see and yet somehow can see perfectly. Your eyes glow white, so brightly that it illuminates the space like the lightning, but instead of a mere flash, it is a steady glow, much like a lighthouse on a craggy shore.

However it is not your eyes which captivate him, it is your body. For one, he has never seen a naked woman’s breasts before, and so the sight of your chest uncovered is a sight he fixates on, but only for a moment as he realizes very quickly that in the place where your legs should be, is a great and glorious tail.

It is long and glittering as the light from your eyes reflects off the scales, and he has a hard time believing that this is real, that you are real, especially when you open your mouth and speak aloud to him under the water, asking, “What is your name?”

The burn in his lungs is no more, he realizes, and when he breathes in, water does not fill the empty spaces inside of him.

“Am I dead?” He whispers, finding with relative ease that he can sit up, there on the ocean floor.

He looks around himself, sees the fallen sailors with whom he had just been singing not two hours ago, sees the debris of the ship which has sunk in large shattered pieces, nestled all around. The flag of Great Britain tattered and torn, mocking them all as the current creates an illusion that it is waving.

You smile curiously at him, settling yourself around him, your tail draped over his lap as you check him for injury.

“No, would you like to be?” You reply, and he’s not so sure he believes you, for such a thing as this cannot be possible, not in a million years, it cannot be.

“No – I – ” He stutters, watches as bubbles dance up to the surface.

“Your name, sailor.” You ask again with a gentle smile, and he hesitates.

His name, what was his name? He had one of course, but…but was that really his name? No, it wasn’t, he reasons. That was a name he had been given, one laden with expectation and pressure that he never wished to inherit. Even aboard the ship, he was not called by his name – although his nickname wasn’t much better. He makes a decision then, a decision he had longed to make when he was alive.

Because surely he was dead, and if he were a dead man, then at least he would die the man he wanted to be, as opposed to the man the world told him he had to become.

“Kylo Ren.” The name leaves his lips with a certainty that he did not know he possessed, especially for saying the name out loud for the first time. He had called himself Kylo in secret for years, and somehow, it felt good to have that secret come to light, even if it were too late.

“Kylo Ren.” You repeat, and he finds that it sounds even better coming from your lips, the sound almost intoxicating, your voice and cadence of speaking music to his ears. “’Tis a strong name, that one. How many years do you have under your sails, Kylo?”

“I – this is my first time.” Kylo admits, and your white glowing eyes widen, a hand on your chest in surprise.

“First time out at sea and already caught in my storm? You’re either very lucky, or very unlucky.” You shake your head, your hair following in a rippling motion, floating in the water.

“You’re beautiful.” Kylo says, as he feels his heart opening up, as he feels the burn of his lungs returning, the chill of the water a contrast on his skin once more.

“I know.” You grin, too many teeth in your mouth, and it is then that Kylo’s mind begins to catch up with him.

“Did you say your storm?” He asks, air bubbling out of his mouth, air that he didn’t know he possessed, air that he knows now that you’ve given him.

Kylo doesn’t know how, but he knows he is not dead, he knows that you have done something, you wield some power of the deep. He knows that you have saved him.

“Lucky, I think.” You laugh, the sound more melodic than any of Ap’lek’s songs could ever be, the sound filling filling filling Kylo with air. “Yes, I daresay you’re lucky.”

“I – are you an angel?” Kylo frowns, as he feels the chest of cannon balls slip away from his legs, feeling regaining in his limbs once more. The water rushes and thrums around him, but he doesn’t feel afraid, not as you take him by the hand and lead him slowly up to the surface.

“An angel? No, no I’m something far more sinister.” Your scales shimmer and glimmer and glitter in the moonlight, the waves are calm once more as you swim with him up up up.

“You’re so beautiful.” Kylo says, because he can’t think of anything else to say, and this pleases you, and he finds that he would very much like to spend the rest of his life making you happy.

Through the surface of the water Kylo’s face breaks, and all at once lungs fill with real air, salty briny moonlit air, and he gulps it down, coughs and splutters water. Kylo’s limbs are sore, he’s freezing cold, he feels sick – and all of this lets him know he is well and truly alive.

You’re watching him intently, watching him carefully, your eyes no longer glowing now that your face is out of the water. Guiding him to a rowboat which sits empty atop the water, you help him into it.

He doesn’t want to let go of your hand.

“Promise me something, and I won’t drown you.” You tease, although Kylo cannot tell that you are teasing, he’s too in shock of how he is here – of why he is here and his fellow brothers remain at the bottom of the ocean.

“Anything.” The word tumbles easily, quickly, and you tsk against the roof of your mouth, shaking your head.

“’Anything’ is a dangerous word to be said to a mermaid.” You whisper, but Kylo doesn’t care.

“I’ll do anything.” He insists, feeling in his heart, in his very core, that he wants to be with you forever. He’d sell his soul, to be with you forever.

So when you smile sadly at him, and give his palms a tight squeeze, before you slip your hands away and begin to sink back down into the water, until Kylo cannot see your beautiful breasts or your too-sharp teeth, until all that can be seen of you are your eyes which begin to glow once more, he panics with confusion.

“Grow up, big and strong, live long.” Your voice swirls around inside his head, and he rushes to the side of the rowboat to reach for you, even after you have submerged yourself fully, he still reaches, “Come find me when you have commanded the respect of the ocean upon a ship of your own. Find me, and tell me you’ll do anything for me then.”

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

Plot a course to the night to a place I once knew

To a place where my hope died along with my crew

So I swallow my grief and face life's final test

To find promise of peace and the solace of rest

As the songs of the dead fill the space of my ears

Their laughter like children, their beckoning cheers

My heart longs to join them, sing songs of the sea

I remember the fallen, do they think of me?

When their bones in the ocean forever will be

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

The black sails of the Silencer are puffed full with wind, full speed ahead as they exit Port Royal. Sitting atop the bowsprit, Kylo stares into the glittering ocean, the horizon casting golden rays of light through the deep blue sea. His crew is merry, the weather is pleasant, and yet still a sour feeling lingers in his stomach.

Where were you? Surely now was the time, was it not? Kylo had grown, oh how he had grown, both in size and stature indeed. But more than that, he had done as you asked – as he had always wanted to do. There were no man so fearsome as that of Captain Ren, no ship that saw the sails of the Silencer and won the battle which soon followed.

His chests were filled with gold, which he sold for a pretty penny to the highest bidder, and often reserved himself a chest or two to simply fill his tub with and bathe in the riches. His barrels were filled with rum and food, his crew never having gone hungry, not even for one meal. His wardrobe was filled with expensive silks and linens, donning himself in clothes fit for a leader, but ensuring his crew were dressed as lavishly – these reasons and more are why year after year his crew elected him Captain.

In fact, the annual election had just taken place at the docks of Port Royal, where it was a unanimous vote. Kylo should be celebrating, he should be naked in a brothel surrounded by gorgeous men and women – it was the 1660s after all – he should be drinking to his heart’s content and pleasuring himself with life’s greatest fortunes.

Instead, he sits up on the bowsprit, and speaks to the sea with a melancholic eye. A single eye, for that’s all he has left, the other blinded in a battle he fought many a year ago. His crew takes notice to this, and as they perform their mid-morning duties, a few of them gossip among themselves, as pirates are often wont to do.

“He’s up there again?” A nimble fingered lad named Mitaka, not more than fifteen years of age, speaks up as he braids rope with the efficacy of a man with decades of practice. He had just joined the Silencer’s crew, had practically begged Kylo to take him aboard back in Port Royal, and though the Captain had a reputation for being volatile and coarse, he never turned away a face in need.

“Aye, with the telescope, same as every day.” His hammock-neighbor, Thannison, pipes up from his spot not too far across the deck, on his hands and knees scrubbing away.

“What’s he lookin’ for d’ya reckon?” Mitaka wonders aloud with the sort of curious nature that only someone young as he could still possess.

Thannison looks around, checks over his shoulder and then casts a glance up to the Captain himself, to Kylo who is unmoving, sitting far and away high above them all.

“A mermaid.” He whispers, and even though he is careful, the breeze still carries his voice, the word reaching the ears of the Silencer’s navigator, an ex-General of the Royal Navy.

“A myth, more like.” Hux scoffs with a roll of his eye, drawing the attention of Victoria the First Mate, a woman stronger than half the men aboard the ship combined.

“Don’t let the Captain hear ye talkin’ that way, what he’s lookin’ for ain’t none of our business.” She stands at the helm, not that there’s much work to be done now on such calm waters. They’re traveling windward to their great advantage, and the skies do their part in keeping the seas steady.

“But it is, isn’t it? We’re his crew, we sail his ship, don’t you think it’s our business what we’re lookin’ for?” Hux mutters, where he is reviewing charts over yonder portside.

“I said – ” Victoria storms over with her thick soled boots, storms straight through the freshly scrubbed floor poor Thannison had just polished, to shove a menacing blade of her short dagger in the direction of Hux’s narrowed eyes, “Don’t. Let. The Captain. Hear.”

Little displays of animosity like this were not rare among the crew, as pirates generally weren’t the most easy-to-get-along-with types, but Mitaka watches with a curious eye as Victoria walks away, down through a hatch in the deck, no doubt to retire to her rooms for the afternoon.

“You’d think she’d be in better spirits, what with seein’ her wife ‘n all.” He offers up, makin’ just about everyone within earshot chuckle.

“We could have been in port for a month, and Victoria would miss Gwen the moment they part.” Thannison replies, and this at least, Mitaka can understand.

“Does the Captain miss his mermaid?” He asks, eager to learn everything, eager to know, “Is she even real?”

“He says she is, but no man nor lass has ever seen her, and certainly never come back alive. They say she saved him on the night the Finalizer sank – that he was the only one she saved.” Hux throws a wary glance up to Kylo, who remains unchanged up on the bowsprit.

“Why?” Mitaka wonders aloud softly.

“No one knows.” Hux replies just as softly, for this truly is the one question which hangs on everyone’s mind, the one question that only Kylo would know, but even he is at a loss for the answers. “But as long as I’ve been aboard this ship, he has been looking for her. Now, no more questions, don’t you have rope to braid?”

“Aye sir!” Mitaka busies himself with his tasks once more, and Kylo, high up above them all, is grateful for it.

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

Of course he knows the rumors that spread, the worries that he is going mad. Much like a man chasing an elusive ship, or a hunt for treasure that didn’t exist, those who knew Kylo knew him to be a man fixated on the impossible. They say he has been on the sea too long, that twenty years should be his limit. Others say he is a drunk, and that his stories of a finned woman with long hair and glowing eyes can only be the result of a blackout.

No one says any of this to his face, for they would be run clean through with his saber if they did, but he knows, oh how he knows they say it.

Kylo often wonders if maybe they’re right, if maybe all this is for naught. If perhaps, ‘twas a delusional vision of a boy clinging to death, an overactive imagination. He supposes he will soon find out, for if there were ever come a time where he was Ready, it would be now.

He has sunk a hundred ships, he has slain more than twice that number of men with his own sword. He has sailed to the very corners of the ocean, has made friend and foe in every port known to privateer. The world knows his name, even if they cannot catch his ship. But none of that would matter, if you did not think so.

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

The sunlight glimmers on the water, and Kylo’s eye is drawn to a shifting movement in the waves at once. In an instant, his heart rate picks up, for he’s certain he’s just seen a flipper, certain of it!

Standing up and steadying himself on the long wooden beam, holding onto the ropes which are tied down to the wooden mast for balance, Kylo sheds himself of his hat, his coat, his saber and gun, before he sprints down the length of the bowsprit, until there is no wood beneath his feet, and he is swan diving into the ocean below.

On deck, all activity ceases, as the entire crew races to the bow to try and see where Kylo had gone. His hat and coat and loose artifacts fall into the hands of the men and women that make up Kylo’s ship, and they all clutch to them tightly, for they know how much Kylo cares about his clothes.

“Captain?” Hux shouts, cups his hands around his mouth and booms with exasperation, “Captain Ren – oh god dammit, Kylo!”

“What in the blazes does that boy think he’s doin’?” A gruff voice sounds from further back, and everyone’s eye turns to the young boy who is shedding his clothes too, looking for all intents and purposes that he’s going to do something rash.

“We have to go after him!” Mitaka’s face is bleak with worry, thinking that Kylo might have fallen over or been knocked down by the winds, that he must be injured or drowned.

But the First Mate knows better, and with a shake of her head and a resigned sigh at Kylo’s theatrics, she whistles for attention and all stand still to listen.

“He’ll come back, let him go.” Victoria puts a firm hand on Mitaka’s chest to prevent him from jumping overboard too. Everyone listens to her, Mitaka included, although he cannot stop staring out at the sea, watching for Kylo.

Since that fateful night, Kylo had trained himself how to hold his breath and how to swim well, skills which serve him now more than ever, as he chases what he thinks to be your tail. His legs propel him, muscular thick thighs that work double time, as his rippling biceps cut through the water, his body built but streamlined.

Where are you where are you where are you?

It’s all he can think, until he cannot think of anything but air, and he kicks towards the surface as seagulls caw above him, the sun blinding in a blaze of orange. With a deep sigh, he allows himself to float, his arms and legs spread out like a starfish on a rock, the sun warming his skin.

“If I am not ready now, will I ever be?” He asks aloud, wondering, hoping that you can hear him.

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

When he returns to his ship, he is met with not a single questioning glance, and for this he is grateful. His pride is hurt, his ego wounded, he cannot understand what he’s done wrong to make you keep him waiting this way. Slinking into his quarters, he strips down out of his wet clothes before even checking to make sure the room is empty, and draws his sword when a creak from the grand chair in the corner alerts him.

“What were ye thinkin’ this time? Hm?” Victoria leans forward, her elbow on her knees. “That you saw her again?”

Victoria was the first person to ever give Kylo a chance, when he washed ashore at the port, a scared starving boy alone in a rowboat. With that chance, he built an empire of piracy unlike that had ever been seen, and he brought her along with him to share in the riches. She was probably the only one who could ever speak to him the way that she speaks to him now.

“As a matter o’fact, yes.” Kylo bares his gold teeth at her in a menacing sneer, and she only rolls her eyes and throws a warm dry robe into his arms. Kylo puts it on without hesitation, not really wanting to expose himself to a woman he considers more of his sister than the one he has by blood. “This is about where she was the last time, where it happened.”

Bundled up in his robe, Kylo pours Victoria a glass of rum, and she accepts it with a sigh as he lays down in his bed with a groan. She takes a sip and watches him carefully, cautiously.

“Twenty years is a long time, Kylo.” She says, and Kylo lets out a long, heavy sigh and rubs the tension from his forehead.

“Believe me, I know.” He mutters, voice deep, tired. He sounds tired, feels tired. “We stayed at port too long, I fear that’s how we missed her.”

“You know I do not doubt you that this woman once saved you. But have you thought about the possibility that something might have happened to her in all this time? That maybe she is simply not out there anymore, unable to wait for you?” Victoria speaks softly, not wanting to get Kylo angry, but wanting him to face the facts. “I worry for you sometimes Kylo, perhaps you might think of setting your sails on a different prize – ”

“She is not a prize.” Kylo snaps, leveling his First Mate with a deadly glare, the kind of glare that should send shivers of fear down a normal person’s spine. But then, Kylo deflates, and he casts his eye toward the porthole window, hoping for those flippers to surface once more as he whispers, “She is something far more precious, something that cannot be owned. If ye be so inclined to know, I spoke to her two nights ago.”

“You did?” Victoria’s eyebrows shoot up, eyes blinking in shock.

“Aye, in a dream. And she called to me, called me here, so here is where I have sailed.” Kylo spits back, and this only makes her expression soften once more. “And when we are reunited once more, you’ll all see.”

“For your own sake Kylo, I hope so.” She pats his ankle, before swinging back the rum and leaving his quarters for him to sulk.

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

He is nearly asleep, when he hears it. The whisper, the ghost of his name, drifting to his ears through that porthole window left slightly ajar. He likes to sleep in this way, likes to breathe in the salty crisp air of night, likes to listen to the gentle lap of the waves. The ship is calm, in the middle of the night, the crew asleep in their hammocks or rooms below deck. There is nothing but the creak of the wooden decks, the flutter of the sails, and the steady rocking that has Kylo this close to dreaming, when he hears it.

“Kylo Ren…” The sound makes his eyes snap open, makes his heart beat fast in his chest. He thinks he’s hearing things, maybe conjuring them up in his own mind, but no, there it is again -- “Kylo Ren...”

Out of his bed at once, he throws on clothing. Clothing he has reserved specifically for this moment, clothing he has purchased just for you. With stockings slipped up onto his legs, Kylo steps into his black breeches and tucks in a loose-fitting white linen shirt, securing his waist with a crimson sash. The very same crimson adorns his brocade waistcoat, which he buttons up so quickly and with such shaky fingers, that he has to redo it twice. He has three golden earrings in each of his ears, and two golden bands on each finger.

He doesn’t have the time to wonder if you’ll find the appearance pleasing, as he brushes through his long black hair and ties it back with a crimson ribbon, because your voice is growing louder and more clear, and he is compelled to answer it.

Buckling his boots, Kylo ascends from the suite he calls home and finds at once, a pair of white glowing eyes not far from the starboard side of the Silencer.

“It’s you!” He whispers, nearly chokes on his spit as he does it, rushing to the rail and practically falling over the edge.

He holds his breath, waiting, hoping, and then yes! Yes it is you, you flick your tail happily in the moonlight, your scales shimmering and glittering the way he has so often dreamed about. You disappear beneath the inky waves then, and when Kylo is about to protest, your beautiful body is propelled out of the water, you do an elegant flip, spraying him with seafoam playfully upon impact once again with the waves.  

