sapphiccloud

[sapphiccloud]

“you think i don’t care about you?” he’d growled hours ago, sharp as razors.

you hadn’t flinched. you’d just looked at him with red-rimmed eyes and whispered, “you don’t act like it.”

and that had fucking stuck. even now, hours later, as you lay beneath him, breathless and quiet, he still heard it echoing through his skull. you don’t act like it. not when he bit, not when he barked, not when he used your body like it was the only thing he could touch without breaking.

but you were still here. still letting him climb between your legs, still looking at him with wary hope like maybe this time would be different. and he was trying.

fuck, he was trying.

he cupped your face like it was fragile, like you were fragile, and not the only goddamn thing in the world that made him feel human. his thumbs brushed your cheeks, lingering under your eyes.

“still mad at me?” he asked, rough, but not cruel.

your throat moved when you swallowed. “i’m just tired.”

that made something behind his ribs ache. a thing that shouldn’t have existed. not in him. not like this.

���i don’t want you tired,” he muttered. his lips hovered by your throat. “i want you sated. quiet. shaking.”

“i want to feel loved,” you whispered.

and that shattered him in a way no cursed energy never could. he didn’t speak again. he just kissed you slowly. it felt wrong on his mouth, too soft and tender, but you sighed into it, fingers curling in his hair, and that made it right.

so he kept going. kept touching you like he meant it. like he wasn’t trying to own you, but understand you. his hands didn’t bruise this time. they cradled and traced every inch of skin like a map he hadn’t studied well enough. you were warm and too sweet.

he didn’t deserve this, but fuck, he needed it.

when he slid inside you, it wasn’t rough or frantic. it was slow, like he was giving you a chance to run.

you didn’t and pulled him closer. “i hate fighting with you.”

“i hate making you cry,” he rasped.

your nails dug into his back. “then stop doing it.”

“i’m trying.” it sounded like a lie, but this time it wasn’t.

he kissed you deeper and harder then, his mouth was the only way he knew how to speak. i’m sorry. i’m here. i’m yours.

you moaned softly, thighs wrapping around his waist. “you feel different.”

“i’m not fucking you,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “i’m loving you.”

your breath caught and he almost looked away. but then your hand touched his cheek and he stayed right there.

he kept thrusting, slow and deep, watching every tiny reaction play across your face like a prayer he hadn’t learned how to say. your lips trembled and your hips rose.

and he realized that this was the most intimate he’d ever been. not the sex. the look. the watching. the being watched.

you could see it all now; the hunger, the guilt. the desperate, bitter hope that maybe this could be enough. maybe you’d still want him, even after seeing how broken he was inside.

“i’m not good at this,” he whispered.

“i know,” you breathed.

“but i want you.”

“i know.”

“and i don’t want anyone else touching you. ever.”

you smiled softly. “that part, you’re very good at.”

he huffed and pressed his forehead against yours. you wrapped your arms around him like you finally believed it that he was trying. that he cared. and for once, he didn’t need to say anything more.

he held you and moved inside you, because he belonged there.

[sapphiccloud]

“happy father’s day,” you murmur, slipping your arms around gojo’s waist from behind.

he’s halfway through shoveling a spoonful of strawberry ice cream into his mouth and pauses mid-bite.

“huh?” he mumbles, turning slightly in your arms with a mouthful and furrowed brow. “baby, you know we don’t have kids, right? unless you’ve been hiding a baby somewhere i don’t know about?”

you roll your eyes. “i know, dumbass.”

he pouts. “so why’re you saying—”

you just point with your chin across the courtyard.

he follows your gaze.

there, lounging like a band of chaotic little gremlins, are yuuji, megumi, and nobara, bickering over popsicle flavors. maki’s sitting on the bench beside them, trying not to smile as panda pokes fun at toge for something, who just responds with a flat “salmon.”

satoru looks, then looks again.

then his eyes widen behind his sunglasses, lips parting just slightly. “oh.”

you nod. “yeah.”

he turns fully in your arms, ice cream long forgotten, the softest smile blooming across his face—bright and fond and achingly proud.

“they’re kids,” he says quietly, “they’re my little kids.”

“exactly,” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “you taught them how to fight, how to survive. how to live. they’re still here because of you.”

he blinks a few times. doesn’t say anything.

just watches as yuuji leans back and laughs so hard he nearly tips over, megumi catching him by the collar without looking. nobara shoves them both and gets dragged into the pile.

maki shakes her head. panda sighs. toge just laughs.

a tiny, watery chuckle escapes satoru’s chest.

you nudge him gently. “you’re not just their sensei. you’re their… you know. their person.”

he leans into your forehead and breathes in slow. “you’re gonna make me cry,” he says, voice cracking a little.

“good,” you smile, wiping under his glasses.

he kisses you, sweet and slow, and then pulls back to yell at the kids, voice suddenly obnoxiously loud—

“hey! none of you got me a card?! what kind of disrespect—megumi, stop pretending you don’t care, you’re my grumpy little son—”

megumi groans. nobara throws a napkin at him. yuuji waves enthusiastically and screams, “HAPPY DAD’S DAY, SENSEI!”

and gojo beams so hard it looks like the sun broke loose from the sky and settled in his chest.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ i guess i’m a little late but happy father’s day gojo!! ily pls come back home

[sapphiccloud]

daily affirmations:

i am kind

i am in control of my emotions

it does not bother me when someone is in the kitchen while i was planning to be in there alone

everyone in the house has the right to be in the kitchen

i am kind and in control of my emotions even when someone is in the kitchen while i was planning to be in there alone

[sapphiccloud]

"Satoru."

"Yeah, baby?" Gojo replies instantly, gaze flicking up with hopeful anticipation.

He’s still got that innocent glimmer in his eyes, as if he isn't the one currently cupping your breasts with both hands like they’re humanity’s last hope.

"Get your hands off my boobs."

He groans, flopping back dramatically against the pillows like a kicked puppy.

“Why are you being so distant lately?" he whines, bottom lip jutting out in the most insufferable pout as he gives your chest a pitiful little squeeze.

"You didn’t even laugh when I did the sexy voice in the shower, and frankly, I feel unloved."

"Go to sleep." you mutter, flipping a page of your book with surgical calm, still not gracing him with even an ounce of attention.

There’s a beat of silence. You know that kind of quiet—he’s either about to start weeping or set something on fire.

"Are you seeing someone else?"

Gojo props himself up on one elbow, the other hand still firmly on your chest. Still palming you like you’re a comfort object he refuses to part with.

You blink. "...What?"

"It is him!" he gasps, eyes widening in horror. "The guy with the beige sweater and receding hairline. I know a schemer when I see one."

You sigh through your nose. "That’s Megumi’s homeroom teacher. He’s a sweet man.”

"Oh so you think he's sweet now?" He snaps, sitting up straighter, finger jabbing the air in accusation. "That fossil has no business standing within five miles of you. I don't care how many degrees he has."

You finally lower your book just enough to stare at him. "It was a parent-teacher meeting, Satoru."

"Yeah, well, he was talking to you all slow and respectful and.... educational. What’s the bastard trying to prove?"

You go back to your book with a slow blink and no further comment.

"You are so—"

Before you can finish, he grabs the book clean out of your hands and flings it somewhere across the room.

"Hey—!"

