#A HAVEN OF JUST CROW........... )

[earl-grey-crow]

lurking comes naturally

[soufcakmistress]

Distance

Pairing: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie Moore

A/N: It's been a long ass time. Of course these beautiful Black people brought me out of retirement. Let's fucking gooooo

The sun shined bright in Clarksdale as Annie waited in line for the 8:30 train to Chicago. Her protections for her home had been set in her absence, as well as on her person with a powerful mojo bag she fed the night before. The Illinois Central Railroad had a straight route to the Windy City from Mississippi. Colored folk filled the train depot almost to capacity in their finest threads, packed to the gills with their prized possessions & family heirlooms, combined with enough food to last them the trip.

It had been four years since Smoke and Stack left everything they knew behind. Including her, and their child’s memory. Pain is not sufficient for what Annie felt. She really had no idea what she was doing there at the train station. Or what she’d hope to find when she arrived to Chicago. Or what she would do when she got there. Something had to be done. Energy had to be moved. She had to see Smoke for herself.

A handsome porter helped her with her bags and helped her to get settled in the colored section of the train. She couldn’t help but be mesmerized at all the different kinds of folks that were traveling for greener pastures. The Klan terrorized northern Mississippi in hopes of keeping Black people docile. The Black communities banded together for protection, and yet could not be moved by fear or intimidation. There were grandmothers with their adult children, young families with infants and toddlers running about the cabin full of energy, single people who didn’t have much more than the clothes in their backs. All looking to a new life away from Jim Crow.

Clarksdale to Memphis. Memphis to East St. Louis. East St. Louis to Springfield. Springfield to Chicago. She made sure to get some dirt from every stop of the route — sweeping her floors with railroad dirt from various places ensured constant flow of energy and resources to find her. She stepped off the train at the last stop and she couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Annie tried to not look so much a slack jawed yokel but she had never been no further than Louisiana in her life. The skyscrapers towered over the sprawling city, the winding streets that were two lanes wide were bumper to bumper with fancy cars, and there was just so many people! How could Elijah find comfort in a place like this and not with her?

She needed him. She needed him in her bones. In her blood. They were each other’s safe haven. As children, they would meet each other at the crossroads of Route 16 and Candler Road for a respite from their hectic home lives. Smoke’s father was a drunk and abused him and the rest of the family incessantly. Annie’s mother was always away — working roots for folks, doing house cleanings and driving out haints, performing exorcisms. They were both 15 the first time they kissed and 17 the first time they were intimate. They were so young then, and blissfully ignorant at how life can be.

As they aged, they were still inseparable. Both didn’t have much formal schooling. Annie grew into her power — learning herbs and recipes and how to protect, provide and punish if need be. Elijah eventually grew tired of working in the fields. Him and his brother Elias, who was the epitome of hell on wheels, made a living robbing trains. Those boys began to make a name for themselves — especially when their abusive father mysteriously ended up dead. Stabbed in the chest with an ice pick. Annie knew the truth of the matter. Smoke and Stack were growing into young men — they couldn’t tolerate the abuse any longer.

Shortly thereafter, America got involved in the Great War. The draft came to Mississippi and Annie’s worst nightmare came to fruition. Smoke and Stack were conscripted and were set to ship out to Camp Jackson for basic training.

“Put this on your neck.”

Smoke rolled his eyes and begrudgingly took the brown mojo bag. He tied it around his neck and let it fall to his chest. “You know I don’t believe in all that mess.”

“And you don’t need to. This “mess” has been around longer than we could imagine and will be around long after we return to this earth. Just keep it on. For me.”

~

The boarding house Annie lodged in was Black owned in a neighborhood called Bronzeville. All kinds of fancy colored folks lived there in their pressed suits and pristine dresses hustling to their next destination, with little time to converse. She asked a few people about Smoke and Stack andwhere they hung out at. “Elijah and Elias? About six feet, pretty teeth, dimples. They hard to miss.” But no one could point her in the right direction.

Her trip was only supposed to be for a week. Yet four days had passed and not a peep from either one of the twins. Riding the bus along Cottage Grove, she couldn’t help but to overhear two young chaps’ conversation. “Billy done fucked up for the last time. He was slow with Luzzato’s money and Smoke and Stack left him for dead on the pier. I ain’t fuckin with them twins.”

Annie knew that the twins were okay with violence and confrontation— this was not new information to her. But working for the Italians? How did they get wrangled with them? And how did they manage to stay out of jail?

Apparently Paul Luzzato was one of Al Capone’s lieutenants who was a bit more open minded when it came to race than the rest of Capone’s family. The teens made mention of a club right in the neighborhood of the boardinghouse where she was staying. This was the opportunity Annie needed to get a step closer to closure.

The Lighthouse was a cool joint for colored folks on the southside playing nothing but Chicago and Mississippi blues. Lowlit with the fog of cigarette smoke hovering at the ceiling, Annie moved gracefully to the bar scoping out the scene. Beautiful Black men and women in their finest zoot suits and bias cut gowns drinking and carrying on — she felt a bit country and backwoods around all these fancy folks. Annie wondered if these colored folks all traveled from down south as well in hopes of seeking a promised land.

The house band played a good ol southern tune that made Annie rock and sway in her seat. A young stocky man tending bar wiped off a glass, looking in her direction. “Would you like a drink ma’am?”

“I reckon so. What’s a girl gotta do to get some moonshine around here?”

The barkeep fixed her up a glass of moonshine neat. That familiar burn went down so nicely.

~

“Nigga, if you don’t count this money so I can go. Couple bitches in there dying to get broke off by daddy Stack.” Smoke and Stack sat in a dimly lit storage room counting up their money from their protection runs for the day. Capone had sway over the whole city — any business that wasn’t a patron of the mob had to pay up for their own sakes.

“Pussy hound. Can we finish this business please?” Smoke sucked his teeth at his twin’s one track mind. To be fair, they had a long day and he wouldn’t mind a nice nightcap as he hears that guitar wail and moan.

Every dollar and cent is accounted for. Stashed safely in their massive safe built into the wall, they put their suit jackets back on and spread out into the fray. Stack went immediately to coat check to seek out this young filly who had no idea how mischievous he was. Smoke however, sat alone at his usual seat on the second floor overlooking the band. He nursed his whiskey and scoped out the room. The club was full to capacity, there were no fights at the moment, alcohol flowed — he would have a good report for Luzzato.

Smoke peered toward the bar and saw Rallo, the barkeep chatting up with a dark skinned woman who filled out her dress like no one he had ever seen before. Not in a long time anyway. Imagine his surprise when he stood up gazing over the balcony to get a good look….

“It can’t— it can’t be. She said she would never leave Mississippi.” Annie had had a lot more to drink by the time Smoke recognized her and her lips and limbs were a lot looser. Smoke watched Rallo fill her glass up to the top and sat watching her gulp it down like a sucker for love. He would serve other folks and park his ass right back in front of Annie, charming her with everything he had.

“Oh fuck this.”

Smoke skipped every two steps to race towards the bar. Pulling out a cigarette Stack rolled for him, he stood behind Annie staring directly into the back of her head. Her hand rested on Rallo’s forearm, waxing poetically about the south and how beautiful Chicago was.

“Annie.”

Her heart dropped into her ass. Annie’s pulse skyrocketed head ring his southern rasp that hadn’t changed in four years. She forced herself to play it off however— he didn’t get to leave her and their home and their baby and demand immediate attention.

Annie turned to gaze him in the eye and smiled. Rallo however stood up straight as a board, having prior knowledge of Smoke’s reputation especially on the southside. He has never been on his bad side before and didn’t want to start today. Smoke was burning with rage seeing his estranged wife giggle and flirt with a measly bartender.

“I’m busy.”

She cut her eyes and returned to her moonshine on the bar. “Rallo, get the fuck outta here.”

“Sure thing, Smoke.” Rallo left Annie alone and assisted other patrons where it was safe. She huffed at his audacity and threw the rest of the liquor back.

“Still jealous, huh? You never did like my attention to be split.” She hasn’t looked him in the eye yet, staring at the mirror that spanned the backlit bar in front of her. He was still devastatingly handsome..

“What you sayin to him, huh? Had a good time socializin? Why are you here?”

“So Smoke the only one ‘llowed to leave the country? I’m looking towards a future, not the past where everything hurts too bad. Sound familiar?” Annie hissed at Smoke for daring to regulate her. He left HER. He needed to hurt now.

It sliced right through him to have his own words thrown back in his face. His jaw was locked so tight it could break an anvil. “Annie, can we talk in the back? Please?”

“Mmmm, no I’m fine just right here ,thank you so much.” Internally, she loved that she could rouse him still. He still cared. She could tell he still wanted her carnally— his eyes wouldn’t stop wandering the length of her body.

Smoke curled his lips in, gritting his teeth at her insolence. He did deserve the treatment. But he didn’t care— all he wanted was to cuss her ass out and give her all the love that had been pent up for the last four years. “Annie. Please.”

“Elijah. Please.” Her ire began to rise now. His eyes pleaded with her to cooperate and not have his business out for Chicago to see — he had a reputation to uphold. Annie acquiesced begrudgingly, jumping from the barstool and allowed him to guide her to the back. He grabbed her hand and laced their fingers like they used to. Electricity had no choice to spread through her body.

Smoke had a key to Luzzato’s office which had a bed and closet for whenever he was too tired to drive home from the club. Annie scrutinized the tall windows cased in luxurious drapes, all of the expensive hardwood furniture and floors, and fancy Art deco decor. Nothing like back down home.

“You like Rallo?”

“Tuh, you ain’t got not one lick of sense. He was friendly enough.”

“Why are you here, Annie? You said you could never leave Mississippi. You said you could never leave—“ Smoke stopped short of speaking their dead child’s name. Her name crumbled in his mouth, a raw memory that still threatened to take him down if he let it.

That made Annie’s chin tremble yet galvanized her to force the issue. “You can’t even say her name. The child we made out of love. And you can’t even do that.” She sounded so weary and exhausted.

His eyes were glassy already, and he grabbed both of her hands. “Annie…..I couldn’t stay and you know this. I fuckin couldn’t wake up every mornin seein that tiny grave every day. I couldn’t…”

Annie felt the tremors in Smoke’s hands. She couldn’t hold tears back any longer. “And how do you think I felt?! I pulled her from my womb myself. I nursed her. I prayed for her. And she wasted away anyway. What about my pain, Elijah?!”

The dam broke for Smoke, and he cried as he embraced her. She wriggled and struggled but Smoke held her in place, both shedding tears that had no end. “Annie, please forgive me. Please forgive me. I love you. I love you to the ends of the Earth. Please forgive me.” His lips sweetly grazed her chin, cheek and down to her supple neck.

She shuddered audibly, his touch still had the ability to make her knees weak like jelly. Annie hated that her body leaned into his affections without her permission. After all this time. After what he did. “You hurt me. You hurt me bad. How can I..”

Their mouths met in a whirlwind. Tongues lashing against one another, inciting soft moans from the pair. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do whatever. Spend the rest of my life doin it if I have to.” Smoke’s lips kissed down her collarbone to her chest and he tenderly pecked the top of her breasts.

Kisses turn to bites, and revert back to kisses along her cleavage, and a big bicep wraps around Annie’s waist for him to grind his hips on hers. Her moans rise in volume when he reaches under her gown, and pulls her panties to the side. Smoke folds his tongue back into her mouth while two of his agile digits swipe back and forth so tenderly across her pussy lips.

“Oh…shit Smoke…”

So much of her slick is already expelled, making a mess on his fingers just how he remembers. “I’ll just have to remind you how it feels to be loved by me..”

Smoke loves how buxom his wife is, and can’t wait another second without one of her titties in his mouth. Annie helps him pull down the straps of the dress along with her bra, showing her bare breasts in all their glory. Smoke walks Annie back to Luzzato’s massive dark oak desk and leans her up against it. She held the skirt of her dress while he played with her pussy and sucked her nipples so sweetly. He kneeled so he could look at her mound even closer, making her gasp at his anticipation. He ran his hand through her soft coils and spread her lips and put his face in between them.

Bliss can’t come to close to how sensational she’s feeling. Annie holds her husband’s head right on her clit, letting his tongue lap gently in tight circles. Two thick fingers penetrate her hole and if Smoke wasn’t holding her up, she would have slipped right off the desk.

“You…you motherfucker…don’t you stop baby…”

He has her to tilt her hips up so he can lick even more thoroughly, his handsome face covered in her essence. Smoke is proud as ever, and considers it an honor to make his wife come after the way everything went down. The telltale signs came one after the other — Annie grabbing her breast, plucking her nipple, her gritted teeth, her bewildered expression at the sheer amount of pleasure she’s receiving. Those juicy lips of his wrap around Annie’s clit and sucked to tumble her into sweet oblivion. The way his moans reverberated through her body as he took from her….she couldn’t ache for him more than she did in this very moment.

Smoke kisses her sensitive pussy for the last time and finagles with his belt and slacks. When he takes his button down off, Annie sees the mojo bag she made for him when he went to the war. Her belly fluttered, that he still kept it after all this time. Even with how he felt about her beliefs. “Turn yo ass around.”

He wipes his mouth off and sheds his underwear. Annie can feel how hard he is on the small of her back, urging a coy gasp out of her. A couple strokes of his shaft is all he needs to enter his wife. Her skirts are bunched up over her ass, and his hands can’t resist slapping both cheeks in tandem. Annie hikes her waist up, positively buzzing waiting for him to split her open. Smoke holds her open and lets the head of his dick penetrate her. They both shout in ecstasy at their coupling. It had been so long….

“I know you don’t believe me….but you the only one. You the only one, Annie…” One of his hands held her by the shoulder, forcing Annie to sit on every devastating inch of that thick dick. Her whines and cries spurred him to get in deep — make her remember that he was her husband, and she was his wife. Forever.

Her umber skin meshed so well with his, Smoke enjoying the view of him sliding in and out of her soaking wet pussy. “Good ass pussy, that good ass shit, fuck!” Smoke licked and bit at Annie’s delicate shoulders and neck, grunting like a man determined to fuck his beautiful well.

Fingers played and twisted at her nipples, until he pushes Annie’s chest to the desk so she gets everything she deserves out of him. Her pussy feels every vein and pulse of his dick caressing her walls, his heavy sack making contact with her clit on every thrust. She can’t stop smiling. Her man. Her Elijah. Their love was bone deep — inescapable, insurmountable, and unbreakable. They were a committing a sacred act that she didn’t realize how much she missed until that moment.