“I’m coming – just a moment, I’m coming!” For the first time in decades, a grin has split across Kylo’s surly face, his gold teeth reflecting the same way your scales do, and he jumps overboard, dives down into the water for the second time, knowing this time, you’re really there.

The sound of your laughter fills the spaces between the scars of his flesh, makes him whole, for the first time since he was a young boy. Your arms encircle him when he swims swims swims as fast as he can to reach you, and you surprise him by being faster – your tail propelling you forward more quickly than his mere legs ever could. Your reunion sings through the ocean, and he cannot take his palms away from your cheeks, he cannot look away from your glowing eyes, he does not want to, not now, not after so long.

You hug him then, floating on your back so he can be propped up atop your breast, and not accidentally pushed under the water. The two of you embrace in every sense of the word, and Kylo is thankful for the sea, for masking the tears of relief he feels.

When he leans his head in towards you, you do not deny him the kiss he so desperately seeks, and this kiss – though it is not Kylo’s first – fills him with a sense of completeness that has him groaning into your mouth. You smile against his lips, you let him wind a hand into your hair, another groping at your breast. The surface of the water is calm, there are no waves now to rock you both, and so you can indulge in one another like this lazily.

There is so much Kylo wants to ask you, so much he has to say, but in this moment, your union transcends language, as your minds meld together, a gate of sorts opening, letting the floodwaters free. He slides his tongue against yours and sighs into your mouth, clutches at you tightly, out in the open sea. If this were to take place inside his cabin, he knows the inside of the windows would be fogged from the heat that he can feel curling around your bodies.

“Kylo Ren.” You break the kiss at last, if only to give Kylo a chance to breathe, but you do not go far. You rest your forehead against his and he strains to look at you in the dark, through the closeness. “I have heard of the stories, how they echoed across the sea.”  

“You’re here, it’s you, you’re real and you’re here.” Pride wells up in Kylo’s chest, his ego inflamed, knowing the tales of his legacy have reached you. That is all he has ever wanted, and it is indescribable the way he feels knowing that in this he has succeeded.

“Of course I am, I told you I would be when you were ready for me, didn’t I?” You pet back the long dark locks that curl and cling to his wet cheeks, a thumb soothing across his lips as you lean in for another chaste kiss.

“You never told me your name.” Kylo says, because it is something he has wondered for twenty years, a question he has had burning inside his soul for just as long.

“My name? Hmm I have had many.” Chuckling, you duck your head, bashful. No one has ever asked you for your name, not once. “Names that have been given to me, names I have been called, many names. But tell me, what do you call me in your mind? When you lie awake at night and think of me, what slips past your lips?”

This sends a shiver of desire down Kylo’s spine, the way that you lean in and speak into his mouth, the way you smudge the words against his lips, your wet lashes dragging and brushing against his cheek. He’s halfway hard as it is, the thick line of his cock pressing through the layers of his soaking wet clothes, and all he can do about it is sigh, as he gropes at your breast once more.

“The only sounds I utter are the groans of pleasure which come from the very thought of you.” Kylo’s voice rumbles through his chest and into yours, and you grin, ducking your head, bashful.

“You’re charming. You may call me (Y/N).” You whisper to him like it is some secret, something that neither the moon nor the stars is privy to hear.

“Will you come aboard my ship (Y/N)?” He tests the name out on his tongue, and your scales shimmer with the way it sounds. That makes his pride swell further, makes his cock harder, but not so hard that he loses the clarity of mind to ask, “Can you?”

Your smile falters, but not by much. That beautiful tail breaks the surface once more, shimmering, ethereal before him. Kylo is mesmerized, he has always been mesmerized by you, but you being here in front of him, mesmerizing him now, is far better than the way he has lost himself in his dreams.

“I cannot, not like this. If my scales dry, then I die. So, in the water I must remain.” You explain, and Kylo tries not to let his heart break.

“I see.” He refuses to accept this, even though he understands why it must be so. He refuses, he has not come this far to leave you now.

Noticing his apparent distress, you hug him closer, kiss at his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

“There is…a way.” You start, licking your lips nervously, your voice hushed in the night.  

“Tell it to me, I want to help you, the way you helped me.” Kylo replies at once, a sense of urgency in his voice, thinly veiled desperation.

You turn your gaze away from him, your eyes like two beams of starlight, shooting out into the black abyss. Kylo had nearly forgotten that the two of you were floating in the open ocean just next to his ship, until you illuminated the world beyond.

“There is a cave ahead, beyond the craggy rocks.” You say ominously, half-afraid he’ll take you up on the offer, “Only a creature on two legs can reach it, for it is up above the water’s edge.”

“What secrets does it hide? What must I bring back for you?” He takes you up on it immediately, knowing that whatever he has been training for, whatever he has been doing with his life, all that he has learned, has led him to this moment for you.

“A golden medallion strung on a black cord.” Your eyes glow brighter with each word you speak, and Kylo finds himself getting pulled into your story with bated breath. “Decades ago, long ‘fore even you were born, ‘twas stolen from me by a man with a long white beard. He snuck upon me whilst I was asleep one day, tore it from ‘round my throat. I got my revenge on him -- killed him for it, sunk his ship in my storm, but the medallion was no longer in his possession when he drowned. I demanded to know what he had done with it, and with his dying breath he taunted and teased how I’d never reach it.”

“Until now.” Kylo assumes, because you are regarding him with such hope that he knows he cannot let you down. You saved his life, the very least he can do is repay you in this small way.

You crowd his space, your hands on his cheeks once again, your lips brushing against his own.

“I’ll go with you, I can show you the way.” You whisper, kissing him, thankful, hopeful, elated in a way that makes Kylo’s heart beat beat beat loud in his chest.

“When?” He demands, a voice commanding and fit for a Captain.

“Now.” You grin, taking him by the hand in a way that Kylo has memorized in his sleep, and leading him back to the side of his ship where he might climb up the notches in the hull to reach the deck once again.

“Now?” He blinks, having hoped that he could perhaps spend some time with you in his nice warm bed…he would have found a way around your hydration needs, he would have --

“We must go before the dawn breaks, the waters are dangerous when It wakes.” You interrupt his internal monologue, and there is something chilling about the way that your voice catches. “Take the rowboat, you’ll need your strength.”

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

Kylo rows the small vessel through the blackness of night, the clouds having covered the pale shine of the moon. It is no matter, because your eyes glow in a beacon of their own, as you swim beside him. Keeping in time with his pace, your fin lazily pushes you forward, and in the quiet, Kylo decides on which of his millions of questions he wants to ask you first.

“Do you live here?” He settles on. He means both the cove you lead him to and the waters around Port Royal, wondering why in all the time he has spent here, he has never seen you.

“Yes…and no. The ocean in her entirety is my home, I swim from place to place as I please, and sleep wherever my head rests.” You explain, your voice calm and thoughtful. Kylo commits your answer to memory, wanting to absorb every piece of knowledge about you that he can as you continue, “Sometimes that’s a port such as this, sometimes it’s an anchor on a ship, other times it’s on my back, floating in the sunshine. Although I’ve been nearly harpooned that way, so I don’t do it often.”

The humor in your voice at the harpoon mention is lost on Kylo, and he nearly stops rowing as he processes your words, as he dares not to get his hopes up. He does not, however stop rowing, because your earlier comment of a Thing in the waters makes him want to complete this mission as quickly as possible.

“When you say the anchor of a ship, you don’t mean…?” Still, he has to know.

You’re quiet then for a moment, and he knows his suspicions are confirmed, by the very hesitation in your voice.

“I check on you, now and again.” You admit, making him feel both absolutely fucking elated that he has been right all along, and devastated that you have been so close and somehow, somehow always just out of reach. “I always have, wanting to make sure you were safe.”

“And you never said anything?” Kylo doesn’t restrain the question, trying not to let his temper get the better of him.

He thinks of all the ridicule he could have been spared, all the doubt, all the sleepless nights of worry that he was losing his mind, if only you had said something. But then again, he reasons, he wouldn’t be the person he is today, had he not gotten into those fist fights for standing up for his dignity, and then maybe you never would have deemed him ready.

“I couldn’t interfere, that wouldn’t be fair to you.” You explain, proving his reasoning to be correct. You don’t sound apologetic, nor regretful for it as you say, “I wanted you to become a person of your own right, your own making, free of influence from anyone, even myself.”

That hits him hard, square in the chest. And at first he doesn’t know why, but then he realizes…you’re the only person he has ever known to want that for him. He thinks back through all the people in his life; his mother wanted him to be a politician, his uncle wanted him to be a educator. His father was gone, and Snoke…well.

Snoke only found him useful to meet his own ends, and much like the rest of the world, cast him aside when he had had enough. Even the gentlemen with whom he had spent most of his time before that fateful night had hoped he would one day grow up like them.

Kylo cannot be angry with you now, he knows, not that he was ever really angry with you to begin with. How could he, when you are the only thing in the world who has never had any expectation of him, other for him to be himself?

“I spoke to you, night after night I spoke to you.” Kylo whispers into the dark, thinking of all the nights he had spent up on the bowsprit, above a masthead carved in your image, speaking to the wooden mermaid wishing wishing wishing instead he were speaking to you.

Your tail cuts through the water as you swim alongside him in the rowboat, and you whisper just as softly, “I heard you.”  

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

The rest of the short journey is done in silence, mostly so that Kylo can prepare himself mentally for whatever awaits him. It looks sinister, a gaping maw protruding from the water, like a mouth with craggy and jagged teeth of rock. The light from your eyes shines into the opening of the cave, but it only shines so far before the dark of the dark swallows it whole.

“Do you see it? The cave?” You ask him softly, drawing his attention from his own thoughts to the massive structure before you both.

“Just up ahead, yes. It’s dark, but I can see it.” He answers, taking in a deep breath. He had never been particularly afraid of the dark, or of the unknown, but there is a distinct sinister energy that crackles through the air that Kylo can feel; it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You must leave the boat behind now, do not be afraid, the water is warm, and I am here with you.” You assure him, offering him a hand that like moth to a flame, he is compelled to take.

He finds that the water is not deep here, he can wade through it and it only reaches his knees. You lay low, your free hand trailing along the soft sand as your tail swishes through the water, moving forward with him as he leaves the rowboat behind.

“You’re coming with me?” He frowns, unsure if he wants you in as much danger as you warn there may be.

But then again, he should know better than to question you in something like this, particularly when your eyes glow brighter and they shine across the sea, as you nod. Swimming beside him, neither in front nor behind him, you assert yourself as his equal in this regard, heading into the dark unknown together.

“As far as I can go, I am coming with you.” Your eyes glow, and he somehow, feels safe.

The water grows cold, the closer to the cave you and Kylo get. Kylo’s legs can feel the chill, can feel the change in the temperature. There is a humming from within, a rumbling sound that he cannot identify, and so in response, he trains his eye and his ear to be on high alert. The only other noises are the intermittent drip drip drips of water from the roof of the cave landing in the pools below – pools, because the deeper into the cave, the more shallow it becomes, until there is no more depth for you to stay submerged in.

Kylo looks at you, and you blink, the light from your eyes blipping momentarily. You turn your gaze towards the chasm before you, your eyes a lantern of their own for Kylo to see by. He doesn’t want to part from you, but he knows that when he returns, you will never have to part again.

“You must not dawdle, it must be fast.” You murmur softly, not looking at him, looking instead at the chasm, your voice taking on a strange quality that he cannot place. It sounds too familiar, like the way it had all garbled under the water when you saved him from drowning. The hair on the back of his neck does not go down. “Get in, grab the medallion – and only the medallion -- and get out.”

“Why?” He can’t help but ask, the pet-name slipping out of his mouth before he can think to ask if it’s alright, “Darling, what will I find in that cave?”

You still do not look at him, your gaze unwavering, unchanging. It is more unsettling than the rumbling, but Kylo doesn’t bring any attention to it. The medallion is in there, and you want it. You want it, and so Kylo will bring it to you.

“I do not know. Only, I have never seen anyone come back out, once they have gone inside.” You eventually say, quickly following up with, “You need not go, if you don’t think you are ready.”

There is no thought in his mind that Kylo would risk death for you, not know. In many ways, he has spent the last two decades living on borrowed time. In many ways, he has been a dead man walking for half of his life. If he were to die in this cave, it would be a death long overdue, Kylo knows.

“I have trained for twenty years to be ready. There is nothing more I could do to prepare me, if I fail now, I will have failed another twenty years ahead.” Kylo dismisses the idea of turning back now as quickly as you have offered it, pulling his sword out of its sheath which is strapped to his hip.

The metal glints from the light of your eyes, for they have finally turned to face him, the full effect of their glow making him feel as thought it were day, as if time had stood still in a moment of lightning.

“You are strong, you will not fail.” You speak with reassurance, and with those parting words, he steps out of the shallow water and onto the slippery rock floor of the cave, his descent into the chasm begun.

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

The deeper into the cave Kylo goes, the colder it becomes.

Soon he is out of the scope of your powerful eyes, and has nothing but the feeling of his fingers brushing against the cave wall to guide him. His eye does its best to adjust, and he curses himself internally, for maybe if he had both his pupils, he could see better in the pitch black. His footing is careful, the floor is slippery. Even though his boots are meant to withstand such slide, he still takes caution to not step somewhere which will twist his ankle, which will buckle his knee, which will make him fall to depths he cannot see.

His ears are trained still, and he halts at every moment in which he hears something that could be a threat, pausing just for a second or two to ensure that he need not his sword nor his fists to protect himself. Every time, he decides he is safe. He does not let his guard down, but Kylo moves through the cave with a bit more confidence; clearly if something were to kill him, or present itself as a challenge at least, it would have done so by now.

And what’s more – light, up ahead! A gap in the ceiling allows the moonlight to shine through, the clouds which have covered it having moved along on their path across the sea. Never before has Kylo felt so grateful for the moon in all his years, and as he steps into the light that it shines, his eye widens at the sight before him.

Gold, mountains of it. Piles taller than he stands, and oh does he stand tall. Glittering twinkling gold, but wait, no, not just gold, jewels too, diamonds and rubies and emeralds, pearls and strings of precious beads. It surrounds him, overwhelms him, blinds him with how brightly gold it shines. Where could it be, the medallion? Kylo tries to think, tries to strategize. It couldn’t be thrown in among the piles, no, whomever had stolen it from his precious mermaid would have known how important it is.

And so Kylo ignores the riches around him altogether, knowing that time is of the essence. He is careful to step around the piles, around and around them all, forcing himself to stay on task. The medallion, he is here for your medallion. He wishes he had asked for more of a detailed explanation, because he soon realizes that fuck, there are possibly a thousand medallions here.

Taking a moment, he sighs, turns in a circle, careful of his footing. It has to be somewhere obvious, he decides. Pirates are not that smart, and they certainly have a flair for the dramatics. Whomever stole it would want all to see it, would want all to know just how –

There! Up upon a pedestal made of rock, that must be it! A large circular disc of gold laced through a black chord rests propped up in direct line of the moonlight. It glows softly, ever so slightly, a golden pulsating light that draws Kylo towards it.

“There you are.” He whispers, his eye growing wide, filling with the golden light. There is a symbol, possibly writing in a language Kylo does not recognize, etched into it, that glows and glows and glows brighter as Kylo comes nearer.

He reaches a hand out but then quickly yanks it back. It could be a trap, what would he do if it is a trap? He chews at the inside of his cheek, hesitates for a moment. Looking up and all around for any signs of anything that could come crashing down, or shooting out at him from the sides, he waits.

Until he is certain that no such thing will happen, at which point he can wait no longer.

Holding his breath, his hand stretches up, fingers extended as far as they can go, for the rock pedestal is taller than he is even on his toes, and he does not exhale until he can feel the black cord nestled in his grip, and he pulls the medallion down.

…Nothing happens.

Suspicious, Kylo decides not to tempt fate. He has managed to escape death a second time, or at least, he will if he is able to return to you. Now that the medallion is in his hands, it glows so bright that the entire cave illuminates, and he can hear the faint echo of music, the very same music that has haunted his dreams. Your music, he realizes, and his heart beats knowing that he has done what you asked.

He is so pleased with himself, that as he climbs back down from the pedestal and passes through the piles and towers of gold and jewels, something catches the corner of his eye. A tiara, made entirely of gold and pearls, rests innocuously at his feet. It is carved into the shape of seashells, carved so well that if Kylo did not know of the wonders of goldsmiths, he would have assumed someone dipped the shells themselves in the soft metals.

“Well hello.” He bends down to inspect it, to get a closer look. Small golden chains with pearls beaded around it twinkle in the beam of light from the medallion.

The longer he stares at it, the more he notices; a tiny starfish here, a proud seahorse there, the mix of clam shells and snail shells, tusk shells and those spiraled ones which remind Kylo of the narwhals of the north – they are arranged so delicately, so carefully, that before Kylo can even think too much about it, he is reaching for it.

“You will look beautiful atop my darling’s head.” He is convinced of this, and he cannot see the harm in taking it, he is on his way out, he has obtained what he came for, there should be no issue here.

Oh, how wrong he is.

The moment his fingers touch the tiara, a sharp gust of wind bellows through the cave. It hurls towards him in a fury, in a rage, and even as he drops the tiara and lets it fall back onto the pile, it does not cease. The clouds return to cover the moon, or is it the ceiling of the cave itself is closing? He does not know, but he brandishes his sword in the low light, only the medallion’s incandescence giving him enough to see by.