You reach out for it instinctively, but he moves faster, already shifting his weight and rolling over you in one smooth motion. He straddles your hips, knees pressed to the outside of your thighs, his chest hovering just above yours.

One hand plants beside your head, the other trails down, gliding over your ribs, your waist— before settling low on your thigh, just beneath the hem of your shorts. His fingers splay there, staking his claim.

He’s looking down at you now, hair falling in his face, grin slow and easy like he has all night to make his point.

"You’re impossible," you mumble, glaring up at Gojo.

"Maybe this is why I piss you off so often," he says, lips brushing your jaw. "Just wanna see my pretty girl all worked up."

You try your best not to succumb to the temptation. You really do.

But his mouth finds the curve of your jaw, kisses warm and trailing as they move lazily toward your neck, each one a little more self-satisfied than the last. He hums against your skin, practically vibrating with contentment, thinking he's finally worn you down.

His fingers flex against your thigh, grip tightening just slightly as his lips trail lower—

"Gojo-sensei!"

You both freeze. Gojo's body goes still, lips hovering at your neck, hand frozen just beneath the hem of your shorts.

"I spilled juice on my shirt." Megumi's small voice echoes from the next room, painfully unimpressed and extremely inconvenient.

Gojo lets out the longest, loudest, most dramatic groan known to man, forehead falling onto your shoulder like he’s in mourning.

"...I swear that child has a sixth sense for cockblocking."

You laugh—wheeze, really—because he says it so seriously, like this is a national tragedy.

"I’ll be back," he grumbles, reluctantly hauling himself off you, the pettiness in his voice barely disguised. "But I’m taking the book hostage until further notice."

[sapphiccloud]

fuuuuck i just realized that the future idealized version of myself cant exist without current me being the catalyst for change and doing hard things. has anybody heard about this

[sapphiccloud]

This is literally me btw

[sapphiccloud]

When things end too soon....

A/N: So I swear I saw a request for Rolan and some steamy premature ejaculation... But now I don't see it... so I'm posting these drabbles anyways!

I hope you enjoy these short little treats ♡₊˚

Warning 18+ MDNI, Fem!reader, (please forgive my blurry pictures!)

Rolan, Gale, Zevlor, and Aradin

Rolan

His gleaming eyes stay fixed on you from across the Inn. Everyone is in the swing of celebration, and though he has thanked you once already, he wants to do more. So, with a swig of the wine bottle, he tries to drink in some courage before he pushes off the last light bar and nervously makes his way to you. Of course, as soon as he approaches you, your lips are curling into the sweetest of smiles, your eyes drinking in his form as he stands tall before you. Rolan feels his face warming and his chest getting tighter as he stands so close to you now, but he swallows it down and puts up that arrogant facade with that confident smile thanking you again.

“You want to thank me again? You're not going to try and give me money again are you? I told you I don’t want that.”

“No, no, I just figured you and I could… share a drink somewhere… more private?” 

Rolan tries not to let his nervousness show or how his tail is twisting to betray him as you look him up and down in contemplation. Then you smile and lean in close.

“Lead the way…”

In the back of Last Light Inn, the normally quiet area filled with only the sound of the steady stream has new noises within its air. Hot breaths and the rustling of clothes married with muffled moans of two people getting lost in each other for the first time. Rolan couldn’t help but let your name fumble from his lips as you tangled your fingers through his chestnut hair and ran your tongue up the column of his throat. His tail is coiled tightly around your leg as you push him further against the Inn's wall. 

Gods he thought he would be the one to take the lead, to get you out here and sweep you up in a passionate kiss like in those romance covers. To lay you down upon the ground and show you how much he appreciates you, for you to be the one moaning his name as your body squirms and twitches in anticipation… but like you always manage to do, you don’t follow his plan, and you surprise him. 

Now, here you two are; the roles in his plan have been reversed and are only adding to his fantasy. You pinned his taller frame to the wall and leaned in to kiss him first, your hands doing quick work to explore him and make him even more hot and desperate for you. You managed to strip him down and lay him in the dirt before you joined him. You had made him whimper and pant as you slowly stripped before him, teasing him with how you ran your hands over your nipples down to your dripping cunt touching yourself in front of him. 

Rolan's throat was dry, and his aching cock throbbed as he watched you. Then, in an act of mercy, you sank down to your knees, crawling on top of him, positioning your wet sex over his swollen length, tempting him more with your wet heat so close to where he needed to feel you.

Instead of immediately sinking down and letting his ridged length push and stretch your insides, you just rubbed your slick over his cock. Teasing yourself on his hot ridges, you moved your hips over him so slowly, shuddering and gasping every time his curved tip nudged your clit, then the honeyed words came. 

“So good Rolan… You feel so good…” 

Rolan couldn’t help but moan and throb at your praise. His hands come to your hips to help you grind further. The sound of your heavenly breath and your hands bracing against his chest just further spurred him on as he rolled his hips in tandem with you. Then both of your resolves started to crumple…

“Ah- good boy Rolan… just like that… so good for me~” 

Rolans heart skipped and his hips rutted against your cunt in an erratic pace, he needed you closer, to drown himself in this moment. His heart raced, his breath getting shallower, and his cock throbbing at your praise. 

“Yeah? I’m good?” His eyes were hazy as he looked up to you. Those rings of gold stretched thin from how dilated they were. 

“Very good Rolan… The best.”

Gods, he wanted to slip it in and feel your cunt suck him in and clench on him like a vice… but when you looked into his eyes and smiled down at him, it all just snapped… and before he could take you, satisfy you, he was cumming in hot spurts all over his stomach. He couldn’t help but tremble and shake as you continued to grind and watch him come undone for you. Finally Rolan has to still your hips with a whine from his parted lips. You halt your grinding and take in the ruined wizard underneath you. 

Rolan's cheeks were so flushed, his nails digging into the ground as he stuttered soft apologies… he felt like such a disappointment for cumming too soon. Fuck he was supposed to thank you… but yet again, he just takes your kindness. Rolan averts his eyes in shame, but instead of criticizing him like he expected, you only smile as you gently move his jaw so his eyes are back to yours, your hand slipping down his neck to his flushed chest, down to his over-sensitive cock, rubbing your thumb over the tip making it twitch with a swell again…

“Rolan… you're so beautiful when you look like this… makes me want more…” 

Rolan smiled and nodded his head breathlessly as you began to adjust his cock, softly pumping it till hard… then lining him up to your tight entrance… “Anything you want…”

Gale

He commented on your smell…why the hell would he comment on your smell… he had honestly meant it in a positive way, but of course, in his ramblings, that fact got lost…he needs to make this right, smooth this over with you, the last thing Gale wants is for you to think he doesn't find you or your musk unpleasurable. In fact, if allowed, he's sure he would indulge himself in it… though perhaps he will keep that to the chest for now. Gale had inquired about your whereabouts from Karlach, who, of course, told him with a cheeky grin and pointed him towards the river, and so he made his way down to make a proper apology. 

Gale didn't mean to catch you while bathing, but he couldn't say it wasn't a pleasant surprise. Though always the gentleman, he covered his eyes as soon as he grasped his sense back from his lust filled brain. “Sorry to disturb you…” he said with both hands over his eyes, face down and bashful.

Gale's ears perk up when you giggle, “I’m not disturbed, just simply… washing up; care to join me?” 

Gale swallows, moving his hands down slowly to see you in the water, your body submerged to the shoulder, danm… wait, no!