Smoke is beginning to twitch inside of her, and Annie starts clapping her fat ass on his pelvis. His bottom lip is tucked between his teeth, feeling himself about to walk into Eden. He has to get her to come with her — he needs to make her ascend this way.

“Yeah baby, yeah baby, it’s coming — fuck fuck I—“ Smoke gives Annie three powerful thrusts and he erupts inside of her. So much cum from her and him, the floor is a mess. He stands back and spreads her open to see the amalgamation of their love inside her pussy, and she blushes. Smoke is tender and sweet, but so filthy and nasty for her, and she swears she’s the luckiest girl in the world.

He holds her from behind just taking in her scent mingled with his — Luzzato’s office smelled like old cigars and pussy. “I forgive you, Elijah.”

Smoke was startled when she spoke — there had been a comfortable silence as they held each other. He turned her to face him and held her close, looking in her eyes with hope for reconciliation. “I couldn’t quit you if I wanted to. Blood of my blood, bone of my bone.”

He graced Annie with a rare smile, one that reached his eyes. One peck on her lips turned into twenty and he thanked her incessantly for her mercy. Ever the gentleman, he assisted his wife in redressing and rearranging Luzzato’s office. The sneaky pair rejoined the festivities — still lively like they never left. Smoke got Annie a seat at his personal table on the second floor, walking tall and proud with his wife on his arm. Heads turned and gossip flowed at this mysterious woman. Smoke had never been sighted with any woman before in Chicago, not unless it was about business.

Humming in the vibrant after sex glow, Annie could do nothing but look at her husband’s face. By no means, was this going to be easy for them to grow from. But they were both ready and willing. Their love was unstoppable. Ancestral. Celestial. Smoke sensed her gaze on him and he turned back to her. Reaching over the table to kiss her, he held her hand tightly to his chest, with urgency.

“I’m comin back wit ya. I can’t let you walk away from me. I’d surely die, Annie. Will you have me?”

She squealed with utter joy at his heartfelt request. Annie sprang up and ran to him, sitting on his lap and kissing him with everything she had. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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[frost-queen]

A queen's match (Reader x Colin Bridgerton)

Requested by: @sweetheartlizzie07 Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers, @alex–awesome–22, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23, @melsunshine  , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis, @slythetic, @bitchybananaflower, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr

You nibbled at the insides of your under lips mindlessly. A gesture you always did when you were feeling shy. Trying to get a grip of the situation upon being forced in. Upon your name calling you immediately straightened your shoulders. Fixing your expression in a neutral manner. Leaving a small smile to shine. Doors opened as it made your smile falter. Eyes briefly widening at the crowded room. All eyes turned towards you. Feeling too much to handle. Hearing your mother clear her throat behind you, made you take your first step.

Knowing you were dawdling. Keeping your gaze forwards, you tried to fixate on just one person. Letting everyone else blur away. – “The queen, the queen, eyes on the queen.” – you whispered to yourself. Mouth barely moving to not let it be known. Each step made your knees buckle. Seeing the stern expression on the queen’s face. – “Only the queen.” – you added needing that little extra courage to make your way forwards. Feeling many eyes on you. Following your every step like a vulture.

Waiting for a misstep of the prey and fill their waiting with amusement. No, you weren’t going to satisfy them with it. Having only eyes for the queen, you found your smile once more. Small but kind, hiding in the corner of your lips. The queen’s expression changed slightly as you approached. Stood before her and curtsied gracefully and low. Keeping so till you were spoken at. Hearing the queen hum softly. – “Rise my child.” – she said. So you did, slowly batting your gaze at her. Seeing perhaps something satisfied in her.

She turned her face to look at you from both directions. Humming again once more. Then she rose from her chair. Making everyone in the room suck in a breath. Taking a few steps down to the last step-up. With a smile upon her lips, she cupped your cheeks. Making you gasp surprised at her gesture. The warmth of her hands coming through the silk gloves. Lowering your head with her hands, she pressed a kiss against your forehead. Stating you as the season’s diamond.

She rose once more, directing herself to the ton. – “I have my season’s diamond.” – she called out. Clapping filled the throne room and praising left or rights. You gulped nervously with shocked eyes. Your gaze fell on Brimsley. The queen’s right hand. He gave you an encouraging nod for you to ease your nerves. Exhaling deep, you feared what you might have found yourself in. Knowing how popular the season’s diamond always was.

Knowing you’d be forced in situations you’d rather not attend. For they were always too crowed and full off selfish talks. The queen took your hand, turning you around to the ton. With a gesture of hers, she set you off to walk. Walk back the long way round from where you came. Sucking in a breath, you straightened your posture, feeling the ton close in on you from behind. All following after you as there needed to be no more debutants presented. Following you with praising and raised glasses.

Haven been given the title of diamond of the season, you attended your first ball. Lady Danbury’s ball. Knowing you’d be out in the open now. No walls to hide behind or silent footsteps to find a way out. Now you were the focus. Everyone’s attention and it was something you were not familiar with. Always having been on the side. Watching silently and let all the attention go over your head. People with louder voices easily overpowered you and made you fall silent. For you could never roar louder than them. Arm locked with your mother you entered the ballroom. Going towards the queen to greet her. The queen requested for you to remain at her sight.

Her eyes narrowed and scanning the ton’s eligible men. Trying to decipher who the better match would be. Seeing how several men were glancing your way, it made you turn your head bashfully away. Three of them approach with much confidence. The queen remained at your side. – “Miss Y/n.” – one of them said as the other two simply bowed. You curtsied back.

They then turned to the queen. Complimenting her on her good choice. You kept your smile up, unsure what else to do. Fidgeting with your fingers in the hopes you wouldn’t come over as too shy or nervous. – “Tell me miss Y/n would you care for a dance?” – one of them asked. Knowing the hunting season was open, you tried to uphold your smile. Knowing they were only interested in you because you were the queen’s choice.

“Don’t tell me your dance card is already full miss Y/n.” – another one teased with a chuckle. You wanted to response, moving your chest a bit forwards as you let in air to speak out your words. When the third man commented on it. Calling it nonsense as they were the first to greet you. You immediately fell silent, lowering your head as you had been silenced.

The three men got into a conversation about you, without including you. Seeing your mama nearby urge you to speak up, so you did. – “It is not yet full. Who requested the dance.” – you spoke feeling as if your words got lost in the wind. Not one catching ears off it. Feeling ignored and left out, you took a step back. Once again people with louder voices made you fall silent. Their presence being enough to fill the room. The queen had been watching clearing her throat.

She came nearer settling a hand on your shoulder. Waving the three men away with her other hand. Shooing them off. The three men were surprised but accepted the queen’s order. – “So chatty.” – the queen spoke to you. – “My apologies your majesty…” – you responded with a curtsy, feeling as if some part of it was your fault. The queen waved your apology away like it was not needed. – “You need a perfect match, my diamond. The most perfect one.” – she spoke with determination.

Lords came left and right. With each you tried your best. Tried your best to present yourself as good as possible. All failed miserably. For you always fell silent or spoke with forced words. The queen kept dismissing them. Calling out no after no after no. At some point it became unbearable. Making you feel at fault. Needing a breather and away from all the forced encounters on you, you left the queen’s side. Leaving the crowded ballroom to find a secluded area.

Rounding a corner to a pavilion room. Where nature and the indoors were hand in hand. A round room with a balcony at the edge. Inside you went, caught by surprise when someone else was inside too. – “Oh apologies.” – you called out. The gentleman who had been leaning on the balcony moved his elbow up to set his hand down. Turning his posture to see who was behind him. – “I did not mean to disturb you, mister Bridgerton.” – you added upon seeing it was a Bridgerton.

“I… that is quite alright.” – he responded. His gaze settling on you with a thoughtful frown. Figuring out who you were. His slight cluelessness made you smile shy back at him. Waiting for the answer to come to him. – “You… you are the season’s diamond, am I right?” – he pointed out. – “That I am.” – you answered with a soft sigh. – “Should you not be out there, dancing away with each interested suitors?” – he replied. – “Should you not as well?” – you answered. Seeing him frown slightly. – “Well not with interested suitors, interested ladies in your case.” – you corrected.

Colin let out a soft laugh, making you smile as well. A brief silence fell upon  the two of you. You neared the balcony a bit more. Unsure if he would accept your presence a bit longer. Setting your hands on the railing, you through the gaps up to the stary night. – “Were you admiring the stars?” – you questioned. – “Perhaps.” – Colin responded letting himself lean with his arms on the railing. Looking up as well. You tilted your head a bit. – “That is the Ursa minor.” – you spoke pointing upwards to the sky. – “Follow that path and it will lead you right… to the north star.”

Colin hummed curiously. Letting his finger settle on the north star. Guiding it upwards. – “Then that should be the Ursa major.” – he pointed out. You hummed correctly at his words. You moved a bit closer to Colin to talk more about the stars. Pointing them out as Colin joined in. Pointing upwards as well. Both unaware of a spectator.

Someone enjoying the conversation with a smile on her lips. The queen. She had been out in search of you. Finding you here in this room with a Bridgerton. Hearing you speak with comfort for the first time tonight. Nothing forced or overruled. Both equal to each other’s presence. Smiling she turned around leaving you with your privacy. Having found the perfect match for her diamond.

The weather was nice. Cool but gentle. A perfect day for a stroll. So you were. Walking side by side to Colin Bridgerton. With his hands behind his back, he accompanied you on this fine day. Speaking of little things. Minor subjects but full of meaning. Listening to your soothing voice that calmed him instantly. Whatever nerves he had, melted away by the blooming sun in his presence.

“Colin!” – a sudden third voice made the two of you slow your walking down. Both turning around to see who was calling. Penelope Featherington approaching. Nearly out of breath when she hasted over. – “Colin! I am delighted to see you here.” – she spoke, turning all her attention towards him. – “Penelope.” – he answered with a polite bow of his head. – “Colin, would you care to get some sweets with me. Over there, there are all kinds of sweets. Even the cakes you so adore.” – she let out.

You had your gaze downwards. Setting your teeth on the insides of your underlip. Lifting your gaze slowly up with a shy gaze. Knowing once more you had been overpowered by another. Making you feel stepped over once more. Knowing you would never find the strength to do so. Colin chuckled nervously, glancing back at you. Noticing what you were doing. Having seen you do it a few times now.

“My apologies Penelope.” – Colin responded taking your hand. Turning your head in surprise to him as he placed your hand over his arm. – “I am enjoying a nice walk with miss Y/n.” – he spoke as you stared at your hand on his arm. – “But thank you for pointing out the sweets. I believe I can delight you with one, miss Y/n.” – he fully turned his attention to you. Placing his hand on yours. Bidding good day to Penelope. Guiding you towards the tent with sweets.

Some people made way for the both of you. You gasped in delight at all the sweets. Macrons, cakes and chocolates to your delight. – “Which one would you like to try first?” – Colin asked. You tapped him on his arm before pointing one out. Colin chuckled taking the chocolate cake with a whip of cream on top. Handing it over to you. You took a bite from it, feeling the sweetness in your mouth. Humming soft at the tastiness. – “You should try it.” – you told him, offering him to take a bite.

Colin’s gaze was on you. Settling on your lips. Seeing how he was staring it made you shy. – “Is… is something the matter, mister Bridgerton?” – you asked concerned. – “Just…” – Colin replied bringing his thumb to your lips. Letting it brush up against it. You immediately moved a hand before your mouth once his thumb was gone. Watching how he brought it to his own lips. Sucking the cream he had wiped from your lips from his thumb. – “Very delicious.” – he responded.

He grabbed you by the wrist, taking a bite from the cake that was still in your hand. – “Mister Bridgerton!” – you called out giving him a slap against his shoulder. Seeing him curl up a smile, you couldn’t hold your own laughter in. Bumping against him, still laughing at his playfulness. From afar stood she watching. Eyes green with jealousy. Penelope Featherington.  Jealous of who had Colin’s eye. The season’s diamond. Wishing it would be her instead. Wishing it was her that he was laughing with. Who wiped her lips clean from cream. She wanted it to be her. You took a macron, offering Colin the first bite.

He took it, eating from your hand with pleasure. He then offered you a cake as well. Not letting you bite from it. Instead he dipped the cream on your nose. You stared unamused back at him as Colin could only laugh. In seek of revenge you dipped your finger in the cream as well. Wiping it down his cheek. He blinked in shock at you before taking another dip of the cream.

Eyes widening you grabbed his wrist, holding his wrist back. Knowing off the war you had unleashed with him. Colin didn’t back down. Fighting with every might to smear the cream on you no matter the cost. The two of you ended up making a mess of it. Both laughing, you continued your stroll. Falling in love with each other each fleeting moment.

By the end of the season you were more than eager to marry him. To marry Colin Bridgerton. A match approved by the queen, but founded by yourself. Someone that brought out a talkative side in you. Someone that made you comfortable enough to simply be yourself.

The wedding happened very quick after the ending of the season. It was blissful and full of warmth. It had been a while since you encountered Penelope Featherington. So it was quite the surprise to her to find out that Colin’s new wife was pregnant. Shock was not enough to express her feelings. Knowing she never stood a chance.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[deunmiu-dessie]

price, after seeing you with kids, vows to himself that he'll get you pregnant.

  "i'm so happy you guys could make it!"

    john watches fondly as you smile. it's wide and genuine, the action making your nose scrunch up; your head tilting to the side to mimic the woman's excitement─ and john can hardly take his gaze off of you. your eyes glimmer at the sight of your heavily pregnant best friend and the woman watches with a soft smile as the two of you make your way up their driveway. 

 your body is tucked away underneath john's arm, the usual warmth of your perfume; a sweet and spicy blend of saffron and sugared vanilla, has him unable to keep his hands off of you and he makes it obvious with the way his thumb rubs back and forth over your bare shoulder. and you're just as guilty as he is, with the way your hand is nestled snuggly in the back pocket of his jeans, the other stationed right atop his hand that rests affectionately on your shoulder. 

when the two of you can make it to gatherings in your neighborhood, there's bound to be talk and swooning about you and john the next day. most women were envious that even after being together for years, it seemed like the two of you were still in your honeymoon phase.