The rushing wind draws the warmth from his bones, until he is chilled cold, frozen, fingers hurting as they clench around the hilt of his sword. He looks all around, ready to take on whatever may attack him, until the deep dark chuckle of his nightmares sounds around him, bounces against the walls in a way that Kylo cannot tell which direction to brace.

“Ickle Ben Solo, my how you’ve grown.” The voice muses, and Kylo freezes at the sound.

The impossible sound.

With clenched teeth, Kylo slowly turns, the hair on the back of his neck raising once more, the vein in his jaw throbbing with rage.

Captain Snoke, exactly as Kylo remembers him, stands in the middle of the cave. Face sunken in, long white beard, remorseless eyes squinting at him. The only difference from years ago and now, is that now, Kylo has grown taller, and when Snoke looks at him, he is forced to look up.

He knows this must be a trick of the cave, because all at once it hits him that the reason you conjured that storm was to kill him – him, the man with the white beard who snatched the medallion from your pretty neck. You had killed him, and yet here he is. Snoke is between Kylo and the exit, the just beyond where Kylo knows he will see the glow of your eyes once more.

This Snoke cannot be real, and so Kylo knows somewhere in the back of his mind that he could simply push his way past him and make way to you…but this is a chance Kylo will not pass up, and so with the medallion clutched in his hand he swings his saber and levels it directly at Snoke’s throat.

“Draw your sword.” The words snarl out of him in a grimace, as the rage of nearly three hundred fallen crew members sing through him.

At once, Snoke’s sword is conjured up out of thin air, and parrying Kylo’s away, shoving with a force much stronger than Kylo would have expected.

“I am but an old man, I cannae do nothin’ ta harm ye now.” Snoke taunts and teases, and Kylo spits at his feet, unable to hold back any longer.

“You lying cheating conniving bastard – I’ll kill you!” He lunges forward, poised to attack, his sword coming up to clang immediately and clash with Snoke’s.

It is regrettable, he thinks, that Snoke was the one who taught him how to fight, because the man can anticipate his moves. However, he only taught Kylo the basics, and in this regard, Kylo finds himself feeling lucky, feeling emboldened to push back harder, meaner, as he swings his sword, making sparks fly.

He manages to make a combination of moves which catch Snoke off-guard enough that he stumbles backwards, and this angers the old man, whose jaw clenches all his own.  

“If it’s a fight yer after,” He sounds strange, his voice echoing throughout the cave as he backs away, “It’s a fight you’ll get.”

Kylo will not let him get away, not the way he had last time, not the way he had snuck out in the night when he knew no one could catch him. He immediately runs after Snoke, chases him down down down back the way he came, further and further from the entrance.

As he runs, he realizes that there are things moving around him, and he nearly trips as a hand encloses around his ankle.

Out from the piles of gold slither the bodies of men who had been trapped, ensnared by the cave, men who had died unpleasant, undignified deaths. Kylo cannot be bothered with them, he must get to Snoke – he will get to Snoke, so he slices his sword through the limbs of the men who have fallen, failed on a quest of their own. He hacks away at them without care, does not look back when they collapse and clutch at their bleeding wrists.

They swarm around him, and Kylo can do nothing but kill them as they come crawling out from the depths of the cave, scores of them moaning and groaning, dying all over again. Kylo kicks their teeth in, stabs them through the heart, shoves them away from him even as they claw and cling to him, tearing his clothes, ripping at his shirt and his breeches, trying to grab the sword out of his hand.

Their long blackened fingernails scratch at his flesh, and he has to resist the urge not to be sick with the decay he finds in their faces as he punches and hacks his way through them.

It is suffocating, but Kylo grabs at the medallion almost on accident, and he does not know how, but a pulse of light shocks out of it and knocks them all away. The golden pulse from the medallion, from the symbol which now has morphed and changed into something else entirely, is protecting him, and he does not waste the time it allows him.

Snoke’s laughter guides him, and Kylo chases until there is nowhere left to run. On a tall bridge of rock, Kylo and Snoke find themselves engaged in battle, meeting one another sword for sword, grunts and groans of effort spilling out of their lips.

“This is for Vicrul,” Kylo shouts, as he pushes forward, forces Snoke backwards. The old man’s eyes widen before he frowns, realizing the bridge is becoming more and more narrow, “And this is for Cardo!”

Snoke fights back, their swords locked, shooting sparks all around as they meet clash for clash. Snoke’s footwork is light, he is fast for a man of such age. He manages to slice Kylo’s arm, slicing straight through the fabric. Kylo bleeds, and that pain only eggs him on, a lesson he had learned many a year ago – the pain fueling his rage.

“For Trudgen, and Ushar!” Kylo’s voice is loud, grows louder and louder as the blood rushes down his forearm, staining his shirt and dripping around his clenched fist, staining the metal of his sword as they meet time and time again, as Kylo gains the advantage.

“Ben wait –" Snoke calls him by that name again, and Kylo can only growl loudly with the rage of it all, for how dare Kylo disrespect him now?

“For Kuruk and Ap’lek.” Kylo continues, before managing to fling Snoke’s sword away from his hand, managing to send it flying all the way down a deep trench, water rushing through the cave below them.

Kylo can hear it when it hits against the rocks a thousand feet away, and suddenly gets the strongest urge to hear that sound again, although with Snoke’s head instead of his sword. Like the coward he is, Snoke backs himself up as far as he can go, until he is teetering on the precipe of the edge, on the very last foothold he has.

Kylo lunges after him, letting out a shout of rage as he runs his old captain through with his sword, cutting out the bitter shriveled blackened heart. Kylo holds it in his hand, squeezes any possible remains of life left there and drops it.

Snoke’s eyes widen, almost in shock, for even in death he had not been so injured.

He does not bleed the way Kylo is, but that does not mean that he cannot hurt.

“And this, Captain,” Kylo’s face shakes with rage, as he grabs Snoke by the throat and hoists him high up off his feet, dangling his body right over the trench, “Is for me.”

Snoke opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it is is lost in the scream that spills from his lips as Kylo not only drops him, no not something so careless as that – he throws Snoke down the trench, the glow of the medallion giving Kylo the ability to watch him fall.

He is reminded then, of how it felt to sink to the bottom of the ocean thanks to his carelessness, his cowardice. He hopes that Snoke receives no such mercy, as the one you had shown him that day.

You! He must get back to you, he must –

There is another rumble, from beyond the cave. Kylo startles, as the bridge beneath him begins to shake, and he realizes that the bridge is beginning to collapse.

No, not just the bridge, but the entire cave.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Kylo runs, his boots carrying him as fast as he can go, the medallion glowing and pulsating, music guiding him through the dark, slipping and skidding on the wet rock, Kylo runs. He is chased by large rocks which fall from the ceiling, falling onto his head and only just barely missing. If one were to pin him down, it would surely kill him.

He doesn’t realize how deep into the cave he had gone, until he can finally see the white light of your eyes, and your scream for him to hurry, after what feels like an age of running, his limbs burning, legs and lungs sore from the speed of it all.

“Kylo!” You rejoice, joy thrilling through your body as you reach for him, arms extended and a great big grin on your face.

“I did it, darling my darling I did it!” Kylo shouts at you from the mouth of the cave, outrunning its demise, outrunning his death once more.

“My handsome man, I knew you could do it, I knew you could!” You reach reach reach for his hands, and the second he grabs you, you yank him to your chest and your powerful tail propels you forward faster than his legs could ever run, as you carry him to safety once again, laughing all the while, “I knew you could!”  

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

When at last before my ghostly shipmates I stand

I shed a small tear for my home upon land              

Though their eyes speak of depths filled with struggle and strife

Their smiles below say I don't owe them my life

As the souls of the dead fill the space of my eyes

And my boat listed over and tried to capsize

I'm this far from drowning, this far from the sea,

I remember the living do they think of me,

When my bones in the ocean forever will be

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

The rowboat reaches the side of the ship, and it rocks for a moment as you hoist yourself inside of it. Your body takes up much of the space, or rather, your tail does, and Kylo cannot stop looking looking looking at you, the thrill of victory, of success, coursing through his veins. There is just one problem – he cannot lift the rowboat from down here.

Thankfully, a lantern sticks over the side of the ship, followed soon thereafter by an inquiring head, belonging to Kylo’s First Mate. He is conflicted at once – he wants to revel in the satisfaction of being correct all these years, but he wants to protect you more, and he is unsure of what Victoria will do now that you are so close.

“You are real!” Victoria says in a loud-whisper, smacking a hand over her mouth for a moment or two.

You wave up to her, a knowing smile on your face, and Kylo’s cheek burn. He is embarrassed, because now you know he has told everyone of importance about you, that he has bragged about you, that he has sang your praises. Giving his hand a tight squeeze, your fin slaps against the rowboat, and that is signal enough that Victoria needs, to send down the ropes.

Once the rowboat is hitched and lifted up out of the water, you slip the medallion around your neck, and immediately it glows a bright gold, brighter even than the white of your eyes, which now fade to the beautiful natural color of your irises.

Kylo is still unsure though, still not certain how this will help you, even as the medallion glows and glows.

“What does it do -- ?” Victoria has the same thoughts as Kylo, the same questions, but both of their thoughts are interrupted by the golden light which glows larger and larger, encompasses your body.

You rise up into the air, and Kylo is hesitant to let go. He knows he must, so he does, and instantly regrets not being able to hold your palm against his own. He steps onto the deck of the boat where it is sturdy and safe, and watches as some otherworldly magic you wield spins around your tail.

Suddenly, there is a great flash of light, and your fin begins to morph and split into two legs, two human legs; thighs and knees and calves and ankles and even feet and toes. Kylo cannot believe it, Victoria blinks and has to shield her eyes from the brightness of it all, but it is not long after that the glow fades, and you are gently lowered by your magic onto the deck.

Kylo’s arms are there for you at once, your naked body bracing itself in his embrace. Although there is no one on the deck who is awake aside from the three of you, he still wishes to shield your body from sight, a protective possessive simmer bubbling up in his chest. It also does not help that it has been a long time since you stood upon human legs, and he does not want to risk you falling, not now, not ever. He will never let harm come to you again, not as commander of the seas.

“Incredible,” He whispers, kissing your face, holding you tight while you get your footing, “You’re beautiful.”

“You keep saying that.” You laugh, your hair spilling over one shoulder as your arms loop around Kylo’s neck. You smile at him so radiantly, that it could have been high noon for all Kylo knew.

“It is the truth, I will continue to say it until the day I die.” He leans in to kiss you once more.

When his mouth opens for yours and he begins to hum against your tongue, Victoria clears her throat rather loudly, and scratches the side of her face awkwardly. You break apart only enough for him to shoot her a harsh glare for ruining the moment, but Victoria only rolls her eyes.

“Show her your cabin, Captain.” She says with no hint of subtlety, “I daresay she will be eager to see it.”

Kylo looks at you, and your pupils grow wide wide wide in the dark, and he knows you are eager indeed.

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

Kylo has never given much thought to his quarters, not until this very moment. Of course he knew what he had and he knew the degree to which his nice things were nice, but he never had wondered what you might think of them – or if they would be of any consequence to you at all.

It was a long room right at the very port of the Silencer, a vast open area split off into smaller sections by way of furniture arrangement. The floors were all covered with handwoven Persian rugs, the windows draped with fine linens. Up against the windows at the far back of the room was his large mahogany work table and chairs with plush velvet cushions, where he held meeting with the higher members of the crew. Along the wall were various chests and bureaus which housed his clothing, all carved with intricate designs and all having brass handles and clasps. Towards the front was his bathing area, a grand tub and all sorts of implements to improve his hygiene – he abhorred the idea that a pirate need be a filthy man.

And finally, off to the other wall, sat a grand canopy bed, with curtains which could be pulled shut to prevent any light from seeping through, should he want to sleep in on one particular morning or another. The bed frame was gold, inlaid with jewels, carved and decorated to tell the tale of a mermaid saving a young boy.

He waits for you to make the first move. He wants you, desperately, terribly, but he will not push, will not do anything which you do not explicitly ask for. He does not want to pressure you in any way. He has waited for you for twenty years, he could wait longer if you asked – as long as you are here, he doesn’t care.

But he doesn’t have to wait, for you have already laid yourself down in his bed, your arms spread out as your legs rub against the soft blankets, one finger beckoning him to join you. It does not take anything more for him to shed his clothes and do just that.

Kylo’s skin is still slightly wet from the cave, but if there is a chill that washes over him from being so exposed, he doesn’t pay it any attention. You are watching him curiously, your eyes trailing up and down his body as he steps towards you, climbs his way up the bed.

Immediately, your arms open for him, and he settles himself above you, kisses at the warmth of your throat as your hands find their way into his hair.

“Do you prefer me this way?” You muse playfully, rubbing your foot against the back of his calf, making him shiver shudder gasp with anticipation, continuing, “With legs, like you have?”

Kylo continues to kiss your neck, to worry his lips along the muscles there, grazing the gold-capped edges of his teeth up and down, making you shudder in return. He cannot describe the thrill that fills him with, knowing he affects you so.

“I prefer you either way, although I will admit, there is so much we can do like this.” He whispers, finding some way to broach the subject, the subject of his desire, his lust for you. God he wants to fuck you, wants it so badly that one of his hands wanders down to your lower stomach, asking with a silent hesitation for permission.

You grin and nod, and Kylo sucks in a breath, lets his fingers dip down lower, until they are brushing through the hair that has replaced your scales, pushing between your folds, your legs falling open and welcoming him. At once, you hum out a longing moan, a sound that Kylo has to chase, simply has to. He crooks two inside your pussy, revels slowly, softly, in the way that your body reacts.

“Aye, now the question becomes, do you have the stamina to do everything I want?” You chuckle as his lips part from the sensation of how wet you are, wet in every sense of the word. Kylo has large hands and thick fingers, but somehow your cunt takes him with ease, welcomes him and sucks him deeper.

Pulling back ever so slightly, Kylo looks up at you, his fingers busying themselves with working you open, pushing and rubbing through your folds, your pussy dripping around his knuckles. It makes his mouth water, makes him have to swallow hard, especially when your pupils darken and grow wide with lust of your own.

“You’ve – you mean to say you have experience?” He doesn’t know why this shocks him, Kylo certainly was no virgin.

“I’m nine hundred years old, I daresay I have more experience than everyone on your ship, O Captain.” You laugh, and something about the laughter bubbles anger inside him, makes his face harden.

He knows he’s a hypocrite, he knows. He’s fucked women all over the world, taken his pleasures from helping hands on more than one occasion. He knows that you must have done the same, so why does he get so possessive? Why does he get so immediately blood-thirsty? He has to fight the desire to rip heads off of necks, to hunt down those who did not deserve you – hell he almost stops fingering you from the sheer rage that stings the back of his throat like bile.

“Ohh does that make you jealous? That others have had a taste of me?” You notice, cupping his cheeks and kissing him sweetly, legs curling around his waist, voice deceptively calm as you whisper into his mouth, “Don’t be, you should know I killed them all right after.”

That makes his cock twitch, appeals to the primal side of his brain which had already begun to plot. You simply grin, turned on further by the way he is so ready to kill for you.  

“Good.” He very nearly snarls, thrusting another finger to join the two that have already found comfort in your pussy, deciding that he would show you just how much better he could make you feel, than all those others combined.  

With three fingers in, and his thumb on your clit, Kylo kisses you passionately, swallows down the mewls of pleasure and little hiccuped gasps that he elicits from your throat. His eyes are pinched shut because you are too beautiful, it hurts him to look into your gaze the same way that he has always been warned not to stare into the sun. But he doesn’t need his eye to see you when he can feel the way your body undulates and rocks underneath him, the pulsating warmth of your flesh sending goosebumps of pleasure rippling down his spine.

When he’s decided that you’re good and ready, when you’re stretched out enough to accommodate him, he sucks those fingers into his mouth to chance the taste of you. It is beyond that which Kylo could have ever dreamed, and spit strings off his rings when he hoists your leg up enough to properly thrust his cock through those warm plush folds.

“Fuck,” Kylo grunts unexpectedly, as the angle allows him to shove his way through with ease, the fingering having relaxed you enough to take him. But only just enough, it would seem, for despite the attention, you still are tight, and Kylo is sure that he could die like this and die a happy man.

Kylo’s body sings at the contact, at the vice-like hold your cunt has on his thick throbbing cock, and he pushes it deeper deeper deeper still inside you, not stopping until he bottoms out completely, not stopping until he has stuffed you full of his hot hard length, not stopping until your mouth drops open with surprise.

Smirking, Kylo positions himself in a way that he can support his weight and pull back, hips pistoning hard and fast all at once, making the bed creak louder than the rocking ship. He has decided he will never fuck again, if he cannot fuck you – he is ruined for anyone else, ruined in the way you push your pelvis up to meet him thrust for thrust, giving him as good as you get.

“Kylo – oh yes, yes! Take me, give me everything Kylo, give it to me.” You gasp, one of your hands digging into the scarred meat of his back, the flexing muscle of his shoulders moving under your palm.

The praise makes him moan, a deep rumbling purr in his chest that you exploit, a litany of yesyesKyloyou’resogoodgoodgood dropping from your lips, spurring him on, making his pride and cock throb, his hips rolling against yours, balls smacking harsh on your flesh as he clamps his teeth down onto your shoulder.

“Stars above, oh God – you’re beautiful, so beautiful.” He chants, feeling and savoring the way his cock spears through the tight wet velvet heat of your pussy, better than anything he has ever felt, clenching around him perfectly, fluttering and pulsing against his engorged veins and swollen head.