“You wouldn't mind?” 

“I would love the company; being out here can be quite boring. So I wouldn't mind some conversation, maybe where we left off about my… what was it? Musk?” 

Well, of course he couldn't refuse your innocent request… Plus, this gives him the chance to clear the air. Though now it turns out that request wasn't so innocent… but he did finally get to tell you how much he enjoys your smell. 

It started friendly, exchanging flirty jokes and shy smiles, which turned into warm glances, which morphed into longing stares as you two inched closer and closer. Then you took the plunge and leaned into him. 

Gods, how long has it been?  He thought as his tongue sought yours to finally taste you. It had been so long since he kissed someone in the flesh, let alone touched someone… and your body… your soft skin and alluring smell… just made him fall further into you. Then you started to touch him. And that was simply divine. 

First, it was your hands on the nape of his neck going down to his shoulders, then his chest, then further still… Gale moaned into your lips as your touch washed over him. You made him feel so precious, so desired, then before Gale could make sense of it, he's breaking the kiss and wrapping your legs around his hips. That's when you felt his cock, hard and eagerly pushing against you as he drove his nose into your hair and grabbed the plump of your ass harder… desperate to hang onto this moment of bliss. This small moment is just for you two, alone at last, and letting everything wash over you two. 

Then your hand moves down past his coarse hairs and wraps around his cock. Gale had to hold his tongue and his body still as you began pumping his cock so agonizingly slow… Gale gasps, burying his head into the crook of your neck as he shudders from the feel of your hand sliding over his length, your pace getting faster and faster, tracing over every vein, moaning in his ear as his heart rate picks up. 

“I want to feel you, Gale… every inch…” 

Gale loses himself, his mind going to the sweet thoughts of you finally wrapping around him, the noise you will make, the clenching of your cunt so tight… to feel your warmth… so snug and all for him… gale can’t help himself, digging his blunt nails into your ass as his hips start to rut matching your pace, so ready to stick it in and have your moaning into the endlessly starry sky. But before such a picture can be painted, Gale feels his mind numb, and his body suddenly shudders with a groan he tries to bite back. -Danmit… 

“Apologies… I didn’t… it's been…so long since I’ve… well, since I’ve held anyone much less-.” You silence him with a kiss, your tongue pushing past his parted hips and twisting his wet hair around your fingers, pulling him in closer… making him so much more infatuated… 

“We can pick this up in my tent, deal?” another one of your sweet requests he would be a fool to refuse. 

Zevlor 

Zevlor felt so awkward at the party; in his youth, he always joined in the celebration with dancing and drinking, and though he was no bard, he did have some talent when it came to strumming a lute. Though… At his age now, he thought it was better to observe rather than join the mayhem of a celebration. Zevlor was used to becoming a silent observer the more he did it. All he ever seems to do now is watch over others as they live. A Lot of times, his observations would just lead to him being bored and roaming back to somewhere quiet, but tonight, his sights are on you… 

He didn't mean to stare at you… but you are just so captivating, swaying with the music, drinking cheers with your commerads and talking to his kin with a kind smile…. Truly so captivating…he thinks as he keeps his eyes steady on you as you dance with Shadowheart. If it had been in his youth, he would have sauntered over and danced with you, spinning you around so close so you could feel the heat of his body, to squeeze your soft skin so gently… just to touch you, smell you… Taste you.  

Lost in his reverie, he doesn't notice when you wave bye to Shadowheart and walk over to where he sits at the edge of your camp. Only when you're blooping down beside him does he snap out of his running thoughts and look over to your smiling face so close and your bright eyes on his. Captivating… 

“Gold piece for your thoughts?” 

Zevlor stifles a laugh before drinking… if only you knew the perverted place his mind was mere moments ago…

“Ah, Don’t waste your gold. You shouldn't waste your celebration listening to an old man like me ramble; you should be out talking to those so eager for your attention.” 

Your face slightly falls, “well, I came seeking yours…” 

Zevlor feels his whole body flush. " No-no… I mean.” Zevlor swallows; he hasn't stuttered like this since his days as a new recruit. He turns to you and gently places his hand on yours, his eyes locked to yours, ready to take a chance and bring back that once unwavering courage…. “Do you know what those words spur within me? What you do to me?”

You light up at those words and twist your legs so they are against his, “I'm hoping it's the same as what seeing you does to me…”

Zevlor feels his heartbeat thrum and feels like he just can’t quite catch his breath. You grab his hand tighter, tracing your finger over the protruding veins on his crimson skin.

“Will you follow me?” 

Of course, he followed you… he just didn’t think it would have led to this… to you taking his hand in yours as you walk into your isolated tent. Now, here he is, taking a shuddering breath as your peppering kisses along his strong jaw and your hands push down his trousers in inpatient enthusiasm. It's been so long since someone has wanted him so feverishly… and he refuses to disappoint you. 

With his pants pushed down past his knees his cock hard and pebbling slaps heavy against you as you start to grind yourself against him. Zevlors eyes roll in bliss as the feeling of your sticky slick coating his cock. Then your soft hands hold onto his shoulders as you bring your lips to his ear, “Fuck me…please Zevlor…” 

Zevlors eyes roll as your tongue starts to roll over his ear. Gods, now you're begging so sweetly beneath him… your body so flushed, your hot little tongue running over him down to his neck. He tries to keep in the growling groan you're causing him as your slick coats him, but when you start leaving sloppy kisses on his neck with light nips… it just slips out of him, and to his delight, that just makes you wrap your legs around his waist and hold onto him tighter.

With the confidence boost, Zevlor smiles at the new possession, your body practically trembling for him. Zevlor lets his hands roam all over your curves, his cock throbbing as he tries to take this slow, to let you enjoy. But if he’s honest, he’s going mad, with your wet heat so close and drooling for him he just can’t help himself anymore and his calm demeanor slightly falters as he angles his hips and sinks into you with a quick snap of his hips. Your snug cunt is already quivering on his length in an instant, and it makes his eyes roll as he relishes feeling you so deep. 

Then in a lust-drunk haste, he starts fucking you, in and out, slapping against you as your hands bury themselves in his hair, holding tightly as his pace gets rougher and rougher. The head of his cock pushes against your cervix making your eyes water and toes curl. He just needs to make you cum then he can finish into your womb… fuck, he wants to feel you cum, and have you make a mess all over him. Zevlor is not sure why, but the idea of getting you to your pleasure makes him feel whole… useful… wanted…

Zevlor looks down at you, your body sweating, your chest bouncing, and your lips moaning his name, but the thing that makes his whole body shiver is your eyes… how they see him when so many overlook him, look past him… you see him.

Before he can think better to slow down, his nails are tearing into your bedroll, and he's rutting into your cunt like a damn animal. You whimper and moan with every thrust, trying so hard to hold onto him, digging your nails into his back, wrapping your legs around his hips. And that's the final straw… wrapping your shaking legs around him to let him sink deeper to keep him with you. Zevlor feels his mind blank and with a rough grunt and a tremble of his tail. He cums. 