 "jas! babe, what are you doing up?" your voice is a teasing lilt as you shimmy your way out from under john's arm, looking back at him briefly to flash him a pleased smile. however, it's different from the one you sent jasmine earlier, it's softer, intimate, and familiar and it warms his belly better than bourbon ever could; his eyes soften and he smiles back, the crow's feet around his eyes deepening. 

despite john only having a few days off until his next mission, which he had wanted to spend with you, cuddled up next to the fireplace and watching movies, or perhaps cooking and baking with each other, all lovey-dovey and tête-à-tête─ you had instead asked if he could spare a day and go to a cookout hosted by a mutual friend. 

of course, he couldn't say no to you. not when you looked so reluctant to ask in the first place, with your eyebrows furrowed and a small frown marring your lips�� the same lips he had languidly kissed until it flipped right side up, with gentle murmurs of reassurance. besides, john didn't mind jasmine's husband. tom was a retired colonel of the army and they had hit it off quite quickly, especially given john's position. 

  reluctantly, john's eyes drift away from where you stand hugging jasmine, immediately spotting tom who is situated with a few other men at the grill. sucking in a breath, john made his way over to them, a smile splitting his cheeks when tom notices him, his tongs clanging against the metal. "well i'll be damned, if it isn't john, fucking, price." 

 the two men join hands briefly, "tommy, i've been gone a few months and she's already pregnant again." john chuckles softly at tom's sheepish look, the man's cheeks pinkening. "m'surprised y'r balls haven' shriveled up yet." john finishes, dropping into a squat to pluck a lone water nestled amongst the beers. “well, what can i say? she’s all over me!” tom, through his boisterous laughter at his own joke, notices the bottle and sends john a smirk, "you gone in a few days?"

 john grunts, hoping to save himself from the conversation, talk of work right now would only annoy him. tom clasps him on the shoulder firmly and sends him a mocking grin, perhaps this is why john liked tom, banter flowed naturally between the two of them. john was reminded of gaz time and time again when holding a conversation with the retired colonel. "it's as i said before. maybe it's time for you to settle down, you're not getting any younger."

  john grunts at that one too, eyes scanning the bustling cook-out to look for your comforting presence. he immediately finds you amongst your group of friends, a newborn babe nestled in the crook of your arms delicately and other children playing a simple version of tag around your legs. you're gazing down at the baby with envious adoration, eyes sparkling with awe and something akin to being maternal and it knocks the breath from his throat, his heart swelling within his chest at the sight of you. 

   and for a moment, he pictures that you're holding his child in your arms and that those are his kids circling your legs. and it's when your eyes somehow find his, your smile shy and your eyes almost pleading, that he swears to himself that he'll get you pregnant. and an ache to see your belly swollen with his child starts in his chest before traveling straight to his cock. tom chuckles, it's a knowing and judgment-free look. "i guess your mind is made up, huh captain?"

connected with this post!

[jinusajas]

11/26/24; 10:00pm

sylus x fem.reader (non mc)

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

notes: once a sylus girly, always a sylus girly…

admittedly, your first meeting with sylus occurred in a more… unorthodox manner.

that night, you had just gotten off a late shift at work, feeling the cool air cause slight shivers to course through you. you hug your coat tighter to your form all while taking in your surroundings.

as you kept walking, you became aware of a suspicious pair of footsteps that seemed to follow your every move.

when you stopped, the same lingering steps would stop as well.

each time you would turn a corner or dash to the other side of the street-

you swore you could feel the hairs raising at the back of your neck at the strange sensation of being watched and followed.

not wishing to lead this bastard straight to your apartment, your eyes take in the sight of the neon lights that flash above you, reading the name of the bar as you entered crow’s haven for the first time.

the bar was dimly lit with a surprising number of patrons all scattered throughout the area. as your eyes take in the lavish furniture and the expensive alcohol everyone was consuming, you slowly began to realize just how out of place you were while in this high class bar.

the sounds of doors opening makes you stiffen, with you looking back to see an unfamiliar man walk in, dark eyes scanning the bar before landing on your frozen form. letting out a string of curses, you turn away from the entrance and began heading deeper inside of the bar, your gaze finally landing on a tall man with silver locks of hair.

you take in the sight of his pristine, black and red suit and make a beeline toward him. your hands reach out to grab at the ends of the expensive fabric, earning you a momentary look of disdain from the man as he acknowledges you with a narrowed, crimson gaze.

“what’s this? has a kitten gotten lost and found her way into a crow’s lair?”

shivers were felt running down your spine at the sound of his rich voice felt reverberating in your ear. “s-sorry, but, i need your help. can you pretend to be my boyfriend, at least until that fucker backs off?”

the man immediately straightens his posture, towering over you as he stood well past 6 feet in height. he places a hand on your shoulder, already seeing the unknown man making his way toward you.

“didn’t i tell you how dangerous it is to talk to strangers, sweetie?” you allow him to take a protective stance in front of you, gazing at the man who stalked you with a bored expression.

“hey man, i don’t mean no harm, just wanted to talk to that pretty lady over there.” the man gestures at you, yet before he can take another step a sudden click was heard, causing your stalker’s eyes to go wide when he was suddenly faced with a barrel of a gun.

“she’s mine.” those final words rang with such finality that you nearly fell to your knees. have you ever met a man that exuded such confidence before in your life? a man who’s beauty could rival that of gods themselves-

no, absolutely not.

the man backs away while stuttering out excuses, and to add insult to injury, your savior merely snaps his fingers as several men surrounded your potential stalker before physically escorting him out of the club.

relief courses through you, and you watch as your savior returns his gun back into the confines of his suit. the bartender already tends to him, refilling his shot glass of whiskey. as you take a moment to calm down your rapidly beating heart, you carefully step aside, “ah, thank you… for helping me back there. i should… probably head home-“

he stops you from moving forward by gently gripping at your wrist, “i don’t think that’s a good idea, kitten. after all, if you leave my safety, then there’s a chance that he’s standing out there, waiting for you.” crimson eyes now shone with amusement while he downs his shot of whiskey in a single gulp, not even fazed by the burn of the alcohol, “and i’ve already told him that you’re mine, kitten.”

unable to speak, you watch as he leans forward to take your hand in his, pressing a kiss at the back of it before telling you, “the name’s sylus… and i don’t mind keeping you under my protection until things settle down. what do you say?”

truthfully, you would be a fool not to take him up on his offer.

which lead you to where you are now, where sylus has been your “fake boyfriend” for close to two years now.

and that fact made you feel so giddy and stupidly in love with him.

sunlight streams through the window, painting your shared bedroom in brilliant hues. too happy to sleep in, you had woken up first to prepare some breakfast in bed for sylus in celebration of your anniversary. with several breakfast items on the tray, you tiptoe into the room, your smile breaking into a grin upon seeing sylus sleeping on his chest.

setting off your tray of breakfast to the side, you crept closer to the bed, wishing to tease your beloved a bit this morning. doing a countdown in your head, you land against sylus’s back, earning a grunt from him as you littered his skin with a plethora of kisses.

“hehe, morning sysy…”

sylus lets out a series of grumbles, slowly turning around so that he was lying back in bed while taking you within his embrace. “hmph… you’re up early. and you’re hyper, too.”

you gasp, “i am not hyper! i’m just incredibly happy today… and you know what today is, so don’t even pretend.”

a rich chuckle fills your ears, making you shiver once more in response. despite the millions of times you have basked in his voice, you couldn’t seem to get used to it, as it still sent pleasant sensations to course through you.

“truly… thinking back on that night when we first met- i was scared. i didn’t want some creep to know where i lived-“

“and so the lost kitten made her way inside a crow’s lair, seeking shelter.” a devilish grin spreads across sylus’s lips when he presses a quick kiss against your lips, “and the crow took pity on her and made a promise to keep her safe.”

“yeah…” you trail off and smile at the memory. deep down, you knew you were drawn to sylus and could sense that he was more than capable of protecting you.

you didn’t regret meeting him at all.

shaking your head, you break out of your reveries and smile back at sylus, “that’s why, i really wanted to celebrate our two year anniversary together. i decided to start off by making some breakfast in bed for you.”

you gesture towards the desk, earning a pleased hum from sylus. “i must say, that’s very thoughtful of you, kitten. however… i hope you won’t be too upset when i tell you that the type of hunger i have cannot be satiated by something as simple as food.” he frames at your face, smirk seeming to widen when he captures a lock of your hair and twirls it against his fingertips, “in fact, what i crave for is something far more decadent.”

“huh? what do you mean?”

sylus simply shakes his head, “instead of answering with words, why don’t i show you with my actions?”

“oh… okay…?”

you trail off, feeling your lips turn dry when sylus moves down your body, settling himself between your legs as he pushes up the fabric of your oversized shirt. his crimson gaze focuses solely on you while he breathes in your scent, settling his lips against your inner thigh. keeping his eyes shut, he basks in your scent before using one of his hands to grip at the waistband of your panties.

already, you felt the moisture beginning to pool between your legs, your breathing slowly turning labored when sylus pulls your panties down the rest of the way using his teeth alone. amusement and desire paints his gaze as he meets your slicked core, taking in the scent of your honeyed arousal before delving into your walls with his tongue.

the wet muscles was felt pushing inside of you, giving you such a hedonistic friction that had to be sinful with how good it felt. your hands automatically go into his hair, and you found yourself pressing your aching sex even deeper against him. sylus was relentless when it came to tasting you, drinking up all you had to offer as he made sure that not even a single drop of your arousal fell against the sheets.

playing your body with a familiar expertise, your back arches against the mattress as your climax rushes out of you in waves, your gasps quickly morphing into broken moans of his name, earning a pleased grunt from the onychinus leader.

your mind was in a daze after such an intense release, yet you remained in such a muddled state even as sylus pulled you closer to him by your ankles. rapid movements were felt below you, and when you blearily looked to the side, you felt your walls clench in response to sylus rapidly stroking his cock to full hardness before he presses his mushroom tip against your entrance.

“you drive me crazy, kitten. ever since the moment i laid eyes on you, you were truly mine.” he completes his statement by fully thrusting into you, bottoming out while setting a rapid pace. your legs wrap around his waist as you felt a newfound urgency at reaching your completion with him. the squelching sounds of your lovemaking echoes throughout the room while sylus continues to press lingering kisses against your damp skin all while hotly whispering into your ear-

“happy anniversary, sweetie… let’s celebrate by never leaving this bed.”

end notes: an unedited thirst post that needs to be written for all of the sylus girlies out there (⺣◡⺣)♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[tosomeonessomeone]

there you are.

words•5.2k /pairings・Lee know x Solo mom reader / genres・fluff, humor / warnings・ MDI, intercourse

You shifted Rio’s warm weight on your hip, his little fingers crumpling the orange-cat drawing he’d clung to all morning. “Mama, *pleeeease* can we get one?” he whined, burying his face in your shoulder. His plea was sugar-coated, sticky as the juice stain on your sleeve from breakfast—the third shirt this week. At 30, solo motherhood meant your world spun to the rhythm of daycare alarms, client deadlines, and the perpetual tang of spilled apple sauce. But Rio’s eyes—wide as the cartoon kittens he’d scribbled—melted your resolve. “We’ll *look*,” you relented, steering the stroller toward *Whisker Haven*, its address hastily scribbled on a Post-it from your coworker. *Just looking*, you told yourself. *No commitments*.  

The shelter hummed like a living thing. Cedar chips and lavender cleaner mingled in the air, punctuated by trills and mews from wall-mounted cages. Rio squirmed free before you could unclip him, darting toward a sunlit playpen where a lanky volunteer knelt, tousled chestnut hair catching the light. His hands moved with practiced ease, flicking a feather toy just out of reach of a speckled kitten. “C’mon, little warrior,” he coaxed, voice low and playful. “Jump higher.”  

Rio crashed into the scene like a tiny tornado. “Hi!” he announced, planting himself beside the stranger. The man glanced up, and your breath hitched—not at his sharp jawline or the faint scar threading his brow, but at the way his smile transformed his face. Crow’s feet crinkled, warm as summer honey.  

“Hey there, adventurer,” he said, tilting his head to match Rio’s height. “I’m Minho. Wanna try?” He offered the feather wand, handle first. Rio seized it with a warrior’s cry, sending the kitten pouncing.  

Minho rose, brushing cat hair off his jeans. His gaze found yours, steady and curious. “He’s a natural,” he said, nodding toward Rio, who was now giggling as the kitten batted his shoelaces. There was no pity in his tone, no *single-mom radar* flicker—just genuine warmth. You tucked a stray hair behind your ear, suddenly aware of your faded jeans and the granola bar wrapper peeking out of your tote.  

“Thanks,” you said, softer than intended. “He’s been… obsessed.”  

Minho crouched again, steadying Rio’s grip on the toy. “Obsession’s good here,” he replied, glancing up through his lashes. “Means he’s got passion. And good taste.”  

The kitten leapt, landing in Rio’s lap. Your son’s squeal of delight echoed off the walls, and for the first time in weeks, you felt your shoulders relax. *Just looking*, you’d said. But as Minho’s laughter tangled with Rio’s, something fragile and hopeful stirred in your chest—a feeling you hadn’t dared name in years.  

Weekends bloomed into a rhythm of shelter visits, the three of you falling into a routine as comfortable as an old sweater. Minho became a fixture in your Saturdays, his patience with Rio as endless as his cat trivia. He taught your son to cradle kittens like clouds, guiding his small hands with a steadiness that made your throat tighten. “Support their paws, buddy—like they’re holding tiny secrets,” he’d say, and Rio would nod, solemn as a scholar.  

You learned Minho was 26, a grad student in animal behavior who spoke of feline body language like it was Shakespeare. “Cats arch their backs not just to scare foes, but to feel bigger when they’re scared,” he explained once, demonstrating with a theatrical curve of his spine that sent Rio into giggles. But it was the slow blinks that undid you—the way Minho would lock eyes with a wary cat, lids drifting shut in a languid Morse code. “They’re saying, ‘I trust you,’” he murmured to Rio during one lesson. Then, glancing at you across the playpen, he repeated the gesture, slow and deliberate. Your cheeks burned. *It’s just a demo*, you told yourself, even as your pulse skittered.  

One rainy afternoon, the shelter emptied early, the patter of droplets harmonizing with the kittens’ purrs. Rio dozed in his stroller, thumb tucked in his mouth, worn out from chasing a energetic tabby. Minho appeared beside you, two steaming mugs in hand. “Matcha latte,” he said, voice low to avoid waking Rio. “No sugar, just like you mentioned last week.”  

You blinked, startled he’d remembered your offhand comment about hating sweet drinks. His fingers grazed yours as you took the mug, calloused from scrubbing litter boxes yet impossibly gentle. The silence between you thickened, charged like the storm-heavy air.  