Your back arches underneath him, pushing your breasts with perked swollen nipples right into his face as he bends himself down to meet them, desperate to latch his tongue to your chest and suck. You moan moan moan, and he does not hold back the grunts of his own, the low noises from the back of his throat that muffle against your flesh as he suckles and licks the salty sweat off your skin, cock never once breaking in its rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck that’s good.” You pant, your body bouncing on the mattress, letting yourself go, letting yourself be moved this way and that for Kylo to pleasure you as he sees fit. Your eyes roll back into your head, your teeth bite at your lower lip, and Kylo can hear the way your pulse flutters from his spot on your breast.

“You like my cock?” He laves his tongue over your nipples one at a time, pinches at them with his lips, eager and ecstatic that he is making you feel this way.

“Yes!” You sigh loudly, no regard whatsoever for his crew – he doesn’t care either, in fact your volume makes him grow bold, grow demanding.

“Tell me how much.” He orders, shifting your positions so that he can take one of your legs and stretch it up up up over his shoulder, ankle resting near his ear, fucking into you hard and fast, so fast that his own voice shakes, “I want to hear you say it, say how much you like getting fucked by my big cock.”

You laugh, not at him but in sheer simple bliss, arms thrown over your head, hands tangling in the sheets. The moonlight shines on your body as he fucks into you, listens to the squelch of your cunt as it drips and drools on his cock, your tongue doing its best to stay in your mouth as you take the pounding he gives you.

“Kylo! It’s so big, I – oh fuck, oh! I’m so full!” You moan and whine, voice high and loud and music to his ears, as you hiccup and giggle out of your mind, especially when his thumb falls on your swollen clit, begging for attention.

The dark curling possessive feeling floods through him then, wanting you like this all the time, wanting you happy and pleased, wanting to be the man which gives it to you. The medallion practically smacks against your chest, and he grabs a hold of it in his hand so that your pretty skin won’t be marked by bruises that he does not give you.

“I’ll fill you up, fill you right to the fucking brim,” Kylo growls -- seethes, “I’ll knock you up and pamper you and make you come every day, coming on my cock and fingers and tongue – ”

It is then that he stops entirely, his hips halting at once, brain tripping up over his own words. You give him a whine and a light smack to his shoulder, protesting that he has stopped, especially when he pulls out. Before you can question him verbally though, he’s shuffling down the bed as fast as he can, pulling your folds apart with his golden clad thumbs and burying his face in place of his cock, his tongue stroking and sucking and thrusting through you.

“Oh!” You gasp happily, pleased with this attention, and Kylo’s arms wind underneath your thighs, your knees squeezing the sides of his head as he eats you out.

Kylo eats your pussy like a starving man confronted with his first meal – he is sloppy, he is aggressive, he is desperate. His nose prods up against your clit and rubs and bumps as he sucks you down, as he swallows the slick that pools on his tongue. You taste like the ocean but also like something otherworldly, and Kylo thinks that this is already replacing his most favorite of rums, the wine of your body far more addicting.

Keening each time you yank on his hair, Kylo kisses and makes out with your pussy, tears welling up in his eyes from the sheer overstimulation of his scalp and his cock, which ruts against the sheets. The laundry boys will kill him, he just had the sheets washed not two days ago, but he doesn’t care. 

A grosser part of him thinks he will never have his sheets washed again, but as he drinks down your slick and moans and pants into your pussy, he thinks no, he wants nothing but the cleanest bed for you to be fucked on. You deserve nothing but the best, and his hands clench into fists as he groans out the sheer desire to give it to you.

In the back of his head, Kylo knows that this cannot last forever, and a sharp pang of sorrow hits his heart, because he cannot think of anything more important than this – eating, drinking, sleeping, no, nothing compares to the way you sob on his tongue, sob with pleasure that has been denied to you for so long. 

His brain cannot make up its mind, whether he wants to bury his face as far between your legs as it can go, or his cock, and he wishes there were some way he could fuck you and taste you at the same time.

“Kylo, I’m going to come.” You warn with a shuddering moan, and that makes up his mind for him, for he wants to come alongside you, wants to come inside you, together.

So, regretfully he pulls away from your pretty pussy and gives your clit one last kiss, and pushes the head of his cock back into you, resuming the thrusting pace he had built, feeling how his cock has to work hard to shove itself into you, your cunt tight tight tight.

“Will – can – where -- ?” He feels like a fool for the loss of his words, but you, even blissed out the way that you are, you understand what he’s trying to ask.

“Come in me, handsome, fill me up like you promised.” You order, and though he has proven himself to be stronger than any man alive, he is weak for the tone of your voice.

That heating warming desperate coil of pleasure winds winds winds up in his stomach, until it is shooting out of his cock in throbbing pulsing ropes of hot come, spreading through your cunt, dumping his load as your body comes and shudders and shakes around him, your thighs trembling, toes curling, back arching clean off the mattress. He pants and gasps for breath as he curses long and low in his chest, pumping the last few thrusts of his hips against yours until his arms give out and he collapses down on top of you.

The medallion glows gold, sends a pulse of light across the ocean – you are grinning so wide and so beautifully that Kylo knows whatever has just happened between the two of you, is only the beginning.

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

Now that I'm staring down at the darkest abyss

I'm not sure what I want but I don't think it's this

As my comrades call to stand fast and forge on

I make sail for the dawn 'til the darkness has gone

As the souls of the dead live for'er in my mind

As I live all the years that they left me behind

I'll stay on the shore but still gaze at the sea

I remember the fallen and they think of me

For our souls in the ocean together will be

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

The sweat cools on the both of your bodies for a long while, and still, somehow, Kylo feels like he is in a dream.

The Silencer creaks and groans gently in the night as he traces patterns across your back, little looping nothings that have you humming softly. Your legs are twined through his, braided like the rope which hoists his sails, and he wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating, even in the calm. You must, you have to be, for you are tucked up against his broad chest, your cheek nestled into one of his pecs, your arm curled around his thick waist.

What he wouldn’t give to have both eyes again, to be able to see you the way he wishes he could.

It is surreal to think that you are here, after so long. After twenty years of the world thinking him crazy, not only has he proved them all wrong, but he has proven himself to you. You wear the medallion around your neck, the very same medallion which was stolen from you so long ago, by the very captain that once tried to steal Kylo’s life.

Now he was gone, and you are here, and he has just fucked you through nearly to sunrise, and he thinks if he had but a small glass of something to drink, he could have the strength to fuck you some more.

“I have never felt more complete, than I do in this moment.” He confesses, looks down at you. You meet his gaze, and your irises grow huge in the low light. He leans in to kiss your forehead, his hand rubbing your back up and down, “I cannot believe at long last I have found you.”

You sigh happily, so happily in fact, that the scales on your hip begin to shimmer and glow, and Kylo thinks he would kill Snoke a thousand times over, if it meant he could have you so calm, so at ease.

“I thought about you all the while, heard stories about you across the deep. I am so proud of the man, the terror you have become, my Kylo, handsome Kylo.” You whisper, kissing the spot underneath his chin, where his scar drags across his throat.

Suddenly, he grows panicked, his arms tighten around your body, because he does not know the extent to your visit, he does not know if you only are granting him this one night. He holds you tightly and you hum with a question in your tone, making Kylo’s cheeks grow red hot with embarrassment and shame.

“You cannot go again, you cannot leave me. Please don’t – I’ll do anything, anything to stay together.” He clings to you, like the boy he once was, drowning and dying alone out at sea, the very sea which he now commands, which he now holds in an iron grip.

“’Anything’ is a dangerous word to be said to a mermaid.” You tease him the very same way you had teased him then, but this time Kylo knows what he’s asking for, and oh how he has waited so long to ask it.

“I meant it before, and I mean it now, I will not be apart from you again.” There is that deep baritone that has sent fear into the hearts of a thousand ships, and you grin at the sound of it, pulling your bodies flush together.

“You won’t have to, handsome.” Licking your lips, you allow him to tilt your chin up.

“Let me kiss you?” He asks, and he asks it so sweetly that you don’t even have the time to answer, you’re already nuzzling your nose against his, already rubbing at his lips with yours.  

The kiss, much like the ones from seemingly an eon ago – or was it only a few hours? – begins as a chaste nothing and works its way into being something passionate, something heated. It is in this kiss, that Kylo knows now wherever you go, so too he will follow, even if that’s to the very edge of the Earth, down to the very pits of the deep.

As he closes his eyes and kisses you once more, his hands cradle your head and holds you tight to his body. He worries you’ll burst into seafoam or stars, worries that now that he isn’t looking at you, you’ll disappear. His pulse jumps because of it, pounds in his throat so strongly that he thinks he might be ill – but you’re here still, he knows it, he feels the press of your lips against his own.

Kylo opens his mouth, and you slip your tongue through, making him melt and groan deep in the back of his throat, his hands clutching at your naked body, your scales shimmering in the moonlight that pours in through his cabin window. This medallion, the one which has granted you your legs once again, glows golden. He can see the burn of the symbol behind his eyelid, as you push yourself to straddle his waist, to pin him down to the mattress.

“Fuck!” He feels the white hot brand of the medallion then suddenly, and his shouts of pain are swallowed down your throat, you shush and soothe him with your otherworldly touch, even as something hot hot hot courses through his veins.

You have done something to him, something that he doesn’t know, doesn’t dare to ask. He trusts you, wholly and completely he trusts you – you have never given him reason to doubt, so he doesn’t, not even now.

You kiss and kiss and kiss and he doesn’t realize the ship is sinking, doesn’t realize that twenty foot waves have spilled over the side of the Silencer. He doesn’t hear the alarm bells or the shouts of his crew, he doesn’t care about anything else besides you. No, he sucks the air from your breath until there’s salt water in his lungs, but he doesn’t choke, he doesn’t splutter, he lets himself be pulled down down down, your hands in his hair, his arms around your waist as your legs disappear.

There is music then, music all around, inside his body and out, and he wonders if this is the ballad of the sea, of the souls you have claimed, the souls he has stolen at the hand of his sword. Kylo can feel them, their presence, in the in-between, calling and reaching out to him in a tearful melody, but knows he will not be joining them. Kuruk, Ushar, Ap’lek and Trudgen, Cardo and Vicrul’s faces all ghostly images of their younger selves, so young and fit that Kylo nearly doesn’t recognize them.

He regards them with a mournful eye but they shake their heads, not a single one of them angry. They don’t want him to join, Kylo realizes, they don’t feel betrayed that Kylo has lived while they have died. He makes them a promise, sends out the thought through the sea, that he’ll live out the years they had stolen as best as he can, and this is enough for them to stop haunting his dreams. To the tune of the music they dance and sing off into the ether, freed from the shackles of the in-between, finally free once more.

And then he realizes the music is coming from you, a siren song that fills his ears and his eyes and his very heart, it is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard, and he is filled with an euphoria unlike that he had ever known, because he realizes he gets to listen to it forever. Kylo had once asked if you were an angel, and you had said no – now he knows better, he knows what you are; you are heaven herself.

“We’ll be together forever like this.” He hears you say, your voice distorted and watery as your teeth grow sharp, as your hair grows long, flows about your head in a death defying halo. “Not a single man alive could harm you now. You’ll remain like this forever, just as you are, with me by your side.”

Kylo should be afraid, he knows this, he knows he should – but how can he be when you’re holding his hands and kissing his palms? How can he be when he opens his eyes and he finally breathes, a sucking sharp gasp of the ocean that fills him up? 

He cannot explain it, but he is transformed into something, something otherworldly just the same way that you are. He looks the same, but he can feel it inside his body and inside his mind, as the medallion glows and so too does the brand on his chest, marked forever by a mermaid’s kiss.

But instead of that kiss sending him to the Locker or a watery grave, he keeps his lungs open and he remains unafraid, as you smile with too many teeth in your mouth, you laugh and you cheer and you sing so very loud. And when he blinks he sees you crystal clear through both of his eyes, you grasp for his hands and he knows now he can’t die, his ship sails under the water manned by his crew, who too look completely unchanged.

You swim above the ship and perch yourself atop the masthead, the breaking light of dawn shines down through the waves, making the watery world feel like an elixir of life, of immortal dreams come true. Kylo chases you, with strong limbs he climbs up up up the rigging of the ship to join you, and as he climbs, so too does the ship rise, until the Silencer breaks through the surface once more.

The crew rejoices, they dance in circles around the bilge pump and throw their hats in the air, the sunrise golden and beautiful as your fin smacks happily against the wood of the ship, laughter at the antics on deck. Kylo sets you in his lap there high above the water’s edge, and seagulls fly and call from the disturbance of the ship ascending from the depths.

“I love you.” He says it, says the words that he has been practicing inside his mind for decades, the words he has rehearsed in front of the mirror. He never thought he would have a chance to say them to you out loud. “I have loved you from the very first moment I saw you.”

It hits him then, the realization that Kylo will be able to say them to you forever.

“Why do you think I rescued you?” You beam at him, and he laughs, elated, that his feelings are returned.

Looping your arms around his neck, you kiss Kylo, salty and briny and bright. Kylo holds you in his lap tightly so that you don’t fall, one of his hands on your cheek, adoring, caressing. He leans his forehead against yours, and the medallion glows, and when he meets your grin it’s with a smile of his own, because he has given you his soul fathoms below.  

 I remember the fallen and they think of me,

For our souls in the ocean together will be.

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

Tagging some friends, as always if you’d ever like to be added or taken off the taglist, please visit the link in my description (if your tag isn’t working that means on the form you might have given me your sideblog @ instead of your main!) 

@mochabucky @sacklerscumrag  @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions  @direnightshade  @reyloaddict55  @thembohux  @kylorenswhxre  @sunflowersinthesnow  @babayagakeanu  @safarigirlsp  @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks  @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief​  @materialisthicc​  @drake-bells-waxed-penis @dutchiepie @slut-for-harri​  @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa 

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/you #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren #adam driver #adam driver fanfiction #adcu #my writing

[fanficbitch]

In Another Life // Outburst

Aaron Hotchner x y/n

July 2009

Not that I expected much, but hotels in Buffalo aren’t the most luxurious. My room has two queen beds, a chair off to the side, a night stand, tv stand with tv and a couple of ugly pictures on the wall. There is one in particular that has me transfixed. It is a painting of a woman walking through a field of very tall grass. It is as if she is walking into sun or some far off light. It makes me wish that sometimes I had a simpler life. It makes me wish that I wasn’t always traveling. But that’s just a dream.

I turn back to the tv which has been softly playing in the background of my thoughts. It is so early in the morning that the only thing that is really on is infomercials. The particular one on is about some special blender, but I don’t really care so I turn it off.

It’s our first night on this case so we actually are able to get some sleep. Well, the rest of the team is getting sleep. I’m sitting here awake at 2 in the morning. I’ve found it harder to sleep when we’re on an away case since I realized my feelings for Hotch. It’s just hard when I know he is only a few rooms over. Actually, I think he is in room 413. He said it when we checked in case we needed anything. And selfishly, I need him right now. 

I move my feet so they are dangling off the bed. What’s the harm in going to say hi to a friend? Nothing. Will he even be awake? Of course he will, it’s Hotch.

My feet start moving although I don’t feel in control of them. They drive me to the door then three doors down to 413. Then my hands start moving without my consent. I raise my right hand to the door and give it two knocks. 

It suddenly occurs to me that I might have heard him wrong earlier and this isn’t his room. I could be bothering some random person in the middle of the night. Or even worse, someone on the team. I prepare to sprint back to my room, but the door opens before I get very far.

“Y/N?” Hotch asks with a raised eyebrow. Somehow when he is in his white pajama shirt and checkered pajama pants he still looks amazing. “Can I help you with something?”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. “I couldn’t sleep and I thought you might be up.”

He gives me a small smile. “Well you were right,” he says then steps to the side so I can walk in his room. It’s pretty similar to mine, except there is a king bed instead of two queen beds and papers spread over the surface. “I work when I can’t sleep,” he says from behind me.

“I see that. Do you want some help?”

“Of course,” he says then sits on the left side of the bed while I clear some space on the right side and sit next to him. 

I intently read some of the case notes, but don’t get very far. “Was there any particular reason you were up?” Hotch asks nonchalantly.

“Just these hotel beds,” I lie. “Why were you up?”

He just turns and smiles at me. “What?” I ask.

“I have a feeling you know why I was up since you knew I was awake,” he says and my cheek flush red.

Of course I knew why he was up. I know Hotch too well not to know that. I wonder if he really knows why I was up? That I can’t stop thinking about him.

“Okay,” I say, trying to redirect attention back to the case. “We deducted that he has OCD because of the video he sent in. But, was there any finger prints or anything on the video? Maybe he licked the envelope?”

“Nope,” Hotch says. “He must of been using gloves and taped the envelope.”

I bite my lip and look down at the papers. “I love when you do that,” I hear from next to me. I look up slowly, waiting for him to continue. “When you bite your lip and furrow your eyebrows in thought. I always know something brilliant is coming after that look.”

“I don’t think anything brilliant is coming this time,” I say as I throw myself back onto the pillows. 

“I know it’s in there,” he says, not taking his eyes off me but sitting back on the pillows as well. There is a silence between us. I cross my legs so my left knee is brushing against his covered thigh.

“So, how is Jack? I feel like I haven’t seen him in a while,” I ask.

Hotch nods a few times. “He’s good. He’s really gotten into soccer lately and he’s starting to get kinda good.”

“Wow!” I exclaim. 

“Yeah, you’ll have to come to one of his games.”

“Yeah, I would love that!”

“I also hear his coach is pretty cool,” Hotch says.

