#horizon by the sea inn

[greatevent89]

Horizon Hospitality

Step into the world of luxury and comfort at Horizon Hotels, a renowned name in the hospitality industry. With a diverse portfolio of properties, we offer a range of experiences to suit every traveler's needs.

#horizon hospitality #horizon hotel #horizon by the sea inn #horizon motor inn #horizon inn nj

[nyrandrea]

You have very good writing and I think you really do comfort fics well! So I was wondering if you could write a fic with Astarion where the Tav he is trying to seduce has like major self esteem issues. Like they kind laugh at his attempts to compliment them. But at first it seems like a joke until he realizes that Tav isn't joking about it and he tries to help them see they are beautiful. (this is one of my fav prompts to give people ngl)

Thank you so much! This is a lovely prompt and I hope I did it some justice! :)

Word Count - 2k

Enjoy!

xxx

As the storm clouds gathered ominously on the horizon, you and your party found yourselves on a desolate, rain-soaked road in the middle of nowhere. The relentless downpour had turned the earth into a sea of mud, and the wind howled like a vengeful spirit. 

Your clothes were soaked through, and faces were etched with exhaustion and desperation. With each step, your boots sank into the muck, making the journey even more arduous. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a menacing reminder that you had to find shelter soon. 

“Ugh, there’s probably some saying about rainbows after the storm and whatnot,” Astarion said, holding a rucksack over his head in a failing attempt to save his hair. “But I’d much rather not be out in the middle of one.” 

“Ah, it’s not so bad, just think of it as a long overdue shower,” Gale said. “And the saying is ‘Don’t fear the storm, for the rainbow is never far behind!’” 

“Oh yes, that’s the one,” the vampire drawled.  “I’ll rest so much better now that you have enlightened me.” 

Amid the pelting rain, you spotted a faint glimmer of light in the distance. With newfound hope, you quickened your pace and beckoned the others to follow. As you trudged closer, the light revealed itself to be a cozy inn, nestled among ancient trees that shielded it from the worst of the storm. 

“Thank the Gods,” Karlach breathed. “If I got any more drenched, my engine would have snuffed out.” 

“Wouldn’t that solve your problem, then?” Lae’zel snidely chimed in, only to hiss when you elbowed her. 

The inn's windows emitted a warm, inviting glow, and the scent of wood smoke and hearty meals wafted through the air. Your tired body yearned for a meal and a warm bed, mindflayer tadpoles be damned. 

“Have we got enough gold to stay here? I mean, for everyone to have a room?” Shadowheart asked. 

“We should do,” you said, pulling out the team’s shared coin pouch. “I sold that egg we uh... found.” 

“You mean the one we stole after we killed its mother?” Wyll asked, clear disdain lacing his voice. 

“It’s not technically stealing if the target is dead,” Astarion cheerfully chimed in. “Besides, we rescued the other one, didn’t we? One good turn deserves another.” 

Wyll grimaced. “Your idea of virtue is a damn twisted one.” 

“Aw, you love me really,” the vampire teased back. 

“Here we are!” you announced as you reached the inn's doorstep, you were greeted by the innkeeper, whose eyes twinkled with the knowledge that you had nowhere else to go for the night. After taking payment, he ushers you inside, where a crackling fireplace cast a comforting light over the room, he takes your belongings up to your rooms with the help of Wyll and a begrudging Astarion. 

Finding a long wooden table in the corner of the room, the group sat together, their spirits lifted by the fact that they were safe from the fury of the storm outside, at least for one night. The innkeeper, his apron stained with years of hospitality, served you a hearty meal of roasted meats, fresh bread, and stew. 

You listened to the rain's rhythmic drumming on the inn's thatched roof, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for having found refuge in this little hidden haven. With a deep, contended sigh, you tucked into your meal, savouring every bite.

At least, you were trying to. 

“You better eat up,” Astarion teased, lacing his fingers together as he rested his chin upon them to watch you. “Because I plan on doing just that very soon.” 

“Crap,” you mumbled between mouthfuls. “Are you hungry? Why didn’t you say so?” 

“Oh, am I hungry,” he smirked. “Just not for blood.” 

You almost choked, but you masked it well with a nervous chuckle. He wasn’t... flirting with you, was he? You had always been bad at picking up signals, not that you received them often. 

‘Nah,’ you thought. He couldn’t be, not when there were so many other better-looking people, at this table alone, that he could choose from. 

“Well, I know you’re not craving my charming banter.” 

“Oh no, something far better.” 

Now you really were at a loss. 

“Do you... need to borrow my hair comb again?” 

“I mean sex, darling.” 

This time you couldn’t hide the choke, but you were more afraid of dying from embarrassment than anything else. 

“What?” 

The deafening silence that had befallen the table was broken by a low whistle from Karlach. 

“The direct approach, I can respect that, mate.” 

“Direct? I’ve been trying to drop hints for weeks now but perhaps a little more serenading is needed,” he looked you up and down with a knowing smile; he had hooked you, now it was time to reel you in. 

“Darling,” Astarion began softly, his voice a gentle caress, “when I look into your eyes, I see galaxies of beauty and depth that defy description. It’s as if the universe itself painted them with the colours of a thousand sunsets.” 

A faint blush tinged your cheeks as you lowered your eyes, unsure of where to look. Astarion reached out and gently lifted your chin, so your eyes met once more. 

“And your smile,” he continued, “it’s like a radiant sunbeam on even the cloudiest day. It has the power to brighten my world in an instant.” 

“Ooh, that’s a good one,” Karlach said, fanning herself. “You’re even making me blush!” 

“Careful, we wouldn’t want you burning any hotter now,” Gale smiled, though it was strained. He looked almost as uncomfortable as you felt. 

“Your kindness,” Astarion went on, “it knows no bounds. You have a heart that’s more expansive than the ocean, and it’s a privilege to be the one you’ve chosen to share it with.” 

“Bah!” Lae’zel practically spat. “These nonsensical attempts at beguiling are a waste of time, why waste your energy talking when you can claim and dominate each other instead?” 

You were hard-pressed to agree with Lae’zel on this one. Well, except maybe for that last part. 

“Alright, you can stop now,” you said. 

“Not until you’re convinced,” Astarion replied, a sly smirk forming on his lips. “How about this? You are a masterpiece in a world of art,” The vampire flamboyantly declared, his gaze unwavering. “Your uniqueness, your quirks, your imperfections – they all make you the incredible person I fell in love with. You’re not just enough; you’re more than I ever dreamed of.” 

You roll your eyes. “Gods, you know you don’t have to keep practising the fancy fake flattery on me, right? I know it’s all like a big joke to you but enough is enough, eh?” 

Astarion finally pulls back and frowns at you, not in that puppy-pout way when he didn’t get what he wanted, but in a way that he looked genuinely offended. 

“You think I’m joking?” 

“I... uh,” you stutter, suddenly flustered.  

“My compliments aren’t fake, darling. Decorative, perhaps, but you do know I mean every word, don’t you?” 

“Pfft,” you try to wave him off nonchalantly, but your quivering voice betrays you. “No, you don’t. It’s... it’s all just a bit of fun, r-right?” 

“Perhaps I should be a bit blunter then,” Astarion said, leaning forward ever so slightly, his expression serious and scarlet eyes piercing into you. “You’re... beautiful.” 

You swear you could feel something just break inside you in that moment.

A tentative smile, like a fragile flower pushing through the cracks of self-doubt, graced your lips, but it wilted in the harsh light of scrutiny. A tight knot formed within your throat as everyone stared at you in anticipation. What were you supposed to say? Thank you? That you were grateful for the shower of compliments from Astarion, this... gorgeous man, because you sure as hell didn’t deserve them? 

“I’m a little tired,” you suddenly say, your chair scraping the floor with a shrill screech as you quickly stand up. “Excuse me.” 

Leaving their concerned calls behind you, you made your way up the stairs of the tavern and into the hallway leading to the rooms. The innkeeper had allocated them, but he’d neglected to say which one was which, so you merely picked the first door you could get your hands on. 

It wasn’t until you slammed the door shut and leaned your back against it that you realised that you picked the wrong bloody one. 

The room was large and luxurious, the centrepiece was an ornate, four-poster bed adorned with rich, crimson drapes that seemed to dance with the flickering candlelight and crisp, white linens, neatly turned down. An old, familiar skull-faced tome laid face up, its amethyst eyes staring ominously at the ceiling. 

It seemed that someone got first dibs on the rooms, and it didn’t take a genius to work out who. 

‘Shit,’ you curse to yourself, scrambling for the doorknob. ‘Maybe I can get out before he-’ 

As soon as you open the door, Astarion is already right there, his hand raised into a fist. 

“Knock-knock?” he says, giving you a tentative smile. 

“S-sorry, must have gotten a little mixed-up.” 

“That’s quite alright, dear,” his tone is too soft for your liking, as if he feared offending you in any way. 

“Right, well,” you strain a smile and edge around him to get to the hallway. “Goodnight.” 

“Wait,” he catches you by the arm. “Come back in, won’t you?” 

You squint at him suspiciously. 

“To talk, darling. Nothing else, not if you don’t want to.” 

Gods know that you wanted to, you were just... surprised that he did. 

As you re-enter the room, you notice a small, antique writing desk nestled by a leaded glass window. A vase of freshly picked wildflowers graced the wooden surface, infusing the room with their sweet fragrance. 

Astarion caught your stare. “Ah, unfortunately I have run out of perfume to mask my er... musk. So, I had to improvise.” 

“It’s nice,” you remark, the tight knot in your throat making it hard to speak. 

“Well, I should hope so. They are your favourite after all, are they not?” 

A surge of guilt jabbed through your chest, you had occasionally stopped on the road to admire the flowers; their colours, their scent was intoxicating to you. Had he been observing you even back then? 

You didn’t know what to say, words were always tempered by hesitation, their resonance dulled by the fear of judgment. Each sentence was punctuated by apologies, as if you believed your very existence owed the world an explanation. Confidence always remained just beyond your reach, an oasis in the desert of your own mind. 

Astarion sat on the bed and patted the empty spot next to him; you silently took the invitation. 

“I would like to... apologise for earlier. Making you uncomfortable was never my intent, I...” he paused, his eyes flickering over you. “I just wasn’t sure how much clearer I could make it to you.” 

“That you... like me?” 

“Like you?” Astarion took your hands and squeezed them. “I adore you. Everything about you, all that you do is... nothing short of breathtaking.” 

Tears welled in your eyes and spilled over your cheeks like the gentlest rain, your trembling shoulders burdened by the weight of your emotions 

“I’m sorry if you don’t hear this enough but... I wish to change that. You really are, truly, beautiful.” 

The tears flowed freely then, your sobs echoing in the stillness of the night. Astarion gathered you in his arms, a silent pillar of support. His hand, cool and reassuring, gently cradled your trembling one, his thumb grazing back and forth over your knuckles. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his words a gentle caress. “Let it out, darling.” 

Astarion’s presence felt like a sanctuary, a safe haven in the storm of emotions. He didn’t offer empty platitudes or rushed advice. Instead, he listened, letting you pour your bottled emotions out, allowing it to find solace in his quiet understanding. 

With each tear that fell, Astarion’s touch remained steady, unwavering. 

As the night wore on, you found yourself nestled into his side as you lay together on top of the covers, your head tucked into his shoulder while he stared up at the ceiling. He turns his head briefly to kiss your forehead, and in that sacred space, amid the tears and whispered sorrows, you found solace, strength, and perhaps the willingness to accept that, in your own way, you are beautiful. 

xxx

Links to my other Astarion works

Everything's Fine

Restless

Request - Astarion kills everyone in his path to get to you

Request - Astarion tries to rescue you from kidnappers

#astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion ancunin #my writing #fanfiction #request

[kaidabakugou]

𖤐 OCTOBER 7TH | "PLAYING WITH FIRE" 𖤐

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑! 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐀 𝐗 𝐅! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

♱ — 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜʀᴏɴᴇꜱ ᴛᴇʀᴍꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʀɪᴛᴜᴀʟꜱ | ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ | ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ | ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇꜱ | ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ/ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴋɪɴᴋ | ᴘᴜʙᴇꜱ | ʙɪᴛɪɴɢ | ᴍᴀʀᴋɪɴɢ | ꜱᴘɪᴛ | ɴɪᴘᴘʟᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏ | ʜɪɴᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴡᴏʀꜱʜɪᴘ | ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜱᴇx | ꜱᴄᴇɴᴛ ᴋɪɴᴋ | ᴛᴏɴɢᴜᴇ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ | ᴍᴏɴꜱᴛᴇʀꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ | ʜᴇᴀᴛꜱ | ᴛᴇᴀꜱɪɴɢ | ᴋɴᴏᴛᴛɪɴɢ | ᴋɪʀɪʙᴀᴋᴜ ᴛᴏᴡᴀʀᴅꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ | ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀ ꜱᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ | ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴋɪʀɪꜱʜɪᴍᴀ

♱ — 𝐖𝐂: 6.4ᴋ

♱ — 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: ᴇᴇᴇ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇʀᴇ!! ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ, ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟɪᴇꜱ!! ꜱᴏ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʙᴇ ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏꜱ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴋɪᴄᴋ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴘᴏᴏᴋʏ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʏꜱᴍ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ!!♡

𝕹𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖞 𝖙𝖜𝖔 𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖆 𝖆𝖌𝖔,

𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙.

The taste of ash weights heavy on your tongue when you descend through the clouds towards the glare of fire below. The heat from the smoke prickling at your skin causes you to tighten your grip around the black spikes on Kirishima's back where you sat atop the crimson dragon as he rushes towards the commotion below, massive leathery wings tucking close to his large body - far too large for a juvenile like himself as his shadow swallows the night sky behind him when you emerge from the sea of smoke revealing the magnitude of destruction the town has suffered in mere moments. Streets that were once booming with vendors and some of the finest establishments you could find this far south of the kingdom, now nothing but ruins that further crumble under the weight of the wind from the red dragon’s wings as you continue to hurry towards the source that caused such calamity.

You'd traveled from the west with Bakugou, the dragon prince, and his dragon Kirishima, the Crimson Dread, under the orders of the king to deal with the issue of a fiery dragon that's been rumored to have gone rogue and has been terrorizing the southern towns at night. Upon your arrival the immensity of the situation was evident when the ancient bridges that connected to the neighboring towns were demolished for the river below to swallow, something only the great scaled beasts could manage, leaving the southerners to result in new measures and travel by boat.

It was only your second night in the town when you were setting up the fire place in your inn with Kirishima whilst you waited for Bakugou who ventured into the other side of town in search of something to cook for the three of you for the night, when the thunderous sound of an explosion in the distance alerted you. Rushing to the open area of the plaza where Kirishima could shift without causing damages to the housing nearby as you quickly mounted the dragon and headed towards the commotion. The orange glow of fire blazing in the horizon only feeding the worry that sat heavy on your chests knowing Bakugou was near that area of town, and now as you fly through the core of where the beast continues to wreak havoc, you could only pray to the gods above that he was okay.

A piercing roar ahead pulls you from your thoughts as it collides with the crackling sounds of Bakugou’s explosive magic followed by the clashing of steel from his dual swords. The silhouette of the onyx dragon comes into view amidst a pit of fire, your eyes frantically searching for your prince as you spot him beneath one of the beast's hind legs trying to wriggle out from between its three prehensile talon-tipped toes that hold him captive as the chest of the dragon begins to glow a deep orange hue, preparing to spew a stream of deadly fire upon him that was sure to leave a flaming crater in its wake from the force - one that not even Bakugou’s fire resistance could survive.

Swallowing the vile lump that builds in your throat at the thought, you lean forward against Kirishima’s back, the rough scales of the dragon’s armor brushing along your palm when you reach for the large spikes of his torso. The ones that prepare him to attack once you give him the command, but just as you take a sharp inhale to give him the order you're interrupted by the rumbling of snake-like hisses building up a thunderous roar as Kirishima leaps towards his opponent.

Catching the attention of the onyx dragon as he directs his fire towards you, but the Crimson Dread is not only known for his size, but also for his abnormal speed and agility that was rare for a beast of such calamity as he quickly rises to flash his hind legs. Sharp claws locking onto the beast’s neck, pinning him down as the horrid screeching of both dragons clashes together - one from anguish in a desperate attempt to be released and the other from a raging hunger for blood as Kirishima's claws pierce through the black scales, slashing the dragon’s throat open causing it to wriggle beneath him as it chokes in its fiery blood. But the red beast remains unsatisfied as he leans down to grasp the head of his victim in between his dreadful maw before tearing it from its body and tossing it into the fiery pits of its own creation followed by a victorious roar that seems to further agitate the flames that surround you.

You press your palm to his scales in an attempt to calm him despite how taken aback you were from his actions for he has never acted on his own without his rider’s orders regardless of the ravenous creature he was. Gently caressing his heated scales whilst you coo down at him as his snarls slowly shift into low rumbles under your touch when your soft voice reaches his ears between haggard breaths. Shaking his head with a final blow of smoke through his nostrils as his scales shudder from head to tail until he returns your pets with a content purr, letting you know he's calmed down before directing your attention towards Bakugou who was already climbing up the dragon’s side to join you on his back. Unharmed, lest a few scratches that oozed with blood yet nothing you couldn't heal later with your magic.

“All good?”, bare chest pressing against your back as he leans forward to press his palm to the crimson scales alongside yours as you look over to your side where his head rests on your shoulder. Only answering with a nod when your eyes meet his vermilion ones, not all there as he looks lost in thought before your gently nudge him with your elbow as they focus on you again, sharing the same concern for your dragon but nothing to fret about right now considering the long night you've all had as you feel him relax against you before signaling Kirishima again. Taking to the skies once more as you fly back into town for the night since you couldn't do anything else for now until the fires die out with morning come.

The ache in your muscles melts away as you sink deeper into the hot springs, the warmth enveloping your body when you rest against the edge to peer up at the night sky where remnants of the smoke from the fires obstructing your view of the stars as the faint orange hue of the horizon begins to fade, letting the sound of the water around you prevent your mind from thinking back on the prior events.

Once a dragon bonds with one rider, no other person can bond nor ride them throughout their life for they will remain loyal to their mount until they are parted by death, but Kirishima is the first ever dragon to bond with two riders. Claiming both Bakugou and you as his mates, a rare case in history that not even the wisest of maesters could decipher, tossing it up to be a result of his shifter abilities. But being a mate to the great fiery beasts of this era was not for the faint of heart as dragons undergo different stages in their lifetime that could be overwhelming for some, and your dragon’s recent stubborn behavior could only mean the beginning of one thing.

You lean over the edge towards the tray that rested on the rocks near the natural basin, reaching for the bowl of hot water to pour it over the previously strained matcha before taking the chasen and begin whisking. Too distracted to notice the water rippling behind you but your ears prick at the sound of low purrs approaching, hearing him before you feel him as sharp claws circle around your thighs. Curving along the plush skin of your hips to trail up your sides causing the hairs on your spine to rise towards your nape as he presses his nose above your rear before following the prickled skin up towards your shoulders in a slow calculated pace that causes your toes to curl against the hot stone below until his nose finds the crook of your neck - inhaling deeply as he savors your scent, the smell unlike any other causing his tail to slowly sway from side to side through the water whilst the purring amplifies. Feeling the vibrations against your back when he presses his hot chest to your skin as you lean into his frame, claws circling your abdomen when scaled arms hold you close causing you to hum at his touch as you settle back into the water.

The heat that radiates from him rivals the one around you as hot puffs of air fan across your skin, feeling the tips of his forked tongue ghost along the back of your ear where his nose is nestled into your hair. An occurrence that wasn't foreign to you since the three of you often slept wrapped around each other and Kirishima would find solace in sleeping with the smell of his mates right under his nose, but there was something different in his current demeanor.

When a dragon's heat is near, there are often visible warning signs to heed to avoid falling in their grasps when overcome with lust. The scales along their skin tend to darken in color, one of the more elusive signs to notice considering the change is very minimal but easily spotted for those that are in constant contact with the scaled giants. Their breathing patterns as well as their purring shift from long and passive inhales to heavy huffs followed by exhales of higher temperatures to their regular hot breaths. Every dragon's purrs are slightly different in melody but it's often deeper while in heat, emitting from somewhere further down their chest and at a much quicker pace than normal. The most identifiable of the signs are their behavioral changes, although already territorial, dragons tend to be more aggressive and jealous towards others lurking around their den and mates as well as seek out physical touch more often and show higher levels of affection. All signs that usually begin to manifest weeks in advance.

But Kirishima’s changes only began hours prior. Even though it wasn't the first time his heat had started abruptly, another unknown factor that the maesters could only assume as a product from his shifter abilities, it was the first time you've been in battle when it happened. Which justifies your worry while seizing the onyx dragon earlier.

The air around you felt heavy and the tension was almost palpable with the way he was holding you, like prey caught in the jaws of a predator as his claws travel along your skin, occasionally gripping at your flesh while his hold on you tightens. Moments like these remind you of the danger that he kept hidden from you most of the time until he had you in his grasp - so pliant and at his absolute mercy, he could do anything he wanted and you’d let him.

A sharp dark claw travels across your abdomen in slow back and forth motions beneath the water before trailing up the exposed skin of your chest. Circling your tits in a teasing matter that has your nipples hardening at the threat knowing it wouldn’t take much effort for those claws to rip into your skin. Kirishima smiles against your neck when he feels the way your heartbeat increases under his touch, how the rise and fall of your chest quickens the more he greedily explores your body. Savoring the way your smooth skin feels against his calloused one, the sweet scent of you downright intoxicating as he feels his teeth ache at the thought of you on his tongue. Moving his mouth to rest at the juncture of your neck at the temptation to feel your skin give under the force of his fearful maw, tearing into your flesh and watching you bleed for him as his purring deepens at the thought knowing how pretty you’d look covered in crimson to match that of his scales.

His tail curls around your ankle as it slowly travels up your leg until it’s wrapped around your plump thigh, squeezing the fat of it while scales drag against the curve of your rear. The scaled pointed tip ghosting along your inner thigh as it occasionally brushes through the tuft of hairs above your cunt at slow, almost ticklish pace that had you suppressing your moans against the edge of your cup as you bring the warm tea to your lips, enjoying it while you can knowing that it will soon be forgotten with the way Kirishima’s scorching breath was fanning over your skin alerting you of how close he was to your vital spots.