Zevlor pauses, his breath ragged as he stares down at your surprised face… “I-I apologize… it's just..” then he feels your hips grinding up with a giddy smile on your face, “Fill me up again Zevlor, Please…”

Of course, whatever you desire…

Aradin 

You irritate him… granted, everyone in this damned grove seems to irritate him, but you? With your do-gooder attitude… always trying to be so helpful… it's infuriating. Then, anytime Aradins is around, you two are arguing! Your face stern as you stare up at him…. How close your body gets… so fucking close he could just grab you and shut you up. You would properly punch him before he even gets the chance to wrap his arms around your waist and silence you with a kiss… 

Even though you piss him off, he has to admit you are beautiful and have some fighting skills. Like when you saved his hide at the gate, you were so swift with a sword, and the way you just saved him and his crew, no questions, no second thought… he should have thanked you, not be such a smug bastard… why didn’t he thank you…

Now you have plagued him… he’s forced to sit in this damned grove and see you prancing about talking and helping everyone you see… he hates it, how selfless you are, it’s stupid… he wishes he could go up to you, and shake you, demand you be selfish and take care of yourself. Or let him join you and help you however you want. Damn it all… he can’t say that… he's too much of a coward… a prick you would rather see in the maul of a gnoll than in your camp or even your bedroll…

“Ariadin?” Suddenly, Aradin is broken from his thoughts by the sound of your voice. When he finally looks at you, you have a confused, maybe worried look on your face because, of course you do. 

He rolls his eyes, “What do you want?” Why is he already snapping at you?

Your face looks hurt at first, and his stomach starts to sink. Then your brow furrows. Before he can say anything, a loaf of bread smacks him in the face. He catches it and looks at you confused. “We found some extra rations, and I haven't seen you eat with the others… but forget it… just take it.” 

You start walking off.  Aridan runs his hand over his head in frustration as he holds the bread tightly. Why is he such an idiot? Aridan looks at your fleeing figure, and before he knows it, he slams the bread down on the table and follows you. 

Your argument ended up with you two screaming at each other in the woods deep within the woods. He had wanted to apologize to just talk, but you were so hard-headed… Why couldn’t you just let him apologize? Why couldn’t he just tell you how he really felt? Why is this all so fucked!  

With a groan and a roll of his eyes, Araidan finally cracks, “Oh fuck this!” 

“Fuck this?  You-” Before you can finish, Aridan is grabbing your waist and pulling you close, his lips crashing to yours in desperate hunger. But instead of pushing away and kicking his ass… you're leaning in and burying your fingers into his brown curls. Passion has taken over, and as he slides his tongue past your lips, finally sliding against yours, he's so grateful to hear your soft moaning that he quickly devours. 

Aradin leans you blindly back till you're suddenly being pushed against a tree, your soft little hum from the collision making his cock get stiff. This is better than any of his fantasies he would imagine late at night in his tent as he emptied his cock into his callus hand. You taste better than anything he could have ever wanted… and he craves more. Hiking up your leg, he grabs handfuls of your ass, his cock painfully hard as he grinds his clothed length against your clothed cunt. 

“You drive me up…a fucking wall…” Aradin pants as he sinks down to his knees rolling down your pants in the process before he's moving your leg over his shoulder and is licking a long stripe up your slick cunt. As soon as he hears your shuddering yeses and your hand is tugging for more, he smiles, more than willing to give you as much as you can take. Ariden brings his rough hands to caress your hips as he dips in further, fucking you with his tongue while his nose drivings into your clit just to make you squeal. Ariden groans into you and takes deep whiffs of your sex, making his cock throb and his eyes roll. A fuckin dream is what you are above him like this… gods let him join your camp, and he will do this for you every night; he doesn’t see those little posh boys you got doing this for you…. He will eat you out all night if you're willing. All you gotta do is drop your trousers, and he will be on his knees for you. 

As Aradin continues to eat you like a starved man, you start to lose yourself on his face, pulling his hair hard and rolling your hips faster on his face. Gasping and screaming for more... It's the first time he’s seen you be selfish, and it's all for him. Gods, for how you're quivering on him. He knows you're close, so close to making a mess out of him. Gods please let you squirt and let him drink it in… please, Please!

It's all too much, all too good, and just like everything else in his life, the gods seem to be against him. With a sudden shudder and a groan, his hard cock is cumming in thick spurts in his pants from your taste alone. Aradins breath is ragged as he pulls away from you; he feels his face impossibly flushed as your slick covers his mouth and chin… he had wanted to do more… go further and make you cum…but no…he’s fucked up with you again by cumming in his pants…fuck!

Then suddenly his face is getting lifted up and he’s looking at your smirking face, he grimaces unsure of what you will do next but that's when you surprise him, “Clean yourself up and meet me back here tonight… I’m not done with you yet.” 

Aridan looks up at you with a slack jawed expression as you redo your pants and give him a chaste kiss swiping your tongue over his lips stealing a taste of your arousal before walking off. 

“I…I will…” he finally musters. He can’t mess this up, he won’t mess this up. 

[sapphiccloud]

[sapphiccloud]

I couldn't find the original of this. But they are in my heart.

[sapphiccloud]

i freed rugan from the zhentarim and when he greeted my tav with "you are a most beautiful sight to see my friend" i got the absolute most DEPRAVED thoughts of riding him till he goes unconscious oh my god

[sapphiccloud]

[sapphiccloud]

[sapphiccloud]

[sapphiccloud]

Something about the Hero of Kvatch sitting in the destroyed Temple of the One, days passing by, through sunshine and rain, just sitting with all that they have left of Martin, of the man they swore fealty, of their companion, of their unexpected best friend. Just looking at the petrified avatar of Akatosh, watching as the Imperial City rebuilt around it, as the citizens returned to their normal lives somehow. Sitting in the quiet, in the loneliness. Maybe trying to talk to Martin, wondering if he can hear them, knowing they'll get no response regardless.

"The world may not need you anymore... but I do, friend."

[sapphiccloud]

An Unexpected Reunion

Essentially, this is a sort of sic-fic for an anon who wanted to see the reader look after James. After his stint in Tortuga, when he doesn't have the strength to care for himself, he ends up on the Pearl, and the reader helps him out. The two just so happen to be previously acquainted—the reader is a pirate James once had in custody. Mild angst ensues.

@emdrabbles @tesserphantom @viper-official @hellspawn-brownies @groovy-lady @ghoulishbehaviour @wordsinwinters