“Hmm, who happens to be his coach?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, he doesn’t like to brag,” he says. “You’ll just have to come to his game to see him.”

“Interesting, interesting,” I whisper. I lean my head against the headboard so I can look in Hotch’s eyes. 

I don’t really know how it happened, but the silence between us ends when we start kissing. Suddenly, I am on Hotch’s lap and his hands are on my waist. I wrap my arms around his neck so my fingers can play with his hair. 

Wow he is a really good kisser. And his lips taste like mint. Yum. This whole situation is too overwhelming to comprehend. I am making out with my boss who I have secretly had a crush on for months.

Little touches here and there and stolen glances across the room have amounted to this moment.

After a while, our kisses slow and we pull away so our noses are touching. “Why don’t I clean off the bed and you spend the night in here?” Hotch asks. The butterflies in my stomach begin to flutter. All I can do is nod. Hotch moves me off his lap and onto the bed. He quickly gathers the papers then throws them on the chair in the corner of the room.

Hotch pulls back the covers and we both slip under them. We arrange ourselves so Hotch is spooning me. That thought runs chills down my spine. Hotch is spooning me. Chills.

His fingers are drawing circles on my hip. “It’s much easier to sleep like this,” I whisper.

“I know,” he says, feeling his breath on my ear. “These hotels get so lonely.”

We stay silent for the rest of the night. I quickly fall asleep being in the comfort of Hotch’s arms.

It’s even better when I wake up in the morning nuzzled in Hotch’s chest. However, I am woken up by his voice. “Hotchner,” I hear. I stir slightly and look up to see Hotch holding his phone to his ear. “Alright, be there soon,” he says then looks down at me. He hangs up and places his phone on the nightstand. “They need us at the station.”

“I’m not surprised,” I say as I try to sit up, but Hotch pulls me back down. 

“Just five more seconds,” he says and squeezes me tight. I hear him counting down under his breath and he finally releases me on one. We both sit up and stare at each other. 

“I should get back to my room,” I say quietly.

“It was nice having you here,” he says.

“You definitely made it easier to sleep,” I smile. “I’ll see you downstairs,” I say as I climb out of bed. I try to walk away, but he catches my hand and pulls me down for a last kiss. I smile as I pull away, as does he. I scamper to the door and down the hallway to my room. Once I am inside, I can’t control myself. I jump up and down and silently scream. I just slept in the same bed as Aaron Hotchner. Oh my god. 

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagines #aaron hotchner imagine #imagine #imagines #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #derek morgan #spencer reid #Penelope Garcia #david rossi #jj #Jennifer Jereau #emily prentiss

[dizzydancingdreamer]

The Servant and The Prince | Two

Description: This is very much a Cinderella trope because I cannot help myself and I am in love with Loki, chapter two

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader, third person as I may adapt eventually with an OC

Warnings: LMAO kinda smut? No- I don’t know how I managed to do this in the second chapter but I did and I don’t care, they’re soulmates, sue me- it is not graphic and it is important for the plot I swear 

Tags: Fluff, again kinda smut but in the least graphic way, a touch of angst near the end

Word count: 5.2k (why can’t I write essays this fast?)

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Master List

The ride to the capitol takes three gruelling days. Each night is spent at a different tavern. It is the same story each time; Estrid and Anna spend the night in a lavish bed and Y/n is left with the horses, curled under her thankfully baggy cloak. It is neither warm nor comfortable, sleeping on the bench seat of the carriage. She never really falls asleep, she only dozes in and out of consciousness. It is almost always interrupted by footsteps or the murmurs of animals or her own mostly empty stomach growling into the night. That one is twofold- usually her stomach is in so much nauseating pain that she cannot sleep but, on the off occasion she can, she is then awoken by the loud roars it makes.

When she does sleep her dreams are plagued by nightmares of drowning in water that tastes of salt. It is always the same, her body sinking slowly to the bottom of what she can only assume is the sea, her lung filling with more and more of the saline water. She has never been to the sea but she has heard stories. She always wanted to go but now she is not so sure.

Each morning she wakes at the crack of dawn, sneaking out of the carriage like a mouse scampering away from the booming footsteps of a prowling cat. Of course she is not allowed to be sleeping in the carriage but it is a liability she must take. She would much rather be punished by Estrid than found by a drunken stable boy. Who would have thought she would miss her simple bed so much. It is just a worn mattress and the last of her mother’s quilts but she longs for it more than anything. She longs for a lot of things in the passing days.

With everyday that passes the anger grows stronger too. She has never been a restless girl but in less than three days it feels like everything she thought she was is wrong. Even while sitting still she feels as though she is pacing in a room that she is completely unfamiliar with. Granted it could be the rocking of the carriage- three days is a long time to be shaken up so- but still it feels different. When she squeezes her eyes closed hard enough she can see those differences. A bed with emerald sheets and a desk pushed against a window. And a man. A tall man who is shrouded in darkness. No matter how hard she squeezes her eyes she cannot make out his features.

She can see what he does sometimes though. He likes to sit at the desk and let the sunlight pour over him. That is the only time she does not feel the overwhelming anger, like daggers, slicing down the insides of her throat. She feels peace in those moments- almost like she is with him, her skin absorbing the sunshine as well. If only it was sunny during the night then maybe she could get a proper night's sleep.

The sunshine is not the only time she feels him, though. It is the best but not all. She can also feel when he digs his fingers through his hair, pulling so hard on the invisible strands that her scalp begins aching as well. She can feel it when he throws his head back, the soundless roar bubbling in her throat. His voice is a mystery to her. Somewhere deep inside her she knows what he sounds like, she just cannot describe it. It is there though, ingrained into parts of her that she also cannot describe. In those moments, if she could scream and know that her voice would sound exactly like his she would do it, if only to truly remember. That is what it feels like- forgetting. She is forgetting something gravely important.

Or she is just losing her everloving mind.

She cannot explain it, whatever it is; all she knows is that she does not understand. The anger is hers but not. The pacing and hair tugging are hers but not. The twinge of familiarity in everything that she sees in her mind. It is all both her own and not hers at all and it is infuriating. What is even more infuriating is to be so angry without reason. If she is to be angry all the time then at least she should know why. She would chalk it up to her situation- there is more than enough in her life to be angry about- but she had never really been angry before. Achingly desperate and mournful, yes. But angry? Before these past few days she never really understood the word.

The anger, then, must be his. But, if it is his, why then is it also hers? This time it is her who slams her hands against her head, digging in desperately. Why does none of it make any sense at all? She squeezes her eyes shut, so hard she sees that little spark of white that must mean her eyes are not supposed to be used so carelessly. She pushes past it- right now it does not matter. She is on a mission to find something out- to find anything out.

Only seconds later does the blackness behind her eyelids shift and she is no longer on the back of the carriage but rather back in his bedroom. The sunlight is pouring in through the window again and she sighs. Thank Odin. The last of her remaining senses that anchor her to the real world fizzle away as she scampers towards the desk where a figure cloaked in all black sits in a wooden chair. One of his shadowy hands is propped up on the desk, his fingers twisting through the rays. For a moment it feels like he is beckoning her to him, curling his fingers like an invitation meant only for her.

Of course she goes to him.

She barely registers the feeling of her feet hitting the stone below her- probably because she is not actually in the room walking towards him. That does not stop her from pretending like she is, gliding to meet him in the sunshine. She stands next to him for a moment, her heart galloping steadily. For once it is not from fear; there is nothing about him that she is afraid of. She wants nothing more than to climb onto his lap and let her body soak in the sunshine as well. It is not fear that makes her heart pound; it is anticipation. It is the looming sadness. She will try to climb into the sunshine- just as she has tried for each of the two days prior- and she will feel nothing. She never feels the warmth of the sun or the warmth of his darkened body. Still, she will try- it is all she can do to try.

She takes a deep breath, the faintest- almost nonexistent- aroma of pine trees and salt tickling her nose. The carriage must be close to the sea. She tosses the thought aside, bracing her hands on the side of the desk. Her fingers land how they are supposed to, splayed against the top, but she cannot feel the smooth plains of the mahogany. Her fingers stop with resistance but it is not tangible. Like every day before, she lifts herself up, placing her knees on either side of his dark lap. She braces for the same easy resistance of air to keep her hovering steadily above him. It will feel almost like nothingness- like only the memory of him is there instead of a real man. It is blissful, like coming home, and devastating, like being barred from entering said home, all at the same time.

She holds herself for a moment longer, not quite ready to feel nothing at all, and that is when it happens- his shadowy face snaps up and she can make out the faintest hint of icy blue in his otherwise misty eyes. She gasps, her heart beating even faster. Can he see her? Can he feel her? It is as though his eyes are boring into hers through her little daydream. It feels so real- like he is actually there and not just a figment of her imagination.

Her hands slip from the edge of the table, her knees jolting against the wooden chair almost painfully. There is a dull thud as she sinks down. That has not happened before. She snaps her gaze down to her legs, her mouth falling open at the sensation of her thighs spreading and pressing against leather. Yes, not the air that she has grown so used to but buttery leather and two warm legs that are covered by the folds of her dress. She could moan from how delicious it feels against her skin- both the supple leather and the feeling of finally being allowed back into her home- but of course she does not. Both because she does not want to risk the man hearing her wanton breaths and because he beats her to it.

Shadowy hands curl over her simple dress, fingers squeezing against her hips. She pulls her gaze back to the man's face, stifling another moan when he does again, almost as if testing the newness of being able to feel her. She supposes that is the answer she is looking for- he can definitely feel her. She watches as his lips- still shrouded in darkness like the rest of him- move frantically. No words form, not even hisses of air. She cannot hear anything he is saying. She can only feel him and his hands as he pulls her higher onto his lap, spreading her thighs even further until she is pressed harder into him. Her body molds into his with each shift, matching each dip and curve with her own, like two puzzle pieces clicking into place.

His mouth keeps moving, his faint icy eyes flicking across her face. Can he see her or does she appear like he does to her- a black mass of nothingness? She tests it the extent of her presence, placing her hands on his chest. Her heart is in her throat as her fingers smooth against the same supple leather, feeling the warm plains of armour and the way his chest heaves when she presses harder. His face tilts down, towards where she touches him, before snapping up to gaze at her. Again he tries to speak, his hands crawling up her back. His touch is heavenly- blissfully gentle against her injured spine- and she sinks back into him. She may as well soak in her daydream to its full extent.

She slides her fingers up to cup his cheeks. She cannot cannot make out the color of his skin but she can feel the heat rolling off him. His stubble bites at her palms, scratching her softly. She giggles, running her forefingers over it, exploring the contours of his face. Her thumbs drag over his cheekbones and he says something again, turning his face into her palm. His lips move against her skin and she wishes more than anything she could hear him. She wants to hear everything he is saying.

She draws his eyes back to hers, shaking her head slightly. He stops talking, his head cocking to the side. She cannot see it but she is almost certain his brows knit together. She is also certain that this man is beautiful, despite having only seen his eyes. If only her imagination were strong enough to fill in the blanks. Perhaps she is damaged- why else would she not be able to fill in a man of her making? His mouth opens again.

Y/n taps two fingers to her mouth and then to her ears, shaking her head. “I cannot hear you.”

She doubts that he will be able to hear her as well but she tries anyway. Her voice comes out soft, jarring against the silence. It is quieter here that she realizes. As expected, his eyes fill with confusion, narrowing slightly. One of his hands moves from her back and she swallows a whines at the rush of cool air that meets the place he had been holding her, immediately longing for the lost contact. Her bottom lip puckers out without her consent. Perhaps he notices, his gaze dropping low. Perhaps his eyes fall past her lips as well, though.

His other arm, the one still around her waist, tightens, sliding until his fingers curl around her opposing hip. Her knees slide even further forward with his actions, knocking into the back of the chair as her chest bumps into his. She shoots her hands out again, grasping onto his sturdy shoulders to keep from toppling off his lap, her thighs squeezing harder around him. Her skin drinks in the buttery material once more and this time she cannot stop the moan from rolling off her tongue, pleasure spiking up her spine. It is like nothing she has never felt before; a bolt of lightning striking right between her legs where her body nestles into his. It zaps her from the inside out, the most blissful heat pooling in the pit of her belly. Gods, the things she would do to hang on to that feeling forever.

He freezes under her, his shadowy arm around her hips stilling. Their faces are inches apart and it is as though she can almost feel his breaths against her lips. That is impossible but still the strange memory of his breath tickles, her mind filling in the blanks with what she assumes it would feel like. She can just barely taste the peppermint, somehow sharp through her dream.

Her hands squeeze harder against his shoulders as she sinks further onto him, her soft body molding again to fit against his hard one. The feeling repeats itself as she does- that wonderful bolt of pleasure- and her eyes flutter closed for a moment, her head falling back. Her mouth draws open as she clings to the growing heat between her legs. She has no idea why it is building or what will happen when it finally overflows but she is more than willing to find out.

His hand finally skims across her cheek, his fingers dipping behind her neck and curling, locking her in place against him. His hand is just as warm as the rest of him, adding a certain heaviness to her eyelids, one that she had been missing for days. He nudges her face gently and she pushes past the sleep and pleasure to meet his stare. He does not speak this time; he must have learned that it would not work. Instead he squeezes her hip, his icy eyes glancing down to where her legs are wrapped around him, before boring back into hers. He shifts again, pressing up and against her, sparking another round of that marvellous lightning in her belly, this time even stronger.

Her veins fill with fire and for a moment she can feel the sunshine on her back and hear the creaking of the chair underneath them as if she were actually in the room with him and not just locked in her own imagination. It does not last long, her newly unlocked senses, and as he relaxes back into his seat the fire in her blood mingles with desperation. She slides her fingers up his neck, tangling them in his soft hair. There is no hint of color, only the same shadows. She needs to see more- feel more.

“Please,” she draws his face up towards her, furiously pulling his darkened body towards hers. The contrast of her skin against his shadowed cheeks increases her drive- she has to see him. “Please do it again. I need more.”

It is futile, her little cries. She knows they will fall soundless on his ears. She can only hope that her actions, choked and frantic as she clings to him, can convey everything her lips cannot. He stares down, his crystal eyes locked on hers, his lips pressed together. His stillness makes her heart hammer rapidly against her ribcage. Please, by Odin, understand; I need you.

She pulls him even closer to her, falling until her back hits the edge of the desk and she is caged between it and him, still perched on his lap. Her dress bunches around her hips, her bare legs secured around his waist and squeezing him to her. Still he does not move, his eyes dragging down until his head is bowed between them, gaze locked on where their hips meet. His hand around her neck tightens, his eyes snapping back to hers, the blue visibly more brilliant. Glowing. He raises a shadowy brow, nodding slowly. Yes you oaf, yes! She would have screamed at him if she knew it would not be pointless. Instead she nods back at him, tugging gently on his hair. When he still does not move she finally snaps.

She springs forward, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her face pressed against the crook of his neck. She really has no clue what she is doing- at this point she only knows one thing; she wants to be here with him and will do whatever she has to in order to make it happen. She gently runs her nose along the side of his neck, soaking in his warmth, her fingers twisting once more in his silky hair. His chest heaves against hers again and she smiles. That must mean something good, right?

She starts slow, her lips barely glimpsing his skin, testing his reactions to her.

She presses a soft kiss below his jaw.

He wraps his other hand back around her hip.

She brushes her lips lower, harder, kissing his throat.

He squeezes her softly, rolling his head back and revealing more of his neck to her.

She sucks some of his skin into her mouth, letting it go with a pop that sounds as though it echoes through an actual room and not just through her mind.

He pulls her flush against his chest with a groan that just barely grazes her ears, sparking the jagged pieces of her memory to fill in his luscious voice.

She tugs his earlobe into her mouth, biting down a little less gently.

He stands with her still wrapped around him and presses her back against a now fully formed tabletop.

She gasps again, not expecting the vast switch but not angry about it either. In fact this is the first time she is not unreasonably angry and she wishes she could hold onto this feeling. This happiness. She giggles up at him as her skirt pools higher around her hips, her body no longer upright and squished between the desk and him. One of his dark arms lands next to her, sliding under her head. The other hand slips under her skirt, his rough fingers a delicious contrast against her smooth skin. He presses down, his thumb circling her hip bone softly, holding her against him. She sinks her head back into his hand, unable to tear the smile from her lips. This must be what home feels like.

She squeezes her thighs, connecting their bodies. He rolls his hip against her, finally giving her the pressure she has been craving, and the building inferno inside her roars back to life. She arches her back off the desk, trying to get even closer to him, and he leans down to meet her, pressing his stomach against hers. He bucks against her again and she can taste the peppermint for real this time- the salt and the pine so sharp that there is no way she can be imagining it.

The lightning spikes through her each time he juts against her. It crackles through her nervous system, flashing in her eyes. With every spark the colors around her become more vibrant, her senses overflowing. She catches glimpses of the emerald bed behind him and some jade strips of leather in his armour. She can hear the steady rocking of the desk, the scraping of the leather against her thighs. Her little sighs are clear, she no longer has to wonder if they are only in her head. She still cannot hear him but she can see the pink in his lips as they form around his words. They look soft and capable and it is all she can do to roll her head back into his hand and pray that he understands the invitation.

He does.

Unlike her he does not start slow. He leans down immediately, pulling her skin into his mouth feverishly and biting down. Her eyes slam shut as he does so, one of her hands falling to the arm anchored beside her. She curls his fingers around his bicep, forcing herself to remain still in the face of one of the most intense experiences she has ever had. She did not know that a mans lips on her skin could feel this way. The sensation is completely foreign- otherworldly. So is the moan that carves its way out of her throat, filling the space between them. It is loud and aching- much like the rest of her- and it rewards her with something that she is not expecting in the slightest. A laugh.