“Fuck, my love”, the searing touch of his tongue licking along your skin makes you gasp as thick drips of drool burn onto your skin, “I need you”.

“Your heat becoming too much, baby?”, you hum against him before drinking the last of your tea as you reach forward to return the cup onto its tray.

“I could just devour you right now”, he purrs close to your ear as he takes a deep inhale of your skin, continuing to let your scent invade his senses. “Will you let me, love?”

“Go ahead”, you tilt your head further giving him access as your voice falls into a breathless whisper at the feel of sharp teeth grazing against your skin. “Tell me how I taste”.

A guttural growl ripples from his chest at your words as his tongue laps at your skin again, more drool dribbles against you before his lips press to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder sucking on that spot as you arch your back with a sigh, the feel of his teeth digging ever so slightly into your skin behind closed lips sends a whirlpool of emotions to your gut. The moans you suppressed earlier ripping from you when his fangs finally break through your flesh as a rush of warmth spreads across your skin where he eagerly drinks from you, letting your blood quench his thirst before he sucks bruising kisses higher up your neck making you squirm against him.

Tightening his grasp as he slowly moves your bodies towards the edge of the natural basin where claws circle your waist to spin you around as he looms over you, caging you between the warm stone that digs against your back and his large body as he presses himself against you. Gently nuzzling his nose into the top of your head before slowly trailing down the center of your forehead to meet your nose as your eyes lock with deep pools of scarlet staring back at you. Your hands reach for his biceps, feeling the scales shift under your touch as you continue to trail upwards towards his nape where your fingers brush through the crimson strands of his hair whilst your other hand reaches for a stray strand on his forehead, securing it behind the dark, curved, and angled horns that protrude on either sides of his head that would demand submission from even the most endowed elks that roamed the enchanted forests, a grin spreading across his lips when you do before he leans down to press his lips to yours.

Hot breaths melding with each other as claws curl around your throat pressing his purlicue beneath your chin causing your head to tilt further, giving him more access as his lips move frantically against yours - messy and wet as spit smothers against your skin while your tongue tangles with his long one until the need for air becomes inescapable. Leaning back to catch your breath as far as his firm hold around your neck allows you but he can't help but chase your lips with his sharp teeth, keeping his intentions gentle against the delicate skin but still so, so hungry for you as he nibbles on your bottom lip until it splits for him. The sting makes you hiss as lustful eyes meet your equally lewd ones when he slowly pulls back, sucking the small dribble of blood into his greedy maw until your lip slips from his own. Not giving you enough time to recover as the warm pads of his digits digging into the sides of your neck twitch as they pull you back in to meet his lips - mouths bruised and swollen as his tongue swipes against you to lick into the small cut.

Parting from your lips to press kisses on your jaw and down your neck as his hands reach down to grip your waist and hoist you up onto the edge. Stopping when he reaches the valley of your breast as he leans back to look at your body now fully on display for him, mesmerized at the sight like the first time he saw you like this and he can’t help the shudder that ripples through his scales and settles at his pelvis where his cock twitches beneath the water.

Fiery pupils dilate when they rake along the curve of your breasts and settle on your nipples, wet and glistening and so inviting as he dips his head down to capture the erect bud in his mouth. The feel of sharp teeth scraping against your skin threatening to pierce through your flesh sends shivers down your spine followed by the smooth contrast of his warm tongue alternating between fast flicks and tight curls against you that causes your hips to slightly grind forward as arousal begins to gather at your core. The faint smell of it hitting his nose only riles him further as he suckles on your tit harder while roughly kneading the other as he pulls and twists the bud between his clawed digits.

Only stopping to sink his teeth into the flesh of your chest again and again with low mumbles of ‘mine’ whispered into each nibble as he continues to trail them down your abdomen. Drowning in the increasing scent of your arousal the closer he gets to the source, his mouth unable to stay away from you other than to quickly move to another unmarked spot on your skin as his breaths become haggard at the mouth watering aroma of your drooling cunt leaking onto the stones below. Calloused hands curve beneath your thighs as he spreads you open for him, ankles resting on his broad and scaled shoulders while his mouth never leaves your skin as it reaches your pubes. Inhaling deeply into the tuft of hair as he feels the way your body twitches against his touch when he slowly pulls the hairs between his lips, his warm breaths feels almost ticklish but the sensation is quickly replaced by the slight sting from his tugging before he releases the hairs from his lips.

Diving forward again to run his nose through them, his head dipping lower and lower until the slick feel of your pussy lips meets with his own, savoring you a little longer as he trails his nose through your swollen slit causing it to part as he does. Eyes fluttering at the feel of your arousal coating his skin before finally surging forward into your heat making you arch in your spot as your arms stretch behind you to support you further from the intensity of his mouth against you. Tongue pressed flat on your pussy as he wriggles it from side to side while thick globs of saliva drip from his thirsty mouth onto you - creamy slick and viscous spit mixing together as both of you become more and more lost in pleasure.

Moans falling from your lips without a care if others residing within the inn could hear you for you’re unable to hold them with the way his tongue laps up towards your clit, circling it with just the tip before his lips wrap around the sensitive bud while his eyes look up to meet yours causing something to ripple in your stomach the closer you get to your release. Watching how they darken when he feels your fingers skim across his pointed ears, ghosting along the wet strands of hair before wrapping around one of his horns knowing it would get a reaction out of him with how sensitive they were, especially during his heat and you can't help the grin that breaks through your features when you see his lip curl with the nastiest growl you've heard resonate from his chest thus far. Strong enough to make the water around him shake causing it to ripple at the same thundering cadence while his hands pinch and knead at your thighs, feeling how the muscles clench and tremble under his touch when you feel the vibrations of his snarls against your pussy.

Causing your features to morph into a whine as you let your head roll back onto your shoulders to release a moan up towards the sky while briefly closing your eyes before your entire body jolts when Kirishima slots his hot mouth onto the length of your puffy slit. Demanding your attention as your eyes meet again, a newfound hunger in his fiery orbs as your clench around his imposing figure when the tips of his forked tongue tease along your entrance before wriggling it’s way inside - velvety walls tightening around the incredibly long and thick muscle as it spreads you open, greedily slurping every last drop of creamy arousal that pours from your messy pussy.

Both of your hands now wrapped firmly around his horns to pull him closer and the snarl that follows causes his sharp teeth to scrape dangerously against your swollen clit, sending you over the edge as static rings in your ears making the world around you spin as your release gushes into his awaiting tongue. Claws dragging up and down along your thighs leaving red, throbbing marks in their wake before they press into your hips, threatening to pierce the skin as he holds you down when your hips continue to jerk and twitch. Overstimulated as he continues to drink every last drop of your sweet nectar, not stopping until he gets his fill as your cries clash with the loud and wet squelch of your pussy ravished by his hungry maw.

Slowing his movements to ease you down from your high as his tongue slithers out of your warmth, running it through the red and swollen folds of your sopping wet pussy before leaning back to watch the pretty mess he created - thin threads of syrupy slick and viscid spit clinging to his skin causing it to glisten under the faint moonlight emerging from the smokey clouds as the distant fires begin to die down. Whimpering at the empty feeling as you fall back onto the stones breathless, your hands slipping from his horns in exhaustion only for scaled ones to catch them as he brings them towards his face, nuzzling into your palm to lay kisses onto your wrists - soft and tender unlike the previous ones as he repeats the actions on the other one before trailing up the length of your arm while slowly rising from the water to slot his body above your own.

Warm droplets of water dripping onto your skin where he continues to lay gentle kisses as his lips press against your stomach to travel up onto your breasts, briefly nibbling on the plush skin before dipping towards your collarbones; feeling how he follows the outline of your protruding bones with the tip of his nose to settle at the small hollow at the center where his searing exhales fan over your skin causing you to lean your head back to allow him more access as he wanders up the length of your throat where he slows down to feel it contract against his lips when you swallow, eliciting his purrs to return as they vibrate into your jaw until he curves along your chin to finally capture your lips in his. Tasting yourself on his tongue when it tangles with yours as it freely explores every inch of your mouth before he pulls away to peer down at your pretty face, noticing your eyes glossy with tears as he smiles down at the sight before leaning in for a kiss once more.

So enthralled with each other that you don't hear the distant call of your names when the wooden door of your room slides open. Only the feel of something hot dripping against your thigh capturing your attention, making your breath hitch into him as he pulls back to press his forehead onto yours for the both of you to peer between your bodies to reveal his large cock.

A mass of dark pubes trailing from his belly button towards the base where thick veins throb with need around a swelling knot as they fork out onto the ribbed crimson ridges that matched those of his scales leading up to a tapered tip that dripped molten globs of creamy white onto your skin where it hanged heavy causing it to curve downwards from the weight and size as it twitched the more his knot continued to grow with the overwhelming and carnal desire to empty load after load of the sticky cum that resided within the hefty balls that rested hulking between his muscular thighs inside your heat.

The same thighs that slide closer to press behind yours as a clawed hand slides along the side to grip the back of your knees and guide one leg around his waist, mirroring the action with your other leg as they lock at the dip of his back where his long tail sways languidly from side to side. Securing your bodies together as he lowers his hips to meet yours, slotting his cock between your thighs to slide his pulsing length through your weeping slit. Gasping in unison when he grinds his hips harder through the slickness as your hands snake around his broad shoulders to bring him closer, his lips already chasing yours as claws tangle in the hairs at your nape where he cups your head to deepen the kiss. His thumb smearing away the stray tears that stain your cheeks at the feel of every ridge and curve of his cock rubbing through your slick pussy, getting caught against your clit with each thrust making you mewl into his mouth as he swallows every sound.

Groans and purrs vibrating softly against you when he feels your hips roll up and fall into rhythm with his. Smiling against him when your actions elicit a broken whine to rip from his chest, amused at how such a feared beast could be reduced to such a needy thing when it came to moments like this, entangled with each other in such ways that it's uncertain where one begins and the other ends.

The growl that festers deep in his chest pulls you from your thoughts as a heated sting spreads across your bottom lip when he draws the sensitive flesh between his teeth to get your attention once more, prying your mouth open for him as he chases your bloodied lips with a carnivorous hunger that elicits another growl to crawl up his throat as clawed digits wrap around your wrists to capture your hands in his and stretch your arms above your head, pinning you beneath him and rutting his hips desperately against you until the bulbous head of his leaky cock finally presses against your entrance. Both of you falling silent as you peer down between your bodies, watching how your pussy splits open and swells around each girthy bump of his cock until it reaches the curve of his knot as it presses against your slit; ceasing his movements to relish the feel of your heat wrapped around him while you bask in the way it stretches your pussy so good you could almost feel him in your throat as you lips part around a silent moan.

Heavy knot throbbing against your entrance, not quite ready to slip inside just yet as he rolls his hips back - your pussy molding perfectly to each ridge as the friction makes you arch your back so beautifully into him. Both of your hands restrained under one of his while the other curls around your center to hold you close as his lips press along your jawline, whispering sweet praises in his mother’s tongue as he falls into a steady pace that has the telltale coil winding tightly inside you sooner than expected as white spots cloud your vision when you sink into sweet ecstasy. Soft kisses and nibbles morphing into feral bites as he grows wretched with need at the taste of your blood mixed with the tight clench of your silken walls gripping his cock so deliciously he feels he could devour you whole.

Slowing his thrusts to a gentle rock as his lips find yours again in a sloppy and panting mess - the sound from your heaving chests echoing through the area loud enough to quiet the heavy patting of feet against the damp stone floor approaching your position until a shadow obstructs the dim light of the candles that surrounded the hot springs, looming over you as it waits for the two of you to notice its presence.

“‘M gone a few minutes and you two can't keep yer’ hands off of each other that long, eh?”, both of you peer up to meet vermilion irises staring down at you with amusement. Grin spreading across his features when your eyes simultaneously trail down to look at his cock fully displayed before you, the thick vein beneath his shaft throbbing all the way up his leaking tip where milky beads of white coat his skin.

Meeting his gaze again, your sultry smile matching his own as you feel lips press to your jaw followed by the slight tickle from Kirishima’s hot breath fanning over your skin as he speaks.

“You're just in time, my prince - our little princess is just about ready to take me whole”, a dark claw brushes through the stray hairs that cling to the damp skin of your forehead as he tucks them behind your ear to press his nose to your own, voice falling into a whisper. “Aren't you, baby?”, nodding into his touch while he beckons Bakugou closer.

“Come ‘er, Katsuki… I want to watch you both as she takes my knot”, to which he complies as Bakugou lays down beside you. Pulling you towards him when Kirishima leans back from his position as you straddle the blonde, his eyes wandering down your skin as his fingers trace along the wounds that adorn your body - bruised and bloodied.

Digits stained with red as he brings them towards his lips for a quick taste, eyes fluttering when he does before he reaches for your skin again to collect more of the blood that dribbles from the bites left by the dragon, bringing them up to your lips this time where it mixes with the drooly blood from your bottom lip as you wrap them around his fingers to languidly suck on them.

Clawed thumbs dig into the fat of your hips as Kirishima positions himself behind you, curling along your spine to press his chest against you. His large physique overpowering the both of you when he stretches his wings, briefly casting a daunting shadow that consumes you before he tucks them back into place. Leaning in close to nuzzle his face into your neck as Bakugou mimics his actions to your other side, their warmth encompasses you entirely like a heavy cloth draped over you on a cruel winter. Bakugou’s lips press tender kisses along your mangled skin while a long, wet and hot tongue laps a stripe all the way to your ear where he nuzzles into you once again.

“Hold still for me, my love”, arching into Bakugou’s chest when the tip of Kirishima’s cock presses against your cunt, dripping heavy glops of precum that seared against your skin - so impossibly hot like it was made from the molten steel used to make the finest of swords. Spreading it through your slit as he strokes it up and down causing syrupy strands of arousal to leak onto Bakugou’s thighs before his cockhead catches your entrance.

Immediately feeling the stretch of every ridge and curve again as your lips part around a loud whine, both men reacting instantly as hands roam every inch of your body in a mixture of soothing touches and hungry kneads from sharp nails that twitch at the urge to tear at your skin to elicit more of those sweet noises to rip from your body. Kirishima doesn't waste time to settle on a fast pace that knocked the wind from your lungs, lost in the way your pussy sucked him further - squeezing him so tightly he couldn't help but to nibble on the skin of your neck again, fangs piercing anywhere they could reach causing his purring to morph into wet gurgles from your blood while Bakugou leaned back to ogle at the sight.

In all your years together, nothing riled him up more than moments like these. The both of you look ethereal above him - recalling all the times he had the same thoughts and he fears they might fall short to the sight before him. The first time he laid eyes on Kirishima when the crimson hybrid shifted into a fierce dragon for him to ride after many had failed to mount the fiery beast; the same beast that never allowed anyone to get too close to him, yet there you were mounted on his back treating a tear to his wing while cooing down sweetly at the scaled giant while all his rider could do was just stare at the two of you in awe in that field of freshly bloomed blue irises all those springs ago. He never thought that just winters later he would find himself by a ditchfire and a chalice filled of your joined blood, a scar on each of your left palms to prove it - wed by fire and blood to be sealed by a long night of mating.

And now, as the hard stone cushioned by a the thin bedding of moss forming on the rocks dug into his back as he stared up at the two of you above him, your skin riddled with bites and blood with Kirishima still latched onto your neck as you cried out into the night to soon take his knot, the sight before him rivals all the others for he thinks he's never seen the two of you so beautiful as this very moment.

His heart skipping a beat when both of your eyes meet his own, reaching for him as your hands curl around his shoulders while claws press against the dip of his skull to bring him closer to your bodies. Your lips pressed against his while Kirishima nuzzles the crook of his neck, smiling against Bakugou when you feel his breath hitch at the dragon’s fangs piercing into his flesh. The taste of both of his mates blood mixing on his tongue turn his thrust violent, extremely so you can't contain the overstimulated squeals that ripped from your chest and before you can register it he thrusts forward in a hard roll of his hips until you feel it - a wet pop as you're stuffed to the brim with his knot. Your eyes rolling while you feel lightheaded at the mixture of his thick, knotted cock grinding deep inside of you along with the heat that radiates from their bodies engulfing you completely.

Claws suddenly digging into your flesh as Kirishima yanks your bodies closer to him, switching from marking Bakugou’s neck to yours back and forth while lips brushed against skin in a mantra growled in the old draconic tongue.

Mine mine mine

“You're mine, yeah? My blood?”, each question is followed by a pull of his lips against your skin and all you can do is desperately nod against him as salty tears stain your cheeks while your cunt spasms around him, squeezing and pulling him deeper as he grinds rapidly into you.

“Both of you were made for me”, he snarls as his lips chase Bakugou’s next, piercing his bottom lip in a much more hurried manner than he did yours causing a groan to vibrate loudly from the blondes chest as the redhead devours him.

“You were born bound to me, right?”, your bodies were dripping in sweat and your brains were fogging with the overstimulation of both pleasure and pain, as the dragon reminded you who you belonged to while switching between your bodies; licked, sucked, and bitten into the skin of the familiar things pinned beneath him. Chasing your sweat with teeth and tongue, drunk on the scent of home - of mate. Many would call the love Kirishima felt for the two of you an obsession, but that pales in comparison to the unwavering hunger and passion he felt for you.

His thrusts turn vicious, borderline animalistic as he rolls his hips forward once, twice, three times until you finally feel it. The rush of cum pouring in hot, always so impossibly hot, heavy globs against your velvety walls as he ruts his hips close to bury himself deep in your pussy to ensure you were plugged up and stuffed full with his seed that continued to pour inside of you in a never ending river that had the both of you falling depleted against the blonde making him groan at the sudden weight pressed against him. All three of you panting as your bodies relax against each other, hearts beating as one while you let the soothing sounds of the water splashing behind you ease you down from your highs.

But the Crimson Dread was nothing if not insatiable, leaning back as clawed digits captured Bakugou’s chin between them to bring him closer, pulling him into a kiss while you trailed kisses along the blonde’s jawline. Your ear pricking when you hear the redhead speak into the kiss and you can’t help the grins that follow at his words.

“Your turn, my prince”, he whispers while maneuvering your bodies into the warm water to soothe your wounds and prepare you for the long night ahead.

#🕸️—𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑’23 #kirishima eijirou #eijirou kirishima #kirishima eijirou x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader smut #kirishima eijirou x reader smut #dragon shifter! kirishima #dragon shifter! kirishima smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader smut #mha x reader smut #kiribaku x reader #kiribaku x reader smut #kiribaku smut

[poison-into-positivity]

When Stede wakes, it's on a dirty floor. He's wearing the same outfit he's been wearing for lord knows how long, and he's desperately in need of bathing. His hair sticks to his forehead with sweat — the summer humidity has been brutal the past few days, even with the gentle sea breeze. It doesn't help, either, that Ed's long limbs always end up sprawled all over Stede, and while Stede would never be ungrateful for Ed's company, he could do without the extra body heat.

Stede gently frees himself from Ed's embrace, taking care not to wake him, and rises to his feet. Ed doesn't stir. A part of Stede aches at the fact that Ed is so used to living in these conditions, and he laments the fact that he is unable to provide him with something better, something worthy of him. Oh, well. The time for that will come, Stede thinks with a quiet sigh.

A few days have passed since The New Revenge sailed away from the little island where Stede and Ed have taken up residence. During his time at Jackie's, Stede had grown somewhat accustomed to less than ideal living quarters, but living in this ramshackle abode that Ed refuses to call anything but an "inn" and hunting for all their own food has been... challenging. The only thing that makes it bearable is the fact that Ed is here with him.

Stede decides that he'll go for a quick swim before Ed wakes up, and from there they'll decide where to hunt for breakfast. Or, perhaps one of the nearby store merchants will take pity on them and give them some food for free. Stede finds himself wishing, not for the first time, that he hadn't renounced all his wealth, or convinced Ed to give away all his treasure. His belly rumbles, hollow with hunger. He ignores it.

He walks sluggishly to the wooden door of the inn and opens it, and he's greeted with the quiet light of daybreak and a slight breeze from the calm sea. He takes a deep breath, savoring the salty sea air and trying to expel the smell of rotting wood from his nostrils.

As he surveys the expanse of the ocean, he sees a ship on the horizon, with large imposing sails and a black flag on the mast. It looks almost like... Stede squints his eyes, and— yes, it is the Revenge! Stede's heart leaps. Have they missed the cunning guidance of their captain already? Are they back for another adventure? He smiles at the thought.

A loud snore from Ed brings Stede back to the present, and Stede instantly feels guilty for even entertaining the thought. As much as he loves the adventure and being at sea, he loves Ed more, and he can't ask Ed to go back to that life. No, he'll just have to tell the crew thanks, but no thanks. He's all in on being an innkeeper. Or a shack-keeper.

As Stede continues to watch the Revenge navigate the calm waters, he can't help but notice that it seems like it's getting smaller. He watches for a few more moments before confirming that yes, it's definitely sailing away. But why?

Stede steps out onto the porch of the inn and he nearly trips on something that has been placed just outside the front door. A large chest has been left on the doorstep, and on it is a note written in Lucius's neat handwriting.

To get you started.

Stede's heart swells as he opens up the chest, and he smiles when he sees what's inside. Apart from a considerable amount of gold and priceless antiques that the crew no doubt plundered from some unsuspecting vessel, a handful of other treasures occupy the box as well. Stede sits down on the porch and looks over each item with care, and by the time he's gone through everything his cheeks are damp with grateful tears. He's conscious of a stirring behind him, and he wipes his eyes, slightly embarrassed even though he knows Ed is the last person who would make fun of him.

"Mornin'," Ed says from the doorway, and Stede turns to smile at him. He'll never get used to this, seeing Ed with sleep-tousled hair and hearing his gruff morning voice. He nods toward the chest. "What's that?"

"The crew stopped by this morning when we were sleeping and left us some gifts. Come take a look," Stede says, and Ed joins him on the porch and sits down next to him.