~3k words

~~~~~~~

If you knew one thing about former Commodore James Norrington it was this: he did not know how to take a break. 

Even now, as you watched him struggle to keep upright, he didn’t quite seem to understand the disadvantage he was at. He wavered, leaning hard on the ship’s rail before trying to stand on his own. He convulsed a little, as if he might throw up, and though you wouldn’t have been surprised, a fresh wave of pity rolled over you. 

You had feared him, once. Done your best to keep out from under his iron grasp of the law. You’d failed, too. Other than Elizabeth, you were the person aboard the Pearl who knew him best. I knew his prison cells, too, you reminded yourself. 

He looked up at you, and you made eye-contact. There was a foggy recognition in his face, and you watched the gears in his head turn as he attempted to make sense of who you were. 

“Am I that hard to remember?” You walked toward him, hoping he wouldn’t fall on you. “I’m offended,” you teased. 

Norrington looked you over with disgust, as if he were in a position to do so. “I arrested you.”

“I’m flattered you recall.”

He frowned. “You escaped.

“I hope that’s not a sore spot?”

Norrington shot you a venomous glare, though there didn’t seem to be much actual hatred behind it. Oh, it had been one for the ages. The escape had been anything but easy, you’d give him that, and most of it had been the opportunity of chance, but you were one of the few, if perhaps the only, pirate to have escaped the young officer. You’d hoped never to see him again, to boast your tale without being  caught a second time. You’d even left the Caribbean for a time to evade him. Now Jack shared your fame, though on a technicality, you knew, and here poor Norrington had to put up with you both. 

You’d never expected to meet him again, and certainly not like this, brought so low. You hadn’t even known the world was capable of bringing a man like him to his knees. 

“You look like you just crawled out of a pigsty.” You frowned, hoping you weren’t right. 

Norrington smirked, an expression you’d never seen on the man, and it was not a particularly pleasant thing to see. “Sparrow employs from interesting places.”

You sighed. “At least let me help you not look like hell?”

“What would you care?” Norrington cast you a suspicious glance, though he let you wrap a stabilizing arm around his shoulders. 

“You didn’t let me look like shit when it was your ship I was on,” you mumbled, somewhat reluctantly. 

In truth, James Norrington had taken shockingly good, if not necessarily tender, care of you while you were his prisoner. It may have been humiliating at times; being ordered to wash, getting inspected by the ship’s surgeon, and having your hair shorn to prevent lice; but it had kept you healthy, and, in Norrington’s reasoning, kept you alive until your due time at the gallows. That, and rendering you incapable of getting his crew sick. Though you had cursed his name every day, you knew he hadn’t needed to go to such lengths. 

Surprise crossed the man’s face, but he said nothing. You helped him belowdecks to a rather empty store room, bracing him on the stairs to keep him upright. You left him a moment, returning with a basin of water, some cloth, and a comb, hoping that it might do something for his raggedy appearance. 

“The wig has to go.” 

James snatched it off his head, regarding the thought with reluctance. “It’s one of the last reminders of home.”

“Which is half the reason you need to get rid of it,” you said, tone softening. You took it from his hands, setting it out of sight. “It’ll only make you more miserable.” You pushed the coat off his shoulders as well; it was well overdue for a meeting with a washing board.

For a while, you stood in silence, James letting you wash his face with the cloth, trying to get mud out of his hairline. He scrubbed down his shins and forearms, rolling up tattered sleeves to expose newly tanned skin. There were scars there, too, old ones and new, and you remembered an occupation in the Navy was every bit as dangerous as piracy was. 

“You gave me one of those.” Norrington interrupted the silence, rubbing his thumb over a small scar on his left arm. “Capturing you wasn’t as easy as planned. You nearly gave me another, too, when you tried biting me.”

You laughed, taken aback. You’d forgotten about it—you lashed out at him when he made the surgeon wash and cut your hair. 

“It wasn’t funny,” he said, but he was smiling all the same. “I thought you were going to take off a finger.”

“Oh, I wanted to. I do hope you aren’t thinking of returning the favor.”

“Does this mean my hair is next?”

“It certainly does. I’m going to have to pull all manner of debris out of it, aren’t I? Maybe I should’ve grabbed gloves.”

James snorted. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”

“I could say the same about you.” You moved to stand behind him where he sat on a barrel, taking the comb in your hands and gently teasing knots out of the ends of his hair. 

James’ voice sobered. “Why are you doing this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you have every reason to hate me. I held you as my captive, and when you escaped, I spent months trying to hunt you down. If you hadn’t managed to evade me, I would’ve been your ticket to the gallows. I might as well have been the noose around your neck myself.”

You sucked in a breath, unprepared for the question. Not that you hadn’t expected it. Why am I helping him? “You were doing your job, I was doing mine. I’m glad you failed.”

“That still doesn’t explain—”

“Look,” you interrupted. “I’d heard all the stories. When you’re a pirate, and you get arrested, the Navy does all sorts of things to you. You beat us, you maim us, you starve and strip and use us as entertainment. As long as we’re still alive to dance the hangman’s jig at the end, you can do whatever you want to us.” You’d stopped combing, and you could tell, despite the fact that you couldn’t see his face, Norrington was listening intently. “You could have done all sorts of things to me, or let your men have their way.” Your voice grew soft again. “The worst thing you did was cut off my hair. Turns out I had lice anyway, so I probably should’ve thanked you for it.”

James turned to look at you, mouth half open to say anything, but there wasn’t anything to say. His gaze returned to his boots, and you couldn’t help but notice the tightness in his jaw. 

You changed the subject. “How long has it been since you’ve kept a meal down?”

“Too long,” he grimaced. “I’m afraid the rum has done its job.”

“Do you want me to get you something? You can wash the rest of yourself while I’m away.”

James only nodded, but you took that as a good enough sign to go in search of food. Ships didn’t carry much fresh food, but if you could find bread without weevils in it, you might be able to keep him from throwing up. 

You raided the kitchen, tapping biscuits against the wall to loose any bugs that may have burrowed into them. Before you headed back, you rested against the wall, taking a few steadying breaths. You didn’t like talking about your captivity, and you could never fully justify taking care of him. He was right: he might as well have been the hangman and the noose. 

“How’s the former Commodore?” Jack stood in front of you, teasing expression firmly in place. 

“Much better now that I’ve tossed the wig.”

Jack made a face at the mention of the wig. He’d made more than a few comments about how ‘that damned Commodore would be far more handsome without the stupid thing’. “I’m thinking about tossing him out entirely.”

“Jack.” You crossed your arms. 

“What?”

“Why did you agree to let him on, anyway?”

“I wouldn’t say I agreed, love. Agreements aren’t made at gunpoint.”

Norrington still wants him dead, then. “And yet he hasn’t gone through with it.”

Jack shrugged, as if he hadn’t given the matter much thought. You knew better, of course. He turned to leave, but not before throwing a comment over his shoulder. “He’s not a killer.”

By the time you got back to James, he had his hair mostly untangled and was struggling to find a way to keep it out of his face. You stepped in, handing him the bread and braiding his hair back with practiced fingers. There was a weight to the action, and you felt it acutely, twisting strands of long, damp hair together, surprised by its length, wondering how Norrington could’ve kept it tucked under his wig like this, and you knew he felt it too. 

“Eat,” you told him. “And try not to puke on me.”

He stuck the bread skeptically in his mouth, as if expecting it to taste like the bottom of a muddy boot. It was somewhat awkward to watch him, but you were right to keep your focus on him; it wasn’t long before he had his eyes closed against an obvious wave of nausea. You placed a hand on his back, rubbing his shoulder gently in hopes that it might distract him. 

“I must seem pathetic like this.”

“You’ve seen me pretty low, too, so I can hardly judge.” James scoffed, but didn’t pull away from your touch. 

“At least you had it in you to escape. Which,” he turned to you, eyebrows raised, “you never have explained to me.”

“Has that been bothering you all these years?” You couldn’t help but feel somewhat smug, knowing you got the best of a man who was, by all means, smarter than you, and who’d had many more resources on hand. 