“He’s lucky,” Minho said suddenly, nodding at Rio. “Not every kid gets a mom who works two jobs *and* lets him turn her kitchen into a cat art gallery.”  

Your grip tightened on the mug. He knew. Of course he did—you’d confessed it weeks ago, that offhand moment when he’d asked about Rio’s father. But hearing him acknowledge it now, without a trace of pity, unraveled something in you.  

“Some days, it doesn’t feel like enough,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could cage them. “The deadlines, the daycare bills… What if I’m just—”  

“Enough.” Minho’s interruption was soft but firm. He stepped closer, the scent of matcha and cedar enveloping you. “You’re *everything* he needs.”  

Tears breached your lashes before you could stop them. You turned away, but Minho was already there, offering a tissue printed with a grinning cat and the pun *“Hang in there, paw-some human!”* A wet laugh escaped you. “Do you stock these for all the crying women who wander in?”  

“Just the ones who pretend they’ve got it all figured out.” His smile was tender, a silent invitation to lean in.  

Outside, rain drummed its approval. Rio sighed in his sleep, Tofu—the tabby he’d claimed as his soulmate—curled at his feet. And in that fragile, honeyed moment, you let yourself imagine: Minho’s hand brushing yours not by accident, his slow-blink smiles reserved just for you, weekends that stretched into years.  

The rain softens to a whisper as Minho leans against the adoption desk, his gaze steady on yours. *“You know,”* he begins, tracing the rim of his mug, *“I started volunteering here after my sister’s cat, Mochi, passed. She’d had him since we were kids.”* He pauses, a shadow flickering in his eyes. *“She’s in remission now, but back then… the shelter was the only place that didn’t feel heavy.”*  

Your breath catches. This is more than he’s ever shared—a fissure in his usual playful armor. *“Minho, I…”*  

He shakes his head, smiling faintly. *“Don’t. I’m not fishing for sympathy. Just… you should know I’ve seen how love can be a lifeline. Even the furry kind.”*  

The admission hangs between you, raw and real. You glance at Rio, his lashes fluttering in sleep, then back at Minho. *“After Rio’s dad left,”* you say, the words tasting less bitter than usual, *“I almost gave up freelancing. Too unstable. But then Rio drew his first cat—a scribbled blob with fangs—and I thought…* Okay. We’ll build a life where he gets to keep that joy.”  

Minho’s thumb brushes your wrist, fleeting. *“You did.”*  

A kitten mews from a nearby crate, breaking the tension. Minho chuckles, scooping up the bold calico intruder. *“This is Soybean. She’s a door-dasher—escapes every chance she gets.”*  

*“Like someone else I know,”* you tease, nodding at Rio, who’s begun snoring softly.  

Minho cradles Soybean against his chest, her purrs a rumbling echo of his next words. *“When I’m with you two… it feels like I’ve found something I didn’t know I was searching for.”*  

Your heart stammers. *“Minho—”*  

*“Not asking for labels,”* he interjects, setting Soybean down. *“Just… want you to see what I see. A woman who paints worlds for a living, raises a kind-hearted kid, and still makes time to laugh at my terrible cat puns.”* He gestures to the tissue still crumpled in your hand. *“That’s not surviving. That’s* thriving.”  

The shelter’s clock ticks, loud in the silence. You step closer, until the steam from your mug curls into his. *“What if I see you too?”* you whisper. *“The guy who teaches kittens—and single moms—how to trust again?”*  

His slow blink is answer enough.  

The adoption day arrives, and Tofu—now lord of Rio’s sock drawer and ruler of half-eaten goldfish crackers—officially becomes family. When Minho shows up at your apartment with a cat tree taller than Rio, your son erupts into a frenzy, launching himself at Minho’s legs. “Hyung! Tofu needs a *castle*!”  

Minho laughs, setting down the box with a thud. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, revealing forearms still scratched from last week’s kitten wrestling match. “Every queen deserves a throne,” he says, winking at you. You cross your arms, feigning suspicion. “And you just *happened* to have a cat tree lying around?”  

“I’m full of surprises,” he says, tossing Rio a package of felt mice to “test” for Tofu. For the next hour, you watch Minho assemble the tower with the precision of an engineer, indulging Rio’s demands to add “secret tunnels” (a cardboard tube) and a “treasure box” (your old sunglasses case). Tofu watches from the couch, her crooked tail flicking in approval.  

By sunset, the living room is a jungle of scratching posts and dangling toys. You order pizza, and Minho stays—not because you ask, but because Rio tugs him to the table with sauce-stained hands. “You *gotta* try the pepperoni, hyung! It’s Mama’s favorite.” Minho’s knee brushes yours under the table, lingering a beat too long.  

Later, after Rio’s bedtime stories (*“Again, Mama! The one with the space cat!”*), Minho hovers at the door, his usual confidence fraying. “The shelter’s fundraiser… I’d like you both there. With me.” He hesitates, fingers drumming his thigh. “Not as volunteers. As… my date.”  

Your pulse stutters. *Date*. The word feels too big, too bright for your cluttered life. But Minho’s gaze is steady, his vulnerability disarming. “Okay,” you whisper.  

The fundraiser glows with string lights and the murmur of well-dressed attendees. Rio, in a bow tie that keeps slipping sideways, drags you and Minho to a photo booth plastered with cat-ear headbands. “Family picture!” he declares, shoving a pair of cardboard whiskers at Minho. You freeze, but Minho just grins, clipping the whiskers to his hair. “Your majesty,” he says, bowing to Rio.  

The camera flashes: Minho’s arm around your waist, your head tilted toward him, Rio mid-laugh with frosting smeared on his chin. When the strip prints, Minho tucks it into his wallet, his ears pink. “For luck,” he mutters.  

You escape to the garden when the crowd swells, Rio asleep in your arms. Cherry blossoms drift around you like confetti. Minho brushes a petal from your hair, his voice soft. “I know I’m younger. I know your world is… *a lot*. But I’m not going anywhere.”  

Your throat tightens. “Why?”  

He steps closer, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “Love isn’t about age,” he says, nuzzling your temple as Rio’s breath evens against your shoulder. “It’s about who stays.”  

The kiss is gentle. When you pull back, Minho’s forehead rests against yours. “I’m not asking for a spotlight,” he whispers. “Just a corner of your chaos.”  

You laugh, tearful, and his mouth finds yours again. *Chaos*, you think, as Rio snores and Tofu bats at a falling blossom. *Maybe chaos is where love grows best*. 

As you and Minho lingered under the cherry blossoms, Rio’s frosting-smeared face pressed against your shoulder, the night felt suspended in time—soft and hopeful. But then a voice cut through the quiet.  

“Minho! There you are!”  

A woman in a sleek black dress approached, her heels clicking sharply against the garden stones. She was familiar—a longtime donor, maybe, or a board member. Her gaze flickered to Rio, then to your intertwined fingers, before settling on Minho. “We need you inside. The press wants a quote about next year’s expansion.”  

Minho hesitated, his hand still warm on your waist. “Give me five minutes, Soojin.”  

Soojin’s smile tightened. “Now, Minho. This is the *real work*.” Her emphasis lingered, a blade thinly veiled.  

You stiffened, shifting Rio higher on your hip. “Go,” you said, too quickly. “We’re fine.”  

Minho searched your face. “I’ll be right back.”  

But he wasn’t.  

Minutes bled into an hour. Rio grew restless, tugging at his bow tie, while you paced the garden path. Laughter and clinking glasses spilled from the venue, a world away from the sticky reality of motherhood. When Minho finally reappeared, his tie loosened and hair ruffled, Soojin trailed behind him, her laugh sharp as champagne bubbles.  

“—such a *natural* with the donors,” she purred, patting his arm. “You’ll go far, if you stay focused.” Her eyes slid to you, polite but dismissive. “Goodnight.”  

Minho reached for you, but you stepped back. “You should get back,” you said, voice brittle. “The *real work*.”  

He flinched. “That’s not what I—”  

“It’s fine.” You adjusted Rio’s blanket, avoiding his gaze. “We’re used to being an afterthought.”  

The words hung between you, cruel and untrue, but fear had already coiled around your heart. Minho’s jaw tightened. “You think I’d choose *that* over you two?”  

You didn’t answer. Rio whimpered in his sleep, and you turned toward the exit.  

“Wait.” Minho caught your wrist, his voice raw. “I’m not him. I’m not going to vanish because something shinier comes along.”  

Tears blurred the fairy lights. “How do I know that?”  

He stepped closer, his thumb brushing your pulse point. “Because I’m asking you to trust me,” he whispered. “Even when it’s hard.”  

The gulf between you trembled, fragile as a spiderweb. Then Rio stirred, his small hand patting your cheek. “Mama, go home?”  

Minho released you, his eyes shadowed. “Let me drive you.”  

You shook your head. “We’ll take a taxi.”  

The ride home was silent, Rio’s head heavy on your shoulder. As you tucked him into bed, Tofu curled at his feet, your phone buzzed.  

**Minho:** *I’m here. However long it takes.*  

You didn’t reply. But you didn’t delete the message either.  

A week of silence. Seven days of Minho’s unanswered calls piling up like unread apologies, and Rio’s relentless questions chipping away at your resolve. *“Did Minho-hyung get lost? Is he mad at us?”* You’d deflected with hollow excuses—*“He’s just busy, sweetheart”*—but Rio’s crumpled frown mirrored the guilt gnawing at your ribs.  

On Saturday morning, you flee to the park, pushing Rio’s stroller through the fog-thick air. Tofu peers from the basket, her tail flicking like a metronome counting down your dread. The lake glimmers ahead, its surface still as held breath. Rio babbles to Tofu about turtles, unaware as you round the bend—and there he is.  

Minho slouches on a bench, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms still marked with fading kitten scratches. A paper cup sits abandoned beside him, steam long gone. His gaze is fixed on the water, shoulders hunched like he’s carrying the sky. You pivot sharply, but Tofu leaps from the stroller with a yowl, darting straight to him.  

“Y/N.”  

His voice is sandpaper-rough, and you flinch. Rio twists in his seat, squealing, *“Hyung! Mama, look—it’s Minho!”*  

You fumble for Tofu, but she’s already in his lap, kneading his thighs like dough. Traitor.  

“Hey, troublemaker,” Minho murmurs, scratching her chin. His eyes lock onto yours, shadowed and sleepless. “Missed you.”  

Rio tugs your sleeve, lower lip wobbling. “Mama, *please*.”  

You crouch, adjusting his scarf to avoid Minho’s stare. “Stay here with Tofu, okay? Just for a minute.”  

“But—”  

“*Please*, Rio.”  

He nods, solemn, and you rise on unsteady legs. Minho meets you halfway, the morning chill sharpening the lines of his face.  

“You’ve been ghosting me,” he says, voice low.  

“I’ve been… figuring things out.”  

“By shutting me out?” He steps closer, Tofu pressed to his chest like a shield. “Talk to me. *Please*.”  

The plea unravels you. “What’s there to say? You saw how Soojin looked at me—like I was a *distraction*. And I can’t—I won’t be the thing that holds you back from—”  

“From what? Schmoozing donors?” He laughs, bitter. “That’s not me, Y/N. Never was.”  

“But it’s part of your job! Your *future*—”  

“I quit.”  

The words hang between you, brittle as ice.  

“What?”  

“Donor relations. Events. All of it.” He sets Tofu down, his hands trembling. “I told them I’m sticking to the cats. And the kids. And… you.”  

Your breath hitches. “You didn’t have to do that.”  

“Yeah, I did.” He swipes a hand over his face. “Because I’d rather mop piss puddles every day than lose you two.”  

Rio’s laughter floats over, Tofu now chasing a leaf he’s waving. Minho’s gaze softens. “I’ve been here every morning. Hoping you’d come. I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”  

Tears blur the fog-drenched trees. “I’m scared,” you whisper.  

He reaches for you, pausing just shy of your cheek. “Let me be scared with you. Let me *help*.”  

You lean into his touch, his palm warm against your skin. “What if I break?”  

“Then I’ll put you back together.” His thumb brushes away a tear. “However many times it takes.”  

Rio crashes into your legs, Tofu circling his ankles. “Group hug!” he demands, arms stretched wide.  

Minho scoops him up, your little trio—*family*���colliding in a tangle of limbs and purrs. The fog lifts, sunlight spilling gold across the path ahead.  

The click of Rio’s bedroom door echoes like a held breath. You retreat to the kitchen, hands trembling as you fill the kettle. Moonlight spills through the window, silvering the mugs you set out—the chipped one Rio painted with paw prints, and Minho’s favorite, striped like a tabby’s fur.  

Footsteps pad behind you.  

“Need help?” Minho leans against the doorway, sleeves rolled up, shadows pooling under his eyes.  

You shake your head, but he steps closer anyway, his warmth a quiet challenge to the distance you’ve carved. The kettle whistles, sharp and urgent.  

“Why’d you really quit donor work?” you ask, pouring hot water too fast. It sloshes, scalding your thumb.  

Minho catches your wrist, guiding the kettle down. “Because I finally figured out what matters.” His thumb brushes the burn, soothing. “Saw my dad chase promotions my whole childhood. Missed every school play, every birthday. I swore I’d never be that guy.”  

You stare at the steam curling between you. “And us? Are we just… another promise?”  

He turns your hand over, tracing the lines of your palm. “You’re the reason I keep them.”  

The confession hangs, fragile. You pull away, busying yourself with tea bags. Chamomile for him, earl grey for you—he’d remembered.  

“I keep waiting for you to realize this is too much,” you whisper. “A single mom, a chaotic kid, a cat who hates your shoes—”  

“Y/N.” He steps into your space, the counter’s edge pressing into your back. “You think I don’t know what I’m signing up for? I’ve seen your late-night panic over daycare bills. The way you cry when Rio draws family pictures with *three* people now. Hell, I’ve scrubbed puke off my favorite jeans thanks to Tofu’s hairballs.” His voice cracks. “I’m not here for *easy*. I’m here for *you*.”  

Tears blur the mugs. “What if I’m not enough?”  

He frames your face, calloused palms anchoring you. “You’re everything. The deadlines, the mess, the *fear*—it’s all part of you. And I want all of it.”  

Your breath hitches. “Even when I push you away?”  

“Especially then.” His forehead rests against yours, the tea forgotten. “You don’t have to be brave alone anymore.”  

The admission unravels you. “I don’t know how to do this,” you rasp. “To trust someone to… stay.”  

Minho’s thumb catches a tear. “Let me show you.”  