Stede first pulls out the food, his mouth watering just looking at it: a jar of marmalade, a handful of oranges, and six sandwiches, wrapped with care, no doubt, by Roach. Ed takes one of the sandwiches, and wastes no time in unwrapping it and taking a bite. He makes a lewd noise as he tastes it. "That's a damn good sandwich," he says through a mouthful of peanut paste and some kind of fruit jam.

Stede sets one of the remaining sandwiches aside to enjoy later, and then pulls out the next item: a large knitted blanket, which Stede recognizes instantly as Wee John's handiwork. It won't do them much good now, but when summer turns into fall and the nights get colder, Stede is certain he'll be grateful for the extra warmth.

There's a small throwing knife which Stede figures is a gift from Jim, and the words "hidalgo pirata" have been carved into the handle.

There's a whittled... something in there too, which Stede presumes was made by Black Pete. It looks kind of like a person, but Pete was never all that great at whittling, so Stede isn't entirely sure. He wonders if it's meant to be the wooden boy from the story the crew loved so much. He caresses its face absentmindedly.

A fishing rod, presumably from Fang, is also in the chest, and a necklace with a shark tooth on it has been tied around the handle.

A teal earring, which Stede has seen Oluwande wear before, has also been gifted to them.

Even Zheng and Auntie seemingly contributed: Stede pulls out a few jars of sweet-smelling tea leaves, and a few soft towels.

The final two things, though, are the ones that brought tears to Stede's eyes. "Look at this," he says to Ed, who has unwrapped a second sandwich and is devouring that, too.

Stede pulls out a black flag, and unfolds it to reveal a motif of two merpeople, one holding a spear and the other, upside down, holding a red heart. Their free hands hold each other. Intertwined, Stede thinks, and smiles, imagining Frenchie mulling over this project just for them.

The final item in the chest is a sketch, drawn by Lucius: a group portrait of everyone on the crew, including Izzy and Ivan, standing side by side, triumphantly. A family. Stede knows instantly that this will be the first and most treasured piece of decor to grace their inn.

"They put all this together just for us?" Ed asks, surprised and touched.

"Yeah," Stede says, unable to look away from the family portrait. His eyes fall to three words that Lucius has written under the sketch, and his heart swells.

Revenge Lives On.

#these kids are gonna be okay #ofmd fic #ofmd fanfic #ofmd #our flag means death #fic #mine #stede bonnet #edward teach #ofmd spoilers

[monstersandmaw]

Laces for a Lady - 18th century poly shifter romance (Part one, sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me. 

Well folks, here it is. You said you were interested, so I hope it meets expectations! Here's part one for you, of a multi part story. If you want to kno wmore about it, you can find some more info here, as well as a little 'mood board'.

Content: sfw, the daughter of a country gentleman from Sussex relocates to a sleepy fishing village in Cornwall in order to become the paid companion of a young widow, and meets some of the locals on her arrival. Wordcount: 3972

Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark - Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk. Laces for a lady; letters for a spy, Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by! ~ from ‘A Smugglers’ Song’, Rudyard Kipling (1906)

In the cool, lavender light of a late spring dawn, a gaff-rigged cutter drew into the sheltering arms of a small bay at high tide, and quietly dropped anchor. As if the soft splash had awoken him, a cockerel spluttered to life in a farmyard somewhere inland, but most of the villagers were already up and awake and steering their small, secret fleet of boats out from the golden crescent of sand beneath the cliffs to meet the waiting ship fresh from Roscoff.

Beneath the waves, where churning kelp moored itself in unyielding handfuls to the ancient granite of the sea floor, a long, serpentine shadow snaked between the stalks, and the currents of the coastline subtly shifted. Any revenue men trying to sail along the coast from Fowey to catch the smugglers would have found the wind and tide set dead against them, and in the subtle wake that wafted from the mottled, eel-like tail as it passed unseen, the waters of the secluded inlet calmed beneath the keels of the scurrying fishing boats. The drag of the oars through the waves lessened, and muscles already tired from heaving and hefting goods up the cliff moved a fraction easier for the unexpected boon.

Between them over the next hour, the gathered men and women shifted their haul of half anker barrels and dozens of crates and boxes of goods ashore. The small kegs of rich, French cognac would fetch a pretty price all across Cornwall, and along with the liquor came smaller luxuries like lace and silk, and bundles of tobacco and spiced tea, all meticulously wrapped in oil cloth to keep the sea and the salt and the water out.

And when the speedy, slender ship was riding noticeably higher in the water, the locals simply melted away into the countryside like so many mice from a late summer granary before the excise men even knew the ship from Guernsey had visited the cove at all.

Fifteen miles away, as the sun breached the horizon and cast its first rays of warmth along bellies of fleecy clouds and the flanks of blossoming hedgerows below, a stagecoach lurched and rumbled westwards along potholed roads, and a young woman stared out of the grimy window as the horses carried her into a new chapter of her life.

After leapfrogging some two hundred miles or so along the staging stations that dotted the South Coast, with nothing but a small trunk of her belongings and a thrice-read, dog-eared novel for company, Eleanor Bywater was more than ready to see the back of that infernal stagecoach. Had it not been for the small but inconveniently bulky travelling case sitting at her feet, she might have hired a horse and ridden from the last staging inn at Plymouth to reach the secluded fishing village of Polgarrack, but given that the trunk held all her worldly belongings, she had not been quite desperate enough to escape the discomfort of hard seats and poor suspension to abandon it.

Bouncing along in the nearly-empty stagecoach, she studiously tried to ignore the older woman sitting opposite her. She’d stared intently at Nel since they'd left Plymouth behind that morning, and her scrutiny had begun to make that last twenty mile stretch feel much, much longer.

Finally, after jouncing over a pothole deep enough to start prospecting for copper ore at the bottom, Nel gasped and then raised her eyes to meet the woman’s openly curious stare. She found sympathy for her own discomfort, and a small degree of kindly amusement too. 

“Where are you headed, miss?” the stranger asked after Nel raised the hint of an eyebrow at her as the silence stretched.

“Polgarrack.”

At that, the woman’s grey eyes narrowed in confusion. “Now what takes a young miss like you to an old fishing village like Polgarrack?”

She looked to be in her fifties, though a life beside the harsh sea had weathered her features somewhat, and her wiry grey hair was covered by a simple linen cap. Her dress was dark and plain, though there was a hint of tired lace around the neck and cuffs. Her hands had the tough, reddened look of someone who scrubbed pots and salted fish, while Nel’s own hands were smooth and soft, if a little ink stained from sending a letter to her friend before leaving the inn that morning.

Nel laughed quietly and shrugged. “There’s no mystery to it,” she said. “I am to be employed as a companion to the widowed Lady Penrose at Heath Top House. I am expected there this afternoon.”

Given that only ladies of relatively high social standing themselves tended to become a ‘lady’s companion’, the older woman made a hasty re-evaluation of her fellow traveller, and her already ruddy cheeks flushed a darker shade as she cleared her throat and looked away.

“Begging your pardon, miss,” she said. “We don’t get many new faces in Polgarrack, is all. I didn’t mean to pry or cause offence with my questions.”

“No harm in a little curiosity,” Nel said, trying to put the stranger at ease to avoid any further awkwardness between them on the remainder of their journey. “I take it you’re from Polgarrack yourself then?”

“Oh, born and raised, miss,” she chortled. She eyed the forest green redingote Nel wore, with its rather masculine high collar, wide lapels and small, gold pocket watch dangling on a chain, and the contrasting sage green skirts beneath, and no doubt made one or two judgements of her own about the young lady. “And yourself? You don’t sound as though you’re from these parts at all, if I may be so bold.”

Nel smiled. “I’ve come from Sussex.”

The woman’s watery, grey-blue eyes widened almost comically and she gasped. “’at's a bloody long way, miss! And all on your own?” She shook her head but remembered herself and mumbled, “Begging your pardon.”

“You’re right,” Nel sighed, letting her gaze slide to the window to watch the countryside roll past in a blur of salt-bleached grass and vibrant yellow gorse flowers. “It is a bloody long way.” And her spine and backside felt every lump and bump and lurch of the stagecoaches from Sussex to Cornwall. With a warmer smile, she turned back to the woman. “My name is Eleanor, but most people call me Nel.”

“Agatha,” she replied with a grandmotherly smile of her own for the young woman. “But everyone calls me Aggie. My husband, Martin, is the village carter and smith, and we’ve got four boys, all of them either fishermen or miners. They all married too, so I’ve got nine grandchildren, if you can believe it!”

Nel offered Aggie her congratulations and another little smile, and then ventured to ask, “Will you tell me a bit about the place? I should like to know more about it, since it is to be my home for the foreseeable future.”

Aggie brightened even more and shuffled her plain, dark skirts, giving a wince and a grunt as the coach lurched over a pothole and the driver cursed audibly above them. Settled, if not entirely comfortable, she began.

“Well, see now. Folks has been fishing these waters for time out of mind. Pilchards is our mainstay, o’course, but the folks over St. Austell way mine clay, and obviously there’s copper and tin mines all over in the north of Cornwall. Mining here is as old as fishing, but it’s starting to dry up here and there now, o’course.”

She barely paused to draw breath before barrelling on, and Nel sat and listened while the older woman talked.

“Now, your Lady Penrose married into the Penrose family — see, she’s from Bath herself originally, though I can’t rightly remember what her family name was, but…” Nel let Agatha's potted history of the fishing and mining community wash over her, paying just enough attention to make polite sounds at the right pauses, but the discomfort of the journey and a decided lack of sleep was beginning to wear her attention span down to a single, fraying thread.

After two hours in the swaying, rolling coach, she felt woozy and weak-stomached, but with Aggie’s near-constant chatter, she at least had a better understanding of the politics of the little village than she’d ever have gained in six months on her own. She’d also learned why Aggie had been in Plymouth, since most folks never had any reason to travel further than the bounds of their own parish. Agatha’s sister’s husband had apparently been killed in the American Revolutionary War some ten years earlier, and since the widow’s health wasn’t the best these days, Aggie made the trip along the coast when she could to see her and take care of her.

Nel’s ticket took her as far as Whitcross, a desolate intersection of paler roads on a clifftop overlooking the tightly-nestled fishing port below, and away across the heather and tufted grass of the heath, she could just see an old manor house in the distance, flanked by tall copper beeches and ash trees. It looked slightly further away than she had anticipated, and she glanced apprehensively down at the travelling trunk at her feet.

Still, she was aching for fresh air and to be free of the sickening motion of the carriage, so she took the driver’s hand and allowed him to guide her safely down onto the hard-packed surface of the road before he lifted her case down for her as well.

From inside, Aggie peered out and scowled disapprovingly. “Now just you wait a moment,” she barked at the driver, who cocked an eyebrow but did pause. “Did they not send someone for you, dearie?” she asked Nel, still leaning out of the doorway and peering about like a disgruntled badger, and using the endearment freely. Apparently, two hours of talking non-stop at Nel had removed any pretence of formality or sense of social distance. Nel might as well have been adopted into Aggie Carter’s family as a niece by that point, and she couldn’t help but smile at the warmth it conjured in her chest.

“I… I never thought that far through,” she admitted, with her hand atop her bonnet as the wind gusted up from the sea below, soaring delightedly over the edge of the cliff and racing on inland as if to continue the momentum of the great rolling breakers that foamed and thundered against the shore. The coachman glanced at his pocket watch and groused something about a schedule that was almost immediately lost to the next inward gust.

“No, no, dearie,” the old woman scoffed. “No, you must come into the village. It’s far too far to go all by yourself, and with that case as well. Here, let me —”

“I can manage the case, I assure you,” Nel said with a gentle smile as Aggie half-toppled, half-leaned out of the coach to pick up the case. “How far is it to the house?”

“Two miles up that hill yonder,” Agatha said, pointing with one gnarled and arthritic finger towards the house on the rise to the north. “Come to the Lantern, and we’ll have one of the lads take you up once you’ve caught your breath.” The Lantern, as Nel now knew thanks to Aggie’s detailed prattling, was the inn at the centre of the village, right on the water near the harbour.

She had been about to protest, but with a sigh, she simply nodded. The constant journeying and jolting had worn her down more than she cared to admit, and while she wasn’t the kind of wallflower she’d met any number of times in London during the Season, a life led mostly indoors with few opportunities for physical activity had not prepared her for a two mile walk in heavy, too-fine clothes, carrying an unwieldy case in gusty conditions. Her family had been invited a number of times to Goodwood House to walk the large park there, and she had frequently ridden a rather spirited mare through the parkland of Lavington Hall with her dear friend William, so she was not entirely unused to the great outdoors, but she did have to admit that her experiences had been rather more curated and sanitised than the wild expanse of heathland visible on all sides of the stagecoach from Whitcross.

“You’re kind, Agatha,” she said, and let the woman heft her case into the otherwise empty coach.

The thing about a tiny village was that an outsider stood out a mile, and a young lady in her mid twenties and dressed in impractical, rich green clothes, stood out like a beacon in a dark night. Everyone turned to watch her as she disembarked from the coach. At home, she had barely garnered a look from anyone. Being the centre of everyone’s curiosity there was novel and, in a word, horrifying.

She almost blurted aloud that one would think she was a revenue man come inspecting for smuggled goods, but she bit it back just in time. Cornwall’s so-called ‘free trade’ and smuggling rackets were absolutely none of her concern as an outsider, infamous though they may be, and it would do her no good to start sticking her nose where it did not belong.

The Lantern was a half-timbered, two-storey building that faced the walled harbour. Its painted sign was peeling and sun-bleached, and it squawked something dreadful as it swung back and forth in the squalling wind. Mullioned windows glinted and shimmered, though the small, diamond panes were caked with a haze of salt spray, and alongside the inn, a hand-cart rumbled down from a narrow side alley towards the harbour beyond, where fishing boats bobbed on their mooring lines at the lapping high tide.

Agatha pushed open the black-painted door but came to an abrupt halt as someone appeared to be leaving the inn at the exact same moment, and nearly barrelled into her and Nel.

“Oh, excuse me,” came a young man’s hoarse tenor, and he stepped aside within the inn’s small porch to allow the two women to enter before he left.

Nel noted briefly that he wore well-made but plain clothes, and carried a hefty looking cane in his left hand, upon which he leaned while he waited for them to pass. He was pale and thin, his undyed linen shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders, and his light brown hair was tied back at the nape of his neck into a horsetail. The moment he met her eye, he inhaled in surprise and almost immediately looked away, his large, dark brown eyes turning shy and uncertain. “M’lady,” he mumbled without looking up.

She didn’t have time to correct him and tell him she had no such title, because the moment she had stepped inside, he was off out into the day beyond, limping markedly on his right leg as he went.

Nel turned back to find Agatha waiting for her, watching. “That there was young Edmund Nancarrow,” she supplied as Nel caught up with her. “Local lad. Lots of Nancarrows in this area,” she chuckled. “Can’t move for tripping over a Nancarrow. He was a shy, skittish thing even before he went off to war in the Colonies and came back with a bad leg,” she added. “But he’s a sweetheart if ever I saw one. Tailor’s ’prentice he is now.”

At that, Nel just nodded. Something in her ached when she realised she probably wouldn’t have much to do with the folk from the village once she was ensconced up at Heath Top House, and she half wised she could. They already sounded far more interesting than the Lady Winnifred Penrose, with whom Nel had only exchanged a short flurry of letters before becoming formally engaged as her ‘companion’. 

Still, an unmarried woman of Nel’s age and social standing was considered almost past her prime, and given that the few marriage proposals she had received had faded into the mists of her very early adulthood, she had had to find another respectable way to support herself. Hence, Heath Top House.

Aggie bustled her into the main room of the pub, and their arrival caused a flurry of activity that drew the eyes of a good few patrons. 

Seated at the wooden bar inside, hunched over a pewter tankard, sat a tall, bulky man in his late-thirties or early forties, with long, thick, dark grey hair shot through with a shimmer of silver white. He had it tied back off his face in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck and as he turned to regard Nel’s arrival, she met unusually deep green eyes surrounded by a web of crows’ feet lines in a tanned, weathered face. His scowl was dark and full of suspicion, but even the storm clouds in his expression couldn’t mask the fact that he was handsome, in a rugged, rough-hewn kind of way.

When she saw where Nel’s attention had snagged, Aggie let out a little gasp and snatched her by the upper arm to steer her towards an empty table in a bay window, about as far from the wooden bar where the man still sat and glared at them as it was possible to be. 

“And that’s Locryn Trevethan,” Aggie hissed as she saw Nel settled into a seat. “Can’t say as I’ve seen him in here more than a handful of times this year though. He’s usually out on the water. Lives alone in an old stone cottage round the bay from here, up at Pilchard Sands. You’d probably best be giving him a wide berth, miss. Not that he should give you any trouble, mind,” she amended carefully, “But he’s not for the likes of you to go mingling with.”

Nel smiled at the protective tone in the older woman’s voice, and nodded once.

With her warning given, Aggie raised her voice and called over to the old man behind the bar. “’ere, Tom! This young lady needs a ride up to Heath Top. You think you can arrange that for her?”

The stoop-shouldered, white-haired man nodded and knuckled his forehead at Nel across the space. “Not the finest, but we got a cart.”

“If you have a horse, I could ride,” she said, trying to be helpful.

“Ain’t got a saddle for a lady,” he said regretfully.

Memories of galloping through the leafy trees of Lavington Hall’s parkland with William flashed across her mind and she suppressed a smile. She certainly hadn’t ridden the grey mare side-saddle while keeping up with her childhood friend, and although it had been a year or so since she’d sat astride a horse instead of side-saddle, she thought she could manage well enough. “I know how to ride a man’s saddle,” she said, “But I do have a travel case I’d need to send someone back for.”

“I could get one of the lads to bring that up for you after,” said Tom, “But it’s almost as much effort to hitch up a cart as it is to tack up a horse for riding, ma’am.”

“Whatever is the least trouble for you will do fine,” she said, and the stoic, weather-beaten old man’s red cheeks darkened and he ducked his head.

While Tom left to sort out transportation to the house, Aggie flapped about getting some refreshments for Nel, leaving her to wait at the table alone.

In the wake of the hubbub and pother Agatha left behind her, Nel took a long, deep breath looked around to find Locryn Trevethan still staring across the room at her. Taken aback by his directness and the intensity of his glare, she tried to smile, but his expression remained thunderous beneath strong, dark brows, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed.

In a face turned to leather by the sun and sea-wind, wide cheekbones and a heavy brow framed his piercingly green eyes. Never mind that marked crow’s feet around his eyes that made him look like he would rather have been laughing; the contrast between the dark, hostile glower and the soft laughter lines unnerved her and made her feel off-balance, as though her stranger’s presence in their local pub had unknowingly raised the ire of a usually gentle man. 

He had a short, neatly-trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard around full lips that were currently turned down at the corners and which bore a silver-pink scar across the middle. Despite the warm day, he wore a fisherman’s dense, woollen sweater, and when she risked another look back at him, she found him still frowning openly across the bar at her.

Nel didn’t relax until Aggie returned, at which point the man snapped abruptly out of his trance, slammed a coin down on the bar, and strode from the pub on long legs that were thick as tree trucks at the thigh. The door bounced back off the plasterwork in his wake and his boots rang on the flagstones outside.

“Not one to welcome strangers, I take it,” Nel muttered, and downed half of the cheap, watered-down wine that Agatha had set on the table for her.

“Oh don’t you pay him no mind, miss,” Aggie scoffed, settling herself down into the seat opposite her like a brooding hen and glaring at the pub door. “He don’t seem to like no one in Polgarrack save for sweet Ned Nancarrow, strangely enough. Then again, I ain’t met no one who’s taken a disliking to sweet Ned. Now, Tom will have the horse and cart ready for you in just a moment, but you just take your time and recover after your journey.”

Nel, who had felt ten times better the moment she’d taken her first proper lungful of sea air on stepping out of the swaying stagecoach, looked across the table into the older woman’s face and found a mother’s kindness and compassion in her wrinkled face, and something twisted in her gut. “You’re very kind,” she whispered, unable to muster anything more. “Thank you.”

She chuckled. “You know, and don’t you take this amiss, but you remind me of my niece a little, though she’s a little younger than you.”

Nel’s eyebrows twitched in wry amusement, and Agatha blushed at the impropriety of her words. Nel didn’t get the chance to reassure her because Tom shuffled back in and told her the cart was ready for her.

She laid a coin on the table for the wine and stood, following the innkeep out into the yard and clambering up with her case into the back of the cart. It was hardly a very dignified mode of transport for someone of her station, and when Tom said as much while they rumbled out of the inn’s yard, Nel just laughed and said she didn’t mind.

“Anything is better than that awful rolling stagecoach,” she beamed, and swung her legs back and forth like a child off the back of the cart bed while Tom clucked his tongue at the horse to hurry up.

As they trundled up the narrow, cobbled street from the harbour, they passed Edmund Nancarrow standing outside a tailor’s shop, talking with the beast of a man from the bar. Both men looked up and watched her pass like she was some kind of rare spectacle.

In a way, she supposed she was. 

Still, she smiled at them despite her nerves, and Edmund knuckled a non-existent cap at her with a shy smile, while Locryn just glared.

She sighed and wondered what this next chapter in her life would bring.

___

Next chapter ->

Well, what did you think of it so far? I can't wait to hear your thoughts on it, as always!

I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like if you enjoyed it. Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

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#selkie #bucca #polyamory #polyamorous romance #poly story #o #historical fantasy #shifter romance #poly shifter romance #18th century romance #shapeshifter romance #m/m/f

[mamamittens]

Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 13)

Platonic Yandere Whitebeard Crew (Ft. Others) & Reader Insert

Main|First|Previous

Warnings: Yandere behavior and a wide variety of burn related injuries, as well as drowning. If yandere content makes you uncomfortable, please do block the tag 'oh sweet child of mine' as well as any variation of 'one piece yandere' that you feel is necessary.

This is the end of things. All that's left is the epilogue. Your choices have consequences, I've only seen them through.