“Obviously,” he drawled, though he seemed more amused than embarrassed.

“Well, it was mostly luck. You had me locked up pretty tight.” That was an understatement. Beyond the obvious fact that you’d been behind bars, thick ones at that, there were two guards posted outside the brig at all times. Not to mention the leagues between you and any sign of shore. You may have been a fairly good pirate, but those were bad odds. 

It had been the mailing ship, in the end, that had been your key to salvation. “I’ll forever be thankful that your holding cells had—and still have—one major flaw, not that I’m telling you what it is.” At James look of annoyance, you smiled. “Sorry. Old habits and all that.” Half pin-barrel hinges, you thought to yourself before continuing. “I also, through virtue of talking marines, knew the mail carrier had shown up. It gave me just the blossom of hope, and the opportunity, I needed.”

The door guards reduced from two to one as one of them headed off, presumably in the direction of mail. And why should they have worried? You hadn’t been able to cause any trouble, even when you were taken out of your cell for inspection by the ship’s surgeon. So that left you with one marine to deal with, and one iron door to pop off its hinges, which you did with the conveniently placed bench inside your cell. 

The clattering of the door got the marine running into the room, leaving the door to the brig wide open for your escape. All it took was an elbow to the gut and a knee to the face and the poor man was on the ground. You’d almost felt bad about it. Almost. But you saved your pity and ran like hell, scurrying up to one of the gun decks before anyone knew you were missing. 

“Then came the tricky part,” you mused. “I had to jump out of a gun port without anyone noticing, then scramble onto the mail carrier somehow. By all accounts it shouldn’t have worked.” But something had happened on deck which caught quite a bit of attention, and you were left to plop into the ocean below. “I’d never been so happy to be swimming in my life. I made it onto one of the lower decks of the other ship, through another gunport, and hid in a storage room until it reached St. Augustine.”

James grimaced. “You have no idea the strings I had to pull to get my men into that city.”

You shrugged. St. Augustine was a Spanish city, and you had no doubt tensions between Norrington and the city officials had run high. “I was already out by then. Seems those strings weren’t pulled fast enough.”

“No.” Your hand still sat on his back, though he’d managed to finish the bread. A light sheen of sweat dotted his forehead, a symptom you’d known to expect from an alcoholic, and you reached for the washcloth to wipe it away. “What if they had been?” His tone took on a miserable note.

You wiped the cloth across his face, your free hand gently holding the side of his head still. “Then you would have caught me, and I would be dead.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“Should it?” You moved to the back of his neck, where sweat had begun to run into his shirt collar. “We led lives that were diametrically opposed. We both knew what that meant. I ran that risk willingly.”

You continued with the cloth, never dropping the hand from his head, and though it may have been your imagination, he seemed to lean into the touch. You wondered how long it had been since anyone had shown him a hint of tenderness—since before his arrival in Tortuga? Longer?

James changed the subject. “Once you’re done making sure I’m not puking on myself, what do you plan to do with me?”

“Do with you?” You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t plan to do anything with you—or to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You didn’t miss the flush that crept up his neck at your teasing. You found it kind of sweet, if anything, that he continued to have the bashful streak Elizabeth had told you so much about. “I hope you’ll consider staying around more than a week so I can get to know you better, though.”

“You do?” He turned to you, his surprise genuine. It hurt you a little to see, but you supposed it was to be expected. If your roles were reversed, would he be saying the same?

“You’ve been given a unique opportunity, Ex-Commodore. You have the chance to start over with a group of people who don’t particularly like you, and you have the chance to make a home with them. We can be a close-knit group, you know, us pirates.” You smiled. “I’d take that chance if I were you.”

“I’m not sure I have much of a choice. The admiralty wants my head.”

“Better give them a good reason for it, then.”

James laughed at that, and some of the heaviness in the air dissipated. He looked markedly better now that he’d relaxed and some of the color had returned to his face. He could even be handsome, you supposed. You hadn’t let yourself think of it during your capture, though he had looked dashing in that uniform, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you heard multiple women had eyed him with eager interest back in Port Royal.

He’d been a different man then. You couldn’t help the serious tone that crept into your voice as you spoke. “You’ll take better care of yourself after this, yes?”

He sighed. “I don’t suppose I have much of a choice in that, either. I can’t really make things worse.”

The words did nothing to assure you. “You owe it to yourself, you know.” Your hand had fallen from his face, but you placed it there again, drawing his eyes to yours. “No matter what happens to you, no matter how low you think you’ve gotten, you still deserve your own care.”

James looked too lost for words, instead turning away shyly with no little amount of shame. 

“Hey,” you softened your voice. “You’ll learn. Here, with us. Most of the crew have spent their entire lives looking out for themselves. And we’re the lowest of the low; the poorest, the drunkest, the most battered and beaten and worn. We still take care of ourselves, even when we sometimes wash up in the brig of a Naval ship. We’ll teach you how to quit carrying shame.”

James looked back up at you, nodding. He kept your hand in place with one of his, callouses from his palm brushing against your skin. You ran your fingers through his hair with your other hand, gently carding through dark tresses, and when he closed his eyes, you could feel him suppressing tears. 

He took a steadying breath, bracing himself before he could open his eyes. “Thank you. For all of this. I hope I can repay you for it, someday.”

“Given the shitty circumstances under which we tend to look after each other, let’s hope not, actually.”

He smiled wearily, and you moved to sit on a barrel across from him. The voyage ahead was long and likely not without its dangers, and having Norrington as a friend through it all didn’t seem like a terrible prospect.

As you talked on, sharing stories as sailors did, you knew he’d make it. Of course he would. A man who had the dedication to chase you across the Caribbean for months had it in him to live with you for a few weeks. You’d already survived each other once. 

[sapphiccloud]

just fairer than death

summary: One night, you pull a dying sailor from the depths of the sea.

pairing: james norrington x siren!reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: set right after james' canon departure; slight dubcon because sirens; brief blood licking; i think this qualifies as soft dark? please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: crawling out of my void with this fic that absolutely no one asked for 🫶🏼 i first wrote this in may so that's how i'm doing at the moment. @brandycranby and @scrumptious-delusion thank you for actually making me finish this story, i love you both so immensely x

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It was said, among your kind, that there was nothing more dangerous than a sailor; for you were destined to either love him or kill him.

That is, if he did not kill you first.

Your life had already been long, then, and you’d never even seen a human up close. You’d learned to understand how the seas would change when they had to carry a ship, how the waves would moan under its weight, and you’d taken great pains to avoid watchful eyes in the dark every single time. The odds were stacked against you, and you weren’t ready to risk your life for a notion as abstract as love.

Others, you knew, had been bolder than you. Several of your sisters liked to venture out to take a closer look at a passing vessel and its crew, and some of them had never made it back afterwards. You didn’t like to think what might have happened to them.

It was worse, though, when they did return. Blood on their gills and flesh still stuck between their sharp teeth, a mad, angry, horrified look in their eyes. See what they made me do, it seemed to say. See how they conjure violence from thin air.

Passion, you learned, was a dangerous current to get caught up in.

Night fell early that day, like the goddess herself wanted to hide what was about to happen underneath a shroud of darkness. The sea was quiet. The stars were hiding as you let yourself get carried by the waves with your face turned towards an empty sky, far enough from the cursed ship to stay out of sight. The Flying Dutchman made you shiver in your scales, no matter how many times you smelled her rotten wood from afar. There was nothing good on that ship; nothing good could ever come from it.