His laugh.

She pushes herself up as soon as the small sound falls against her ears, musical and elegant, her eyes peeling open to the sight of sharp green leather and raven black hair. His skin is still cloaked in the darkness, his hands two shadowy masses as they snake to her thighs, but she relishes in the details that her mind grants her. Her mother’s words ring through her ears. You are so powerful, little dove. That is exactly how she feels right now; powerful. She will pull him through the darkness, little by little, until she can hear the air in his lungs and see the blush in his face. She will do it if it is the last thing she ever does.

He goes to pull away from her, his face dropping and hands releasing. His icy eyes a tinged with worry. As he takes a step back the color in his lips begins to fade, the pink dulling to a soft grey. No! She uses her legs to drag him back against her, hard enough to make him slam his hands onto the desk next to her hips. The sound thunders through the room and she smiles, the whoosh of air that accompanies his movements like a warm summer breeze chasing away the cold spring. The fire in her belly drinks it in, layering it on top of the lightning like a blanket. She wraps her arms around his shoulders again, clinging to him completely.

“Stay please.” She holds his gaze as she pleads with him, every word making the blue in his eyes brighten even more. “Please-” She does not know what to call him, he has no name that she can recall. Only one word sparks in her mind- an old word she used to hear her mother use occasionally- “Surtr.”

Dark one.

His back straightens as the word slips from her tongue, pulling her up with him until he is standing. It is like something inside him snaps- much like it had earlier in her- and he presses her against the stone wall, using his hips to hold her in place as he all but rips the straps off her arms. His mouth finds her skin again, feathering kisses down her shoulders and over the tops of her breasts where they spill out of her loosened dress.

She digs her heels into his back, encouraging him to press harder against her. He obliges, sparking the fire once more. This time, when the lightning strikes she can taste the smoke in her throat. She is so close to overflowing; right there on the edge. The smell of pine trees is overwhelming now- like she is in a forest surrounded by them. The salt is almost as strong. She licks her lips, drinking in as much of it as she can as she meets his thrusts. The only thing she can think is that the feel of the leather between her thighs is her new favourite thing.

“You are the one who must stay.”

His voice is like honey, dripping slowly down her skin. It is utter perfection; sweet and low. Everything she had been imagining and so much more. He lifts his face, now only thinly veiled by the shadows. She can see bits of his skin, flushed but rosy, peaking through. His raven hair falls forward, tickling her cheeks and nose. She drags her fingers through it again, pushing it away from his face. Something inside her roars to life at the sight- at the sounds. His groans and the hitch in his chest and the little slap he gives her thigh that makes her giggle again. All of it combines with the final jut of his hips against hers and then next thing she knows she is falling, like a star from the sky, spiraling straight into the sweetest oblivion anyone has ever known.

The pleasure that fills her body is like nothing she could have ever imagined. That is how she knows it is real. She is not creative enough to manufacture the desperate sounds he makes against her skin nor the feeling of them both sinking slowly down the wall into a pile of woozy limbs and panting breaths. She does not influence the way he curls around her, shielding her as she muffles her screams into his chest- no dream could feel as strong and soft as his arms as he glues their shaking bodies together. No; this is real.

He is real.

But for how long?

“How do I stay?” She intwines her body with his, wrapping around him once more as the pleasure begins to wane. “Please tell me.”

Even as she speaks she can hear her voice fading, losing the sharp edge it had moments ago. The warmth of his body begins to lessen as well, even as she fights to bring herself as close to him as she can. She pulls her face out of his neck, meeting only the faintest of blue in his eyes this time. They dart over her face, his hands fisting in her dress, tugging her closer too. He is fighting as well. She opens her mouth again but no sound comes out, only a hiss of air as she tries to scream. Do not leave me! Tears pour down her cheeks and for once she does not try to stop them. For once there are more important things.

The room around her begins to blur, hazing in and out of focus. Her fingers slip against his hair, no longer able to hold onto him as he, too, fades. That does not stop her from trying to dig her way through the darkness to get him back. Even as the room begins spinning she keeps clawing at his body, searching for anything that she can latch onto. Any little bit of him that she has left. Her fingers catch on something cold and she wraps her fingers around it, saving it from the disintegrating world. She squeezes her eyes shut when everything blurs so fast that bile rises in her throat, the nausea being too much.

“I will find you.” It is the last she hears of his honey voice and, like everything else, she holds onto it, hoping it will be enough to permanently sear him into her memory.

When Y/n cracks her eyes open she is no longer in the room- she is on the back of Estrid’s carriage. She is shaking still, the last dregs of pleasure- the last reminder that it was real- fizzling out and mingling with the motion sickness. The rocking of the carriage does nothing to stave it, she has to rest her head against the metal to keep from wobbling off.

She blinks a few times, clearing the haze from her bones and the blinding light from her return to reality. When she does, she is almost as breathless as she was moments ago. Instead of the usual meadows that she has gotten used to seeing in the last few days, she is greeted with glittering golden towers. They rise all around her, reaching towards the sky like flowers reach for the sun. She has to hold her breath as she her eyes trace up their iridescent stems, dizzy at the mere thought of being at the very top. She has never been that high before. Well, besides this today. That can only mean one thing- she is in the capitol!

She cranes her neck, trying to absorb as much as it as she can. All around her are other carriages. For miles it had been only Estrid’s but now there are dozens, each one just as ornately decorated. Even more so. They are drawn by white stallions that huff at her when they pass, their muzzles ruffling like they have never smelt a servant before. She does not blame their caution- by the looks of things they are probably used to the finer things. She is quite the opposite. If she was a horse perhaps she would huff at herself as well.

The streets are immaculately decorated for the upcoming festivities. The pillars that line the streets are strung with scarlet and jade banners, the railings roped with gold silks. There are little stands selling candied fruits and chocolate. Along the festive streets people mingle in and out of the towers, dressed in fabric more colorful than she has ever seen before. It is the same golds and scarlets and jades that make up the decorations. It looks velvety and luxurious to the touch- perhaps almost as soft as his hair had felt in her hands.

She squeezes her fist at the thought, something hard biting into her palm. Her heart stops. The slight pain draws her focus away from the crowds- most of which she has noticed are comprised mainly of young women. It is incredible how many girls are trying their luck the same way Anna is. That is a thought for another time though, one when she is not preoccupied by magical phenomenon. She glances down at her palm. There is no way. She peels her fingers open slowly- anticipating the let down. She must be dreaming this- she must have dreamt it all.

But no, there it is, a little gold band with a deep set green emerald sitting atop her palm like a little reminder. Like a plea. It sparkles in the brilliant sun, warming on her skin. It calls to her in a voice so honeyed she flinches.

Come find me.

She peers back up at the towering city, her heart clenching. She wants to more than anything and she will do it- she knows she will. There is only one problem.

Where does she even begin to search?

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki x y/n #loki x reader #Loki fic #loki layfeyson x reader #loki layfeyson imagine #loki imagine #mcu #mcu fic #mcu imagine #prince of asgard

[emilyhufflepufftlk]

A Cruel Game | Sihtric x OC

In celebration of @for-bebbanburg’s well deserved 100 followers.

Prompt: ‘being ordered to kill someone you’ve fallen in love with. How did you get into this situation and what will you do next?’

Tove, one of Kjartan's best warriors, is sent to kill Sihtric after he defects to Uhtred. However, her feelings for him get in the way.

Word Count: 2926

‘There are only seven heads! Go out there and tell me who is missing!’ Kjartan screamed at the closest guard. The poor man looked terrified; the last man that had been sent beyond Dunholm’s walls had been beheaded by a horseman sent from corpse hall to take all their souls. He looked like he was going to refuse but one look at his lord clearly made him remember that Kjartan was willing to inflict just as much pain on his men as any demon horseman. The great doors creaked open and the poor man scampered along the line of spiked heads, his eyes constantly darting to the tree line in case the horseman should return.

‘Sihtric, lord,’ the man shouted back. ‘It is Sihtric that is missing!’

Three days had passed since the heads had appeared outside the walls of Dunholm. Three days Kjartan had spent in a seething rage. Whether his rage was due to him losing some of his best men, his plans to finally get revenge on Uhtred Ragnarson having failed, or the unknown whereabouts of his bastard son, no one was sure. Tove thought it was probably a combination of all three.

Tove had known Kjartan her whole life. Her father had been one of his most trusted, loyal warriors who had been by his side since the days he had served Ragnar the Fearless. After her father’s death in battle when she was only nine, Kjartan had taken her in out of respect for her father. Kjartan was a terrible, evil man and deserved his title as Kjartan the Cruel, but it seemed to Tove that he had genuinely liked and cared for her father. Tove, on the other hand, Kjartan neither liked nor cared for, but he had given her food and a roof over her head, he had let her train and learn to fight, and he had prevented any of his men from using her against her will. Tove owed Kjartan a lot, without him she would have been destitute with no family to turn to; she may not like him, she despised him even, but in many ways she was indebted to him.

‘The bastard has betrayed me!’ Kjartan roared, banging his first on the table. ‘He is probably telling Uhtred about our defences as we speak! I should have had him killed ages ago, like I did his mother.’

Tove flinched. When she had first arrived, she had been terrified. Kjartan, thinking little of her, had told her to sleep with the slaves and that is what she had done. Sihtric’s mother, Elflaed, had cared for her the best she could, her kindness immeasurable. Her gory death had hit her hard, although not as hard as Sihtric, of course. They were a similar age, and although Tove wasn’t a slave she wasn’t treated much better; Sihtric had it worse, the cruelty Kjartan showed his bastard son knowing no bounds, but they helped each other through it. She had held him in her arms the whole night as he had cried his heart out after his mother’s death, and from that night on they had only had each other.

‘We do not know he is with Uhtred,’ Sven pointed out, the only man brave enough to dare to contradict his father, ‘why would he want him? He is nothing – a nobody! He would be worthless to him.’

Tove made sure to keep her face blank, she did not wish for punishment, but inside she was laughing. Sven loved to say that Sihtric was worthless, but he was a better fighter than Sven would ever be. Over the years she had known him, Sihtric had grown into a man and a great warrior. She was sure Elflaed would’ve been proud.

‘He is with Uhtred!’ Kjartan shouted again, giving his son a look that made it clear there was no room for argument. ‘The bastard has betrayed me! He must die!’

‘But how?’ Sven asked, never having been the smartest. ‘Uhtred won’t be taken for a fool twice.’

‘No, he won’t. That is why we will send someone he does not suspect,’ Kjartan snarled, turning to face Tove with a grin that made her blood run cold. ‘Who would suspect a woman?’

Tove was no longer the scared little girl who had first arrived at Dunholm. She had learnt that men would only respect her if she learnt how to fight, so that is what she had done, and now, nine years later, she was a shieldmaiden and one of Kjartan’s best warriors. This mission was not so difficult; sneak unnoticed into Eoferwic, locate Sihtric, kill him, and return to Kjartan with his head. But this was no simple mission. As she rode out of the gates of Dunholm, Tove’s heart was almost jumping out of her throat and she felt completely sick. For the first time in years, she was afraid. Afraid of what she must do. Sihtric wasn’t just a friend; over the years, as they had grown older, they had become far more to each other than that. In truth she loved him, although she had never told him that. However, her feelings meant nothing. She had given her oath to Kjartan, sworn her sword and there was no going back from that. She had her orders and she must complete them.

The only hope she had left was that Kjartan was wrong, that Sihtric had escaped and fled well away from Northumbria, but that hope soon disappeared. It hadn’t been difficult to slip into the city, especially under the cover of darkness, just like Tove knew it would be – people never looked twice at women, probably assuming her to be a whore. She had located Uhtred’s men quick enough and there was Sihtric, looking as handsome as ever. No, he was more handsome, as for the first time in his life he had hope in his eyes and a smile, a real smile, on his face. She couldn’t blame him for defecting; Kjartan had never given him a reason to be loyal to him and, by the looks of his men, Uhtred seemed to be a decant lord. But this changed nothing, Tove reminded herself.

When Sihtric stood and walked away from the other men, probably going to take a piss, Tove took her chance. Sticking to the shadows, careful not to be seen, she followed him into a side alley. She must have made a sound as Sihtric stopped dead still, even drunk his senses were better than anyone’s. Not even thinking about it, Tove grabbed him and pressed him against the wall, her knife against his throat. His eyes widened, ‘Tove?’ he gasped. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Kjartan wants you dead and he sent me to do his dirty work,’ she said in a flat voice, trying to keep her emotions from showing on her face.

‘You’re going to kill me?’ he asked, no fear in his eyes.

‘I do not want to, but I will,’ Tove forced herself to say through gritted teeth. She did not want to do this, but what other choice did she have? ‘Please, Sihtric, I don’t want to do this. Leave Uhtred and flee south, I can tell Kjartan that you must have escaped and ran. If I come back empty handed and he gets word that you’re here, he will kill me! You know this! You have to run! Please!’ She was begging now, her voice cracking from the emotion rising inside her.

‘I can’t,’ Sihtric whispered. ‘I have sworn to Lord Uhtred and he is a good lord, a great lord. I will not abandon him. I will not break my oath.’ Tove shook her head, her blade still against Sihtric’s skin, hating Sihtric for his loyalty, but at the same time knowing that was one of the things she loved him for. ‘Tove, you don’t have to do this. You can abandon Kjartan and join Uhtred. Join me! We can be together – isn’t that what you want?’

Tears were building in her eyes. That was exactly what she wanted but it was something she could not have. ‘I can’t, Sihtric! I have sworn to Kjartan, just like you have sworn to Uhtred! I will not be an oath breaker! I won’t!’

‘But Kjartan treats you no better than a slave! When you swore your sword, he swore to protect you in return. He is not a good lord; the Gods cannot blame you for leaving a man like that!’

‘He has protected me, Sihtric! Yes, he is a cruel, vile man. Yes, he has not treated me kindly. But if it wasn’t for him, I would be lying dead in an alleyway or selling myself in a brothel by now! Before he took me in, I had nothing! I am indebted, Sihtric!’ Tove sobbed, tears spilling over and running down her cheeks as she realised there was no way out of this situation.

‘So kill me!’ he spat.

‘I will,’ Tove spat back, trying to muster her conviction.

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ came a deep, Danish voice from behind her. Before she could turn to see who had sneaked up behind her, a pain blazed through her skull and she felt herself falling to the ground, before it all went black.

When Tove woke up it was light outside, although it was unclear how long she had been out for. Her head was extremely painful where she had been hit with what she suspected was a blunt object. She was in what looked like an unused part of a stable, her hands and feet tied together with rope. Looking up, she saw Sihtric sitting not far from her, meeting her eye when he noticed she was awake. He passed her a jug of water before getting up and leaving her, not saying a single word.

A few moments later he returned with two men. She was informed that the first man was Lord Uhtred, and the other man, who was huge with arms like tree trunks, was another Dane named Clapa. It had been Clapa that had knocked her out; no wonder her head hurt so much. ‘I understand that you’re called Tove?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘The only reason you are still alive is because of Sihtric. He seems to believe that you might consider joining us. Help us against Kjartan.’

‘I’m sorry, lord.’ Tove said slowly, not looking Sihtric in the eye. ‘I’m afraid I cannot give you my sword nor my oath as they both belong to another. It is not for any love or loyalty to Kjartan that I refuse you, lord, but I cannot break an oath. I will not. And if that means I am to die, then so be it.’

Uhtred simply nodded in response. He and Clapa left soon after, leaving Tove alone with Sihtric. He came and sat on the floor beside her and took her bound hands in his. ‘He will not kill you; he respects you for not breaking your oath.’

‘Then what will happen to me?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sihtric answered with a deep sigh. They sat together for what seemed like hours, simply holding each other close like they always did back in Dunholm whenever life turned against them. The spinners seemed to have played a cruel game with them, making them fall in love only to tear them apart. ‘You have always been there for me, always. When I dreamed of escaping Dunholm, it was always with you by my side.’

She looked into Sihtric’s beautiful, mismatched eyes. ‘Me too. I never imagined a future without you in it. I knew that the future was unlikely to be kind to us, but I always felt it didn’t matter how hard it got so long as we were together.’ Tears once again fell over the brim of Tove’s eyes. Sihtric reached up and gently wiped them away with his thumb. His hands moved to cup her face and slowly brought her towards him. Their lips met in a gentle kiss, the contact bringing all the emotions Tove had tried to bury and ignore for the last few days back to the surface. This would likely be the last time she ever got to kiss him, and she didn’t want it to end, but he forced himself way. He looked guiltily at her, like he hadn’t meant to kiss her. ‘I don’t know what will happen to you, Tove. I’m sorry.’ With that he left, leaving her alone with her tears.

A week passed and there was still no decision on what Tove’s fate would be. It seemed Uhtred had more pressing matters to be concerned with. She saw little of Sihtric and when she did, he barely spoke a word to her.

It was early in the morning when she heard a clamour outside. She could hear Uhtred’s voice calling a woman’s name: ‘Gisela’ – he sounded desperate. Something was happening. Something was wrong. She heard someone running towards her corner of the stables and a few moments later saw Sihtric panting above her.

‘You have to go, now!’ he ordered her, in a rushed whisper. He undid the ropes binding her hands and feet and pulled her with him out of the stables. They ran through small backstreets of the city, which she assumed was to prevent them from being seen, his hand still firmly holding hers.

‘Sihtric, what’s going on?’