Word Count: 2,325

Marco chatted with an older gentleman about the local weather, meandering his way to any strange arrivals at the island. While he didn’t see Teach, it was possible he was hiding out at an inn until Marco left.

He found himself constantly pissed and surprised at how damn clever Teach was.

Several times they managed to just barely miss him out at sea. If Marco didn’t know any better, he’d assume that someone was telling Teach exactly when it was time to leave. But that window of time had been shrinking for the past month. Where once they missed him by a week it was now a matter of hours. And Marco could feel how close they were.

“Yeah, this weather really brings out weird people, doesn’t it… Say, have you seen any shady characters around lately?” Marco asked, refraining from fiddling with his buttoned-up shirt. Not exactly subtle to question the locals with a massive Jolly Roger staring at them.

Marco didn’t even get an answer being the sound of a distant explosion reached his ear. He sighed, fully expecting to see fire on the horizon from whatever shit Ace had gotten himself into now.

First Smoker and now this?

His eyes rolled over the sea and widened with shock.

A column of fire and smoke violently erupted into the sky in the direction of the other island he’d sent Ace to investigate—wrongly assuming that he’d find less trouble with a smaller island.

Marco was airborne in an instant, speeding over the land and sea as he rushed to find out what was going on.

The minutes ticked by as his lungs filled with sea salt from diving to gain speed before gaining altitude to do it all over again. Getting faster and faster with each repetition. Boats blinking by as he crossed the expanse.

Damn near half the island was on fire in some way or another. Demolished buildings and rocks littering the sea in debris fields as people fled quickly.

Marco banked sharply, ice in his heart as he spotted the marine vessel moored nearby.

He found Ace on the other side of the island facing fucking ADMIRAL AKAINU of all fucking marines. Your familiar shape pinned to the admiral’s chest. Teach dead—where the fuck did his head go?!—just behind you both.

Marco was fit to sweep down and toss Ace into the ocean his own damn self when the young man threw a fiery punch at the admiral. Only to find that it was himself that was burned.

The literal worst case scenario matchup for Ace and you were right in the middle of it.

Marco wanted to rescue you both—he really did—but clearly Akainu wasn’t planning on killing you. The crazy bastard even shielding you from excessive blows.

At the very least, he could plan to steal you back later. But Ace was certainly not getting such consideration. Akainu planned to kill him. If it was just Ace he had to worry about, he’d go down right now and take Akainu head on with no problem—okay, a bit of a problem, he’s not an Admiral for nothing. But at any moment The Mad Dog could turn on you and Marco had no idea if your devil fruit combined with his would help. Hell, if Akainu had just slung you over his shoulder, Marco could probably pick you up with a small distraction.

But there was no way Akainu wouldn’t notice him aiming right for his chest.

And Marco—much as he ached to admit it—only had one solid plan of action.

Retreat.

Marco tilted his wings and prepared to dive at Ace. Hold onto the stubborn bastard and take them both far away.

The marines would fuck up eventually and you’d be right back where you belong. Even if ‘fucking up’ was just not having a full escort to Marineford as Marco stashed Ace somewhere he couldn’t blast his way into a fight he can’t win.

A massive ball of lava arched into the sky, the heat searing as it passed him by barely an inch. His body beneath the phoenix fire burning bright to heal the damage before it cauterized completely. Leaving a deep ache in his wing that promised to take him down if he lost his head again.

Marco reared back, soaring higher to avoid a repeat. To get a moment to think since clearly Akainu wasn’t entertaining a retreat either.

Fuck!

He had to get Ace. Fast.

--*--

You remember the first time you really understood what your devil fruit was. There weren’t any other users near you when you first ate it, so it took some time before the effects became clear.

A man came to the island. Ostensibly a traveling stage magician. He was good at crafting a compelling stage presence, but the entire time you watched him, you got this strange feeling. Like a faded memory recalled through scent. A series of seemingly unrelated images and sensations undeniably connected to one person. A vague emotion. All of it strung together like pearls. An odd sense of creeping exhaustion seeping into your skin.

Cut grass and mint. Woven daisy chains tangled in your hair during summer. Spring rain and dewdrops on misty mornings. Softer than buttercup petals and flashy like daffodils after winter.

You watched as he offered his beautiful volunteer ‘assistant’ a playing card. Flicking his wrist to then ‘magically’ present a white rose that blossomed in his hand.

The drain went from a dripping tap to a river.

The rose grew, vines wrapping around his arm with thorns and blooms sprouting until he and his unfortunate volunteer was consumed by a rose bush.

They were fine, but more than a little cut up from the thorns.

Teach’s devil fruit was like a forest gone silent and dark. Shadows in thick water dragging your feet as you walked. Breath fogging the air as the atmosphere pressed down on you. Threatening to swallow you whole if you tripped. It felt like a graveyard emptied of it’s dead and leaving you alone with ghosts. The threat of a knife still sheathed in a sleeve.

Ace’s fruit felt like a campfire at night. Consuming your view with flying embers, reaching high into the sky. Warm laughter and cinnamon smoke curling around a hearth fire wreath. Blazing with conviction so bright it dimmed the stars. Surrounding you in excess.

Marco’s fruit was like a firework. A cry shooting through the air in triumph as the atmosphere burned with it’s brilliance. The flash of the sunset and sunrise just as it slips past the edge of the horizon. Flooding your senses with thick incense as birdsong echoed. Bitter medicine and tangy sweets on your tongue.

Whitebeard’s fruit was something a little different. A tremble in your bones. Strength and uncertainty held in the same hand. The ground beneath your feet shifting on a level you could only just barely sense. Heavy bass that thrums in your heart. The short hairs on the back of your neck tingling. Senses reaching for a source with no name. An echo of something much larger than yourself.

Held in place, frozen with your heart stuttering in fear, you bathed in the feeling of Admiral Akainu’s devil fruit. Exhaustion burning away to ash as horror bled from your lungs.

Hot and cracked, uncompromisingly deadly around you. Fire pouring like thick liquid from the earth. Consuming everything in it’s path as it simply oozed forward. Belches of toxic gas as magma was ejected in thick clumps from broken rubble. Life smoldering in it’s presence before being smothered under it’s weight. Move or be moved. It smells like death and cinders as burning ash coats your lungs and skin.

You reflexively tried to curl your hand into a fist and your muscles spasmed, nerves screaming at the abuse so soon after your shoulder had been set.

Panicked, you looked at Ace, aware that your new ability would be useless if you couldn’t even hold it for a second. He would have to get close to deal damage and in that timeframe, he’d be close enough for Admiral Akainu to kill him with ease. But Ace didn’t seem to know that, his lips twisted into a snarl as he locked eyes with Admiral Akainu. Fire sparking in his hands as he clenched his fists, scorching the earth around his feet in a burst of heat.

He screamed, damn near feral as he charged forward with his arm reared back.

Ace’s fist was stopped by Admiral Akainu’s hand, a blast of heat ringing out like a shockwave. Admiral barely let his raised hand drip with magma before Ace shot back with a startled hiss, eyes wide in shock.

“Your devil fruit is beneath mine in power level, Fire Fist. And that’s before my partner got involved.” Admiral Akainu declared with a slight, smug grin.

But Ace wasn’t about to back down. Spinning on his heel as he launched a fireball at Admiral Akainu. Aside from turning to shield you from the direct path, it flew harmlessly past him.

Attack after attack was simply batted away or ignored completely. Like the Admiral was taunting Ace.

Playing with his food until he got bored.

A flicker of blue and gold in the sky drew your attention and Admiral Akainu’s.

You nearly sighed in relief at the magnificent sight of Marco preparing to dive.

Good!

T-This was good!

He could take Ace and get out of here!

Admiral Akainu threw back his fist and hurled a mass of molten lava into the sky, nearly clipping Marco. The pirate instantly scrambling to gain altitude to protect against another attack.

While you wholeheartedly believed that Marco could face Admiral Akainu, it would be a massive risk with Ace and yourself so close to the crossfire. And Ace would never leave him behind. And if you overtly tried to assist, there was every chance the marine would simply break your neck for being a traitor.

Maybe with luck, you could have ‘dialed down’ Admiral Akainu’s devil fruit to allow Marco and Ace to flee—assuming Ace even let it happen to begin with. But your damaged hands couldn’t handle the tensed position right now without flinching and breaking the bloody scabs. You weren’t sure you could repeat the feat for an appreciable amount of time either. They’d need more than a second to get the hell out, after all.

You had no doubt Akainu would explode if he realized you were helping your friends escape.

Your thoughts screeched to a halt.

Explode.

You looked around you at the devastation. Every jeer and blow Akainu delt shook the ground and brought hot magma to the surface as he wound himself up. Losing his shit as Ace refused to falter and Marco kept trying to rescue him without getting hit—he’d heal from that, right? Could he? You weren’t sure and the thought that Marco could actually get hurt scared you—

You squeezed your eyes tight. Let the world fall away as you imagined that dial again. The dizzying heat around you fading to a buzzing pressure.

The needle bouncing in and out of the red with every attack.

If you could turn it to zero, totally cutting off the power of his devil fruit, then what would happen if you pushed it the other way?

 The image of a volcano came to mind. Violently exploding as plumes of gas and smoke ejected into the atmosphere.

Akainu was already capable of such things.

Just like that magician could already create bushes from a single flower.

Ace needed to get distance. Marco needed a distraction. It wasn’t going to be fun. It certainly wasn’t going to be very safe. But it would double perfectly as both an escape for your friends and an alibi for assisting them.

A sudden, explosive volcanic eruption seemed like exactly what you needed.

You wrapped your less injured arm around Akainu, placing your bloody hand on his back as he made a soft noise of surprise. You looked up at Marco, your eyes connecting as he seemed to suddenly start to dive down instinctively.

You mouthed one word.

Run.

“Dial up: Overclock!” You pushed against the connection between your fruits, the air sucked out from your lungs.

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Akainu was frozen, staring down at you with an expression bordering on awe. Heat rising between you as suddenly, the ground buckled.

Falling and then heaving up.

Ace screamed your name in horror.

Marco crying out with a sound more avian than man.

You didn’t realize the volcano would be underneath you.

Magma rushed up like a geyser, slamming Akainu and yourself into the air as though Whitebeard himself punched up beneath your feet. It happened so fast you don’t even recall the moment after.

Just thick, black smoke rushing around you until you cleared the top of the billowing cloud, almost floating for a moment. Skin scalded and cracked, bleeding from any number of burns you didn’t even have time to feel.

Akainu no longer in sight.

Then the ground rushed towards you, yanking your innards first as you screamed. Barely having time to hope you didn’t hit land before you realized you’d been ejected at an angle, skin seared and the air cutting past you as the sea rose to meet you instead.

The you hit the water as though it was made of bricks, knocking out the air from your entire body as you gasped, sinking beneath the waves motionlessly. Salt burned your wounds and eyes and lungs. Limbs frozen for any number of reasons—take your pick really—as you sank beneath the waves.

With no idea if your plan worked, you could only watch as darkness consumed you. Your heart burning as you choked on seawater.

This wasn’t how you wanted to be free.

#one piece yandere #yandere whitebeard crew #yandere akainu #yandere ace #yandere marco #oh sweet child of mine #reader insert #is it me? #Am I the drama? #reader experiences the power of friendship #but was it enough? #welp! #See ya'll tomorrow for at least the first part of the epilogue!

[m1d-45]

-Pari Anon

After the, um, accidental kidnapping, Albedo learns that Pari!Reader hates being taken to the city. But they enjoy being at the Inn or in nature.

He finds them again on the balcony. They’re splashing happily in a tub of shallow water. He remembers the Adeptus that got angry at him, but as long as he doesn’t take Pari, he isn’t breaking any rules.

So he plays with Pari a while. And he isn’t bothered.

Until Xiao is walking up the stairs and finds Albedo with Pari again. It takes all his self control to not attack Albedo.

He begrudgingly learns that Albedo isn’t much of a threat to Pari. And maybe he can help should Pari get kidnapped by a certain Geo Archon.

[ prev post ] : spoilers for albedo lore/story quest

all things considered, albedos trip to liyue was going rather well. aside from the part where he angered an adeptus and nearly got his head cut off, of course, he could have gone without that. but he’d found the source of the ley line disturbance, and a few books in the city on teyvat’s mythos confirmed what he already suspected. the pari were an ancient sumerun race capable of changing the very terrain with their elemental powers… so why were you here?

unfortunately, there was no book on the local adepti at wanwen bookhouse. he considered asking around, but that might just draw unnecessary suspicion. if you lingered around the inn, it was likely your adeptus wasn’t far behind. he conferred with a few local specialists, comparing notes on the ley line disturbances. taking care of his business in the harbor took less time than traveling here, but he wasn’t as upset as he’d normally be. you alone would have warranted a full trip to the inn.

revised notes and a few new pages of others’ observations later, he was on his way. it was late into the afternoon, too late to return to mondstat but more than early enough to make it to the inn. the path was well-worn and easy to follow, and even if it wasn’t it was hard to get lost in the plains. wangshu inn stood high above the horizon line, a permanent marker of his path. he passed the occasional merchant or guild member, but neither they nor he stopped. his journey was largely uneventful, in truth, arriving at the inn an hour or so before the sun would sink below the sea. perhaps if he was able to get settled in by then, he’d be able to watch.

he checks in, going to the balcony to try and catch a glimpse of the sky, and finds you again. someone’s set out a shallow tub for you, filled halfway up with water and sitting on a table so you can see over the railing. the fading sun catches the splashes of water and turns them a bright gold, though you quickly freeze up. how strange, that someone as far removed from human form as you express such complicated emotions as conflict and warning so easily.

how strange, that a pari had not only found itself in liyue, but chosen to stay under watch of an adepti.

“i apologize for earlier,” he says, taking post by the railing and setting up an easel from his inventory. “i didn’t know you had found a guardian. you’re not native to liyue, and i worried.”

a half truth. his motives were far more self-serving than selfishness, but he truly wouldn’t have bothered you if he knew you had “the bane of all evil” as your host. his mistake, though the circumstances of your relationship were quite strange. not a pet, you were too intelligent and the adepti had insisted otherwise.

idly, he trasmutes one of his shorter pencils into a small wooden boat, khemia buzzing in his fingertips. it’s child’s play, one of the first forms he’d mastered, but he hears you chirp sharply from behind him. it’s not fearful, and you don’t say anything when he sets it on the table next to your basin in a quiet offering. he angles himself such that he can see both you and dragonspine behind you, taking up another pencil and beginning to draw.

was it wise to start another sketch when his first was still unfinished? probably not. but that one didn’t have you in it, did it?

the wind runs cold as the sun begins to set, though he doesn’t notice. what does make him pause is the burn of ozone in the air, his mind automatically wondering if tubing had come loose before remembering that he wasn’t in his lab anymore, and that-

“what are you doing here?”

right. ozone, the same odd smell that he didn’t have enough time to register earlier, stinging his nose and warning the air. albedo set down his eraser, giving his hands a cursory dusting before turning around. the same adeptus as before, flickers of gold gathered in one hand like he’s prepared to draw his spear at any moment. you sit in your tub, glancing between them, and he notices you’ve brought the boat in with you.

“drawing. it’s too late to make the journey to mondstadt, and i’ve already checked in with ms goldet. don’t worry, no harm has come to your… friend?”

the adeptus doesn’t respond, not that he expected him to. this was a shared public space, one that he happened to be in at the same time as you. nothing suspicious. you were not alarmed, and had not called for assistance.

you chirped softly, succeeding in getting both of their attentions. you were holding up the boat, carefully balancing it on your wings. were you… showing it to him? why?

the adeptus—would it be rude to ask for his name?—picked up the boat by the mast, turning it over. his gold eyes flashed white with elemental sight, then he returned it just as delicately as he’d picked it up. “where’d you get that?” he asked, voice considerably softer than before.

you pointed one wing at albedo with another chip, letting the boat fall back into the water and batting it around. he’s not sure how much entertainment someone capable of understanding complicated inter-personal relations could garner from a boat, but you were pushing yours to the upper limit, it seems.

“you.” he lifted his eyes, surprised to see the harshness in the adeptus’ had dulled. “what’s your name?”

“i am albedo, chief alchemist of the knights of favonius. you are?”

“…I don’t suppose you just *happened* to have that boat on-hand?”

“no, i made it for them. consider it a gift for scaring the both of you last time.”

“i did not get *scared-…*” he crossed his arms, shaking his head. “irrelevant. come with me, you’re going to catch a cold.”

the latter sentence was of course addressed towards you, his hand lowering to pick up his sleeve. he held it out for you to flap up and into, clutching the boat tight to your chest. the adeptus turned away, swallowed by blue smoke, and albedo sighed.

he’d much have preferred to have his name, but it wasn’t strictly necessary. as for his drawing, it was getting dark, so he added in a quick detail on the front before flipping it over, writing along the top of its frame.

‘an adeptus and his friend.’ — oil, canvas — a painting of a small pari in a basin, lifting a toy boat into the air. at first glance, it may seem like they are the adeptus in question, but finer eyes will see a figure hidden in the shadows atop the roof, looking down with a thin smile. completed by the chief alchemist during his trip to liyue, kindly donated to the knights’ headquarters for your viewing pleasure.

#m1d : [chats] #m1d : [secrets] #pari anon #what’s up danger #anybody else absolutely deranged about baizhu? #liyuen immortals got me fucked up chat #archon!morax got me head in hands down disgusting tbh

[pupyr0arz]

mermaid!soap x ghost. Unfinished Drabble.

He speaks thrice a week. He has it down to the ticking of the clock in his hut, the one source of noise down there by the rocks aside the wave and the braver sea-birds. Every Monday when the sun crests the horizon he takes the long path down to the docks and stops by Price’s inn. He greets him with a fatherly grunt and a comment about the weather, cautious and concerned. 

He doesn’t listen to any of Price’s warnings of bad weather, and Price knows it too. 

Wednesday is the next time he hears his voice, when he takes the catch in. Gaz comes by and if he didn’t count the handful of responses he gave it still would because he speaks for an entire village. Tells him what feels like every detail of every man, woman and child’s business up and down the country. Trots beside him on the fussy beast of a creature he calls a horse and sticks like a burr to his backside all throughout the afternoon. Gaz minds his business when it comes to him, though.

The third and final time is in the dead of night. He walks up the craggy path with a lantern and waits for the moon to rise to light it. He settles on his knees in front of the gravestones, carved deep and true so their names don’t fade for years, and he talks. Inanities, comments and jokes, the happening around town. Old and new, he speaks and speaks and speaks until his throat bleeds and his knees cramp and he nearly tumbles off the cliff when he gets up at dawn. It’s a long ranting, raving speech, he’s sure he’d look entirely mad to anyone stupid enough to follow him up there. He doesn’t let them get a word in edgewise, but it burns in his head nonetheless as he makes his way down, unsteady as a fawn.

Mum wouldn’t be happy at all, she’d be right cross. She was never a fiery woman though, all sad-eyed looks and mournful sighs when she found wrong in the world. She’d fuss over the state of the hut and sit by his bedside, offering wet rags like he’s a lad and sick with a fever like she always did when she wanted to help him. She’d fuss about all of this silence, the loneliness of the ocean. She never did like it when he went quiet as a youth, saying that nothing was worse for the head than filling it full of thoughts left to rot. She’d wanted better for him then, wanted him to go to the city and find work there, leave the craggy cliffs that scraped the sea with their claws and left the great widow-maker to her own devices. She’d wanted him to take that butchery apprenticeship and pack away, leave behind the salt and spray rather than be one of the many non-people to sink among the waves.

Tommy would just be pissing mad, that is. He had their fathers temper, both of them  when had to admit to himself in the quiet of the night. Tommy’s only flared brighter and hotter because he struck out at the world first, clawed at it for his place. Ever the older brother, determined to be the first. He had wanted out since the moment he heard of the city at all. He would’ve been miserable here.

He tries not to let it taint his days. It’s a losing battle, but his trade has settled in his bones now. He wakes and sleeps by the sounds of the tide and he’ll find himself at dawn with the taste of salt in his mouth. He keeps his boat towards the southernmost end, where the sea is as still as stone most days, silent quartz mirror broken by the gentlest of ripples. It reflects him, smoothing the turmoil in his head into quiet nothingness, clouds a blip on the surface of the water. Not once does he dip a finger in. There’s nothing under that calm surface but danger, he knows better than to try it.

He’s not married, and isn't interested in any of the girls that float though or anchor themselves in town. They don’t approach him often, eyeing him with caution. Better odds on picking the humble, inviting town boys than the silent, scarred fisherman. It doesn’t change a thing to him, even if Gaz and Price prod at him every once in a while.

Life is as it is, cyclic, endless in repetition, formation of a thousand possibilities in lockstep. The sun rises, yellow disc carelessly spilling over onto the ocean, flames at the bottom of his boat. The moon rises, perched high in the sky and watching over the rippling grasses. His name loses meaning, and he becomes that loss. Rumors rise and fall. Calm weather and storms trade turns, finding him unmoving as the cliff-stone.

It’s a silent day when the cyclic abruptly crawls to a halt. When the still, silent and waters of Ghost’s soul finds itself parted abruptly, tugged into a fierce upheaval. It comes without warning, without sense, swifter than any arrowhead and sharper than his knife. The apathy that colors his eyes vanishes when they meet his, all blues and greens like the ocean fed a bit of herself into two jewels and placed them for anyone to take in his head. It’s replaced so fast, Ghost doesn’t even notice. He doesn’t miss it, either.

One nameless day, the blue sheen of the water is cut by something, a foreign color that shimmers beneath the surface. He doesn’t recognize it immediately, that catches his eye more than any of its unusual features, blurred beneath the ripples of murky  water and the shadow cast by his boat. It’s slow moving, placid, then it thrashes once the net covers it, but Ghost is used to being jerked around and bites down on his tongue and digs his heel in, cursing to himself as he hauls it’s struggling form inch by inch. It’s almost respectable how violently it fights for its life. 

“I swear on the lord,” he snaps, twisting the net around his hands, the rope biting into his skin sharply, “I will gut you and eat you right bloody here right now, no matter how much you cost.” 