Outside, rain begins to fall, tapping a rhythm against the window. The first brush of Minho’s lips is tentative, a question whispered into the fragile space between your breaths. But when your fingers fist in his hoodie, tugging him closer, the hesitation shatters. His hands slide from your face to your waist, lifting you onto the counter with a ease that steals your breath. Tea mugs clatter forgotten as he steps between your knees, his mouth slanting over yours with a hunger that mirrors the storm outside.  

This isn’t the careful Minho who blinks slowly at skittish kittens. This is wildfire—calloused palms skimming your ribs, teeth grazing your lower lip, a groan rumbling deep in his chest when you arch against him. His hoodie smells like cedar and the faint musk of the shelter, a scent that’s become as familiar as your own chaos.  

“Minho—” you gasp, breaking the kiss, but his name is a plea, not a protest.  

He stills, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, but his thumb traces the hammering pulse at your neck, betraying his own unraveling.  

You don’t. Instead, you knot your hands in his hair, dragging him back. The counter digs into your thighs, the cold edge a stark contrast to the heat of his mouth. He kisses like he’s memorizing you—the sigh you stifle when his tongue flicks yours, the hitch in your breath as his hands slide under your shirt, branding your skin.  

Minho guides you through the darkened hallway, his steps careful and measured despite the desire thrumming through his veins. Your bare feet pad silently across the wooden floors, past Rio's room where soft snores filter through the crack under the door, and Tofu's favorite sleeping spot by the window.

His hands never leave your body - ghosting over your hip, tracing the small of your back, fingers intertwined with yours as he leads you to your bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you with barely a whisper, and suddenly the air feels charged, electric with anticipation.

Moonlight spills through your curtains, painting Minho's bare chest in silver shadows as he backs you toward the bed. His movements are controlled, deliberate - every touch calculated to keep quiet. When your knees hit the mattress, he catches you before you fall, lowering you to the sheets with such care that your heart swells.

"Shh," he breathes against your ear when the bed frame creaks slightly, his warm weight settling over you. His fingers trail down your sides, hooks in your belt loops. "We'll have to be very, very quiet."

The challenge in his whispered words sends a shiver down your spine, especially when his teeth graze your earlobe, testing just how silent you can stay.

Minho's fingers tremble slightly as they work at your jeans button, his usual confidence wavering as moonlight reveals the vulnerability in his eyes. When you reach to help, he catches your wrist, pressing a kiss to your palm.

"Let me," he whispers, "I want to remember every second of this." His hands slide your jeans down with aching slowness, but you notice how he hesitates at the scars on your thighs, the stretch marks mapping your hips. Before self-consciousness can take root, he's tracing each mark with reverent fingers, then following with his lips.

"Beautiful," he breathes against your skin. When you start to protest, he silences you with a deep kiss. "Every inch of you."

You reach for his belt, but notice his own moment of hesitation as your fingers brush his stomach. This confident man who spends his days wrangling large dogs suddenly seems unsure, and you remember the burn scars he usually keeps hidden under long sleeves.

"You don't have to—" he starts, but you quiet him by pressing kisses along the scarred tissue of his right arm, feeling his breath catch. Your fingers work his belt open as your lips trace each mark, each imperfection that makes him perfectly him.

Soon you're both down to underwear, skin against skin, every touch electric yet tender. His fingers trace the curve of your breasts through your bra, while yours map the hard planes of his chest, both of you learning each other's bodies with wondering hands.

"You're sure?" he asks, thumbs hooked in your panties, waiting for permission despite the obvious desire straining against his boxers. His eyes hold yours, dark with want but soft with something deeper.

You nod, lifting your hips to help him slide your panties down your legs. His breath catches as he takes in your naked form, illuminated by moonlight. Your instinct is to cover yourself, but the raw adoration in his gaze holds you still.

Minho trails kisses up your inner thigh, his touch growing bolder as your breathing quickens. When his tongue finds your clit, you have to bite your lip to stay quiet. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he works you with his mouth, each stroke of his tongue deliberate and precise.

You reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging gently when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. His responding groan vibrates against you, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. Your other hand fists in the sheets, trying to anchor yourself as the pressure builds.

"Minho," you gasp, barely a whisper, "I need you. Please."

He crawls up your body, kissing a path from your navel to your breasts, then capturing your lips. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he positions himself between your thighs, the hard length of his cock pressing against your entrance.

"I adore you," he breathes against your mouth as he slowly pushes inside, stretching you deliciously. "Gosh, I adore you so much."

Your bodies move together in the darkness, finding a rhythm as natural as breathing. Each thrust is measured, careful not to make the bed creak, but the restraint only makes it more intense. His forehead presses against yours, sharing each shaky breath as you climb toward ecstasy together.

Minho's thrusts grow deeper, more urgent as your walls clench around him. His cock fills you perfectly, hitting spots that make you see stars. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, changing the angle until he's grinding against your clit with each movement.

"Fuck," he pants against your neck, struggling to keep his voice down. "You feel amazing. So tight, so perfect."

Your nails dig into his back as the pressure builds, every nerve ending on fire. The familiar coil of heat in your belly winds tighter and tighter. Minho seems to sense how close you are - his fingers find your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts.

"Come for me," he whispers, his voice rough with need. "I want to feel you come on my cock."

The combination of his words, his touch, and the delicious stretch of him inside you sends you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your pussy clenching rhythmically around him as you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your cries.

The feeling of you coming undone triggers his own release. His hips stutter, losing their rhythm as he buries himself deep inside you with a muffled groan. You can feel his cock pulsing as he fills you, his whole body trembling with the intensity of his orgasm.

For several long moments, you lie there tangled together, hearts racing, bodies slick with sweat. Minho peppers soft kisses across your face - your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose - as if he can't bear to stop touching you.

Minho chuckles softly against your neck, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your hip. "You know," he murmurs with a playful nip at your earlobe, "if we keep this up, Rio might get that little sister he's been begging for."

Your laughter bubbles up, soft and intimate in the darkness. "Only you would think about making babies right after our first time," you tease, turning to face him with a grin. Your fingers trace the smile lines around his eyes, memorizing how he looks in this moment - hair mussed from your hands, lips swollen from kisses.

"Hey, I'm just being practical," he defends playfully, pulling you closer. "Rio's been asking for a playmate ever since he saw Mrs. Kim's new baby. And Tofu could use another human to train."

You snort, burying your face in his chest to muffle the sound. "Of course you'd bring the pets into this conversation," you whisper. "Such a typical shelter worker."

"Speaking of," he murmurs, his hand sliding down to cup your ass, "we should probably practice that baby-making technique a few more times. You know, for science."

Three years later, sunlight drips like honey through the windows of your shared home, gilding the mosaic of chaos and love that is your life. Minho stands at the stove, spatula in hand, crafting pancake dinosaurs with the precision of a man who’s learned to find art in the messy. His free hand rests on the curve of your belly, where your daughter kicks impatiently, as if already eager to join the fray. “Princess Appa’s practicing her roundhouse kicks,” he teases, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.  

Under the table, Rio—now six and savant of all things glitter and mischief—huddles with Tofu, their whispers punctuated by the crinkle of a manila folder. You bite your lip, heart swollen, as he peeks up at you. *“Now, Mama?”*  

You nod, tears already pricking your lashes.  

Rio scrambles out, folder clutched to his *Star Wars* pajamas, and tugs Minho’s apron with the gravity of a diplomat. “Appa! Father’s Day present!”  

Minho grins, flipping a T-Rex onto a plate. “Let’s see it, space ranger.”  

Rio thrusts the folder forward, its cover a masterpiece of sticker explosions: cats in rocket ships, a lopsided family portrait labeled *“ME, MAMA, MINHO, TOFU & BABY SIS,”* and a glitter-glue galaxy that glints in the light. Inside, the adoption papers gleam, their legalese softened by Rio’s crayon scrawl: *“PLEEZ BE MY REEL DAD”* looping across the top.  

Minho freezes. The spatula clatters to the floor.  

“Mama did the grown-up words,” Rio explains, bouncing on his toes, “but the *‘forever daddy’* part is *mine*! And Tofu helped!” He points to the corner, where a smudged paw print is stamped in purple ink.  

Minho sinks to his knees, the linoleum cool against his palms. He stares at the papers, then at Rio’s hopeful face—so like your own—then at you. “You… you’re sure?”  

You crouch beside him, Tofu weaving figure-eights around your ankles. “We’ve never been surer of anything.”  

A tear splashes onto the folder, blurring the “DAD” in Rio’s title. Another follows. Rio’s eyes widen. “Did I spell it wrong?!”  

Minho drags him into a hug, laughter and sobs tangled in his throat. “It’s perfect. *You’re* perfect.”  

Later, after pancake dinosaurs fossilize and the notary—a friend from the shelter who’d arrived with confetti and cat-shaped cookies—witnesses the signatures, Minho sits on the porch swing, Rio sprawled across his lap, sticky with syrup and dreams. Your daughter pirouettes beneath your skin, and Minho presses his palm to your belly, his thumb brushing the spot where her foot jabs. “Hey, little comet,” he murmurs. “Your brother’s already plotting your first mission to Mars.”  

You lean into him, the adoption papers now framed beside Rio’s first crayon cat drawing. Tofu’s paw print is immortalized in gold ink beneath your signatures—a family relic. “Think she’ll survive the chaos?”  

Minho’s slow blink is a language only you know. *I love you. I’m here. Always.* “She’ll be the chaos queen,” he says, grinning.  

And when she’s born—on a tempestuous night with Minho reciting cat facts as a breathing coach, Rio “assisting” with a toy stethoscope, and Tofu yowling backup vocals—you’ll finally understand: family isn’t found in the quiet. It’s built in the storm, one paw print, one pancake, one *“forever daddy”* at a time.  

[yokelish]

Solas sees himself in Rook is the lie in Veilguard I cannot get over.

"Solas sees himself in Rook, perhaps even things he doesn't like to acknowledge", they said. There are no two people more diametrically opposed than Rook and Solas. Outside of Rook doing that thing that pissed off a bunch of people in some sort of authority over them, there is nothing between the two to connect them. All their parallels are utterly superficial.

Well, they are both leaders! Solas lead armies, agents, spies against seven powerful mages with armies, agents and worshipers of their own. He had to be ruthless, to sacrifice, forge alliances knowing he'll break them, to manipulate. His friendship with Felassan suffers because it's exceptionally difficult to be emotionally open with a person you give orders to, who you know might die in your name, for your cause, willingly. Solas know it. That's why Felassan writes about how Solas is planning something and is not telling anyone, even his closest friend. It's nothing good. Both know that and neither can do anything about it because there is massive wall between them made of their complex relationship, their cause, Solas' devotion to Mythal and his vengeance for her murder. Solas cannot be a true friend to Felassan just as Felassan can be a true friend to Solas. Love and care are there there but there are things bigger than them and their relationship at play. Solas had to go along with the Dread Wolf narrative even if he hated it. Rook has to prove they are a really good guy to factions and therapyspeak their team of professionals into working under a lot of pressure. Rook suffers none of the consequences of leadership unless they utterly ignore their companions' side quests. What does Rook lose? Their moral codex? Not once did they have to do anything morally questionable. Their relationships? Hardened mechanics is utterly meaningless in the narrative. Since Hardened mechanics is the only thing that was brought from Origins, it's fair to compare it to Origins: Neve is not Leliana who becomes ruthless and thinks murder might actually be an answer to many questions; Lucanis isn't Alistair who accepts that he must become First Talon. What does Rook lose? One companion who willingly sacrifices themselves.

Solas made choices. Stupid ones, yes, but choices. His actions had terrible consequences. Rook is not active in the narrative. They only react. The choice between cities is so in the moment that it isn't about what Rook is willing to sacrifice, what terrible consequence they are more likely to accept, it is not about "all choices are terrible and you have to choose" but reacting to having to choose at all with very little information based on your companions 3 seconds explanation before they ran away. In inquisition, the choice between mages and templars is also quite early in the game. But it influences how you meet Cole and Dorian, it influences who comes to attack Haven, which enemy you are more frequently encounter in the world. Antivan Crows and Rivain apparently have business dealings going all the time, about supplies and Antaam, but after a dragon attacks Treviso, the Lords of Fortune do not offer a dragon hunter (who is big Crow fan) to help out their assassin business partners and consequently Rook. No, it's on Harding to find the dragon hunter. They see a blighted dragon in D'Meta Crossing, hear Ghilan'na speak through it, and not even say that this might be a big fucking problem very quickly and no one nearby knows how to handle it. It's after a city gets blighted that Solas is telling you to find a dragon hunter. Thank you, dear, but I knew that 6 hours ago. Rook somehow didn't tho. The choice between the cities is utterly superfluous, influencing only your gameplay (which companion can't heal you, which city's side quest get cut, which merchants aren't available) rather than the world. Minrathous is no better for fending off Elgar'nan in the end whether you save it or not. UNFORTUNATELY, due to AMA and John Epler, they resolved the artificial moral quandary of this choice as well. Because the Blight in Minrathous will calcify and die at the end of the game, the blight in Treviso will not. Thanks, I hate it. Though the Archon you choose is very much aware that there are blighted gods with an equally blighted dragons but no preparations for any war marches, attacks, sieges will be made. Antiva doesn't reconsider its governance after having a city invaded and blighted. You chose Treviso? Cool. MInrathous' blight will die at the end, Dorian will become Archon and outlaw slavery and cults. Crows rule unchallenged. You chose Minrathous? New Archon is outlaw slavery and cults, your blighted mage will be just fine, Crows rule unchallenged, not a single Talon is blighted. Sad about Treviso, though, that place might just have to be Chernobyl of Antiva.