‘Lord Uhtred has been betrayed,’ he replied, emotion clear in his voice. ‘Guthred has sold him into slavery. Lord Uhtred was protecting you, now he is gone, you have been marked for execution.’

‘Won’t you get into trouble?’ she asked him urgently. She didn’t want him to be executed in her place.

‘Everyone’s too busy in the square to be worried about us. Come on!’

They reached a small side gate, a horse held by Clapa waiting for them. ‘Sihtric…’ she began. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, so many things she wanted to thank him for, but somehow all her words became caught in her throat. She threw herself at his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck as she buried her face into his shoulder to hide her tears. ‘I love you.’

He lifted her chin so that she was once again staring into those beautiful eyes. ‘I love you too.’ She grabbed the back of his head and brought him down into a passionate kiss, trying to convey everything she wanted to say but couldn’t into the action. ‘Now go,’ he urged her as they broke apart.

Tove pulled herself onto the horse and gave Sihtric one last desperate look before kicking hard and riding off into the Northumbrian countryside.

ONE YEAR LATER:

‘Every man to the walls! We are under attack!’ Tove grabbed her sword and shield along with all the other warriors of Dunholm.

Little had changed over the last year, apart from the large scar that now framed her face – a gift from Kjartan after her failure to kill Sihtric. Only the news that Uhtred had been enslaved and living a fate worse than death had saved Tove’s life, Kjartan too busy celebrating the news to bother with her too much. She had tried to keep Sihtric from her mind, but she had failed, finding herself thinking of him most days. She had thought she would never see him again, but she had been wrong.

As she ran into the courtyard towards the walls like she had been ordered to, a cry went up that there had been a breach – the enemy were within the walls. She turned, sword and shield in hand as she readied herself to slaughter the invading warriors but stopped still in her tracks. There was Sihtric, fighting alongside Uhtred.

A huge Dane came at Sihtric from behind. Sihtric was busy fighting off two other men and would be helpless to the new threat. Her feet began moving on their own accord, her body moving faster than her brain could comprehend. Before she knew what was happening, she was drawing her sword from the Danes neck and standing before a shocked Sihtric. More of Kjartan’s men came running towards them; Tove immediately moved so she stood back to back with Sihtric, ready to cut down her former comrades.

There was no time to talk. No time to explain how over the last year she had realised that she had made a mistake, that Kjartan was unworthy of her loyalty, that she should have sworn to Uhtred and been with Sihtric. All she could do was fight. It seemed she had made her choice; she had chosen to break her oath and kill those she was supposed to fight beside; but she realised to save Sihtric, she would do anything.

After the battle, Tove found Sihtric sitting alone just outside the main gates. The fortress bringing back too many memories for him to remain inside. Tove understood that. They sat in silence for a while, Sihtric’s hand in hers, their fingers laced together. ‘What happens now?’ she finally asked.

‘I go back to Wessex with Lord Uhtred. What will you do?’

‘I would like to come with you. Serve Lord Uhtred – if he’ll have me,’ she said with a slight smile. ‘I just want to be with you.’ Sihtric beamed at her and placed his arm around her, bringing his head forward so their foreheads touched. They were together, and in that moment, that was all that mattered.

#rosies100 #sihtric #sihtric x OC #the last kingdom #tlk fanfiction

[incorrectbandofbrothersquotes]

You Better, You Better, You Bet - Chapter 6

Adore You

Ron Speirs x Juliet Fletcher

Summary: Juliet Fletcher reaches a breaking point in her life. When she is at her absolute lowest, she meets Ron Speirs, and something happens between them that neither of them will ever forget.

Word Count: 4.2k

Tag List: @vintagelavenderskies​​​ @how-are-those-nuts-sarge​​​ @iilovemusic12us​​​ @hesbuckcompton-baby​​​ @tvserie-s-world​​​ @whovian45810​​ @50svibes​​​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this update!

Warning(s): The beginning of this is just a touch NSFW, but nothing explicit. Also, mentions of abuse and later abortion. 

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5

AO3 link

Chapter 6 here we go!!!

Sunlight pooled into the room above the Blue Boar, warming the skin of the two bodies tangled up in the sheets upon the bed. It illuminated for Juliet all the places Ron had touched her the night before, the memory of it as electrifying and sensual as the moment itself. She stirred to look up at his sleeping face, goosebumps erupting over her as she recalled the number of times she’d whined his name as he drew climax after climax out of her. It made her squirm against him now from her spot tucked into his side. No one had ever made love to her like that before, and she found herself hungry for more already. 

To steady herself, she listened to his heart, counting the beats coming steady and strong. It didn’t help quell the ache between her thighs because she just remembered bracing herself against that firm chest as she straddled and rode him. Face growing warm with all the images of their tryst, she shifted again. This time, enough to wake him. 

“Morning,” he said, voice raspy with sleep. “‘M surprised you’re up. Must not have done my job right.” 

“Believe me, you did more than enough,” she returned, pressing her lips to his chest, right beside the faint marks from her fingers. Her own voice was a bit hoarse as well, but she had used it quite a bit during the evening.

“I see,” he smirked. “You want more then.” 

Very few people could make Juliet Fletcher blush, but that made her cheeks burn. He was right after all. Even with everything they had done, she was eager to have him again. And again and again and again…

“Shut up,” she grumbled. 

“Fine,” he said with a shrug. “Tell me what you’d rather I do with my mouth.” 

She giggled at that, biting her lip as she considered his offer. “I want it on mine.” 

True to his word, he said nothing, but pulled her close for a deep, heated kiss. Their lips were still slightly swollen from the night before, but it didn’t stop them. There was no rush this morning, just gentle exploration, soft moans, and slow hands. 

As his mouth trailed from her jawline to her collarbone, he stopped, something on her skin standing out to him - something he hadn’t noticed in the night. A circular, red scar where her collarbone met her shoulder. He gently touched it with his index finger. 

“Birthmark?” he guessed, but something in his gut told him he was wrong. 

She shook her head. “Scar. The cigar was a pretty typical threat for Dad, but he made good on it once when I got carried away with back chat. And Billy wasn’t around.” 

His face shifted just slightly when his jaw stiffened and his mouth turned down. “How old were you?” 

“Ten,” she told him. “I don’t even remember what I said or why we were fighting. But I remember the pain, that’s for sure.” 

He met her gaze. “You’re awfully casual about something like that.” 

“It was so long ago,” she returned with half a shrug. “Honestly, I forget it’s there most of the time. And he’s gone now.” 

The way she averted her eyes told him it bothered her more than she was letting on, but he didn’t pry. Instead, he pressed his lips to the scar in a display of tenderness that nearly took her breath away. It did not erase what her father had done, but it felt more healed than it ever had before. 

After their morning round, they decided they needed food or they’d never be able to keep this up. So they headed downstairs.

Juliet hummed through most of breakfast, which was a stroke to Ron’s ego, but he didn’t mention it. He just watched her pop a bit of food into her mouth and do her little in-seat dance that was fucking precious in his opinion and appreciated that he was with her. It seemed odd that the last time they’d had breakfast, they were perfect strangers. Just a few weeks later, they knew each other...well, intimately. 

“Why the book?” he asked suddenly. 

She looked at him mid-bite into some toast. “Hm?”

“Why did the book make you kiss me?” he said.

“It really wasn’t the book to be perfectly honest,” she said, setting the toast back on her plate. “It was what you did to get it.” 

He cocked his head to the side questioningly as he took a sip of his coffee. 

“The whole making up multiple bidders, and choosing Humphrey Bogart as the winning name,” she explained. “And then how much you paid for it. No one’s ever done anything like that for me before.” 

“No way,” he returned. “Not even when you were engaged?” 

She shook her head. “Arthur was...a very self-centered man. He wasn’t unkind, but he had a role he wanted me to fulfill. And I was expected to do it without him putting in any effort to keep me there. I think...he always thought I was lucky to have him. So he never took on any grand gestures.”

“I’d hardly call bidding on your book a grand gesture,” he replied, unsure what else to say to that. Putting effort into someone you liked? Wasn’t that setting the bar a little low? That felt like the bare minimum. He had always thought of love as two people sort of earning each other, and continuing to prove that they cared. 

“It was to me,” she said, her voice soft and just a smidge quieter than usual. Which told him she was really touched by what he’d done. It didn’t surprise him since apparently the only man who had never let her down was her brother. “Thank you.” 

“Well, don’t get too mushy, I mostly did it so I can make fun of you,” he said, lightening the mood. 

She snorted. “You’ll get loads of material from that, trust me.” 

“You’re not afraid of what I’ll find?” he asked. 

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she shot back, a determined gleam in her eye. 

For a moment, he believed her. She did seem to put almost her whole self out there for the world to see, so ready to take a risk. With the father she had and the heartbreak she’d endured, it would have been especially understandable for her to be afraid of everything and everyone. But she took the world head on, and had even opened herself up to him, without once asking him for any sort of promise for a future. She was so remarkable to him, he just sat back and admired her. Until she froze and the color drained from her face. 

“Jules?” 

She didn’t answer him, she only stared at a spot on the table, eyes fixed on something in the middle. He followed her gaze and saw a small spider, maybe a couple centimeters long, creeping across the wood. 

“Juliet?” 

“Fucking shit!” she cried, leaping from her seat. The chair scraped against the floor before toppling onto its side as she scampered away, pressing her body into the wall on the other side of the pub. “Ron, you have to kill it!” 

He gaped at her, utterly astounded. “Are you serious?” 

Her ghost-like complexion told him she was, but she nodded her head anyway, eyes wide with paralyzing fear. 

“Spiders?” he questioned. “That’s what gets you?” 

“They’re creepy!” she insisted. “It’s perfectly normal to be -”

“It’s the size of a -”

“I DON’T GIVE A GOOD GODDAMN HOW BIG IT IS, RON, JUST KILL THE BLOODY THING!” 

Resisting the urge to laugh, he picked up a napkin and slapped it down over the spider, wiping it away before balling it up and walking it over to a trash bin to dispose of the remains. When the coast was clear, he approached her and she shuddered. 

“Ugh, I still feel it on me,” she said. 

“It never touched you,” he reminded her. 

She scowled. “Look at my face.”

“I am looking at your face.” 

“Does it look like I want to be sassed?” 

“It does not.” 

“Then keep your little opinions to yourself.” 

“Not an opinion,” he returned. “It really didn’t touch you.” 

“What did I just say?” she shot back. 

“You’re being unreasonable,” he said. 

“Okay, and?”

He rolled his eyes. “Let’s just finish breakfast.” 

“No way!” she cried. “I’m not going back over there, what if there are more of them?” 

“There aren’t.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I do, actually, I was just there.” 

“Can’t we just leave?” she asked. 

“Juliet, I promise if there are any more spiders, I will kill them just as swiftly and mercilessly as this one,” he said. “Let’s finish our meal.” 

She eyed him skeptically, as if at any moment he would open up his jacket to reveal a secret stash of spiders just waiting to assault her, but he only held out his hand. Reluctantly, she took it and allowed him to lead her back to the table. He resumed his seat right away, but she inspected hers first. Satisfied there were no more spiders, she sat. 

He sipped his coffee. “So, is it just spiders or all bugs?” 

“Spiders, mostly,” she answered. “Other bugs I can take care of myself.” 

“Why spiders, then?” 

“It’s just a thing,” she said with a shrug. “I can’t explain it.” 

He could have argued there was a lot about her that couldn’t be explained, but decided against pointing that out. He just took another sip of coffee. She reached for her fork. 

“Juliet, wait!” he said urgently. “I think I see another one!” 

She screamed and hurled the fork away from her. It soared over to the adjacent table and clattered onto it before skidding to a stop. She looked over at it, chest heaving with her frightened breaths. Incidentally, it was free of any creatures. She glowered at Ron and the infuriating smirk on his face.

“That’s not funny,” she grumbled. 

“It’s a little funny,” he returned. 

“I loathe you right now.” 

“I can live with that.” 

She snatched his fork from in front of him and used it instead. “You’re a bully.” 

“Eat your eggs,” he replied. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she retorted. 

He shot her a steely look, and she stuck her tongue out at him before taking a bite of her eggs. She chewed and swallowed. 

“That’s a good dad look you’ve got there,” she said. “D’you use it on your subordinates?”

“Dad look?” he questioned. 

“Y’know, the stern look,” she said. “You pull it off well.” 

“You seeing that as paternal is only a little bit disturbing,” he replied. 

“That’s fair,” she conceded. “I didn’t have the best example.” 

“I’d say you probably had one of the worst,” he said. 

“Wouldn’t fight you there.” 

“To answer your question, if my men disappoint me, I make it known, in whatever way the situation calls for,” he said. 

“That’s...vague,” she said. 

He only shrugged again before he changed the subject. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” 

“I’m actually taking the train to Trowbridge to interview the defense attorney for the Lee case,” she said. “I should be back by this evening, though.” 

“You want some company?” he offered. “We don’t have any training going on today.” 

She blinked. “Really?” 

“Sure,” he said. “Despite your attitude, I kinda like spending time with you.” 

“Flattering,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I actually...would love that. Thank you.” 

Once again, something so basic was - to her - going above and beyond. It was clear to him that Juliet had become accustomed to a certain level of interest in her, and it was low. He hoped to prove otherwise. 

***

Trowbridge was not much bigger than Aldbourne, there was just more going on since it was the capital of the county. Juliet was meeting the defense attorney at his office, and she confessed to Ron she was a bit nervous about the interview. He wasn’t an attorney that worked for the government, he was in private practice. His name was Harvey Cooper, and when Juliet had done some background on him, she discovered he was well-known for cases like the Lee case. He had actually sought out Meredith Fisher when the police report came through about Peggy’s body. There was a lot that could go wrong, but Ron reminded her that there was also a lot that could go well. 

They arrived at the office, where they were greeted by a secretary. Harvey emerged from his office with a smile that would have been more appropriate for a salesman than a defense attorney for a murder case. He shook Juliet’s hand, accepted without question that Ron was her photographer, and took them back to his office. He gave a brief, cheerful tour of the place, explaining that he’d done some updating, but was limited because of the war. Juliet and Ron exchanged a surprised look at the man’s chipper disposition. 

“Well, Miss Fletcher, I must say I’m surprised you’re working this story,” Harvey said as they all took seats in his office, Juliet and Ron on one of the desk, and Harvey on the other. “I read some past issues of the London Pursuit, and saw you were an entertainment writer.” 

“Yes,” she said gracefully. “I got a bit of a promotion, you see, with the majority of the men otherwise occupied.” 

“Sure, sure,” Harvey replied. “Of course, in my line of work, I’m more than aware of what women are capable of.” 

Ron watched Juliet’s careful disguise of her distaste to that remark. She forced a smile and tucked her hair behind her ear, before retrieving her notepad and pencil from her bag. 

“Certainly,” she said. “Which brings me to the point at hand. I’ve spoken to the prosecution about Meredith Fisher’s case, and the evidence is really strong. How do you plan to plead?” 

“Not guilty,” Harvey answered simply. 

“On what grounds?” she asked, unsurprised by that answer. 

“Institutional failure,” he said. 

That took her aback. She blinked for a moment and sat back in her seat. “Institutional failure?” 

“Absolutely,” he said. “Operation Pied Piper was under prepared and under planned. According to my research, no one vetted any of the families who agreed to take in children. If you signed up, you were approved, no questions asked.” 

Juliet’s brow furrowed. “While that’s certainly interesting, it doesn’t absolve Mrs. Fisher of responsibility for her individual actions. No other unvetted family has done this.” 

“But they could have,” he insisted. “I believe Mrs. Fisher is being made into a scapegoat for something that could have reasonably happened to any number of the children who were part of the program.” 

She stared at him for a long moment, and Ron watched her. He could see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing. Ron didn’t quite understand it either - it was a flimsy argument. 

“Are you...are you taking the piss?” she questioned. 

“Not in the slightest,” Harvey said. 

“Mr. Cooper, that argument is generally only used in civil cases for things like job termination,” she said. “This is murder. And it didn’t happen to any of the other children. Mrs. Fisher isn’t a stand in for something that’s been happening nationwide, this is a single instance.” 

“But, if the committee in Parliament had done its job, Peggy Lee would never have gone to the Fisher home,” he said. 

“Why?” Juliet pressed. “Does Mrs. Fisher have a record of violence?” 

“No, but one interview could have told them that she had no children of her own,” he said. “They never could conceive - a naturally devastating thing for a woman. Who would trust her with a child after discovering that?” 

She froze, and Ron watched something flash behind her eyes. A storm was brewing inside her, a hellish anger at the implication there. He didn’t agree with what Harvey was saying either, but that was just the sort of comment that set Juliet off. 

“Your entire argument is childless women being unhinged simply because they are childless,” she said, and there was a strain on her voice to keep it level. “There are plenty of women who cannot have children who do not go around murdering other people’s, myself included. Your head is up your ass if you think this will be an acceptable defense in a court of law!” 

It took Ron a moment to fully absorb what she had just admitted. He wondered for a fleeting second if Juliet was bluffing, but she was too ethical. In situations like this, she wouldn’t lie - not about something so serious. He also wondered if it was something he could ask her about, but that was a conversation for later. 

“Any doctor would diagnose her as unstable,” Harvey said, face darkening. “And I don’t appreciate your tone, Miss Fletcher.” 

“I don’t appreciate your ignorance, Mr. Cooper,” she shot back. “She wasn’t diagnosed as anything except woman, and that was by you, not a doctor.”

“Hold on -”

“So if I - I dunno - leapt over this desk and strangled you,” she cut across him, and Ron held back a laugh. “You would reasonably expect another attorney to argue that it’s the responsibility of the London Pursuit because they should have known, say, that my ex-fiancée was an attorney therefore I’m more likely to kill one? Because scorned women are known to be more furious?” 