That is novelty enough, the fourth time already breaking the ritual, the strange appearance of the thing in his net that seems more wide-fins and shiny scales wrapped up in a ball than any sort of dish he knows, but then at the sound of his rough cracking voice it stills Ike a frightened rabbit. He nearly falls over from the sudden slack before he recovers.

The net spills open onto the deck, the mistake suddenly so minuscule Ghost forgets the net even exists as the catch flops onto the deck. It’s no fish he’s ever heard of, no eight armed man eating beast that idiot Graves once bragged about catching himself.

It looks almost like a man, almost, head and hair and hands even, but it’s body extends, serpentine and scaled like a fish. It glistens with copper red scales and bright blues, fins sprouting from its skin like any other creature from the sea. 

It looks up at Ghost, wide-eyed. Crystal blue, like sea-glass and the stones the town-men brought back from travels to adorn their brides throats, soft lips and nose.

The first thought, which is less of anything in any coherent language and more of an urge that builds in Ghost’s bones and tugs deep within him at his navel, is that he wants to touch it, cup its face into his hands and trace the contours of skin and scales and the boundaries where they blend and dance together. The second thought is that it’s trying to pull itself overboard. 

The third thought is lost when he leaps forwards to bind it, cut off amid the clumsy scuffle.

#ghostsoap #cod #writing #drabbles/snippets #ghost #soap #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #soapghost #Gaz is a nickname #Only his mom calls him Kyle

[tiefthieves]

Let Me Silence the Storm [Karlach x Tav (Sikah)]

hello all :) I've decided to stop being a little bitch baby and post some of the things I've been writing for my Tav, Sikah, and Karlach. This is a little drabble surrounding Sikah's fear of thunderstorms. In my mind, this takes place around the early quests of Act 3. Here's a picture of them because they're cuties! My blorbos ♡

From the balcony of the inn, Sikah sat and watched as dark gray clouds, heavy with rain, slowly crept their way up the horizon and toward the city. She could hear the low rumble of thunder as they drew nearer and could smell the raindrops in the breeze. Her stomach ached. 

Thunderstorms weren’t an abnormality along the Sword Coast. The proximity to the raging sea and the area’s pseudo-island climate brewed a perfect storm. When it rained in Baldur’s Gate it rained hard. Light showers were a rarity, only spitting in spring; for the remaining seasons, there was little snow, no showers, and no sprinkles, only drenching downpours. 

When Sikah was young she loved the rain— loved splashing in puddles, counting the seconds between thunder claps, watching lightning race across the sky. Her mother would tell her it was the gods and goddesses practicing their archery, each hot flash of pure energy an ethereal arrow. 

Lightning was just that, pure energy in a blistering flash. She reached up and carefully brushed her fingertips across her permanently disfigured skin as the memories resurfaced. Sikah could still feel the sweltering pain on her face and see the blinding bolt of light emitting from a whip which cracked like thunder. 

She gasped as something, no, someone, tapped her shoulder. 

“Shit baby, I didn't mean to scare you.” Karlach took a step back, “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…” Sikah lied as she stood up and brushed dust from her pants. “Need something?” 

“I was just checking in on ya, you’d been out here on the balcony for a while,” the taller tiefling leaned her back against the railing as she took a deep breath of coastal storm air. “Smells like rain.”

“Mmhm,” she hummed another passive lie, eyes still fixated on the darkening horizon. 

“For a rogue you’re a shit liar sometimes,” the barbarian observed, “What’s on your mind?” 

“It’s nothing,” Sikah winced as the skies opened up, darkening the cobblestone with heavy drops of precipitation, “let’s go inside.” 

Karlach wasn’t buying it. Something was up with Sikah and she was damn determined to figure out what. She pondered for a moment, cogs turning in her head while she reviewed the past hour. The evening had been rather normal, she thought. The party had stumbled into the tavern bruised and bloody from a day’s worth of adventuring. Firstly, herself and Sikah promptly made their way up to the inn to wash up before having dinner with the group, after which they retired to their shared room. From then on, Sikah had been out on the balcony watching the storm clouds. Even now, laying in bed with the balcony doors shut, the smaller tiefling kept an eagle eye on the window. 

“Did’jya see something suspicious out there? I can go pester Astarion to take care of it, he’s probably hungry.” Karlach attempted to draw her lover’s attention away from the window and onto her. 

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m fine, really,” Sikah gave her a reassuring half-smile. 

The taller woman raised a brow, “Darling, I love you, but you’re really bad at lying to me— which I appreciate, don’t get me wrong, but you can talk to me.” 

Sikah was silent, eyes fixated on Karlach’s fingertips as the larger woman moved to pull her into her chest. “I’m afraid of thunderstorms, of lightning, all of it,” her voice came out in a whisper. “It’s stupid. I can face goblins, devils, shapeshifters, cultists, and shadow cursed lands all without an ounce of fear, but a thunderstorm? I feel pathetic.”

“Hey now, I don’t date pathetic people, if I wanted to do that I’d go find Volo or some shit,” Karlach joked in an attempt to lower her lover’s guard. “Everyone has things they’re afraid of, baby. Usually for a good reason too.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Sikah rolled her eyes as a tiny smile dared to escape her lips. She tensed as a clasp of thunder shook the building, pressing herself into Karlach’s warm embrace. “Shit.”

“Hey, you’re alright, I’ve got you,” the barbarian cupped the woman’s cheek and ran her thumb over its textured flesh. She wanted to ask Sikah to tell the story of her scars, to uncover the mysteries that hid behind tarnished skin and bask in her bravery. Yet, Karlach’s mind was absent as she continued to pet Sikah’s cheek, softly humming as her eyes shamelessly wandered across the map of her speckled skin. “You’re beautiful, you know.” She eyed Sikah’s lips, her thumb teasing to inch closer. The smaller tiefling reached up to guide Karlach’s hand away, placing it on her chest before she draped her arms around the hellion’s neck. 

As rain continued to cascade down the inn’s window, the tieflings kept warm under the lush duvet of their bed. The next hours were spent in a lovers’ embrace; hands wandering across skin, muttered adorations, and airy breaths. With their clothes strewn across the floor, Karlach was able to fully appreciate her partner’s body in the blossoming candlelight. Sikah lay on her chest, back exposed to the air, arms hugged underneath one of the plush, feather pillows the inn provided. Her hair was down and out of its usual ponytail, cascading just barely past her shoulders. It had to be a horrible mess of tangles by now, for it hadn’t seen a brush in gods knows how long, yet her lover’s fingers effortlessly combed through it. Karlach reached out and traced her fingers over Sikah’s complexion, connecting the freckles in constellations across the map of her skin. Amongst the freckles were several scars, ranging from small cuts victim of anxious picking; to deep, discolored scar tissue from tougher quarrels. 

“You know, I’ve always liked a woman with a bit of story to her.” Karlach hummed as her nails trailed over scars, smiling as Sikah peeked an eye open and looked at her. 

The smaller tiefling raised a brow, “and by that you mean?” 

“Your body tells a story that no other can tell. Each scar, every dimple, freckle, and divett is completely unique to you. I could stare at you for hours and still manage to find something new.” Her infernal engine flickered as she shifted to prop herself on her elbow and rest her chin in the palm of her hand. “As you live you get more scars, maybe some more tattoos, all which give more stories to tell, I think it’s nice. I’ve never really cared for the flawless skin of elves, too smooth, reminds me of a naked cat.”

“I’m going to tell Astarion you called him a naked cat,” Sikah chuckled, too comfortable to budge from her current position. 

“Good, tell him, I think it’d be hilarious!” Karlach laughed. “He can stay being a pretty boy, I like my rogues tougher ‘round the edges.” 

The rogue bit her lip and pondered on her next words, tracing the raised skin on the back of Karlach’s strong hand when it rested over hers. “I haven’t told you how I got the scar on my face, have I?” Sikah shyly looked up at the stronger woman. 

“Nope,” Karlach shook her head. “If it makes you feel better, I thought it was a birthmark or something at first; but a battle scar is much more sexy.” 

She rolled her eyes, “Hush and listen, it's story time.” She moved to rest on her back, inviting the larger woman to lie beside her. Karlach’s head came to rest on the smaller woman’s chest, listening to the heartbeat she yearned for. “I told you about my time in Avernus,” Sikah began, “my two-year stint in prison, but never how I got out and what I did once I had…”

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 tav #tav bg3 #bg3 oc #tiefling tav #rogue tav #baldurs gate tav #baldurs gate oc #bg3 Sikah (oc) #bg3sikah #karlach cliffgate #karlach bg3 #bg3 karlach #bg3 karlach x tav #bg3 tav x karlach #tav x karlach #karlach x tav #karlach x tav (female) #karlach x f!tav #karlach x tielfing!tav #karlach romance #blorbos #tiefling lesbians ftw

[claudemblems]

What You Mean to Me | Xiao

Summary: One evening on the balcony of Wangshu Inn, Xiao decides to make his feelings clear to you.

Notes: I feel like I'm actually terrible at being ✨ poetic ✨ but I had this one sitting in my drafts and I thought someone might enjoy it :) I just love Xiao and he deserves all the happiness in the world

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

"Don't you know what you mean to me?"

Your eyes widen as you turn to Xiao who’s sitting beside you on Wangshu Inn’s balcony, his eyes trained on the Liyue horizon. He refuses to look at you, and you realize why when you spot the pink dusting his cheeks, his furrowed brows, and the hands tightly clutching at his heart. You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from the sight. This a side of Xiao you had never been allowed to see before, and it’s one you may never get the chance to see again. You wish you could save the image in your mind forever, a picture for you and you alone.

But your initial shock soon gives way to the realization that you haven’t given him an answer yet. You spend several moments replaying his question over and over again in your mind, trying to make sense of the meaning of his words. When they finally dawn on you, you find your own face growing red, heart fluttering in your chest. You unconsciously mimic Xiao, desperately trying to hide your flushed face from view.

“W-What are you saying, Xiao…?”

He takes in a shaky breath, his previous display of boldness slowly giving way to the shyness you knew him for. “D-Don’t you already know?” he sighed, burying his face in his hands. “Don’t make me say it…”

You open the space between your fingers to peek a glance at Xiao. He’s still too embarrassed to meet your gaze, but little by little, he’s removing the hands guarding his own face. And that’s when your heart skips a beat in your chest.

The setting sun illuminates his golden eyes like beacons of light shooting up through the darkness. His long strands of hair, rustled by the gentle breeze, float towards the sky. His cheeks are the shade of newly bloomed silk flowers, a soft contrast against his white qingxin skin. 

Xiao is the beauty of the Liyue mountains, hillsides, valleys, and adeptal abodes carefully crafted into a single entity. He’s the brilliant blue skies, the flower petals floating through the air from the trees. He’s the expansive sea that you could never fully explore. He’s the lanterns rising in the sky during the rite, carrying the wishes of Liyue’s people far and wide. He is someone so beautiful and intricate and yet so far out of your reach. 

But you would climb every mountain top in Liyue, cross every unruly sea, and challenge every divine being of Teyvat just for a chance to stay by his side forever. 

“Am I really worthy enough to be someone special to you?”

Now it’s Xiao’s turn to stare wide-eyed at you, and you know that he’s wondering if he’s heard you right. His own confession was shocking enough, but to hear one from you right after…

He finally composes himself, and his embarrassment dissolves, turning into a newfound confidence. You can tell that he’s sending you one of his chastising looks as if saying, Don’t think so little of yourself, especially compared to me. He’s told you this a million times before, but you can’t help but wonder if you’re really the kind of person he says you are, if you’re someone that could ever come close to the kindest, pure-hearted human that he sees in his head. He’s just so special to your heart that you cannot imagine anyone outshining him, not even yourself. Is this how he feels about you, too?

“You are the most precious thing in the world to me,” Xiao says, his gaze softening when you finally manage to meet his eyes. “You’re my light in the never-ending darkness. My constant in an ever-changing world. And I would suffer with my karmic debt for the rest of eternity if it meant that I could spend the rest of my life with you.”

His sincerity hits you like cupid’s arrow straight to your heart. “D-Don’t say things like that,” you whisper, covering your hot face with your hands for a second time. 

“But I mean it.” Xiao tentatively a few steps towards you, carefully prying your hands away from your eyes. He doesn’t let go. Instead, he squeezes them once, taking in their comforting warmth. His eyes flitter up towards your own as he makes his vow. “I…I don’t know what I would do without you. You’ve given me happiness when all I’ve ever known is despair. You’ve shown me a world full of life and color. You’ve led me off a lonely path and into a place I can call home. [Name]...” He takes in a deep breath, mustering up the courage to finish what he needs to say. He squeezes your hands once more, and keeping his eyes trained on yours, he whispers his admission.

“I love you.”

His confession strikes a chord in your heart as the perfect answer finally falls on your lips. You tug him close, head pressed to his heart as you give him the words he's been waiting for.

“I love you, too, Xiao.”

Don’t you know what you mean to me?

As he holds you there, hands cradling your head, yours wrapped around his waist, the beating of his heart fills you with comfort. You feel the love radiating from him, and it’s so strong, so sure. It’s in his eyes, his expression, in the innermost parts of his soul. 

Don’t you know what you mean to me?

You lean your head against Xiao’s chest, closing your eyes and smiling.

“I think I’m starting to.”

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #xiao #xiao x reader #this is so badddd usadjsdl PERFECTIONISMMMM #claudemblems writes

[danceswithsporks]

Awake- Part 1

Crosshair X Innkeeper!reader

** Not Canon to Season 3 **

Part 3 of the Complete Series

Story summary: Crosshair has seen both sides of the board when it comes to finding his place in a changing galaxy. Now that he knows the truth and is a free man, will he be able to adjust? Or will he need the guiding light of an innkeeper?

Authors notes: Well here we are! Part 3 of the Complete Series! Excited and nervous to get into Crosshairs story during all of this! So sorry for the long wait between Calm and Awake, but I truly hope this was worth the wait and you all enjoy the story!!

Awake, you loved being awake this early. The sun was just barely cresting above the horizon and coating the sea in a soft orange hue. The moon yos were still asleep as was the rest of the island. Your fingernails tapped against the ceramic of your mug filled with warm delicious caf as you watched fishermen leave their homes and make their way down the island to their boats. Your inn was currently empty, the Empire’s new rules and regulations making traveling more difficult for everyone. Once the sun came up you’d get a few islanders coming in for a meal but other than that it was just you in your big seven-room inn. 

One of those rooms was your private apartment, set up to have everything you’d need without having to go out into your inn. The other six rooms were basic and held the essentials. A bed, a desk and chair, a dresser and a lamp. You also had a dining room with four different tables, a common area that housed a warm fireplace, a kitchen in which you did all your group cooking, and the patio that you were currently standing on. Usually, you'd take your morning caf in your apartment but with no one around you’d decided to take the opportunity to just enjoy your inn to the fullest. 

You watched as one of the clones who’d taken up residence at the top of the island walked by you. Wrecker, that was his name. The fishermen loved having him around to help with the ships and the day's catch. Your friend, Stitches, simply loved him. Even if she wouldn’t admit it yet. Two others arrived with him, his brothers Tech and Hunter. Your other dear friend, Chai, had feelings for Tech. You envied both women, finally finding the ones that warmed their hearts. Tech had saved Chai’s life a few months prior when a tsunami had hit your island and in turn, a bond had been formed. From what she told you about the clone, he had some kind of feelings for her as well. Both of them couldn’t see it yet, but you could. As for Stitches and Wrecker, well some kind of interaction had happened between the two of them on the same night of the tsunami making the two of them develop feelings for one another. For both parties, it seemed things had only escalated since then. 

The leader of the group of clones, Hunter, nodded to you as he walked by your patio and down the path toward the docks. You didn’t know too much about him, only that he kept to himself for the most part. From what Stitches told you, he cared only for the safety of his brothers and their sister Omega.  Omega, an odd little girl with a heart of pure gold. She’d joined Stitches on one of her visits to your inn a few weeks ago. She’d been intensely interested in the ins and outs of an inn and how it all worked as well as the customers you’d had. Mainly if any bounty hunters had stayed with you. The truth was that you didn’t know if you’d had any bounty hunters as customers. You tended to avoid delving too deep into your customers' personal lives unless they became regular. Which was very far and few between. 

Stitches had mentioned to you that two other members of their group weren’t around, Crosshair and Echo. Both had left on their own and while Omega talked your ear off about Echo when she’d visited, she hadn’t mentioned Crosshair at all. You wondered what had happened there. The first foghorn of the morning rang out across the island as the first of the ships left the docks and the thoughts of the clone brothers and sister quickly left your mind. Soon your regulars from the island would be stopping in for breakfast, it was time to get to work. 

-*-

“CT- 9904 it is time to awaken.” Emerie stared into the cell of the clone who’d stunned her over a week ago. His mood had decreased exponentially after his escape attempt. No doubt a result of the neurotoxin Hemlock used. 

Crosshair reluctantly opened his eyes and stared at the bright light in his cell. “What now?”  He was tired of these constant tests. 

“Your message has been decoded. Doctor Hemlock has questions for you.” She tapped at her datapad a few times before nodding to the two guards with her. “Bring him to interrogation room eight.” 

A long sigh left Crosshair as he sat up and extended his wrists for the restraints that would be coming. “What, rooms one through seven are too busy?” 

Emerie ignored the snarky comment and turned to step out of the way of the guards. Crosshair reluctantly walked by her with his hands in front of him. The walk to the interrogation room was silent save for the sound of droids moving by them and the cries of the clones who’d lost their minds. Emerie found she held no sympathy for the clones in these cells. They were traitors to the Empire and thus would be treated as such.  If only they’d submit to the reprogramming that was offered to them, their lives would become so much easier. 

The door to the room opened with a hiss making the medical droid within turn towards them. It hovered with a tray of supplies momentarily before placing them down and moving to the side of the room. “On the table. Strap him down.” Her eyes never moved from her datapad as she spoke. 

“Do whatever you want. I have nothing to share with you.” He wouldn’t crack, he wouldn’t waiver. He’d tell them nothing even if it meant his death. Crosshair had made a lot of mistakes in the last year. Choosing not to completely rat his siblings out was not one of them. If the Empire knew even a fraction of what he knew when it came to clone force ninety-nine and how they worked then they’d have been found a lot sooner. But Crosshair was nothing if not loyal to his brothers at the end of the day. Sure. He’d hunted them down in the beginning to get the girl back but his eyes had been opened after Kamino. He only regretted that it took his mission with Mayday to fully see how worthless he was to the Empire. 

Mayday, the clone who didn’t deserve to die. Crosshair found himself thinking about him a lot these days. How he could have protected the man and saved him? How they could have survived that avalanche better and found help somewhere else. So many variables that he thought about constantly. The sound of the restraints on the table drew his attention as he was secured to the cold metal. Emerie moved next to him and stared for a moment. “What?” 

She didn’t care for this clone, he was a traitor, not her brother. A traitor. “Give us the information he requires and make this easier for yourself, CT-9904.” Make it easier on them both. “Where is the clone named Omega?” 

“I don’t know.” Hissed Crosshair while eyeing the large needle on the tray nearby. No doubt the same mixture from the last time he was here. Knowing Hemlock though, it was more potent. 

Glasses were adjusted as Emerie suppressed a sigh before continuing. “Ct-9904, you sent an encrypted message containing the phrase ‘Plan eighty-eight’. What does that mean?” 

Crosshair hissed as the needle punctured his neck and the solution was injected into him. The chemical burned in his veins. “You figure it out.” He wouldn’t give them up. No matter how much this hurts.

“How do you know how to contact them?” She tapped at her datapad and the restraints around his wrist began to hum as electricity prepared to course through them. “How do you contact the clone unit known as Clone Force ninety-nine?” 

The sting of the electricity around his wrists made Crosshair tense. He could survive this. This was nothing compared to the sting of betrayal if he gave up his brothers. “I. Don’t. Know.”  

This would be a long interrogation at this rate. Emerie sighed. “Think for yourself, CT-9904. You can stop all of this right now if you give me the information I want. To show she was serious, she reached to the table and held up a small vial. “I have the antidote to the neurotoxin racing through your veins.” She tapped her datapad and lowered the electricity power. “Take a moment to think, Crosshair.” 

His eyes shifted to stare at her as she used his name. It was the first time he’d heard it in months aside from hearing himself say it or in his dreams. It had to be a trick. What was her angle? She moved the vial of antidote side to side for him to see, the liquid within moving in unison and drawing him in. Relief was right there, all he had to do was answer a question.

-*-

“Crosshair, please.” Gentle hands cupped his face as pure eyes stared into his. “Open up to me? Let me know the real you.”

“You couldn’t begin to understand what I’ve been through.” Crosshair tried to pull away from the hands but found himself stopped.

“ Let me try, sniper. Let me be the one to listen to you and know you. Let me love you.” She cooed sweetly to him while stepping forward and pressing her body against his. “Let me be yours, Cross.”

“Cross. CROSSHAIR” 

Crosshair groggily opened his eyes and looked towards the sound of someone saying his name. His name? Looking at the door to his cell, he saw blonde locs and young brown eyes staring at him. No. Why was she here? “Kid?” He sat up quickly and moved to the door. 

“Crosshair. You’re ok!” She looked over her shoulder quickly before looking back to the clone. “I don’t have a lot of time. I’m just glad to see you’re ok.” 

“What are you doing here?” Were they here to rescue him? 

“Hemlock found us and threatened the others. I gave myself up to protect them.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, instead opting to stare at her feet.

Now that she mentioned it, he could see the prisoner's uniform on her. “What!” He hissed loudly. Hemlock had found them? Had threatened Tech, Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo? A fury burned inside the sniper at her words. He’d strangle Hemlock the moment he could. But wait. “How are you here?” 

“Hemlock is letting Nala Se use me as an assistant like before.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a ration bar. Carefully she slid it through the slot designed for food on the door to the clone. “I heard they don’t feed you guys enough. Take mine.” She didn’t like the taste of rations anyway.

Crosshair carefully took the ration stick and placed it on the floor next to him. “You can’t come back here Omega. Ya need to think about yourself.” If they found her here talking to him. 

“Omega.” A familiar voice cut through the space. “You should not be down here.” 