Solas had moral complexity. Rook doesn't. Varric handpicked the goodest, goofiest little guy to go against a morally dubious ancient being (MW Rook seems to have committed some cultural taboo but don't worry that will not influence how Emmrich views you. MW is EASIER to gain rep with instead of harder. Strife being that way about VJ Rook who saved lives of their people is nonsensical because Strife sided with helping a human mage instead of cutting off said mage's limbs to free himself. LoF background is nonsensical. Why a bunch of pirates give a shit what nobles think? Because trade? They trade fucking lost treasures, not freshly caught salmon. If not those guys, it's gonna be the other guys. Every nation has insufferable rich people who like to put "exotics" into their home decor.) WHY Varric picked the goodest, goofiest little guy in Thedas to stop an ancient mage who fooled an entire organization (and possibly his lover) a decade ago before disappearing into mist that Spymaster of Inquisition couldn't find him until he wanted to be found makes no sense. The man who has lived and actively participated in the shit happening in Kirkwall and Inquisition. The man who fucking lies for a living. Yes, Varric is a overall a good man, but he isn't the paragon of goodness, far from it. It's not Varric who approves you helping refugees in Inquisition. In fact, Varric approves of Inquisitor deciding to let soldiers to fend for themselves. Varric greatly approves of bullshitting your way through thing, including lying, and protecting what is yours. Hawke was never the goodest guy, they are either a smuggler or merc he hired to go through the Deep Roads. Without committing to either choice presented in DA2, Hawke was presented with moral choices where either pick can be dubious. Hawke had to have picked either mages or templars. A bunch of people who are without a doubt dangerous. Or an order who will commit atrocious crimes because they can get away with given that the crime is against a mage. Hawke had some sort of relationship with the guy who bombed the Chantry and either executed him or let him run, either choice without being canonical presents a moral quandary of its own. Varric writes books about how underhanded tactics, lying, spying, and manipulation with a dose of blackmail can actually be for the benefit of the greater good if done with right intetions. But by choosing Rook, it's like Varric thinks that goodness of Inquisitor is what gets one through Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, and not ruthlessness, self-service, and a lot of Varric's own favourite hobby - lying. Why Varric you meet in DA2 and Inquisition picks Rook? Well, he CALLS Rook clever and adaptable, but all Rook's cleverness is bulldozing through obstacles and killing obviously evil guys. Rook is stubborn, determined - no doubt. But Rook isn't clever, cunning, or crafty. They prioritize saving life in droves, which is something that would be on Varric's mind IF Varric was to believe Solas was a heartless bastard with no regard for the damage he causes and we know that's NOT what Varric believes about Solas.

Solas has to fight against his downfall - pride. I genuinely don't know what Rook has as a flaw they struggle against. Their compassion doesn't get them in trouble, they don't get tricked or betrayed. But Solas puts them in prison! Yes, but the reason Rook gets caught isn't due to Solas's trickery but because they can't do shit in the moment. They just fought against Ghilan'nain and her darkspawn puppets alone while trying to free their companions, get knocked on the head a few times, hangs upside down like cattle while their friend gets skewered. How Solas gets them into the prison is TACTICAL. Rook is weak, Rook is tired, Rook is vulnerable, and the Veil is thin so he can actually reach through. It's not trickery. But Rook and Co couldn't shut up about Solas' inevitable betrayal so the payoff is due in whatever way possible. Solas thinks he alone can fix what he has broken, he alone has to face Elgar'nan because many ancient grudges and regrets are knotted up in there. Solas turns on his friends because he thinks what he must do is the thing he must do or all is lost (elven immortality, magic, spirits, knowledge, the world he knew and its history). He thinks he alone knows better than anyone. Partially because he is one of the very few beings who lived since it all began, before the world was changed by the Veil. The Prison sequence wants you the player to believe Rook carries the responsibility in some internalized way, but it's not fucking written in any way until this point, so why would you consider it an issue Rook has to actively face and has struggled with and not just an excuse to have Solas out? My brothers and sisters by the Maker's grace, Leandra scolding Hawke for their sibling's death was more scathing than choosing a whole damn city to be left to burn.

"I've molded you into someone the prison can accept in my place". How? You've done nothing. We had like 4 conversations. 3 of which you spent telling me about the Evanuris, the Blight, their dragon thralls, and how much you fucking hate Elgar'nan. Solas says nothing that changes Rook in any way, how they view their leadership, their actions, or themselves. I think the prison will accept anyone with a formed frontal lobe, honestly. Solas makes you say "I'll do whatever it takes" in the dialogue! Again, that attitude Solas tries to push on you is: a. fucking necessary? you have immortal beings with pet dragons and almost unlimited power to fight against. b. the attitude is more embraced by your companions than Rook. c. Rook is never pushed into doing anything morally questionable or even debatably interesting to reach their objective. Not once is Rook saying "i don't want to do this, i hate to do this, but i have no choice." Rook doesn't even have to lie! Not fucking once!

Tricking someone doesn't make you right. It's one of the things Rook and Solas will discuss. And regardless of anything, Rook will go Shiro Emiya "just because you are correct doesn't mean you are right" on Solas's ass. And that's good. It shows that Solas is shit with introspection just like Elgar'nan and Ghian'nain are. It shows why he is stuck in the prison. On the other hand, his fucking murals are shows very nicely why he is stuck in the prison: he immortalizes his regrets that he wishes to forget instaed of working through them. And by bringing the point of trickery without engaging with what it actually menas to trick... It creates a problem. Well, two problems, actually. A. Where the Solas you meet in Inquisition and Trespasser and when can we get him back? Where is the man who tricked a whole ass organization, played chooms with a Seeker of Truth, Qunari spy, published liar, Spymaster of the Divine, and most ruthless diplomat? Never once does Solas feel superior or above the people he tricked there. He is in fact very fond of the Seeker of Truth who not once found truth on her own (I love you Cassandra). He is very fond of the Antivan diplomat who cheats, lies, manipulates, blackmails probably even better than he did as Dread Wolf and he doesn't feel any superiority for having outplayed Josephine. The reason Solas is the trickster is because it's his only weapon. He was never as powerful like Elgar'nan or Mythal, doesn't have a bunch of other somewhat powerful egomaniacs standing for his cause. Wits, trickery, deception are his only damn weapon, were his only damn weapon for centuries. That's why he is so good at it. The problem of Solas isn't in being a fucking trickster who thinks he is right because he can outsmart you, Veilguard, it's that he goes about solving the problems he creates the same way he goes about making them in the first place: alone, through deception. His trickery is a double edged sword and he constantly cuts himself, refusing to lay it down. He alone tricks the Evanuris into containing the Blight with their life force. Boom! The Veil. He lets the Venatori get his orb and bring it to Corypheaus, thinking he outsmarted them all and soon will unlock his orb and tear down the Veil he created. Boom! Corypheus lives, there is hole in the sky! So he slithers his way into the only force he thinks can fix what he just fucked up - the Inquisition - through deception, alone. That's his torment nexus. You tried and you came close, Veilguard, I giveyou that, but you slightly misrepresented the issue. B. The other problem is that Rook never has to trick anyone. Not even their enemies. Rook can never truly testify for the claim "outsmarting someone doesn't prove you were right" because they never had to. Rook is never confronted by the idea that tricking someone might actually good, put you on that high horse and it can be hard to get off. So Rook's words are just lipservice and not proven experience or tested issue.

"Solas sees himself in Rook". Only if Solas views himself as an insufferable goodie-two-shoes fool who thinks in straights lines and is about as easy to trick as a toddler.

[sillygoofyqueer]

Bing-ge getting super sparkly/shiny jewelry with magical abilities and the wives are like “Ooh, could this be for me?” only, nah. It’s actually to lure in his future husband. Go away. XD

Ahhh! Shen Yuan making a safe haven for crows is a wonderful idea! Demonic crows or yao, whether they’ve cultivated human form or not, are all welcome! Regular crows too!

Since I love teacher Shen Yuan, of course he teaches all the younger ones too. Just because they spend half their time as birds doesn’t mean they can’t get an education!

The human half of his family are probably from some tiny village who gave offerings to the local crow demons and unintentionally became friends (crows being protective of their people and all). Their village is startlingly safe thanks to crows mobbing anyone who dares try to mess with them! There might be other half-crow kiddos running around too, thanks to the good relations. Shen Yuan tutors the village kids too of course!

(Tiny bit of angst, but Bing-ge burns with envy if he finds out! This half-demon friendly town was here the whole time?!)

This is adorable, Shen Yuan seeing these young children and just being like "...students." Sometimes, if the human children are extra lucky, he'll take them on flights as long as they have 'necessary payment' (usually a cool looking rock and proof that they've done their chores). It's impossible to find Shen Yuan without at least one crow perched on his shoulder or in his hair, unless he's going on - what the others describe as - dangerous escapades to nab cool stuff from Bing-ge's palace, in which he will know and stop anyone who tries to follow him because he's a dumbass with no self-preservation skills, not them! It takes him a startlingly long time to figure out that Bing-ge is leaving things for him on purpose, and he is undeniably shocked when he finds out. He eventually finally takes it as a form of courtship due to other demons' and humans' instance that it probably is. After doing research on crows courting one another, did you know that the males feed the females?? And sing to them?? SO, I immediately thought of the idea of Shen Yuan trying to reciprocate the courting (because he would never be so silly as to reject the emperor, no one in their right mind would) by randomly appearing in Bing-ge's room (much to Bing-ge's delight and confusion) and singing sweetly before feeding a willing emperor apple slices or some shit until Bing-ge reciprocates and feeds him in response and Shen Yuan just pauses and goes "hang on, am I the wife?" and immediately takes to the role without any thought. ("Why would Bing-ge be the wife, how foolish of me!") When Bing-ge finds out about the village that accepts half demons, of course he's a little upset! Why couldn't he have this sort of comfort and love in his life? Why did he have to suffer all this time?? Then he goes to this village so that Shen Yuan can show off his nest to the emperor (sign of trust?) and is immediately hit with the "I want to be here forever" train.

Also, the more you think about it, the funnier it gets actually lmao. He just shows up with these gorgeous trinkets and jewellery and sometimes even clothes (shiny embroidery of course), and they vanish and the wives are all like "where the actual hell are they going? Who do we even complain about??" and it could be like a background thing where the wives all get jealous of each other when there's actually just this bird guy who comes over quite often and started by stealing shit while dropping off helpful things. Imagine how strange that must be for the wives. "Ugh, [wife's name here] is taking all the attention away from us!!", "Really? I thought it was [other wife's name]." Meanwhile, there's just one wife (Liu Mingyuan most likely) who just knows and she doesn't tell anyone, content to watch as chaos ensues while the bird man and Luo Bing-ge fall deeper in love with one another, and the gifts get more elaborate each time. {part three! Part one, part two, part four, part five, part six, part seven!!}

[mistiell]

We Keep this Love in a Photograph

summary: since Joel gifted you a polaroid camera for your birthday, you've developed a habit of sneaking pictures of him whenever possible. He doesn't think he's worth the film "wasted" (His words, not yours), but after catching you looking over your accumulated gallery, you manage to win him over.

wc: 1.1k

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, Joel's a little self conscious, Reader's gender isn't specified, and they have hair but the length isn't specified either. If I accidentally did use a gendered term, lmk and I shall fix it. <3 NOT PROOFREAD (will likely come back to fix any mistakes later)

a/n: HOLY SHIT I'M BACK!!! This fic was inspired by this TikTok. I saw it and the Joel obsession possessed me so viscerally I had to make a comeback lmao.

**NOTE: I've linked ways to help Palestine here. If you're in a position to donate anything at all, please do! If not, you can reblog the post that's linked so it gets out to more people.

---

It started on your birthday.

You’d shared with Joel one evening, wrapped warm and snug in his arms within your soft haven of sheets, during one of those late night conversations where vulnerability doesn’t seem like a thing so daunting, that you used to love photography. Loved immortalizing things you loved or things you found beautiful. He’d asked what kind of camera you’d had, what kind of things you usually took pictures of.

“Polaroid.” you’d told him softly, fighting you keep your eyes open with his tracing shapes into the curve of your waist. “And I already told you. Whatever I found beautiful.”

The morning of your birthday, you woke to the smell of coffee and a clumsily wrapped box sitting on your bedside table with a note taped to the top; Happy birthday, honey. Love, Joel. And in smaller print near the bottom left corner; P.S. Wait until I’m here to open it. Wanna see your face.

You’d smiled, bashful, brushed your teeth in record time, scooped up the box, and made your way downstairs towards the sound sizzling and the tapping of a spatula on a pan. He gave you a good morning kiss, pretended to make a fuss about waiting until after breakfast to open it and watched with a smile as you carefully tore it open, popped off the lid, and visibly softened at first sight of the contents.

It was a polaroid camera. Coincidentally, the very same one you’d had twenty years ago.

You’d cried, he’d panicked. You hugged him so fiercely, any worry that he’d fucked the whole thing vanished as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you close.

That was months ago, and in the time since, you’ve accumulated quite the gallery. You take pictures of just about anything and everything, but your main muse is Joel.

Which is what’s led you to have half a shoe box full of polaroid of mostly him. He’s no idea of your little stash, and you intend to keep it that way. You’ve come to learn he’s got a thing about being photographed. Always nitpicking his appearance no matter what you say. He asks sometimes when he catches you why you don’t choose something nicer to look at, and your answer is generally always the same. There is nothing nicer. He walks into a room, and all you want to look at is him. Yeah, he’s got some more lines, got some more meat on his bones, his hair is a little more grey than it is brown these days. But he doesn’t see it the way you do.

He’s got crows feet and smile lines etched almost as deep as the crease between his brows. He looks healthy now that he’s actually got food to eat, meals you’re both sure to share every morning in your kitchen and every evening in the dining hall. His greys are a tangible reminder that he’s alive, that he’s survived, and that he now gets to live, and you’re incomprehensibly grateful for every russet strand turned silver. He’s all the more beautiful for all of it. And here, tucked into your armchair, polaroid pinched between thumb and forefinger, you get to commit every little detail picked up by your camera to memory.

Your gaze follows the sloping curve of his lovely nose, profile softened by the sun shining white behind. It’s only one half of his face, but the beaming smile he’s sporting makes you feel whole. His hair was just starting to get longer, then, curling near his nape and flicking round his ears to kiss his jaw.

“What’s all this?” You startle, head leaning into the plush back of the chair to look at him upside down as you press the pictures into your diaphragm. He seems curious, if a little confused.

Caught, you swallow, “If I said nothing, would you believe me?”

“Not for a second.” He smiles teasingly, bending to give you a quick peck, bottom lip warm where it slots between yours. Your hold on the photos loosens, and when his gaze dips to them, the smile shifts into something closer to a frown, a little cagey, “S’ that me?”

“Yeah.” You answer simply, before joking tentatively, “Swear I’m not a creep. You’re just pretty.”

“See now, that’s exactly what a creep would say.” He teases, and you’re glad for it – that he’s not upset. Rounding the chair, he sits on the arm, elbow propped up on the soft back of it and knuckles warm on the nape of your neck.

“Pretty.” He echoes, blowing a short puff of air out his nose, “Never been called that before.”

“Well, you are.”

He smiles again, bashful and a little disbelieving. There’s a short moment where he just looks at you like that, backs of his fingers sliding down your spine a few notches then back up in a tender line before he juts his chin toward your collection. “Show me?”