You never knew what strange tides carried you closer. These waters had their own sense of humour, sometimes, cruel and biting like medusa venom.

A shout cut through the night, clearly audible even from where you were floating at a distance. Normally, you would’ve taken this as your sign to leave, but for some reason, you hesitated. An icy chill went through you and stopped you from slipping away into the safety of the deep. Instead, you turned your head towards the source of the sound.

Something had plummeted into the water.

You squinted. Yes, you could see several figures, their heads just bobbing above the surface as they moved hastily away from the abominable ship.

Good, you thought. Not even humans deserved the likes of Davy Jones.

Then the wind picked up. It carried the coppery stench of blood and steel mixing with seawater, and the fine hairs covering your neck stood up in response. Every cell of your body was screaming at you to flee, and yet you were unable to move, the ocean gently pushing you closer still.

You couldn’t see anything else in this murky darkness, but a few minutes passed in tense silence before you heard a hollow, ghostly laugh followed by another splash. The sea tasted of iron, too, now; and of something else.

It was that other, undetermined thing that made you swim closer against your every instinct. You were still far enough from the Dutchman to be out of sight, the tides moving in your favour, when you saw the shape in the water.

It was drifting away from the vessel as well, but in a way much more uncoordinated than the ones you’d seen earlier, barely staying afloat for another moment before the ocean swallowed it whole.

You did not hesitate this time.

Underwater, it was much easier for your eyes to make out the shape, sinking heavily as the ship’s wake pushed it down, down towards the bottom of the ocean. A muscle strained in your tail, your gills protesting as you shot through the waters to get a proper look before it fell out of sight. You still didn’t understand why.

Goddess help you, you should’ve known.

For something as terrible as a sailor, he didn’t look all that intimidating. He only looked decidedly lifeless, his eyes closed, limbs floating loosely. Blood tinted the water around him, coming from a hole in his chest that probably wasn’t supposed to be there. Then again, what did you know about humans?

You wondered if all of them looked this beautiful.

Then, like a shockwave, you remembered that they needed air to breathe.

Before you could consciously decide on it, you had grabbed the sailor under his shoulders and dragged him back up. He was heavier than a grown reef shark, unresponsive dead weight, the ocean refusing to loosen her grip on him.

Finally, you burst through the surface again, a gasp of relief escaping you when you spotted a sandbank not that far away. The Dutchman, thankfully, was far off in the distance by now. No ghostly eye saw you taking off into the opposite direction with the lifeless sailor the ship had spat out.

You couldn’t help but glance at your charge every now and again as you struggled to keep him afloat. He had lost part of his hair to the currents, and the rest of it had another colour underneath, dark like sea weeds. You could only hope that he didn’t need the upper part.

But need it for what, exactly? This man was dead; or at least mostly so. He still smelled slightly alive, and his skin was warm against yours.

"What am I doing?" you whispered to yourself as you tightened your grasp around his shoulders.

Careful, sang the waves. Do not play with things you don’t understand.

But what a ridiculous warning that was. You knew this man was in no shape to harm you, so how could your curiosity be something terrible?

After what felt like hours, your hands touched rock and sand. With great effort, you managed to heave the sailor onto it. No matter how much you scowled at the waves, his head kept rolling back under water, until you lifted yourself up and carefully put it in your lap.

Your tail was aching with exhaustion and your uncomfortable position, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. Breathe, you thought, holding his face in your hands, breathe.

The sailor didn’t listen, but then again, he was mostly dead.

You could feel your heart racing as desperation started to rise. What had you done this for, then, if he refused to cling to life after all? It was as if something had possessed you, and now that you were halfway through the motions it dictated, you’d been once again left alone with your thoughts and the rush of the sea around you.

Something compelled you to push a strand of wet, dark hair away from his face. No; he didn’t look intimidating at all.

Love him or kill him.

You were a simple creature steered by fate as much as anyone, and right now, you were a helpless guppy between her fingers. You wondered what colour his eyes might be.

He was so heavy on you, like his weight was trying to remind you of the odd reality of this situation. You had no idea what to do, and so you kept staring at him.

Like small fish lured in by photophore, your fingers trailed inevitably downwards to that strange hole in his chest. Human blood smelled the same as yours, and it had the same colour, as far as you could tell; but it was warm.

Hesitantly, you pulled your hand back and licked it up.

An involuntary sigh left your lips.

Sweet. Maddeningly sweet. Even after just a few drops, you could see why your sisters would lose their minds over this. You could feel your mouth watering as you savoured the taste, your mind going blissfully blank.

This was like nothing you’d ever experienced.

Your heart was beating a frenzy as you heaved the sailor up in your lap and leaned over his chest, dipping your tongue against the hole. Each lick of blood intensified the gentle buzz in your head, a giddy lightness spreading through your limbs, your chest, your very core.

Just before you lost yourself entirely to this sensation, you heard a low rumbling noise. Gurgling, like stuck water. The sound faded again almost instantly.

Around you, the wind picked up, the waves rumbling menacingly, and you looked up to see the clouds darkening overhead. A storm was coming, after all.

You went to continue your meal and found that the hole had closed up.  Soft, reddened skin covered it like it had never been there in the first place. Only a small, shimmering scar remained, and you traced your fingers along it in wistful wonderment, blinking as you wiped your mouth and came to your senses again.

How strange, indeed.

Still, your appetite had been wet, now. You looked at the sailor’s face again, craving more of his sweetness. Maybe …

Slowly, you brushed your lips against his, breathing into him as you carefully nipped at his flesh. He tasted like the sea, here, salt and brine and something else entirely, something that made you press closer as you exhaled into him.

Perfect, you thought because you’d never felt anything so true, all things falling into place for the first time in your life. It sent a pleasant tingle up your spine.

A sound again; this time, it reverberated in your mouth. The sea lashed at you but you ignored it, pushing into the noise as if going to smother it, and then something moved in your lap and the mostly dead sailor grunted weakly against your lips.

You flinched backwards as he sputtered before you, his entire body convulsing as he coughed up seawater and blood. Each rattled breath ended with another fit of coughs until finally, he calmed, slumping back into his previous position in your lap.

It was then, for the first time, that he opened his eyes.

They were green, green like the deep sea on a particularly fine day, green like a palm leaf on the beach at Whitecap Bay, green like shards of smooth seaglass, polished and shimmering. Even in the darkness, they were bright, and they were looking up at you in confusion.

You were confused, too. Something very odd was happening, and so you leaned in and you did the only thing your mind could think of at that moment. You pressed your lips against his once more.

Again, you were filled with that feeling of rightness as you pressed closer, as his mouth gently moved against yours as if in an unheard question before answering you in equal. Yes, yes.

You didn’t understand but this was the way things should be, how they were always meant to go, how—

Cool hands pulled your face away and an involuntary whine escaped you. The sea green eyes had darkened, softened, and they blinked at you several times before the sailor asked, "Am I dead?"

"Not anymore," you said, making to move closer again. He didn’t let you, his hand solid against your cheek.

"I don’t—I’m not sure what happened." His voice was hoarse with the salt of the ocean. His thumb kept tracing your cheekbone like he wasn’t able to comprehend you were actually here. "I thought I was dead."

"Does it matter?" you asked. Your voice was gaining a sing-songy quality entirely of its own accord, and it made his seaglass eyes glaze over a little.