Crosshair glared at Emerie as she walked down the hall to them both. “Leave her alone. She was just leaving.” 

“It is not wise for you to be down here. We must go before you are discovered.” Emerie placed her hand on the shoulder of Omega. She ignored Crosshair. 

“Wait. I need to tell him something.” Omega felt herself turned away from Crosshair and prepared to walk. She needed him to hear this from her and not someone else. 

Emerie looked down the hall for any sign of guards or Hemlock. “I will relay the message to you later. We must go.” 

“Go, Kid.” Why was Emerie being so protective over her? He thought back to the interrogation room two weeks prior. She was kind to him then as well. What was going on? 

Omega looked over her shoulder towards Crosshair and nodded. She trusted Emerie to tell Crosshair about Tech. Maybe she’d get lucky and run into him in the clinic and she could tell him then. It just needed to be her. She wiggled out of Emerie’s touch and ran to the cell door, her fingers gripping the metal. “I’ll be back.” 

Crosshair shook his head while Emerie watched them. He didn’t trust her. “Don’t come back.” He didn’t intend for the words to be so harsh but she needed to not come back here. She needed to focus on herself. Pulling his hands away from the door, he stood and walked to the bed. 

“Come, Omega. We must be going.” Emerie gestured for Omega to start walking and the girl finally obliged. She wondered what was so important for the child to tell CT-9904. Whatever it was she’d pass the information along. If only to help the girl trust her more. Out of all the people who deserved to be here, the child was not one of them. 

Nodding solemnly, Omega pulled away from the door and walked away from Crosshair. She wouldn’t listen to him, she’d come back and see him as often as she could. 

-*-

It would be nearly two weeks before Crosshair saw Omega again. Two long weeks of uncertainty and upset. It hadn’t been Emerie who’d told him about Tech. He hadn’t seen the woman in days. No, it had been Hemlock. The asshole had told him while getting ready to torture him again.

“I’ve heard your sister has been to see you. A good reunion?” Hemlock stepped around the table that Crosshair was strapped to. The doctor had taken a liking to testing his latest creations on the clone in hopes of breaking him finally.

Crosshair twitched on the table but continued his refusal to answer. “Where. Is. Omega?” He hadn’t seen her in four days since she’d first come to see him. In all honesty, he’d expected she wouldn’t have given up so easily when it came to seeing him. The fact it had been so long had surprised him.

”Omega is on restricted privileges right now. Far too many attempts to visit you and other clones.” Sighing, he walked around the table while tapping his fingers on the metal. “Nonetheless, she will acclimate to our ways here and be given back her privileges in time. That the ways of the Empire are here to help you. Not restrict you.” He stopped next to Crosshair's head and leaned down. “While there’s still hope for CT-9901 and CT-9903 to understand this I’m afraid CT-9902 will not be able to.” Crosshair's eyes shifted to him, catching the man’s attention. “Ah, you didn’t know? Omega failed to tell you?” Hemlock pulled away from Crosshair while clicking his tongue against his teeth a few times. “Tsk tsk tsk. She should have told her brother that his twin was dead.”

No. Tech couldn’t be dead. The batch was indestructible. They’d survived Kamino being destroyed with them inside of it. Surely Tech could have survived whatever Hemlock had done. His eyes stared daggers into Hemlock's skin. He didn’t believe him.

Hemlock chuckled deeply as he stepped over to the syringe waiting on the medical tray. “You don’t believe me? A shame. I have no reason to lie to you.” Holding the needle up, he tapped it a few times to remove the air bubbles before returning to Crosshair. “Help me find clone force ninety-nine and I’ll allow you to see Omega.”  He watched as Crosshair turned his head away from him and stared at the ceiling. “All I am trying to do is show them the benefits of working for the Empire rather than against it. With your help, you, your brothers, and your sister could earn the life you want. Instead of them being on the run.” The syringe was held up for the restricted clone to see. “So I’ll ask again, CT-9904. Where is Clone Force ninety-nine currently hiding?”

Letting them go so easily after taking Omega had been a mistake. He needed them and their desirable mutations when it came to his dark trooper program. But he was desperate for the young clone to be returned to get Nala Se to work. The Kaminoan had refused to do any work until the girl had been retrieved thus putting them behind schedule to an almost concerning point. It wasn’t until he returned and looked at the latest numbers in the program did he realize the abilities of Clone Force Ninety-Nine would be useful to him. He had CT-9904 and though he hadn’t turned yet, he would at some point. They all cracked eventually. When he did then Hemlock would be able to use his superior sniper skills to train his dark troopers. “Help me to help you.”

Crosshair could still remember the pain from that night. Hemlock's concoctions were becoming more potent. He shifted in his bed while wincing at the pain in his arm. The day prior another clone had tried to free the others and pull off a prison break. Crosshair had been foolish enough to try and join in an attempt to find Omega. The clone who’d led the prison break had been killed on sight and the rest of them punished. His punishment? His dominant arm was broken. 

The guard who’d broken his arm had spoken to him briefly while returning him to his cell. “Even if you did escape you’d be useless as a sniper now. Is there a reason for you to escape?” Those words had cut deep for the sniper.

His arm had been placed in a sling to slowly heal as opposed to him being placed in a bacta chamber. A feeling that Crosshair found painfully uncomfortable, a constant reminder of what happened when you tried to flee the mountain. No one left Tantis. Not alive at least. 

“Crosshair!”

Omega’s voice surprised Crosshair and he visibly jumped. “Omega. What are you doing here?”  How did she get out of her cell?

“Nala Se let me out. Something is about to happen, I don’t have much time but be prepared.” Omega looked over her shoulder before looking back to Crosshair. Her eyes caught sight of the sling and she frowned. So he had been punished during the last prison break as well. 

“What are you talking about? No one would be foolish enough to try and break out after the last attempt.” It had just happened, no one would be dumb enough to try again. He didn’t bother moving from the bed this time, instead opting to lie down and simply listen to the girl. 

“Nala Se got a message out. Plan thirty-seven.” A noise behind her drew her attention for a moment. It wouldn’t be Emerie this time. Not after the clone had raised concerns about the amount of testing going on with Omega. Nor after Emerie tried to help Omega escape a week ago. Omega hadn’t seen Emerie since then and Hemlock told her she wouldn’t. Hemlock had Emerie disposed of after it was clear the woman was no longer under his control. It seemed he wouldn’t keep anything from the girl. “I can’t stay long.”

Plan thirty-seven. Coordinated attacks from both inside and outside with trust in the information. The only problem was that they didn’t know when it would happen. “This place is nearly impenetrable. Don’t be a fool and believe they’re coming, Omega.” 

She looked back at the defeated clone and shook her head quickly. “They’re coming. We just need to be ready.” The noise echoed through the halls once more and she moved away from the door. “I need to go. Be. Ready.” 

Before Crosshair could say anything back, she was gone. Crosshair let out a long sigh as he closed his eyes. The poor girl was about to have her heart broken. There was no way that the batch would be able to survive an assault on Tantis.

 It would be foolish to dream as such. 

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#clone wars fic #the bad batch fic #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x you #tbb crosshair #crosshairs bad batch #the bad batch crosshair #Spotify

[flowerandblood]

Song from the Sea (5) (End)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Greyjoy! • fem! oc!reader]

[warnings: mention of sex, fluff]

[description: Aemond and Aegon arrive in the Iron Islands, to confirm the arrangements made years ago and the marriage of Lord Greyjoy's daughter to Aemond. (Anon Request) During a break on a long journey, at one of the taverns Aegon drags him to, Aemond meets a woman, who will change his life forever. (Anon Request) Smut, angst, sexual tension, domination.]

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

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Aemond tossed and turned throughout the night, waking and falling into a deep, restless sleep alternately. He wasn't used to having someone lying so close to him, pressed against his body, her intense scent arousing him, and not letting him fall asleep in peace.

Once in a while, he would open his eye, to see her relaxed face, dreaming peacefully, her partially exposed breasts rising and falling steadily.

There was something reassuring about the sight, the sense, that this could be their life. He did not expect, that his future wife would be able to arouse his desire. That he'll like, what he sees in front of him. Looking at her now, he no longer felt anger or frustration. He closed his eye, trying to fall asleep again.

Deep sleep came only in the morning, when the sun was slowly rising. He heard the sailors already running around the ship above them. He muttered, trying not to focus on their loud screams, burying his face in her hair, hugging her back slightly.

He heard her slowly start to rise. His hand tightened on her nightgown, when he made a long growl from his chest, clearly dissatisfied. He heard her smile at the sound.

"I have to go up. The captain needs me." She said softly, he could feel her looking at him.

"Tell him, that you'll spend the morning with your husband." He hummed low, half asleep.

It took him a moment to open his eye, swallowing hard, feeling a cold sweat on his back, realizing, what he had just said. He heard her shift uneasily in her seat, surprised.

"I can't. Husband." She whispered the last words in such a way, that heat ran through his body. Embarrassed by his appearance, he didn't respond to her words and released her, turning his back on her.

"I'll be up soon." He spoke low, impassive. He shivered as her hand gently stroked his back.

"All right." She said softly and stood up, quietly opening the door and closing it behind her.

Only then did he turn onto his back and rub his hand across his face. After what they'd done, what they'd said to each other, he had to remind himself, that they were only engaged. He shouldn't talk to her like that, much less fuck her. He sighed heavily, knowing, that he wouldn't fall asleep again.

He came out on deck after a few minutes. He saw with surprise, that the sky was cloudless, the sun shining on the horizon, rising slowly, the sea calm around them. He saw Lady Greyjoy, talking quickly about something with the other man, who had accompanied her to the inn at the time, bald and all tattooed, an earring in his ear.

When they saw him, they stopped talking, and he felt uneasy at the thought. He wondered, if they were talking about him and turned away, pressing his lips together. It made him sick to think, that she might have told someone, about what they were doing.

She approached him slowly, her hair partly pinned back, blowing in the light breeze. Her expression, unlike his, was gentle and calm. She even smiled at him, keeping some distance from him, remembering good manners.

"We will have breakfast together with the captain, if you will allow it, my prince." She said contentedly.

My prince. Not my husband.

He thought of her, moaning the words again and again, as he fucked her. As if she wanted to get used to the sound of these words on her tongue, to disenchant them, so that they would not associate her with coercion and betrayal of her father, but with pleasure.

He nodded at her words and they both went to the captain's cabin.

Captain Seray's room was much larger than his. There was a table in the middle, on which were spread out maps, goblets, rum bottles and books. Everything in the room seemed to be arranged chaotically and without order. He saw, that there were also metal plates and tankards, in bowls pickled cucumbers, herrings, cabbage and other dishes, that had no right to spoil at sea.

Captain Seray stood up, reaching out to them, kissing Lady Greyjoy on the cheek. He didn't dare touch Aemond, only nodded at him, inviting him to the table with his hand, his expression good-natured and coarse. He sat down heavily, on the other side of the table, placing his hands on his rather large stomach, reaching for a large jug of wine.

"We're not going to drink rum for breakfast!" He laughed low, pouring himself a cup full. Aemond stared at it blankly, trying not to show his embarrassment.

Lady Greyjoy rose, taking the pitcher from the captain, pouring herself some wine, but much less than him. She handed it to him, and he looked at her, surprised. The captain laughed at his expression.

"No one will serve you here, my prince." He said gently.

Aemond gritted his teeth, as he took the jug from her and poured himself more wine, than usual. He figured, that if he was going to get through this breakfast without offending anyone, he needed more alcohol. He set the pitcher down on the table with a loud noise, and Lady Greyjoy and the captain exchanged a knowing glance across the table.

The captain helped himself to a few herrings and easily tore a large loaf of bread, immediately stuffing a piece into his mouth. He had enough tact to swallow what he ate first, and then speak. He washed down his mouthful with a great bow of wine and set his goblet down on the table, sighing contentedly.

"How did you sleep, my prince? I hope you didn't suffer any inconvenience." He said, wiping his white mustache and beard from the last drops of wine. Aemond stared at him impassively. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Lady Greyjoy had put a few things on her plate and decided he would take the same as hers.

"Very well, thank you." He said matter-of-factly, taking a piece of dried ham into his mouth. It was terribly salty, but upon further reflection, he found it surprisingly tasty.

“Your wife-to-be has never given up her cabin to anyone else. It's been hers since she was eight." Said Captain Seray, amused, Lady Greyjoy laughed lightly at his words as she continued eating. “She snuck onto my ship under the cover of night. By the time we discovered she was on board, we were too far from the Iron Islands to turn back."

He thought, glancing at her thoughtfully, that he had been little older than her, when he had snuck out of the palace after Laena Velaryon's death, to tame Vhagar. The first time he mounted her great back, he felt the wind in his hair and the blood rushing through his veins, as she flew high in the air. He lowered his gaze at the thought, that he was taking everything she loved from her.

"Tomorrow we will reach the port, where we are to pick up the goods, after which we will return to the Iron Islands." He continued, and Lady Greyjoy pursed her lips, looking down, swallowing silently the bite, that she had just taken into her mouth.

When they left the captain's cabin, they hardly spoke to each other. His wife commanded part of the crew and kept the course on track, and he wasn't going to disturb her, recognizing, that since it was her last voyage, he will let her use it, as she wished. He went below deck and delved into the book, that he had started reading the day before. Once in a while, though, he would break away from her, to glance out the small window.

He wondered, how she would find herself in King's Landing. It worried him more and more, that her role and what was expected of her, might overwhelm her. She was a traveler, a free spirit, not a lark in a gilded cage like most of the ladies, that he knew. He was afraid, that in confinement, she would slowly wither and die. He thought that, in fact, she would have no one there, but him.

She spent the next nights in his cabin, in his bed. Even though they didn't talk all day, it was only when she lay naked beneath him, that she moaned sweetly words, that made him hot, all he wanted to hear. She called him her husband, her dragon, her king, driving him crazy, making his fingers clench tighter around her sticky, hot body.

Each time he came deep inside her. He thought, that he wouldn't be surprised, if she found out, that she was already bearing his child. The thought of his offspring in her womb filled him with pride. He wondered, what kind of mother she would be and what kind of father he would be. He pursed his lips at the thought, that she might die in childbirth, the first wife of his father.

She let him fall asleep, with his face pressed against her chest. She wrapped her arms around his head, enclosing him in the warm, secure embrace of her body. She would stroke his hair then, humming a calm, nautical tune, and he, to his own surprise, fell asleep almost immediately, waking up only in the morning.

He saw a change in her demeanor on the last day of their journey. She left his cabin before he woke up. At breakfast she was pale and didn't speak much, locked up in her own world. He thought, that he felt sorry for her, but he couldn't find any words of comfort for her. When she saw the Iron Islands on the horizon, she turned her head and went below without a word.

As they moored to shore, he saw out of the corner of his eye, that Captain Seray walk over to her, taking her hands in his. He gave her his compass, speaking quickly, and she burst into soft sobs. Several other men came up to her, embracing her, apparently saying goodbye. Aemond looked down, knowing, that he was the cause of it all, but he couldn't help it.

He invited her to come with him to King's Landing on Vhagar, but she refused. She preferred to go on a ship, to look at the sea. He was disappointed by her answer, but he understood and respected her decision. He bid her a courteous farewell, knowing, that he wouldn't see her for weeks.

When Aemond returned to the Red Keep, he couldn't find himself. A few days on the ship had completely changed him, making local gossip, fawning lying lords and chattering ladies more irritating, than usual. He felt like an actor in a theater, feeling, that nothing around him was real. He thought, surprised, that he wished she had come sooner, than planned.

Even though he didn't have to, he had been waiting for her at the dock with Ser Criston on the day she arrived. Ser Criston had tried to question him about his future wife, as had his mother, but they had gotten no response from him. He didn't want to talk to them about it.

He felt his heart beat faster, when he saw her. She wore an ornate, black coat and long, black pants, her hair braided back in a fancier hairstyle than usual. She walked slowly down the plank to the shore, looking at her husband uncertainly. He saw, that she was pale. That she's afraid. His chest tightened at the thought.

"My Lady." He spoke low and bowed his head slightly, as did Criston.

"My prince." She said softly, lowering her eyes, as she bowed to him. He thought, that he didn't recognize her. That her fire was slowly fading before his eyes.

The three rode on horseback towards the Red Keep, crowds of curious onlookers flocked to see her. She heard their whispers and cries, some praising her father, others calling him a traitor and a self-proclaimed king.

She looked down at the insults, Aemond looking at her out of the corner of his eye. When they reached the keep, Lady Greyjoy dismounted with an easy, light movement, not even waiting for someone to come to her aid. Aemond smiled at the sight.

"This way, my lady." He said calmly, motioning with his head for her to follow him.

They passed the corridors and cloisters of the Red Keep, filled with lords and ladies waiting to see her. To see if the legends of the bearded, huge, muscular Iron Women are true.

He saw the disappointed looks of the daughters of the great lords, as they saw, that she looked completely normal, and moreover, her face, body and hair looked pleasant, to say the least.

In accordance with the wishes of his parents, he brought her to them first. The king could barely get up, so he just sat, but the queen got up as soon, as she saw them, spreading her arms in front of the terrified girl, embracing her tightly.

"My sweet girl. It's wonderful, that you managed to arrive. I hope, that your journey went smoothly." She said, letting go of her. Lady Greyjoy nodded, trying to smile.

"Thank you, my queen. Yes, the trip was very pleasant.” She said softly, her hands clasped in front of her, her face pale. The queen motioned for two girls, who were standing by the wall, to come over to her.

“These are Lena and Anya, your servants. They will be at your call and will show you your chamber. All your belongings is waiting for you there. I also gave you some new gowns, that I hope, you will like.”

Lady Greyjoy nodded quickly, swallowing hard, as she glanced uneasily at the two young girls in front of her. Aemond knew, that she understood immediately, that they would be reporting her every move to the queen, but neither he nor she could do anything about it.

She had been put in a cage, his mother had just turned the key in it and had it in her pocket. Whether she wanted it or not, his future wife was no longer a free.

She didn't even glance at him, as she left with her servants. His mother came over to him, clearly pleased, smiling warmly.

"She's a good, humble girl. I heard the Iron Women don't wear any gold or silver jewelry. I think it's wonderful, that you're going to marry a girl, who doesn't care about worldly things or wealth." She said, clearly pleased, stroking his shoulder, as if to comfort him. Aemond only grunted, lost in his own thoughts, and left their chamber with slow, lazy steps.

He didn't know, what to do with himself. He wanted to go and talk to her, but he didn't know about what. There was nothing to add.

He knew, that she was distraught, that her golden cage was breaking her strong spirit more, than any of his biting words. He thought, that the sooner he came to terms with the new situation, the better for her.

He returned to his chamber, sitting in an armchair in front of his fireplace, tired and discouraged. The thought of marrying her didn't scare him that much anymore. What terrified him more, was the thought of her becoming a living spirit, a dragon, locked for eternity in a dragon pit.

He flinched, as he heard a soft knock on his room. He lowered his hand, that had been stroking his chin, resting it loosely on his armrest.

"Come in." He spoke dryly and loudly, without emotion.

He felt his heart beat harder in his chest, as Lady Greyjoy stepped inside, closing the door quickly behind her. He stared at her, shocked. They both knew, she shouldn't have come to him, that the Red Keep wasn't the Iron Islands, and that any intimacy between them was only allowed, after they were married in the sept.

He couldn't get the words out.

She was dressed in a King's Landing gown, a flowing, yellow dress, that went perfectly with her dark hair and golden eyes, accentuating the soft, pale undertone of her skin. Her hair was partly combed back in a bun. He thought, that she looked surprisingly delicate and beautiful.

He swallowed hard, as she covered her mouth and burst into sobs. He stared at her in pain, breathing heavily, knowing, what had broken her.

It wasn't her.

They dressed her up like a doll.

He got up slowly, with a loud creaking of the wooden armchair and walked over to her, looking at her with an effort of indifference. He nonchalantly wiped a tear from her cheek, looking at her with a stony face.

"You are Iron Woman. Pull yourself together. Give them what they want. Play and pretend." He said calmly, low.

She inhaled sharply, her chest heaving uneasily. She swallowed hard, looking at him with eyes, that made him hot.

"Do you want me to pretend in front of you too, husband?" She asked, hearing the word sent shivers down his spine. His thumb pressed against her lower lip and parted it slightly, revealing her fleshy, wet surface.

“Never.”

_____

I decided to end here because from the beginning I wanted it to be a mini-series. I think it leaves a pleasantly open ending with the knowledge, that both of them will support each other in these difficult times for her. 😌

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol

Others: @fantasias-creativebubble @dc-marvel-girl96

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell fanfic #aemond fluff #aemond one eye #house of the dragon aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #fluttershy #aemond targaryen fluff #hotd fluff #aemond x original character #aemond x wife reader #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond the kinslayer #aemond fandom #house of the dragon #hotd fanfiction #hotd fic #ewan mitchell fluff #ewan mitchell smut

[cherrielip]

lemon lollipops and salt

pairing: tom grant x fem!reader

summary: when a misterious girl comes to Cornwall Tom’s life turns upside down and her, frankly, too. maybe, just maybe, Tom hopes he could be happy this time…

warning: this part is minors safe but be aware that next one won’t be! technically this part could be read as a separate piece.

re blog if you like the story, that’d make me happy :)

Tom closed his eyes, lips curling into a Cheshire cat-like smile. He leans back, the coolness of the pub stone wall feels pleasant on his heated skin. He hears the crackles of ice in his Gin & Tonic. Something he’d never normally choose over a pint but today he felt rebellious. Taking a sip, he feels his mouth explode into millions of stars as the drink slides over his tongue. The lime bites his tastebuds. Tom cautiously opens one eye to peer around the crowded room. The pub is warm and dimly lit, buzzing like a beehive with the sound of conversation, laughter, glasses clinking and slow indie songs rolling off the speakers. Outside, it’s still boiling hot, the passersby hold onto their cold drinks, surfboards and towels as the heatwave refuses to leave Cornwall.