“That’s not the same.” 

“It’s exactly the same, only in your case, worse,” she snapped. “A child is dead, and you are making a mockery of the fight for justice.” 

“I’m doing my job -” 

“Your job should entail getting Mrs. Fisher evaluated by a doctor and arguing down her sentence based on her mental capacity,” she returned. “Instead, you are reducing her to a monster because she is unable to give birth.” 

“I’m not -” 

“Even if it were true - which it isn't,” she interrupted him again. “It would still be her own fault for putting her hands on a child!” 

Harvey slammed his hands down on his desk, which prompted Ron to get to his feet, but Juliet didn’t even flinch. She stared that lawyer down as if they were in the courtroom already and she was the cross examiner. She was so unafraid it was almost difficult to believe that just hours ago a little spider had sent her running across the room. 

“Miss Fletcher,” Harvey said levelly, casting a sideways glance at Ron. “You clearly came into this interview with your mind made up about my client and this case. I must ask you to leave.” 

She stood up. “You’re right, I did come in here with my mind made up,” she said. “But that’s because I’ve got the facts. Unlike you, Mr. Cooper, I do not rely on drollery to do my job.” 

“That’s a bold statement coming from a woman -” 

“Do not ever reduce me to my sex, Mr. Cooper,” she snapped. “Yours certainly will not protect you from being intentionally stripped of your dignity.” 

With that, she turned on her heel and swept out of the office. Harvey stood up. He went around his desk and started after her. 

“Hold on, what does that mean?!” he called. 

Ron intercepted him at the doorway, stopping Harvey with a hand to the chest. 

“No,” Ron said simply, with a warning look. It went without saying that Ron had about fifty pounds on Harvey, so if he followed them out, there would be consequences. When that was well understood, Ron went after Juliet. 

She was already outside by the time he caught up, and she was waiting for him. The wind blew her hair, and he was briefly struck by how attractive she looked. He was already aroused by how she did in the interview. When he wasn’t on the receiving end of her ranting, it really was something. It was something when he was, but ultimately more enjoyable when it was directed at someone else. Because he could just sit back to watch her go and admire her. 

“Well done back there,” he said. 

“What an absolute wanker,” she said. “Institutional failure, what a fucking joke. And how insulting for Mrs. Fisher. Everyone deserves a lawyer who takes them seriously. And he clearly doesn’t.” 

He only nodded in agreement. “What did you mean by the dignity stripping comment?” 

“I can’t print anything about this until the trial happens, but believe me, that conversation will be included in the article,” she said. “I’m not normally one to get set on taking someone down, but if he seeks cases like this out just to pull stunts like that, the public should be aware.” 

Her face was red with frustration and her pace had quickened. Luckily, Ron had no trouble keeping up since his strides were longer than hers. His own heart was racing, but mostly out of his excitement about her. When there was a break in the buildings, he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into the alleyway, pinning her against the wall. He stifled her yelp of surprise with a searing kiss. He wanted to show her how much he felt for her. She was smart, passionate, and annoyingly ethical, but he adored her. Seeing her in action only reinforced just how much. 

She moaned into his mouth before they broke apart for air, but clung to his jacket so he wouldn’t get too far away. Her eyes took a moment to re-focus on him after the dizzying intensity of his kiss. 

“You’re incredible,” he breathed. 

She searched his face for something behind his words, but found him genuine. “Thank you.” 

She bit her lip as she looked him up and down, that hunger from the morning returning to her. She craved him again, and when he smirked she knew he was aware of the effect he had. 

“God, what’s wrong with me?” she sighed, shaking her head. 

“Plenty, but I really like you anyway,” he returned, and she beamed. “You wanna get back to Aldbourne?” 

She nodded eagerly. “God, yes.” 

He turned to get onto the street again, but she pulled him back for another kiss, this one just a little longer than the last. 

It was on the train back to Aldbourne that he decided to inquire about what he heard her say in Harvey’s office. Her head rested on his shoulder as the countryside whizzed by, slowly disappearing as the sun sank behind the horizon. He looked at the yellow glow on her face and couldn’t help himself. 

“You really can’t have children?” he asked. 

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Oh, crikey, I almost forgot I mentioned that.” 

“You don’t have to talk about it if -”

“No, it’s quite alright,” she assured him as she sat up. “We are sleeping together, so you’ve got a right to know.” She paused and looked down at her lap before continuing. “I was pregnant once. By a man I’d been seeing only a few weeks. But I was nineteen years old and terrified of what life would be like with a child I didn’t really want.” She fiddled with the handles of her bag. “So I made the decision to terminate. Only, something went wrong, and I was told because of the mistake, I’d be unable to have children. That’s the long and short of it.” 

The confession should have been shocking, but he found himself remarkably indifferent. He wanted to know more about it, but the act itself did not bother him in the slightest. 

“Did you tell the father?” he wondered. 

She shook her head. “No. I’d made up my mind and I didn’t want him to try and persuade me to change it.”

“So you went alone?” he asked. 

“No, Billy took me,” she told him. “No questions asked. He was the only one who understood.”

“Understood?” 

“I wasn’t ready for marriage or a child,” she explained. “I had so much more I wanted to do with my life.” She met his gaze. “And I’ve done it.” 

“So, no regrets, then?” he questioned hesitantly. 

She pondered that, glancing out the window before looking back at his face. “Not really, no. I’m not suited for motherhood, anyway.” She bit her lip. “Is that...is that a problem?” 

Honestly, he had not thought much about the future, especially since the war started. It was dangerous to hope. Juliet had awakened some of that in him - some glimmer of faith that he could go to war and come back to her. But children? He had never thought that far ahead, so life without them didn’t feel like a disappointment. He just wanted her. 

“No, not at all,” he replied. 

She visibly relaxed at that, letting out a low breath before easing herself back into his side. Before she got there, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and made her look at him once more. 

“And by the way, we’re more than just sleeping together,” he said, and he kissed her smile. 

She settled against him and closed her eyes. He draped his arm around her shoulders. They were content.

#ron speirs #band of brothers #easy company #hbo war #juliet fletcher #roliet #you better you better you bet series #ron speirs x ofc #band of brothers fic #band of brothers ofc

[omg-imagine]

⊱ Nightmares ⊰

Pairing: John Wick x Reader

Summary: John comforts his daughter after she wakes up from a nightmare.

Warnings: a smidge of angst, but major fluff

Words: 2.3k

A/N:  I was in a dad!john mood these last couple of days and ended up writing this fic. This is set a few years after Perfect to Me, which takes place in a universe that I'll be expanding with more of these family blurbs. Hope you enjoy!

Daylight has come and gone; an inky blackness speckled with countless shimmering, twinkling lights now fills the late midnight skies above. The air is calm, so serene—it’s tranquil silence lulling John to a deep, deep slumber, one that was very much needed after a tiresome day. Beneath the thick duvet, sleep is just a touch away following a brief bout of tossing and turning in bed. It always takes a little more time for him to retire when your body isn’t next to his during the night.

Eyelids heavy with fatigue, John was teetering on the edge of consciousness when a distant scream from down the hall pierces the quietude, causing him to jolt awake. In an instant, he pushes himself up and out of the mattress, his bare feet swiftly dashing across the hardwood as he heads to the source of the worrying sound. 

A familiar adrenaline fuels John’s hasty sprint, his mind already assuming that something terrible has happened. Sadly, it was a burden he still carries as a result of his past. He knows of the horrors in reality; he had been one of them at one point. Though time has passed since he walked away from that horrid life, John remains wary, afraid that there will come a day when this beautiful paradise he has found would be taken away.

John pushes the door open with enough force that it slams harshly against the wall, his heart hammering against his chest at the sight of the empty, disheveled bed in the middle of the room. “Ellie?!” He yells her name out loud, his voice frantic, trembling as panic starts to creep in. Before he could run to check the rest of the house, John hears faint shuffling coming from behind.

“Daddy?”

A sigh of relief falls from John’s lips once he sees his five-year-old curled up in the closet, seemingly distraught as he is. She was shaking, her lashes wet with fresh tears as she glances up at her father. Kneeling down, John joins her on the floor, his rapid breathing steadied following the recent fright. Ellie immediately crawls closer to him, her short arms wrapping around his mid as she buries her face into his shirt, finding comfort in his presence.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” John murmurs low as he tenderly strokes Ellie’s hair. Her tiny frame quivers while she stifles her sobs, the mere sound of her cries shattering his heart. 

“I had a bad dream,” she responds, tone soft and weary. John’s shirt is stained with her tears, but he pays it no mind. Instead, he holds her closer, tilting his lips down to place a kiss on her forehead, which aided in relaxing his darling daughter. With his warm embrace growing tight, he assures her that she is safe from harm. 

Yet, as they sit there on the carpeted floor, John feels a crushing pain from seeing her so scared. Since becoming a father, he often frets about Ellie. There would be nights when John would wake late in the evening to check on his baby, only to find her sleeping peacefully. He has this constant unsettling anxiety that looms over his head, a rooted fear that he could not shake off easily. 

“Come,” he eventually whispers, his utterance as delicate as the way he lifts her up from the ground, carrying her back to bed. 

Gently, John lays Ellie down on the mattress, drawing the pink blanket up to her body. He then switches on the lamp on the nightstand, its soft glow illuminating what should be a haven for her. John doesn’t even wait for her to ask him to stay; he could not leave her so soon. Sighing, he sits on the edge of the bed, the palm of his hand coming to rest on the side of her angelic face with features still tainted with terror.

“What was your nightmare about?” John probes, hoping that she would answer. 

Whenever he experiences nightmares of his own, you would pose to him the same question. At first, he was reluctant to share, not wanting to have you be a part of the torment his mind poisons him with. You, however, wouldn’t sleep until John opened up, and when he finally did, you always knew exactly what to say to bring him peace, never without fail.

“I-I was outside in the dark,” Ellie recounts with a whimper, her little fingers curling around the edge of the sheet. “A big monster was chasing me, and I screamed for help, but nobody came. I couldn’t find you or mommy anywhere.”

John’s heart is heavy as he pictures her completely helpless. Ellie is so young, innocent and vulnerable. She was too pure to witness or even dream about evil, but that he has no control over. John would do anything and everything if it means keeping her safe, but what could he do in a situation like this?

“Honey, I’m sorry to hear that,” he soothes, lightly running the pad of his thumb under her eye to wipe the remaining tears away. She resembles you more, he thinks, both reminders of all the good there is in this world. “But you’re alright now. It was just a bad dream, Ellie-bear. None of it was real.”

“Are you sure?” She wearily asks. “The monster looked real, daddy. What if it shows up again when I go to sleep?”

“I’m sure, baby. If you see the monster again, I promise I will be here to protect you. Your mother and I love you so much; we will never, ever let anything bad happen to you, El. Okay?”

Ellie wordlessly responds with a nod, reaching for John’s calloused hand then clutching it tightly with her softer one. “Daddy, do you get nightmares, too?”

“Sometimes,” he reveals, rubbing circles on the back of her hand. It still amazes John how much she’s grown over the last several years. He recalls how small her hands were when she was a mere few days old and how much love he had at the time for such a tiny precious thing.

A profound love that has since multiplied immensely even to this day.

“What happens when you wake up?” 

John pauses to ponder as Ellie’s curious chocolate eyes stare at him. They mirror his own in a way, and he smiles the slightest bit, his free hand moving to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, mommy usually talks to me for a bit, just like what we’re doing right now. She reminds me each time that nightmares aren’t real and we shouldn’t be scared of them.”

“You get scared of nightmares?” 

“I do,” he truthfully states. “But you don’t have to worry. All that matters is that you’re safe now.”

Gaze faltering, John could tell that she’s not wholly convinced by the pout on her lips as she fiddles with the shiny silver band on his ring finger. His eyes briefly dart to the stuffed animal that must have fallen when Ellie jumped out of bed and scampered to the closet. Leaning down, John retrieves the toy bear, softly smiling to himself at a passing memory.

“You know, I got Mr. Teddy right after mommy told me she was pregnant with you.” 

He remembers that moment as clear as day. The two of you have long desired for a family, and following a hard year of trying, you had surprised John on his birthday. He would never forget the indescribable feeling he had when you told him he was going to be a father. 

That night, you and John had gone on a lovely walk under the stars, imagining what the near future would look like. The bear caught his attention as you passed by a children’s store, and unable to contain his utter excitement, he had purchased it for the baby to play with one day.

“I always sleep with Mr. Teddy by my side,” Ellie notes as John places the bear in her arms. It was beginning to wear out after all these years, the brown faux fur fading into a dullish color. She could have any toy she wants, but her teddy bear would forever remain. Ellie could never part with it, and it means greatly to her as much as it does to John.

“You love Mr. Teddy, don’t you?” She nods, yes. “Well, from now on, Mr. Teddy will make sure that the monster never comes back. At night, when your mother and I are sleeping in the other room, Mr. Teddy will be our eyes and ears. Even if you don’t see us, he’ll be here to keep you safe.”

The corner of Ellie’s mouth turned up in a small smile, yet it was sweet enough to reassure John. He watches his little girl bring the bear up to her lips, giving the top of its head a brief kiss before holding it out towards him. John furrows his brow in confusion as she pushes Mr. Teddy into his hand. “What’s this?”

“You said you have nightmares,” Ellie replies, her voice soft like the plush in his grasp. “Since mommy’s at work, you can bring Mr. Teddy to your room. I know you’ll always protect me, but who’s going to protect you?”

John is caught off-guard by her simple query. Ellie was incredibly bright for her age, ever so inquisitive at most times. He spends four to five seconds contemplating, but in the end, he’s unsure of what to say. It truly warms his heart knowing that she was concerned about him and was willing to give up her favorite toy that she sleeps with every night. “It’s alright, honey. You need Mr. Teddy more than I do. I’ll be fine.”

“But what if you get a bad dream later?”

“I’ll be okay,” he affirms with a tender smile. “Nightmares aren’t real, but you are. Knowing that you’re here safe and sound is all I need to remind myself not to be afraid.”

For a while, John mulls over his words, absorbing the same truth he had tried to persuade Ellie to believe in. Days, weeks, months, and years have gone by since he quit doing business in the underground world, and so far, no threat has ever come to his family. His worried mind drove this trepidation he had, and to overcome it, he needed to listen to his own advice.

Nightmares aren’t real.

But you and Ellie are.

“Daddy, can you sleep here tonight?” 

Ellie looks up at him with her adorable pair of doe eyes, and John was powerless to them. He couldn’t turn down her request; he could never say “no” to his one and only princess. “Of course. Can you scoot over for me?”

Doing so, she gives him just enough room to lay down beside her. Though the bed was too small and cramped for John’s larger self, he couldn’t care less. Once he’s settled, Ellie snuggles up against him while she holds Mr. Teddy close to her heart, letting out a yawn as exhaustion sets in.

“I love you, daddy,” she mumbles sleepily, ready for blissful dreams to follow.

“I love you too, Ellie,” John returns, exhaling a content sigh. 

Soon after, Ellie’s fast asleep, her small body relaxed, and her rhythmic breathing slowing John’s. His arms cuddle her in, cocooning her as if he’s shielding her away from any and all danger. Within moments, his consciousness begins to ebb, this time unafraid of what was to come.

---

Dawn breaks.

The skies are bright and blue.

In glorious light, John’s eyes slowly flutter open, and he is greeted by the morning sunrise. It’s still quite early, he concludes, and he decides to stay in bed for now so that he doesn’t disturb Ellie. But before he could doze off again, he hears the squeaky creak of the floorboard coming from outside. 

“Hey,” you say quietly once John notices you standing in the doorway. “I was wondering where you were.”

John beams as you tiptoe inside the room, careful not to wake your daughter. Smiling, you bend down to kiss him on the lips. “How did your shift go?”

“It was a slow night in the ER, but I’m glad to be home,” you answer, brushing John’s lengthy locks away from his face. “What happened last night?”

“Ellie had a nightmare,” he states, keeping his volume very low. “I couldn’t let her sleep alone afterwards.”

At the mention of her name, Ellie stirs awake, nose crinkling as her fists rise to rub at her tired eyes. Once adjusted to the brightness of the room, her attention falls on you, and her rosy lips promptly quirked into a gentle smile. “Mommy, you’re home!”

“I am, baby,” you cooed as you shifted to kiss her forehead. “You can go back to bed, Ellie. I just wanted to check up on you two before I sleep for a bit.”

“Mommy, can you sleep here, too?”

You glance at your husband, who only gives you a pleading look similar to Ellie’s, and quickly, you concede defeat. 

Just like John, it was impossible for you to deny her of such. 

With a nod, your feet pads to the other side, peeling back the covers as he and Ellie move to allow you enough space to join. Crawling into bed, you rest on your side while John reaches for your hand, the three of you now laying in comfortable silence.

John waits until you and Ellie drift off to sleep, his heart soaring when he realizes he’s surrounded by the loves of his life. 

And as the sun continues to rise above the horizon once again, vibrant hues of yellow and gold shining down on the earth below, John falls back to a deep, deep slumber; memories of his nightmares now long forgotten, replaced by treasured moments like this. 

Permanent Tags: @penwieldingdreamer @keandrews @feminine-machinegun @fanficsrusz @thehumanistsdiary @flaminasteroid @rowserein @unaspiringwritings @planetkt @breakthenight​ @baphometwolf666 @rdjloverxxx

#john wick x reader #keanu reeves x reader #john wick imagine #john wick fanfic #john wick x you