He made to sit up and even though some deep, primal instinct didn’t want him to withdraw even a little, you helped steady his shaking arms until he was upright. Still, your tail was relieved at the lifted weight, giving an involuntary spasm that splashed in the water.

The sailor barely seemed to notice, even as he looked around at his surroundings. The wind howled and dark waves kept lapping at his legs as he tried to get his bearings.

It was a long time before his eyes settled on you again.

"Who are you?" he said, and there was wonder in his voice, incredulity.

Beautiful, you thought again.

You told him your name, quickly, without even thinking about it. Your kind wasn’t usually supposed to share this information; names held power, after all. But this was different. He was different.

"What about you, sailor?" you asked softly. "What do they call you?"

"I … James," he said, his brow furrowed in concentration, like he wasn’t all that sure at all. "Admiral James Norrington of the EC … the EITC. I think."

"Don’t think," you said, putting a hand on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat in there, fast enough for it to sound as if he, like some creatures, had three of them. Unlikely, of course, but what did you know?

In time, he might spare one of them for you.

For some reason, that thought didn’t shock you.

"I should …" he said, his eyes half-shut again. You wanted to kiss away that frown. You wondered if his smile was as magnificent as you imagined, hidden somewhere beneath that stern face. "There was something … someone …"

It broke your heart, the way that worry weighed on him. You needed to take care of him. Take him somewhere safe, somewhere he could rest.

"Don’t worry, James Norrington," you said gently, slowly leaning in once more; he didn’t stop you. "It’s going to be all right."

This time, when your mouths connected, he sighed, like he was letting go of whatever burden his memory was trying to remind him of. This time, his arms came around you and wrapped tightly around your shoulders so that when you slipped into the water, he clung to you, your lips still moving in perfect tandem. He tasted divine.

Yes, you thought, maybe there was a point to these stories about sailors after all.

But this one … he was good. He was yours.

And you intended to keep him.

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[sapphiccloud]

... So You WERE staring!

Summary: The HOK and Martin are resting for the night at an inn early in their journey to Weynon Priory. Things get awkward when it's time to get ready for bed. ONESHOT A/N: This is more barebones than your average story because I wrote this intending it as a small script for a comic I wanted to draw. However, I thought it had enough substance to be read on its own. HOK referred to with she/her pronouns. Otherwise, there's not much in the way of descriptions, so this is like a glorified x reader.

...

She shakes off the dust that had gathered on her tunic as she gets up from bed.

She yawns and stretches a bit. "Well, we better be off to bed..." she trailed off, eyeing her sleepclothes, then flicking her eyes at Martin on the other side of the room.

The priest tensed under her stare. Nervously, he stood up from his bed to leave.

"Ah... Not to worry, I can wait outside while you change-"

"No! Wait-"

He turned to look at her in surprised amusement. She bit on her thumbnail, her eyebrows furrowed as she considered their situation.

Not looking at him, she continued. "I'd like to not leave you out of my sight if I can help it." Then she locked eyes with him again. "I'm supposed to protect you."

Martin felt momentarily insulted, before the reality of his assassins and their power settled heavily on his chest. He wished he could say he wasn't a damsel in distress, but his situation was unfavorable. And, the thought of someone attacking her while he is out of the room struck him as a possibility as well, just then.

Still, he hadn't been in the same room as a lady undressing in some time. During times he wished not to re-live.

"I wouldn't want to make a lady uncomfortable." He tried insisting politely.

A trembling, tired sigh escaped her. "I promise... It's fine. Anyways, we'll have to get used to this on the road when we may not have the luxury of an inn."

He considered her words and decided going along with her was better than extending her mortification. So long as she changes quickly, they can get through this.

"Just... turn around, okay?" She said. He hummed and complied. "And no peeking."

"Yes, ma'am."

Sitting on the furthest edge of his bed, he looked down at his shoes and tried not to focus on the sound of fabric unfastening, unbuttoning, and softly falling to the ground. Or her groans of relief as she freed herself from her more tightly fitted pieces of armor.

He places a hand over his eyes in frustration, realizing like an idiot that he has done nothing but successfully focus on her state of undress.

The rustling of fabric stops about a minute in, he commends her for her speed. He can hear her making slight noises still, huffing and hmphing at something.

Testing, he turns his head slightly. "All done?"

"Don't look!"

His head springs back around much like a rubber band, tearing his blue eyes away from her direction.

"I'm not!" He responds rather quickly, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Nh-... Good. Don't look until I tell you." She commands through her struggle.

He stays facing the wall, which is slightly lit from the dying candles in the room, and tries not to notice her figure as her shadow slips onto the inn wall. He tries not to notice the way her chest was puffed out and how her hands played at her back. All with the most torturous noises leaving her lips.

Damn it. He should have thought ahead to blow those candles out.

Minutes passed, and still she had not announced she was finished. He took the opportunity to remove his own robe, glad to be free of the garment after days of wear. Yet even when he was finished, nothing came from her.

By the Nine. What is taking her so long!? An eternity, he felt, he had been staring at this wall!

He risked turning his head again, this time silently. He only barely stopped himself from losing his composure and letting an exasperated noise escape him as he beheld his companion in disbelief.

Her back was facing him, and her hands were clumsily and desperately clawing at the claspings of her small clothes. Shaking and grumbling all sorts of curses at the wicked thing.

His eye twitched.

He found it half amusing, half ironic that someone so capable in the battlefield was having such trouble undoing her own underwear.

He suddenly felt heat go to his stomach, and it was as if the spirit of Sanguine weighed down his left shoulder. It smirked at him under the candlelight, telling him to go help her unclasp her bra, he has... apt experience and skill at it, after all.

He shook his head and tried to do the same with the thoughts. He was a priest! Such thoughts had been dormant and buried since he well took his vows!

Still he sat unmoving, watching her shake and rage in vain at her bra for a bit longer. Kicking the floor in desperation from time to time.

But then, he felt a wind caress his right shoulder. Divine and sensitive, logical thoughts came to him. Such as: help her unclasp her underwear - so you can both be through with this rather uncomfortable situation.

...

... What-?

He frowned at her figure, and mostly at himself, and whatever gods were giving him that advice. But he saw himself agreeing with their judgement. This needs to be over.

He gulped as he silently stood from the bed, tiptoeing his way towards her sitting form at the edge of her bed.

His hands inches from her back, he realized he didn't want to scare her.

He cleared his throat, "Excuse me..." He said carefully, reaching out as gently as he could.

She let out a quiet gasp as his hands masterfully undid the clasps of her small clothes before she even had time to turn around.

He pulled his hands away from her, gingerly making sure not to touch the newly exposed skin. She wrapped an arm over her breasts, keeping the bra on top of them for cover.

They stared silently at each other for a few moments, her face and upper body turning many shades of red as she looked at him in his bed trousers, and the tip of his ears unexpectedly matched her red hue.

Suddenly, her eyes narrowed and glinted dangerously at him, and he realized too late his foolish mistake.

"So... You WERE staring!!!"

Her scream resonated and shook the walls of the building. He recoiled in fear - never had he imagined a normal person's lungs were even capable of such loud shouting!

He rushed to cover his eyes and blindly tried to run away as he profusely offered her many nervous apologies. He barely dodged the first three pillows she sent hurdling towards him. But, the fourth pillow hit him on his upper back and sent him falling face first onto his mattress with a grave oomph.

As her yelling settles down, he sighs wearily onto his bed and finds himself thanking the divines for making him the heir of the late Emperor for the first time since he found out the miserable news in this misadventure...

... Because that's probably the only reason he's currently not nursing a slap to the face or some other mortal wound.