Warmth blooms in your stomach and fizzes up behind your sternum. You grin, handing him the one you were holding before sifting through the shoe box for your best works. He accepts your compliments and sweet talking reluctantly, but hangs onto your every word as you describe where you were, what you were doing, what made you sneak the picture in the first place.

You start to worry his limited responses mean he’s gotten caught up in his head until his hand slides up the side of your neck and settles over the side of your head, the warmth of his calloused palm encompassing the entirety of your ear as he guides your temple to his lips.

“Love you.” He murmurs into your hair, and the warmth sizzles like its carbonated, bubbling and burbling within the cage of your ribs.

You turn your face, slip your fingers beneath the curtain of hair at his nape and lift your chin to kiss him soft and slow. He rubs an affectionate line into the soft skin behind your hear as he hums, vibrations thrumming against your lips.

You lean back just enough to murmur, “I love you to.”

He smiles, kisses you again. And again. And once more. He asks you to show him more of your pictures, and you oblige. It’s early evening when you’re finally through, at which point Ellie’s come home and Joel’s started on dinner. You let her sift through the polaroids while you move to join Joel at the counter.

You won’t realize until later that she’s snuck a photo of the two of you by the stove, Joel’s large palm on the small of your back where you’ve taken over stirring a pot, gazing at you like you’re the only thing he’d like to listen to for the rest of his days as you talk and talk and talk.

That one, he hangs on the fridge.

[staytrueblue]

ao3 (meltedblue)

barry sloane archive

list of crisis resources (usa only)

John Price (cod)

Series/Multichapter:

Inexperienced John Price // In Progress 18+ "As he stared at himself in the mirror, with the specks of grey in his beard and crow's feet starting to form, he made a decision. He was going to lose his virginity."

Dear John // In Progress 18+ Ten years you have been together. You married the moment he joined the military. So nine years you’ve been the dutiful army wife by his side. Nine fucking years and you have seen him for maybe five.

Oneshots:

He was the Best of Us (1.6k) cw: main character death, grief, mentions of pregnancy

That's My Girl (1.2k) cw: mentions of parental figures death

Secrets (1k) cw: none

Drabbles:

Don't worry about it

Just John

Just John smutty edition 18+

Lavender and Whiskey

Little Did He Know

Dear John

Temper

He held a baby like he had done it before

Character Analysis

Simon 'Ghost' Riley (cod)

Drabbles:

Gentle Giant

Another Round 18+

Oh my Little Nothing

Thread of Grief

Golden Sunrise (ghoap)

Haven (ghoap)

Johnny 'Soap" MacTavish (cod)

Drabbles:

99mm Poem

Mud Bath

Golden Sunrise (ghoap)

Haven (ghoap)

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

Series:

Not all who Wander are Lost (2.3k)

Character Analysis

🚧 (Under construction) 🚧

all other of blues things

[sweetlittlehoneybun]

Stress + Zoro = little moss head

Zoro gets super stressed and ends up hiding up in the crow's nest of the thousand sunny as he regresses to the age of a toddler to relieve stress. However, he didn't tell the crew about it as Sanji finds him crying leaving Sanji super confused.

Zoro, the 3 sword-style swordsman, stood at the bow of the Thousand Sunny, the cool ocean breeze ruffling his green hair as he stared out at the endless horizon. The ship sailed smoothly on the calm sea, the sails full of wind. It was a rare moment of peace for the Straw Hat Pirates. However, Zoro's mind was anything but calm. The weight of recent battles and the ever-growing list of challenges ahead pressed on him like a heavy iron anchor, each thought a new link in a chain that threatened to drag him under. His brow furrowed, his eyes tightened, and his teeth clenched.

Without a word, Zoro abruptly turned and sprinted to the base of the main mast. He took to the steel ladder in a swift, practiced motion, climbing higher and higher until he reached the crow's nest. The wooden planks creaked under his feet as he settled into his safe haven, his usual stoic expression replaced by one of intense contemplation. The crew below, accustomed to Zoro's sudden spikes of stress, gave him space, knowing he needed to be alone.

Zoro, overwhelmed by stress, silently climbed to the crow's nest of the Thousand Sunny for solace. The crew, used to his stressful episodes(most of the time he just exercises), allowed him his space, unaware that his mental state had regressed to that of a toddler's.

In the quiet solitude of the crow's nest, Zoro felt his thoughts become a whirlwind of childish fears and worries. As he tries to workout, silently hoping that exercising will silence his fuzzy brain. His grip tightened around one of his dumbells as the ship swayed gently, his eye widens as he began to tear up. The stress of the past battles, the pressure of his role as the crew's protector, and the looming shadow of the New World overwhelmed him. In his heart, he was no longer the strong swordsman that the crew relied on, but a scared, overwhelmed child seeking refuge from the world.

Meanwhile, Sanji, the ship's chef, noticed Zoro's erratic behavior from below. Sanji's instincts told him that something was wrong, but he couldn't resist the urge to test Zoro's limits. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he began to climb the ropes to the crow's nest, he feels a burn in his legs, you could tellthathe was itching for a fight. His mind raced with the thrill of an impending confrontation.

As he approached the crow's nest, he could hear faint sniffles and the sound of someone trying to stifle their sobs. Pausing in his climb, Sanji's confusion grew. Zoro, the epitome of stoicism, crying? It was unheard of. But his curiosity and concern outweighed his initial amusement, and he quickened his pace.

Finally reaching the top, Sanji poked his head over the edge, only to find Zoro sitting in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest, with tears streaming down his face. The swordsman looked up, his eye red and puffy, and immediately tried to hide his face, but it was too late. Sanji's expression shifted from one of battle-ready excitement to utter bewilderment.

"What's going on, Zoro?" Sanji asked, his voice gentle. "You're not hurt, are you?"

Zoro looked up with a wet, pleading eye. "anji, go 'way," he sniffled, his voice unusually high-pitched and childlike as he also struggled to say Sanji's name right. Zoro holding himself in a hug like fashion.

Sanji's brows shot up in surprise. "What's wrong, Zoro?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern. He had never seen the swordsman in such a state. He stepped into the crow's nest, his boots making a soft thud on the planks.

"I said go 'way," Zoro repeated, his voice still high-pitched and trembling. He scooted back, trying to put as much space between them as possible in the small space. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and he buried his face in his arms.

Sanji's eyes widened, and he took a step back, holding up his hands in a non-threatening gesture. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry, Zoro. I didn't mean to scare you." He tried to keep his tone light, but the sight of his usually fearless crewmate in such distress was unsettling.

Tentatively, Sanji sat down a few feet away, his eyes never leaving Zoro's huddled form. He studied the swordsman, noticing the way his shoulders heaved with each sob and his fingers gripped his arms with a strength that belied his size and would most definitely bruise. It was clear that this was not a simple case of nerves or exhaustion. Something deeper was troubling Zoro, something that had stripped him of his usual stoic facade.

For a long moment, the only sounds were the rhythmic creaks of the ship and the distant calls of seagulls. Sanji waited patiently, knowing that pushing Zoro would only make things worse. Finally, the swordsman looked up, his eye brimming with unshed tears. "S-anji... I-I don't know what's happening to me," he whispered, his voice cracking.

"It's okay," Sanji assured him, his voice soothing. "Just take a deep breath and tell me what's going on."

Zoro sniffled and took a deep, shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling heavily. He looked at Sanji with the wide eye of a lost child. "Everyfing's just... too much," he murmured, his voice still high and trembling. "The fighting, danger, pressure... I just want to be safe agains, like when I was little."

Sanji's heart went out to his friend. He had never seen Zoro so vulnerable. "You don't have to be strong all the time," he said softly, reaching out a hand to pat Zoro's back awkwardly. "We're all here for you."

But Zoro just shook his head, his grip on the himself tightening. "No, no, no," he repeated, his voice growing more insistent. "I need to be strong, for the crew, for Luffy. I can't be a burden."

Sanji sighed, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. "You're not a burden, Zoro," he said firmly. "We're all in this together, and sometimes, it's okay to lean on your friends."

Zoro looked up at him, his eye filled with a mix of frustration and gratitude. He knew Sanji was right, but the thought of admitting his fears to the rest of the crew was unbearable. "They'lls laughs ats me," he whispered, his bottom lip quivering. "Theys won't take mes ss-ser-eriously anymore." Zoro says struggling with the word seriously.

Sanji frowned, his eyes searching Zoro's. "They're not like that," he said. "They'll understand."

But Zoro was lost in his own world of doubt. His mind was a tumultuous sea of fear and inadequacy, the words of his comrades just distant whispers on the wind. The stress had taken its toll, and his thoughts had regressed to a time when the world was simpler, when the biggest challenge was climbing a tree or catching a fish. He wished he could be that carefree again, if only for a little while, but he had to protect the crew.

Sanji watched as Zoro's body remained taut and tense, despite the childlike whimpers that escaped him. It was a surreal sight, one that made the cook's heart ache for his friend. He knew Zoro was struggling to reconcile his adult responsibilities with the desperate need to be comforted like a little kid.

"You know," Sanji began, his voice gentle, "sometimes, even the strongest people need a break." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "When I'm stressed, I just think of the warmth of freshly baked bread or the taste of a perfect steak. It helps me feel a bit more... grounded."

Zoro looked at him with a mix of wonder and despair. "Dat's your way," he said, his voice still high-pitched. "But why dos I have to be like this?" He gestured to himself with a trembling hand. "Why can't I just... I don'ts know, punch somefing or yell and feel better?"

Sanji nodded, his eyes never leaving Zoro's. "Everyone has their own way of coping," he said, his voice gentle. "And maybe, just maybe, your mind is telling you that you need a different kind of comfort."

Zoro wiped his nose with the back of his hand, his eye never leaving Sanji's face. "But why a toddler's?" Zoro whined, his voice cracking with emotion. "Why do I want to cuddle up in a blanket and hold onto a dumb stuffy?"

Sanji chuckled, his expression warm and understanding. "You know, everyone has their quirks," he said, his eyes twinkling.

Zoro looked at him skeptically, his eye still filled with the pain of his inner turmoil. "But why a toddler's?" he repeated, his voice small and lost. "I'm a swordsman, nots a baby."

Sanji gave a soft chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. "You know, Zoro, sometimes our minds are like an animal," he said, leaning in slightly. "You've got all these claws, all this strength, but even the toughest animal has a weak spot."

Zoro looked at him, his expression unchanged, but the tightness around his eye eased a fraction.

"But... buts everyone will fink I's gone soft," he said, his voice still high and trembling. "They'll fink I can't handle being a pirate no more."

Sanji leaned back, folding his arms. "You think Luffy's got it easy because he's carefree?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips. "Or Usopp, because he runs away from fights?"

Zoro considered this, his brow furrowed. "But they're not likes me," he murmured.

Sanji shrugged. "Luffy finds strength in his childlike wonder, and Usopp in his vivid imagination. Maybe this is just your way of dealing with things, Zoro."

Zoro pondered Sanji's words, his thumb knuckle finding its way to his lips as his mind continued to regress. The gesture was involuntary, a habit from a time when the world was less demanding, and fears could be soothed with the simple comfort of sucking his thumb. The feeling was strange yet oddly comforting. He felt his shoulders relax, and his breathing even out as the stress started to wash away, replaced by a warm fuzzy feeling in his head.

Sanji noticed the change in Zoro's posture and watched with a mix of concern and curiosity as the swordsman's features softened. He could see the cogs turning in Zoro's head as he grappled with the idea that it was okay to seek solace in his childish ways, even if only for a brief escape. The silence between them grew thick, punctuated only by the occasional sniffle from Zoro.

Finally, the swordsman spoke again, his voice still small and tremulous. "anji, promise me you won't tell the others."

Sanji nodded solemnly. "Your secret's safe with me," he assured, his voice low and soothing. "Now, let's get you a nice, warm blanket and something to eat. That always helps me feel better."

Zoro nodded, his thoughts drifting to the idea of a plushie, something soft and comforting to cling to. He remembered the small, one-eyed bear he had as a child, how it had been his constant companion during thunderstorms and nights when the darkness felt too vast. His eye searched the crow's nest, longing for something similar to provide him the comfort he desperately needed.

Sanji watched as Zoro's thoughts seemed to drift away, his eye misting over with longing. The cook couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for his friend. He knew that in their line of work, it was easy to lose sight of the simpler things that brought happiness. The thought of Zoro craving something as innocent as a plush toy was both endearing and heartbreaking.

Zoro's whines grew softer as he remembered the plush bear he had lost long ago. It had been with him through countless nights, the silent guardian that had seen him through his early days as a pirate hunter. He missed the comfort it had provided, the way it had made the vast, unpredictable world feel just a bit less big and less frightening.

His thoughts grew fuzzy, and he found himself wishing for a similar object to cling to. A soft plushie, or a soft blanket, something that could absorb his fears and soothe his frayed nerves. He pictured himself hugging it tightly, his face buried in its fur, feeling the warmth and safety that had been missing for so long.

The memory of his childhood plushie grew more vivid in his mind, the feel of its worn fabric under his tiny fingers, the smell of home that lingered on it despite the years of travel. Zoro felt a pang in his chest, a yearning for that innocent time when battles were just imaginary and friends were never in danger. His eye searched the crow's nest again, desperately seeking something to fill that void.

Finding nothing, Zoro's frustration grew, his toddler mind unable to reconcile the lack of a familiar comfort object. He let out a wail, his fists pounding against the wooden railing. "I want my teddy!" he sobbed, his voice cracking as he dropped the dumbbell he had been gripping and his arms flew up furiously trying to wipe the tears running down his face. The sound of his distress echoed through the ship, reaching the ears of the confused and concerned crew below.

Sanji's eyes widened in surprise at Zoro's sudden outburst, but he remained calm, his hand still resting comfortingly on Zoro's back. "It's okay, Zoro," he murmured, trying to soothe the distressed swordsman. "We'll find something to help you feel better."

But Zoro was beyond consolation. His frustration boiled over into a full-blown tantrum. He kicked his legs out, his feet thumping against the planks of the crow's nest. "No, no, no!" he wailed, his voice reaching a pitch that would put a banshee to shame. "I want my teddy now!"

Sanji's eyes darted around, searching for anything that could serve as a makeshift plushie. Spotting a rolled-up shirt in the corner, he grabbed it and held it out to Zoro. "Here," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "This can be your teddy for now."

Zoro's eye lit up for a moment, but as soon as the fabric of the t-shirt brushed against his skin, his expression crumpled into one of discomfort. "It's scratchy!" he wailed, his voice piercing the air. The realization that his own clothes were also scratchy only added to his distress, and his screaming grew louder, his sobs more intense.