Inside, it smells of cigarettes and well-worn aged wood. The air is heavy. It makes the soft curls at his nape stick to the skin. It’s a rare occasion for Tom to have a day off. The hot summer temperatures are in full swing and it's hard to get out of bed in the morning. Tom Grant never thought of himself as a lucky guy. Just a regular Cornish lad with a tedious summer job at the beach inn. But he grew to love the place over time even with the lingering memories of Ruth that he could still taste at the tip of his tongue.

Tonight he doesn’t dwell on it too long as he sees you coming back from the bathroom. It is still a mystery to him how just the sight of this girl makes his edges soften and a tight knot appear in his belly. Tom takes another sip of his G & T, feeling the bubbles roll between his lips causing a prickle in his mouth. He is lost in thought, considering how he doesn't like mysteries. But you are a mystery and he chuckles at how cheesy his thoughts are.

The first time he notices you the sun is set high up on the horizon. The waves crashing against the rocks like a thunderstorm. The salty sea air is warm and humid to Tom’s nose as he folds his arms on top of his head to shield himself from the sun to get a better look at this stranger girl.

Ripped denim hangs low on your hips exposing a sliver of skin just under your striped tank top. He reckons no one actually wears such jeans anymore. Is it still 2003? Or maybe Earth made a full circle back and he didn’t care enough to notice. Your feet in dirty Vans stumbled over a trailer step, a suitcase falling over. Somehow Tom can’t help himself but chuckle softly when your glossy lips mutter ‘shite’.

He stares at his own well-worn Vans, hands in pockets when he gathers enough courage to crack a joke (which is not funny at all, but hey, he at least tries).

‘Happens to me all the time’ he squints his eyes from a bright sun.

You give him a side-eye and laugh. Suddenly he finds himself helpless. He feels lost in the face of feeling that somebody finds him funny. He watches as your lips, delicate pink and inviting, curl into a smile.

‘Yeah, right?’ your voice is bright and sickling sweet like honey on his morning toast.

Fuck him.

Later he curses himself for not actually helping you with that bloody suitcase.

Next days his mind wonders to you more than he’d like. Tom thinks that he probably is going crazy, he’s overreacting. For sure. Love and touch starved that’s what it is. But Christ he can’t help himself but hope to see you again. And again.

On a Tuesday evening, he readies himself to go back, surfboard tucked under his arm, towel hanging over his neck. Tom freezes when you walk out of the water, body slick with salty droplets. Your skin glistens under the rays of the setting sun and fuck, there is so much skin for him to see. It might be lulling rush of the waves sounding like an angel's wings. Or the glimmering sun that kisses the skin in the most secret places where your bikini hugs your body but he’s dumbstruck and doesn’t realise you had spoken to him, waving a hand at him.

That’s when he learns your name. He rolls it on his tongue as if to taste how it sounds when he says it.

It sounds good. Heavenly.

His voice quivers just a tiny bit when you offer him your hand, eyes big and bright, smiling like that at him.

‘I’m Tom’

He squeezes your fingers between his and shivers. You’re hot to touch.

The next time he notices you, the night with its soft paws slowly comes down onto the resort covering the space around with a feather-like inky coloured veil. The air was filled with the laughter of people, smoke from the cigarettes floating around, intertwining with the salty ocean breeze. It felt as if clouds fell in love with the moon, roaming around the night sky that offered the best view of this starry canvas above sleepless tourists. You sat outside your trailer on a lounge chair, bare feet propped up on the little table. There’s an open bottle of beer and a book in your hand. A cigarette between those pretty lips. He almost dies when you smile at him. His feet carry himself to you on their own accord when you summon him.

He looks boyish and slightly flustered. You try to hide a smile feeling the tips of your ears burn. You hope he feels the same but your heart skips several beats and you can’t really think straight.

‘It’s a crime to be working on such a lovely evening’ you salute him with your beer bottle.

Tom mumbles something extremely dumb under his breath, trying to hide a blush that creeps up his face. Still, your giggles explode into laughter. Your smile could burn him from inside out and Christ, he would not mind being reduced to ash.

You laugh. You’re laughing at his stupid jokes and it makes his belly burn with earning heat. Tom thinks he’s a fucking creep eyeing you like a lemon lollipop on a sunny day but he can’t help himself staring at you.

Your voice is gentle, it is full of light and it reminds him of carefree childhood days. His chest swells and he’s afraid it’ll explode because fuck, he could just eat you up.

Oh, get a grip.

‘You want one?’ you point to a beer bottle and he only manages to nod.

You smile in response and it warms his cheek with a grin. You disappear inside your trailer.

He’s sitting opposite your lounge chair when you hand him his bottle.

‘Here you go, good sir’ fingers brushing against his.

He stumbles over his words, blushing profusely. ‘Thank you, my lady’

My lady.

When beer bottles are half empty your conversation drifts into discussing one another day, the unpredictable weather, and how good this beer is. You mention the documentary you saw recently on BBC and Tom shares his love for Paolo Nutini’s music. You both agree that the guy is a bloody genius.

Tom wonders if could this be any more perfect and can’t stop himself from remembering that day on the beach and your bikini.

He rambles about his favourite Nutini songs, you looking at him with those big, shiny wet eyes that make his heart flutter. That night he dreams of you.

So now when he sees your figure walk over to the bar he watches you intently.

You gather your hair, thick and dry from salty water, and secure it in a loose bun. You feel the droplet of sweat rolling down your nape, tickling the softest skin on your back. It disappears behind your summer dress, following the route of your spine. Daisies on your dress flutter as you walk, hugging your thighs with its silky touch.

He calls out for you.

And god, your name never sounded more perfect than now.

#tom grant (make up) #tom grant x reader #tom grant #make up 2019 #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #tom grant smut #tom grant x you #tom grant x fem reader #tom make up #joe quinn make up

[cannebady]

Also posted on AO3.

Ed's happy, really properly happy for maybe the first time in his life. It's like getting whiplash, honestly. It feels like seconds ago that he was watching Stede live out his pirate fantasy, experiencing it through tunnel vision. He'd been so sure, when he was watching a bunch of assholes pour liquor down Stede's throat at Spanish Jackie's, that it was the real beginning of the end, that he never really stopped to think what would happen if he asked Stede to stay.

Getting the Inn up and running has been a challenge. When he was coming up as Blackbeard, there'd been a roadmap for success written by the greats, a lifetime of misery to kindle the fire of his anger, and steady, ruthlessly pragmatic Izzy Hands to guide him. This time, he had only his ideas, Stede's indefatigable optimism, and the bittersweet memory of Izzy's, "Just be Ed," to shepherd him through.

Granted, that's quite a lot to go on really. Much more than most people get.

Their Inn by the Sea is open and operating relatively smoothly, and against all odds, Ed ends each night in his warm bed, with a full belly, entwined with the love of his life; and while he misses Izzy and the crew something fierce sometimes, he loves the life he and Stede have carved out for themselves.

That doesn't mean that he isn't stalked by the black dog these days. His black moods have been a tumultuous companion since childhood and no amount of warmth and food and orgasms are going to take it away entirely (though the Inn is always quite warm, and the food is excellent and the orgasms - those are next level).

Sometimes, in the small hours of the morning when sleep won't take him, the guilt and the night terrors and the self-hates start to overwhelm him. Stede is always willing to coax him through with soft touches and softer words, but Stede, who's proven to be quite the jack-of-all-trades when it comes to innkeeping, needs his rest and Ed needs to be able to bring himself back. He wants to be able to bring himself back. He wants to know that no matter what happens, he won't relapse into the Kraken.

So, when his skin starts to feel too small for the horrors his mind's held onto, Ed walks. He's come to know the beach like the back of his hand. He's explored caves and tide pools, knows all the best coves for fishing and where to find the most succulent crabs and shrimp, and on one memorable occasion, found a collection of bottles with something in them.

He'd had a nightmare, the morning he first found them. It was a recurring one, where he can stop watching Izzy die in his arms, but, to add insult to injury, instead of Richard Banes having pulled the trigger, he finds the gun in his own hand. So he goes and talks to Izzy (he kept him close, he thinks Izzy would forgiven him all things considered) and apologizes for the three-hundredth time that he didn't love him as good as he could've, and then he walks along the water line for hours. As the sun had started to peak over the horizon, he'd been about to turn back, looking forward to crawling back into bed and into Stede's arms in the home he's made for himself, but the sun glints off of the collection of bottles on the sand just right and Ed's drawn in like a moth to flame.

There's dozens of them and Ed first thinks that, maybe, he'd missed a bit of a shindig when he realizes that he recognizes those bottles.

Another memory, shrouded in soul-deep fear, kicks up as he recalls his knife in the shoulder of a British officer and his hand around another's neck while he read words of love and devotion to unlock his blocked up heart; finally rearranged him into a set of needs and wants and desires that fit.

Stede had said that he wrote him letters. Letters in bottles thrown into the sea, every morning. It would stand to reason that they'd end up here.

So now, when Ed's storm rolls in and he feels like he's being drawn under, he goes to this spot and selects a random bottle. Some letters contain Stede's hallmark flowery language as he pours his heart out to Ed in the months of their separation. Some are more lie diary entries with Ed as the intended audience, just Stede rambling about the things he did and the people he met. It's comforting to know that Stede thought of him so often (thought of him always).

Either way, it reminds Ed that even when he was at his worst, his most monstrous, someone was waiting for him. Even when he was in the gravy basket, arguing with himself about the pros and cons of life or death, someone was with him, wanted him, loved him anyway.

He doesn't tell Stede about the bottles, because he doesn't need to. He thinks, somehow, Stede knows (Stede also walks sometimes, it stands to reason he may have found the same spot and left it there for Ed - Stede would do that).

When Ed comes in with the dawn, smelling of salt and sea air and look a bit worse for the wear, and he curls up around the heart that lives outside of his body and breathes deep to remind himself of the here and now. On these mornings (or evenings - depression doesn't keep to a convenient schedule), Stede will blink his hazel eyes and give Ed a small smile, imbued with their specific brand of love, whisper, "Good morning, my love," and pull Ed right in. Like he belongs here. Like Stede carved out a space next to him in Ed's shape that's unmovable, permanent, ever-present.

After years of a half life, Ed Teach finally gets to be loved and gets to love in return. What a gift.

#ofmd #ofmd s2 spoilers #our flag means death #ofmd spoilers #ofmd s2 #edward teach #stede bonnet #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #izzy hands #ofmd season 2 #ofmd fic #my fic

[h3k3t]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖌𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙

❥ 𝕽𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉: ɴᴏ ❥ 𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪꜰ ɢᴏʀᴛᴀꜱʜ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴅᴍɪᴛ ʜᴇ ᴍɪꜱꜱᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴀʟʟꜱ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ʀᴏᴏᴍ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴠᴇɴᴛ ᴀʟʟ ʜɪꜱ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ. ❥ 𝕻𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: ᴇɴᴠᴇʀ ɢᴏʀᴛᴀꜱʜ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴅᴀʀᴋᴜʀɢᴇ // ᴇɴᴠᴇʀ ɢᴏʀᴛᴀꜱʜ x ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ❥ 𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: ​🇦​​🇳​​🇬​​🇸​​🇹​ ❥ 𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘/𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘: ɴᴏ ʙᴇᴛᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ (ꜱᴏʀʀʏ), ɪᴛᴀʟɪᴄɪᴢᴇᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴀɢʀᴀᴘʜꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ꜰʟᴀꜱʜʙᴀᴄᴋꜱ ᴀʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ ɪɴᴛᴀᴋᴇ, Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴀᴅ ɢᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛɪꜱꜱᴜᴇꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ɪɴᴛɪᴍɪᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ɢᴏʀᴛᴀꜱʜ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ

Night had fallen on the city of Baldur’s Gate, and though darkness now draped the sky, the narrow streets of the city began to light up with the stars: inns, small taverns where the modest workers went to spend an evening drinking a pint of cheap beer, playing dice with friends or getting lost among the breasts of some curvy whore; the windows of modest apartments, climbing in the stone and concrete structures of the city were open, an attentive ear could hear the screams and shouts of children, the sound of plates filling with boiling soup or falling into a thousand pieces on the floor followed by the angry barks of the mothers or the gasps of a clumsy young housewife. In the narrow blind alleys there were dull sounds of fists and moans of pain, smell of blood and piss, while a thief escapes with his dirty hands and a few piles of gold coins that he had just taken off the corpse of a corpulent squire whose name nobody will remember. This was the beating heart that beat alive in the city of Baldur’s Gate, life flowed and ceased with the speed of a breath, today you were there, tomorrow…only fate and the gods would know.

The door to a bedroom opened, slightly startling a couple of servants busy preparing the bed for the night. Their silent and tense gazes were aimed at the figure of their master, who simply said: "Out. I want to be alone" and that was enough to make them run away as fast as feathers in the wind. The man let out a long sigh, the last echoes in the corridors finally being silenced as he closed the door, his shoulders slumping, his stance becoming softer as he strode unhurriedly towards a dresser where he stood. a mirror. Enver Gortash looked in the mirror and with disappointment observed the reflection of his face: the portrait of tiredness, of a man who moved forward by inertia and pure survival instinct. It had never bothered him to surround himself with pompous and boring squires, organize meetings and, when necessary, parties or banquets to forge political and commercial alliances; No, Enver Gortash was a man who never took his eyes off his goals, and if he had to walk through shit, Gods, he would do it with his head held high and without looking anywhere else but towards the horizon. But in the last period something began to weigh him down, making the voices of his subordinates and his allies excessively loud and echoing while he held conversations, when instead it was only a strange buzz infesting his ears and then he sought comfort in the noise, and the cycle began again like this every day. The man had often found himself excessively disinterested, so much so that he wondered what the hell he had talked about for an entire hour with that nobody in front of him, realizing that he had simply observed them without any glimmer of attention. A weight was added to the inattention, initially metaphorical, then he would have sworn that at times he felt his heart becoming as heavy as armor and descending to the underworld, taking him back to the House of Hope…then he understood, he understood what was gripping him so much that weeks and Gods...Gods! The anger was so great that Bane's favorite follower had been tempted to blaspheme even against the same divinity that had raised him from the sea of mud and fire where he had lived, but in which in his adolescence he had learned the greatest pain and exhausting that can kill a man more than death itself: Loneliness.

The man clenched his jaw, while his calloused hands adorned with his gold gauntlets rested wide on the wooden and lacquered surface of the chest of drawer, a vain attempt to support himself and prevent his heart from falling into hell again that evening. He closed his eyes and lowered his head like a prisoner ready for the executioner's blade that would cut off his head, and with extreme punctuality the pain came, hitting him in the chest and then in the head filling it with a myriad of dangerous emotions: sadness, anger, pain, regret, remorse and then resentment and then anger again, and anger again, a blazing fire that squeezed his throat and then burned it, while his fingers closed into fists, scratching the chest of drawer with the tips of the golden claws…emotions all triggered by lack, and the lack was born from a feeling that Gortash was certain he had eradicated root and trunk from his soul: Love. And just as darkly as the clouds were blotting out the moonlight over Baldur's Gate, an almost primal scream escaped Gortash's mouth as he slammed his hand into the chest of drawers, and then with both he mowed away every piece of paper and object carefully placed on it, causing it to spill to the floor and every single noise to echo in that damned room that had now become too big and too empty for him. The man breathed deeply to suppress the beast within him, hidden by the layers of the mask he had created for years as he climbed the ranks of society. Lord Enver Gortash, a man of charisma and stubbornness, cunning and ruthless with those who were no more useful in the design of the great plan than him. No…the truth was that now he couldn't look at his real self in the mirror, the real him, the scared, lonely child he had always been and would be until he died. Enver Gortash was not afraid of hell, he had already been there; His greatest fear was being alone again now that he understood what it felt like to feel less different and twisted in those dangerous lands he now called home.

The man brought the thumb and forefinger of his right hand to the bridge of his contracted nose in a displeased expression, breathed again, and when he reopened his eyes he looked at the mess he had made around him, he sighed, disappointed in himself and his lack of control, but then he remembered that this was his room and no one other than him was present to observe and judge him. His dark tired eyes fell on a small metal object, hidden among the various fallen paperwork and the inkwell knocked over on the ground together with the pen. The invoice was recognizable to him at a glance, as he crouched down to take it and observe it with intensity. Crafted in his Steel Watch, what he held in his hand could have been mistaken for a high-class woman's elegant compact, sure, if one hadn't noticed the peculiar pair of buttons on the back of the object no smaller than the palm of his hand.

He watched it, watched it for what seemed like a good minute, then got up and took it with him as he sat down in one of the armchairs near the already lit fireplace. He prepared a full glass of his favorite liqueur, that night he needed it to be able to survive and gain a few hours of sleep in peace without voices in his head. He undid his shirt and carelessly threw his coat to the ground, while his gold gauntlets were abandoned on the same table where there was the crystal vial full of liquor and the glass half full. He took a deep sip, contracting the muscles of his face from the fire that ran down his esophagus into his stomach, and immediately felt the pain shooting through him slightly. His attention shifted again to the small object, a contraption, a prototype that he was working on, but he wasn't sure he would create a patent for it…it was still too crude, he always said. Yet he hadn't resisted that day, he was dying to show her, to share that silly little invention of his with the nearest and dearest. He took another sip, while with a long breath he closed his eyes trying to find the courage to press that button, while the memories of him assailed him. Without wanting to, he tightened his grip on the object, as if he was looking for a hand to help him save himself from that painful fall, but then his palm quickly extended, for fear of breaking even that thing which was so insignificant for him until a few weeks ago, but that now, for Gods' sake, he would kill someone with his bare hands if it broke.

He looked at it a little longer and licking his lips nervously, he cursed himself and before fear blocked him again he pushed one of the two buttons on the back of the device.

"ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴛʜᴀᴛ?" a female voice registered inside him, he said, while a distant mechanical noise made it clear that he was turning the object in his hands.

“ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴛʏᴘᴇ…ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ɴᴏɴꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʙᴜᴛ ᴡᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴠɪɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ” Gortash's voice echoed in the distance from that thing.

“ɪ ꜱᴇᴇ…” the female voice said confused, pretending to be impassive. There was a moment of silence. “ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ? ᴏʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴡᴇ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢ?"

Gortash smiled wistfully as he listened.

“ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ʀᴇᴄᴏʀᴅᴇʀ” he replied distantly, satisfied when she couldn't understand what her inventions were for and he had to explain them to her.

An amused laugh escaped the girl. “…ᴀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ?”

“ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ ᴏꜰ ᴜꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ, ʙᴏᴏᴋꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴɴᴀʟꜱ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ʙᴜʀɴᴇᴅ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛɪɴɢꜱ, ᴀ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ʟᴏꜱᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛɪɴɢꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴄᴜʟᴘᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ʀᴜɪɴᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʀᴀɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀᴅ ᴡᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ…” Gortash explained “ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ɪ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ ɪꜰ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪᴍᴘʀɪꜱᴏɴ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ'ꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ɪɴꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴀ ᴍᴀᴄʜɪɴᴇ. ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ"

There was another chuckle from the girl, this time in disbelief. “ɴᴏ...ɪᴛ'ꜱ…ɪᴛ'ꜱ ɪᴍᴘᴏꜱꜱɪʙʟᴇ” she said uncertainly.

"ᴏʜ…ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ᴏꜰ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜰᴀɪᴛʜ" Gortash said confidently. “ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɴᴏᴡ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ʀᴇᴄᴏʀᴅɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ…ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀʏ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇʀɪᴛʏ?” his tone was ironic and teasing, but the girl remained silent thinking about it.

“ᴜᴍ…ɪ ᴀᴍ ʙʜᴀᴀʟ'ꜱ ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇɴ. ʟᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʟᴛ ᴏꜰ ʙʜᴀᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ—” but she was interrupted by Gortash who seemed almost exasperated by her.

“ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴅꜱ, ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛᴇᴍᴘʟᴇ, ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴ ꜰʀᴏɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ʙʜᴀᴀʟ” he said but not reproachfully “ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡɪʟʟ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟꜱᴇ. ꜱᴏ ꜱᴀʏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɪɴꜱɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɢᴏᴇꜱ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅ" There was a moment of silence and then a sigh from the girl before speaking again.

“ɪ'ᴍ ʟᴀɴᴏʀ…ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʟᴀɴᴏʀ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ. ɪ'ᴍ ᴀ ʜᴀʟꜰ-ᴇʟꜰ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ʜᴀɪʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʀᴇᴅ ᴛɪᴘꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ" there was a laugh from both of them, a little embarrassed and then more spontaneous.

Gortash smiled wistfully in his chair. Lanor…His Lanor. Not even the most powerful curse or spell in all of Faerûn would make him forget the face of the woman for whom he would burn the whole world if necessary, and the only one in all his sad and turbulent existence who seemed to understand him, completely, having managed to slip with the same fluidity of a drop of water into the cracks of his adamantium armor and watered the arid field that had become his heart…if he had ever had one before.

“ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ? ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴇꜱᴛ?” his recorded voice asked.

“ᴏʜ ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟʟ, ᴇɴᴠᴇʀ. ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏʀᴅʟɪɴɢ ꜱᴘᴇᴇᴄʜᴇꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ…ɪ'ᴍ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴀʙᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ" the girl said, huffing impatiently.

“ᴏʜ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ…ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ” Gortash's voice came closer and there was what sounded like a kiss on the lips “ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴋɪʟʟ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ…” there was a moment of silence as if he had been holding back from saying something totally sinful “ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴀᴢᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍɪʟʏ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴜʟʟ ʙʟᴜᴇ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱʟᴏᴡʟʏ ꜱᴛᴀʙ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ. ᴀ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ"

“ɴᴏ…ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴀʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ” the girl said almost immediately “ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜ…ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ʙᴇ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ" she whispered and for a moment there was silence.

Gortash stared into space for a long moment and the pain didn't take long to arrive, like a dart in his chest, while he still remembered the taste of the half-elf's lips when she had kissed him with an almost disarming delicacy, compared to the many times in which he they were indulged in nasty and lustful nights, when they seemed to eat each other while exchanging kisses and caresses. He remembered her beautiful eyes, adorned with heavy dark crimson makeup, smeared just enough to make her look sensual and lethal, as if she had painted her pale face with the blood of her enemies. He remembered the calloused pad of his thumb caressing the contours of her colorless, chapped lips, engraved with some strange ritual scars with a runic and grotesque appearance. He remembered that strange glimmer of restlessness, in her usual impassive and fearless attitude, something that night was disturbing her…

Gortash took another large gulp of liquor, groaning at the instant burning in his throat, in a vain attempt to drown out his guilt. He turned the device back on, pushing the button, playing the recording a second time, as if he didn't want to remember what happened next.

"ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ?" “ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴛʏᴘᴇ…ᴀ ɴᴏɴꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴠɪɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ��� “ɪ ꜱᴇᴇ…ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ? ᴏʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴡᴇ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢ?"

But even as the man tried to escape his demons, the voices on the recording overlapped with those in his head.

“Do you really have to go?” Lanor asked, uncertainty mingling with her mask of callousness. Gortash didn't seem to get it.

“How eager…It's rare to see you so in need of my company, dearest” he said with an almost mocking chuckle, as he caressed her pale cheek with his golden knuckles, before heading to take his coat and place the device elsewhere. Lanor seemed really disappointed by that answer, but once again, Gortash was too busy to notice. "Unfortunately I just can't leave my guests alone, this evening is decisive, I may have the consent of one of the richest families in Baldur's Gate…If I succeed, my ascension will be imminent and the Ravengard will finally be out of the picture."

“…I see” she replied, biting the inside of her cheek, then sighed, her impassive, disinterested façade returning to her place. She would have to fend for herself like she always had, before she met Gortash.

“So, shall we meet up later? There are some things I would still like to…discuss with you,” Gortash said as he headed towards the exit. Lanor seemed lost in thought, she blinked several times and then turned to him and said: “Fine, don't be late”

Gortash tightened his hand around the mechanical object as he operated it a third time, closing his eyes, now red and irritated, perhaps from tears, perhaps from the heat of the fireplace, perhaps from the strong taste of the liquor…he no longer knew, his senses were becoming blurrier, his vision less clear, as he took another sip and restarted the recording for the third time.

"ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ?" “ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴛʏᴘᴇ…ᴀ ɴᴏɴꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴠɪɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ” “ɪ ꜱᴇᴇ…ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ? ᴏʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴡᴇ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢ?"… … … …

Lanor never arrived at Gortash's office, he waited until late at night for her, with a sad and confused grimace framing his slightly wrinkled and tired face. She was always on time, usually he was the one who was late… He thought that perhaps something had kept her in the Bhaal temple, after all she was the chosen one, surely there was a logical explanation for everything. They would meet in the morning, as usual, Lanor would come to him, as always, entering through the window like a stray cat, covered in blood perhaps, and her gaze full of adrenaline oxymorized by her detached and cold attitude. 

No, she didn't show up that morning either, nor the following morning, she had disappeared…as if she had never existed.

“ᴇɴᴠᴇʀ…” Lanor's voice echoed weakly and uncertainly from the mechanical contraption “…ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴍᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴀꜱᴛ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ɪ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴏɴ” there was a moment of hesitation and then a sigh:

“ꜱʜᴇ ɪꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴇɴᴠᴇʀ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ…ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴡᴀʟʟꜱ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ. ɪ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀʀɴ ʏᴏᴜ…ʜᴏᴘɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢʀᴀꜱᴘ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴɪɴɢ…ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʙᴜꜱʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀꜱᴄᴇɴᴛ ᴘʟᴀɴ.”

There was another silence, and for a moment it seemed as if Lanor was struggling to keep her voice steady, as if her fear were eating her, like a mouse knowing it had no escape.

“ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪғ ɪ'ʟʟ sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴇᴛʜɪs ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪғ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ sᴇᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ ᴋɪʟʟ ᴍᴇ. ₭łⱠⱠ ₥Ɇ ł₦₴₮₳₦₮ⱠɎ! sʜᴇ's ɴᴏᴛ ᴍᴇ! ᴛʜᴀᴛ's ɴᴏᴛ ᴍᴇ…" now the girl's tense breathing could be heard, she was in a hurry to leave, time was running out "ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ…ʙᴇ ᴡᴀʀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴛᴇʟʟꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʟʟʏ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘʟᴀɴ ɪꜱ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ʜᴀɴᴅ…ʙᴀɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʜᴀᴀʟ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴜʀɴɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴꜱᴛ ᴜꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴇꜱᴄᴀᴘᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʀᴀᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ᴛᴡᴏ ɢᴏᴅꜱ...”

The recording then ended abruptly. A message for help, before she mysteriously disappeared who knows where, perhaps dead, perhaps still alive, who knew… But if Lanor was still breathing, why hadn't she returned to him? Why this silence? Why all this?! These questions would not have received an answer, just as that message would not have received an answer, Gortash had already lost consciousness long before. His brain had turned off, drowned by alcohol, and crushed by tiredness and remorse, sitting in his armchair, while the small tape recorder lay on the floor, under his hand dangling from the armrest.

#enver gortash #enver gortash x dark urge #enver gortash x tav #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #angst #one shot #heket works

[natsstar]

a coffee house in italy.

pairing: scarlett johansson X fem reader

warnings: fluff & angst (sad ending) implied age gap (definitely legal)

word count: 3,900

summary: you travel abroad after graduating college in an attempt to find yourself- who will you meet along the way?

————————————————————————

Turning twenty-two felt like treading water. Exhausting, but necessary. You spent your last year of college going through the motions, graduating with good enough grade to be considered “smart”, yet you had no jobs lined up and no idea what you wanted to do with your life. You found yourself back at home in your childhood bedroom, watching from the sidelines as your friends started their internships in New York and Chicago, doing whatever the fuck they wanted. You had aspirations sure, but it seemed like opportunities weren’t falling into your lap like they were for everyone else. Soon you found yourself researching flights– not to anywhere specific, mostly just anywhere but here. You proposed the idea to your parents over dinner, watching them exchange worried glances but refraining to protest, understanding that they couldn’t stop you.

—

Croatia’s beautiful. You spend two weeks in Split– walking around, buying coffee, reading by sea cliffs and swimming until sunset. Traveling alone has a sort of otherworldly feel to it– something you never thought you would experience. Something about watching the sun sink below the horizon without any distractions, just you and the world– it’s magic.

You hop on a boat to Italy once you decide it’s time for a change of scenery. It’s a sailboat and the captain doesn’t speak English, but you don’t mind. You sleep on top of the deck for the few nights you’re overseas, taking in the salt air and wondering what Italy might bring. You end up docking in the Amalfi Coast, parting ways with the captain and heading into town, finding an inn with a few open rooms and booking a three week stay.

You spend the first week wandering around town, trying coffee at different cafes and finding cute girls to talk to on the beach. You find that the people here are much nicer than you expected and Italian citrus is ten times better than anything you can find in the United States. You quickly become acquainted with a coffee shop a couple blocks away from the inn, relishing how quiet it is and how you can hear the ocean when you sit at the table by the window. You begin going there everyday, sitting at the same table and sipping coffee as you read books about sapphic lovers in ancient worlds, getting lost in the fantasy of it all.

You get up earlier than usual one morning, grabbing your book and walking towards the coffee shop, the sun only just coming up and the morning air crisp. You want to watch the sunrise from your favorite table, chat with your favorite barista in broken Italian and feel what it’s like to be the only one awake. You open the door, the little bell chiming, but you stop in your tracks momentarily– there’s a woman at your table. It’s rare for someone to be here this early in the morning let alone at all. You shrug it off, sitting at a table on the other side of the room after ordering a black coffee. The woman doesn’t seem particularly friendly, as she’s wearing a headscarf and sunglasses, despite being indoors. She’s tapping away on her computer, clearly very focused on something. You pay no mind, sipping your coffee and reading your book until you can find a reason to leave.

You come in the next three days at the same time each morning, and each time she’s still there, still at your table. Every time you walk in, you give a longing glance towards her, sitting in your favorite spot, before going to the table across the room and doing your same morning routine.

The fourth day you’re getting desperate. She’s still there and you want that stupid table. It had the best view of the ocean and that’s something you just aren’t able to give up. On your walk from the inn you tell yourself that if she’s there again, you’ll take it as a chance to possibly make a friend. Maybe the two of you could bond on how great the view is. You walk in through the door and she’s there– of course she’s there. You head towards the table and loom over her, willing her to peel her eyes away from her computer screen.

“Hi. Uh– I’m Y/N. Can I sit here?” you’re nervous as she gives you a smile and nods.

You sit down across from her, setting your book and coffee on the table, “Sorry I don’t mean to bother, this is just my favorite table and– I promise I’ll be quiet, just pretend I’m not here.” You look down at your book, a little bit flustered. There goes the friendship possibility.

She takes off her sunglasses, “I’m Scarlett,” her voice raspy from the morning air.

You whip your head up, a little shocked to see another American. And that’s when your eyes go wide, your mouth clamping shut and your body going rigid. Scarlett Johansson. It’s fucking Scarlett Johansson goddamnit.

“Yeah hi um–” you stutter, “I’m Y/N, hi” you squint your eyes, wincing as you realize that’s the second time you’ve introduced yourself.

She pretends not to notice, giving you a warm smile in return, “Are you here on vacation? I’ve seen you here in this coffee shop almost everyday this week.”

“Um I- no. Well yes? I’m just,” fuck. “I’m taking some time off I guess,” you say, trying your best to breathe and regain whatever drop of composure you have left, “I finished University in May and wanted to just-” you pause. What were you doing here? “Find myself. I guess.” You let out a little laugh, trying to seem less awkward. In your defense, you have had very little human interaction over the past few weeks.

She gives you a knowing nod, “Gotcha.”

“And what are you doing here?” you press on.

She thinks for a moment, “Same as you. Finding myself. I guess.” She gives you a little knowing smile and goes back to her laptop, typing away.

You stare at her for a moment before opening up your book, doing your best not to sneak too many glances at the woman in front of you for your remaining time in the coffee shop. You smile to yourself– maybe you do have a new friend.

—

The next morning she’s there again, and you wordlessly sit across from her. It becomes a regular thing– her being there each morning and you with her, the two of you coexisting. There’s usually very little small talk, just some chatting here and there about what the two of you have been up to before going to your separate tasks. She always gives you a smile as you walk up to your table, and as the days go on you see her getting more comfortable, noticing that she takes off her sunglasses and headscarf when you walk in.

—

A week goes by and you begin to pry, asking her questions about what she’s working on, how long she’s staying, what she’s been doing in town, etc. She gives vague answers, but you’re satisfied, knowing that you’re probably the only person she’s had a conversation with in a week, and her definitely being the only person you’ve talked to in a month. You learn that she comes here every year, staying in this small little town for a few weeks to “cool off” and take time away from her work. She doesn’t specify what “her work” is, but you nod and smile, never letting her know that you’re very well aware of who she is and what she does.

It’s the last day of your reservation at the inn and you go into the shop at the same time you always do, book in hand and ready to spend your last morning in Italy as you had for the past three weeks. You’re not sure where you're heading next, but having no place to stay, you’re prepared to head to the docks after you have your morning coffee and find a boat to hitch a ride on. You walk in and the air is stiller than usual and it’s dead silent– Scarlett isn’t there. You’re a little sad that you won’t be able to say goodbye to her, but you go on ordering your coffee and settling down at your table anyways. You’re about thirty minutes into reading your book, when you hear the little door bell ding and look up to see who’s walking in. It’s Scarlett– she walks right up to your table, but doesn’t sit down.

“Hi. Y/N,” she says, looking a little bit flustered.

“Scarlett,” You return, looking up at her from your seat.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” She asks, avoiding your eyes, “I could charter a boat for the day, and I kind of just want to get away for a minute.”

“Yes,” you say, eyes wide, “Yes, yeah that sounds fun.”

The two of you head to the docks and maneuver your way into a boat rental. You’re surprised to find out that Scarlett knows how to sail, and you watch her hoist the sails up and untie the boat from the dock before taking off. You two haven’t said much to each other by this point, besides when you offered to chip in for the rental, resulting in her shooing you away, saying she would cover it.

“I’m sorry if this is weird,” Scarlett says, breaking the silence, “We barely know each other, you’re just the only person I’ve really had much contact with during my trip and I-” she pauses for a moment, tying a knot, “I guess I just didn’t want to be alone today.”

She’s not looking at you as she’s running around the boat getting everything into place, but you smile, “I appreciate it, actually. I love traveling alone so far, but it can get very lonely.”

She finishes up and takes a seat next to you, letting out a sigh as she finally starts to relax. “I know a little island- it’s only a couple miles away. I figured we could dock there, explore the beach maybe. If that’s okay with you,” she turns her head to look at you and you turn to look back.

“Sounds great,” you respond, “I don’t have any plans so works for me,” you let out a small laugh. You realize that you haven’t really been able to get a good look at her, the two of you really only sharing small glances in the coffee shop, her head usually buried in her computer. You notice that her eyes are green- very green actually, and if you look hard enough there’s little flecks of gold in them. There’s dark circles under her eyes, and she looks like she hasn’t been sleeping well, but she’s still sunkissed and glowing, her hair a golden blonde under the sun.

“So,” she starts, “Have you found yourself yet?” There’s a sparkle in her eyes and you’re having trouble ripping your eyes away from hers.

You stare at her for a second before responding, “Oh! Well, um,” you certainly do not know how to answer this question. “I’m not sure. I’m definitely having a good time exploring new places and what not but– does anyone ever really find themselves?”

With that she gives you a small smile, “Good question.”

You watch as she lays back, closing her eyes as she basks in the sun.

“We should be there in about twenty minutes,” she mutters.

You turn away from her and look out towards the open ocean in front of you. The water is the bluest you’ve ever seen, a deep aqua with the sunlight bouncing off of it perfectly. Lifting your head towards the sky, you sink into deep thought. You woke up this morning with the intention of venturing off to another country, yet here you are, on a boat, with Scarlett Johansson. You imagined yourself doing some cool shit, sure, but this– you never could’ve predicted this. For the first time in a long time you feel no pressure, no stress and no dread for the future. You’re in a beautiful country with a beautiful woman, what more do you need?

After a long while of zoning out, you hear Scarlett jostling next to you, “Almost there, just a couple more minutes- hey look there’s the island,” she points ahead at a quaint little island, it has white sand and crystal clear water.

“How good of a swimmer are you?” Scarlett asks, adjusting the sails and preparing the anchor.

“I’m alright, why?” you ask.

“Well there’s no dock, the island’s too small, so we’re gonna have to swim to shore. It’s really not bad, pretty do-able in my opinion,” she says, shooting you a wink from her post.

You let out a little laugh, “Alright.”

—

After a couple more minutes, Scarlett drops the anchor. You peer over the edge of the boat, looking at the distance between you and the island.

“You ready?” Scarlett calls from behind you.

You look over your shoulder to see her throwing her flowy shirt and her shorts to the side, leaving her in a blue bikini. The sight of her in so little clothing has you flustered, but you try to cover it up by lifting your dress over your head and throwing it into her pile of clothes.

She makes her way over the railing, balancing on the side of the boat, ready to jump in. You join her, taking the hand she offers you as you climb over the railing to reach her. The two of you stare down at the deep blue, standing shoulder to shoulder. You look at her with a pained smile, and Scarlett just offers you her hand in return. You take it, the wicked grin on her face telling you there’s no turning back.

“Ready?” Scarlett asks.

“As I’ll ever be.”

The two of you jump and hit the water with a splash, you clutching onto her hand until you physically couldn’t anymore. You both come up for air laughing, Scarlett sending a little splash your way before swimming towards the island. The water is the perfect temperature as the two of you make your way towards the shore. You try to take it all in, diving under the water and coming back up again in utter bliss. Scarlett looks even more perfect a couple feet ahead of you, her wet hair flowing behind her. Every time she looks back at you, your heart skips a beat. You make it to the island mildly exhausted, sitting in the sand right on the shoreline trying to catch your breath. Scarlett’s completely unphased, running out of the water and onto the sand, a huge smile on her face. You sit there, breathing heavily as the water laps at your stomach, watching as she runs in circles before petering out.

“God I fucking love it here!” She yells, flopping onto the sand in a heap of giggles.

You let out a breathy laugh, mostly just happy to be sharing this moment with her.

“You come here often huh,” you say, crawling out of the water and onto your knees in the warm sand. “Is that why you learned to sail? So you could come here whenever you want?”

Scarlett looks at you for a moment, you notice her eyes flashing something– pain maybe, but her smile stays the same.

“No, uh.” She looks down, making shapes in the sand with her finger. “My ex taught me.”

You nod, dropping the subject.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, catching your breath and taking in the salty air.

“Hey Scarlett.”

“Yeah?”

“When are you leaving?”

She doesn’t make eye contact, her gaze on the horizon. “Tomorrow.”

You knew she had to go eventually, but the pang in your chest is prominent. You look at her while she looks at the water, silently thanking her. You get up and walk over to her, she looks up at you questioningly, but you offer her your hand and she takes it. You hold her hand tight and run towards the water, the two of you jumping in with a loud splash and a fit of giggles.

You spend the rest of the afternoon laying on the beach, eventually jumping in once it got too hot and repeating the cycle until the sun started to set.

—

By the time the two of you make it back to the boat, the sky is exploding with color, pink and orange paint the clouds above you.

“Shouldn’t we get the boat back?” You ask, wringing your hair out over the side of the boat.

Scarlett leans on the railing, her focus on the sun as it slowly sinks. “No point trying to get back in the dark. We can sleep on the deck, I’ll pay the guy extra tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” you whisper, trying to hide the smile creeping up your face. “I’m going to go below deck to try to find some towels or blankets, or something,” you say, beginning to shiver in your wet bikini. You climb down the ladder and eventually fish out a couple wool blankets, bringing them to the deck and laying them out.

You climb under one of the bigger blankets, curling up as you watch the sky change colors. Out of the corner of your eye you see Scarlett coming, walking towards your spot on the deck. She had to be cold as well, also still in a wet bikini. She gently lifts your blanket and climbs under without saying a word, laying close enough so that you can feel her body heat, but not touching. The two of you lay there as the sky darkens, looking up at the sky as the day fades away.

“Scarlett,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” she whispers back.

“Who do you want to be?”

The question catches her off guard, laying there without saying a word for a long moment.

“A good mom,” she finally answers in a low whisper.

Your heart aches. “What makes you think you aren’t?”

Scarlett takes a sharp intake of breath. “My daughter- she’ll never understand why me and her dad aren’t together anymore. I just wish-” Scarlett takes a long pause, letting out a sigh. Not knowing what to say, you find her hand under the blanket, lacing your fingers in hers and squeezing. “I wish I could be with him, for her, but I can’t. I just can’t.”

You lay there in silence, listening to her breathe and wishing you could take away her pain. You watch as the first stars are uncovered, admiring how bright they look out here. You listen to the waves lightly lap at the boat, the gentle sway making your eyelids feel heavy. You think about what you’ll do tomorrow, wondering what’s in store for you next. Maybe Switzerland you think, spend a couple weeks hiking through the Swiss Alps, smell the mountain air and hopefully find a different woman to help you forget about the one next to you. You begin to drift off, the sun and excitement of the day finally wearing on you. In your last few moments of consciousness you feel your hand being released as a warm arm comes across your body, wrapping around your waist and pulling you in. You hold her just as tight, your head in her neck, falling asleep to the rhythm of her breath and the smell of her skin.

—

You wake up slow, first noticing the sound of the waves and the gentle rock of the ship. You then become aware that Scarlett’s still wrapped around you, the two of you entwined together underneath the blanket. You melt into her, trying to take in as much as you can. You focus on the way her bare skin feels against yours, the way she smells like sea salt and sweet perfume, and the way she clutches you tight, even in her sleep. You wish you didn’t have to leave this boat, leave her, leave this moment.

You feel her start to wake up, her legs starting to fidget beneath yours and her fingers sliding up to run through your hair. The sun starts rising and you sigh, knowing that it means goodbye. You feel a lump in your throat, tightening your hold on Scarlett’s body.

“Not yet,” you whisper into Scarlett’s shoulder.

“I know love,” she whispers back, her fingers gently detangling your hair as you try to absorb every part of her that you can.

Eventually she gets up, leaving you as she goes to prepare the ship. You watch her pull up the anchor and ready the sails, silently begging her to come back and lay there with you forever. You heave a sigh, getting up and pulling your dress back over your head before tugging the blankets back below the deck. You sit back down on the deck in silence as Scarlett starts steering towards the mainland. You don’t say a word the entire trip back, sitting with your knees tucked into your chest and staring out at the waves in front of you, trying to keep the tears away. Scarlett doesn’t say anything either, but you don’t look at her, trying to ignore the ways her eyes light a fire within you. The sun’s almost completely risen by the time the two of you reach the dock, Scarlett reaching over the side of the boat to securely tie it in. She walks over to where you’re still sitting, not ready to get up yet. She holds out her hand and you take it, standing up to face her.

She moves a piece of salt caked hair out of your face and holds your eye contact, “Where are you heading next?” she says, giving you a soft smile.

“I was thinking Switzerland,” you say back, giving her your best smile. “I thought maybe spending some time in the mountains would be a good idea…” you start to trail off, avoiding her eyes.

She puts a hand on your face, lightly cupping your cheek, “Don’t be sad darling, not over me.”

You pull her into a tight hug, holding her for as long as you can, breathing her in for the last time. She holds you just as tight, the two of you clutching each other in silence.

Eventually you pull away, Scarlett’s hands holding your face as she looks into your glassy eyes. “Find yourself my love,” she whispers. You lean into her and she reciprocates, pulling your face to hers, allowing your lips to meet. You kiss her with everything you have, knowing it’s the first and last time you’ll ever have her lips on yours, letting your hands roam over the parts of her body you longed to last night, sliding your fingers up her spine and tangling them in her hair. She pulls away, giving your hand a squeeze before she steps off the boat. You watch her walk down the dock, the perfect bubble the two of you had created bursting around you. You turn away, peeling your eyes from her figure as she disappears from your line of sight.

“Switzerland,” you whisper to yourself, wiping away a stray tear.

edit: i hope you like this it made me violently upset lmao

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha romonova #natasha x y/n #wlw community #marvel #wlw love #wlwedit