Sanji winced at the sound, his hand hovering over Zoro's shoulder, unsure of what to do next. He had never seen his friend in such a state, and the sight was both heart-wrenching and alarming. The crew below grew more concerned, exchanging confused glances as the swordsman's cries echoed through the ship.

With a sudden idea, Sanji turned to the supplies in the crow's nest, searching for something that might resemble a plush toy. His eyes fell on a rolled-up piece of cloth, likely used to protect the ship's lookout equipment. He unfurled it, revealing a soft, red material that looked surprisingly snuggle-worthy. He approached Zoro cautiously, holding out the cloth with both hands like an offering.

"Here, Zoro," he said softly, "This could be your temporary teddy."

But Zoro was lost in his tantrum, his cries piercing the calm of the sea. He pushed Sanji's hand away, his face a mask of despair. "No, no, no!" he screamed, his voice raw with emotion. "It not same!"

The chef looked on, his heart in his throat. He had never seen the swordsman so vulnerable, so utterly lost. The usually stoic Zoro was now a tempest of toddler emotions, inconsolable in his distress. Sanji's mind raced for a solution, desperate to provide his friend with the comfort he so clearly needed.

In the midst of Zoro's wails, a new sound reached their ears. It was the thump of hooves on the mast, growing louder with every passing second. Sanji's eyes widened as he recognized the source of the commotion. "Chopper," he murmured, a mix of hope and trepidation coloring his voice.

Chopper, the ship's doctor and a reindeer-human hybrid, poked his head into the crow's nest, his expression one of bewilderment. His eyes grew wide when he saw Zoro's state, his antlered head tilting to the side as he took in the scene before him. "Sanji? What's wrong, Zoro?" he asked, his voice filled with concern and worry.

Sanji saw his opportunity and took it. He swiftly scooped Chopper into his arms, despite the latter's protests. "Hold still, you," he murmured, his movements surprisingly gentle given his usual exasperation with the doctor's antics. "You're going to be Zoro's teddy for now."

Chopper squirmed in his grasp, his eyes wide with shock. "Sanji!, what are you doing!?" he squeaked, his voice high with confusion and a hint of fear.

Ignoring the doctor's protests, Sanji held Chopper out to Zoro, who had stopped crying to stare at the bizarre sight before him. "Here," Sanji said with a hopeful smile, "Chopper can be your teddy for now. He's soft and warm, just like the one you used to have."

Zoro's eye lit up with hope, and he reached out tentatively to touch the reindeer's fur. Chopper, still bewildered, allowed Zoro to clutch onto him tightly, his eyes wide with shock. The sudden weight of the swordsman's burly arms was a surprise, but he remained still, sensing the gravity of the situation.

As Zoro buried his face in Chopper's soft fur, his body began to relax. The warmth of the reindeer's body and the comforting texture of his fur calmed the swordsman down a bit. The sobs grew quieter. His breathing evened out, and his body melted into the embrace.

Chopper, still in shock, patted Zoro's back gently, his own heart racing. He had never seen the swordsman so distraught and didn't know how to handle it. But as he felt the tension seep out of the pirate's muscles, he realized that perhaps Sanji's strange solution had worked.

The crow's nest grew quiet, save for the sound of Zoro's muffled sniffles and the occasional squeak from Chopper as he tried to adjust to his new role. The doctor's mind raced, trying to understand what was happening, but he knew better than to disturb the fragile peace that had settled over the swordsman.

As Zoro's cries grew softer, he felt his eyelid droop and a yawn slip through his mouth. His eye grew heavy with the weight of exhaustion and the gentle swaying of the ship. He leaned into Chopper, his body feeling boneless with relief. The reindeer's soft fur was surprisingly comforting against his cheek, and the steady beating of the doctor's heart beneath his ear was a lullaby that promised safety.

Sanji watched as Zoro's breathing grew even, his eyes closing as he drifted into a peaceful slumber. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of his tough comrade holding onto Chopper like a cherished plushie. It was strange, but seeing Zoro find solace in something so innocent was oddly endearing.

Chopper, now accustomed to his role, allowed Zoro to use him as a pillow. He could feel the swordsman's thumb knuckle making its way into his mouth, and his eyes grew wide with surprise. He'd heard of thumb-sucking as a childhood comfort, but he had never seen it in action, especially not from someone as formidable as Zoro.

The sound of Zoro's gentle snores filled the crow's nest, a stark contrast to the fierce battles he usually dominated. The blue-nosed reindeer looked to Sanji for guidance, his gaze questioning. Sanji just shrugged and chuckled, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Let him be," he whispered. "We all need our comforts."

Chopper nodded, his concern for Zoro outweighing his own discomfort. He shifted slightly to get more comfortable, feeling the warmth of the swordsman's body seep into his own. The sea breeze picked up, sending a shiver through him. Sanji noticed and pulled out an extra blanket from the supplies, carefully tucking it around them both. "You two take it easy up here," he said, his voice low so as not to disturb the sleeping pirate.

Sanji descended the ladder, his mind racing with the events of the last few minutes. He knew the commotion had to have alerted the rest of the crew, and they would be worried about what had happened to their comrade. As he reached the deck, he found the Straw Hats gathered in a concerned huddle, their eyes on the crow's nest.

Luffy looked up as Sanji approached, his eyebrow raised in question. "What's wrong with Zoro?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. Sanji took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain the bizarre situation without causing unnecessary alarm.

"He's just... having a rough time," Sanji replied, his voice carefully measured. "I think the stress is really getting to him." The rest of the crew exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of confusion and worry. They had all seen Zoro stressed before, but never like this.

Luffy's eyes widened in concern. "Is he okay?" he asked, his voice filled with a rare seriousness.

Sanji nodded. "For now, he's just... sleeping," he said, trying to keep his tone casual. "But we should keep an eye on him. Make sure he gets plenty of rest and doesn't push himself too hard."

The crew murmured in agreement, their faces a mirror of worry. Sanji knew he had to be the one to explain, to prepare them for the changes in Zoro's behavior. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation to come.

"Look, guys," Sanji began, his tone serious. "Zoro's been dealing with a lot of pressure lately, and I think he's just reached his breaking point." The pirates looked at each other, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern. "He's been bottling up his stress, trying to be the stoic swordsman we all know and depend on. If he wakes up he might be a bit different than the swordsman's were use to "

Nami stepped forward, her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'different'?" she asked, her voice tinged with skepticism. Sanji rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward.

"Well, it seems like... Zoro's mental state has kind of, uh, regressed," Sanji stuttered, searching for the right words. "He's acting like a... a toddler right now."

The Straw Hats gaped at him, their eyes wide with astonishment. Luffy's hat tilts back, revealing his puzzled expression. "What do you mean, Sanji?"

Sanji sighs, running a hand through his hair. "He's... not quite himself," he says, his eyes darting to the crow's nest above. "His mind's kind of gone back to when he was a little kid."

The Straw Hats stare at him, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. Usopp's hand shoots up. "You mean like, he's going to start playing with toys and asking for bedtime stories?"

Sanji nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, something like that. However I'm not completely sure."

The crew exchanges skeptical glances, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern. "But why?" Usopp asks, his voice a high-pitched squeak. "Is he okay?"

Sanji nods firmly. "He's okay," he reassures them. "It's just his way of dealing with stress." He pauses, weighing his words carefully. "You know how Luffy gets all excited and hyper? Or how you get all scared and imagine things?"

The crew nods, understanding the varying ways each of them dealt with their own stress.

"So what do we do?" Nami asks, her eyes never leaving the crow's nest.

Sanji scratches his head, his mind racing. "For now, let him rest," he says finally. "We'll see how he is when he wakes up. Maybe it's just a one time thing."

The girls exchange a look, nodding in understanding. "I've got some plushies in my room," Robin offers, her voice gentle. "I'm sure he can borrow one if it'll help."

Nami nods in agreement, her expression thoughtful. "I'll grab some of my stuff too," she says, already turning to head below deck. "Maybe something from my childhood will work."

Usopp looks at Sanji, his face a mask of confusion. "But, what if he wakes up and starts crying again?" he asks, his voice quivering slightly.

Sanji nods, his eyes serious. "Chopper's with him," he says, his voice firm. "If Zoro needs anything, Chopper will be there."

Luffy, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, suddenly bursts out in laughter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Haha, Zoro's finally cracked!" he says, a wide grin spreading across his face. "It's about time he deals with all that stress he's been hoarding!"

The crew looks at their captain, a mix of shock and concern etched on their faces. Sanji sighs, knowing that Luffy's innocence sometimes leads to insensitivity. "Luffy, it's not something to laugh about," he says, his voice a gentle reprimand. "Zoro's going through a tough time."

But Luffy's grin doesn't waver. "I know, I know," he says, his eyes sparkling. "But think about it! Zoro's usually so serious and tense. Now we can finally play together!" He claps his hands together, his enthusiasm infectious. "Maybe we can have a game tag, ooooooo I can teach him some of my cool moves!"

Sanji sighs, knowing that Luffy's intentions are pure. "Keep it down," he murmurs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips despite the situation's gravity. "We don't want to disturb him."

Luffy nods, his excitement momentarily dampened. The crew stands in silence for a moment, the only sound being the gentle slap of waves against the Thousand Sunny's hull. They all knew Zoro well enough to understand that his stoic exterior was a shield, one that had clearly been breached by the weight of their pirate life's stresses.

Nami breaks the silence, her voice filled with a hint of amusement. "You know, it's kind of refreshing to know that even Zoro can't handle everything all the time," she says, a smirk playing on her lips. The tension in the air lightens, and the others chuckle in agreement. It was true; the swordsman's unshakeable demeanor had always made them wonder if he ever felt fear or doubt.

Robin nods thoughtfully. "Perhaps this is his way of letting us in, of showing us that he's not invincible," she says, her voice soft. The crew exchanges knowing looks. They had all seen the weight Zoro carried, the silent burden of being the crew's protector and Luffy's right-hand man.

[antariies]

Come one, come all! Have you ever seen so many merfolk in one place? Win big, and you could take home a rare specimen of your own! Why, just look at how... hale and hearty they all are!

[GORK] is proud to present our first ever MerMay art collaboration! We've spent this past month trawling all of Tyria's oceans and waterways for only the finest, freshest catch! As you can see, most of them survived the journey home, and some of them are even sort of happy to be here! (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡

All featured OC's and their respective artists under the cut! How many friends do you recognize? :D

Cardamomo, Crow - @starlightsuncrow

Nisa - @dalennaugw | Eon, Haven - @where-is-caithe

Prunéan - @magistersieran | Harley - @antariies | Solomon - @gooseplumes

Uda - @jaded-cactus | Aahrtur & Achilles - @nurllius | Kara - @just-norn-things

Pepiya - @hawkepockets | Alba, Auruim - @sylvaridreams

Makko - @ratasum | Odetta - @wall-legion | Kippa - @ratasum

Eldrid - @commander-wame | Mourynn - @manasurge | Wame - @commander-wame

Harukehn - @harukehn | Saibh, Pliorre - @lackluster-draws

Wolfgang, Beckon, Ratthew - @twilightdomain

[leviathanleva]

Haven

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Experiment!FemReader]

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at the beach. Thanks to you, now he was here, by the shore, bathed in the light of a dying sun, together. And your smile is so warm and your gestures so welcoming that he lies down and tells you everything about himself.

And you listen intently, stroking his arm and silently encouraging him to say more, to please share.

But nothing good ever lasts and both of you know it.

[4.6k words]

Chapter 2 "Rose-tinted Sunset"

The second time Ghost finds you, it’s in Greece, on a lonely beach nestled between two hillsides. He recognizes you from a distance as he crosses the golden yellow field of whey, sees you sat down peacefully, the foamy waves licking at your toes.

Clad in a tee and baggy shorts he knows you’ve stolen from some poor sod’s laundry basket left unattended. You’re as ethereal as the first time he met you – peaceful smile and hair dancing with the breeze, bathed in the dying sunlight, faced away from him, shoulders slack even though you know he’s approaching.

The jacket he’d given you lies beneath you as a makeshift towel, his jacket. You’d kept it when you could have thrown it away the first chance you got once you traversed the continent and landed in warmer weather. But you hadn’t and it prickles his heart just so.

His heavy boots aren’t made for sand, his footing is clumsy and despite not looking at him, you giggle. It rings in his ears like a forbidden melody, tugs at the corners of his lips, makes his crow’s feet show just barely.

“Gonna burn like a crab with all tha’ sun in yer face.” He rumbles, but there’s no bite to his words, he’s just a little rough around the edges and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Hey, stranger.” You reply with a smile and turn back to beam at him, brighter than the sun, it warms him in a way the weather never could. “You’re one to talk.” You snort and pat the sand beside you invitingly. “I know you’re as pale as a popcorn under all that.” You tease, motioning towards his gear.

He sets his rifle down and sits beside you in the calm, intruding on your peace, but you welcome him with open arms. He’s your stalker, the hound that was set on your trail and will never let you slip away, he’ll be your downfall one day and he’ll lead you back to Hell.

But right now, he’s your companion. Another lost soul with a lonesome heart that shares the serenity of your existence in that very moment. Right now he’s your friend, your only friend, and you’re happy to see him.

“Kept you waitin’ long?” He asks and stretches out his legs, the heels of his boots sinking in the wet sand as the sea laps at them lazily. It’s a question he’s wanted to ask for weeks now, one he’d revised late at night in bed because he hoped that your words hadn’t been empty that one time in the frozen forest. “Team did their best to try ‘n track you with the knowledge that yer headin’ somewhere warm.”

He hoped that you remembered, him and your conversation, the moment of silken melancholy you’d shared. He hoped it had affected you as much as it had him.

Ghost glances down at you, sees the ever-present knowing smile adorning your features, and breathes a breath of relief because he already knows your answer.

“Been waiting here for a month.” You reply and lean back on your hands while absentmindedly kicking at the sea foam and bits of seaweed scattered across the shore. “Every day. At this exact spot.”

You return his gaze, your voice not faltering for a second because you have no pride to protect, nor are you interested in playing games. You’d just like to be truthful and bear your bleeding soul to him because life is too short for wordplay and hesitation.

Life is for living. And that’s what you do.

“For you.”

A stone lodges itself in his throat despite how much he’d mentally prepared himself for those words. He swallows it with difficulty, blinks back a sting in his eyes, and chalks it up to the salt in the seawater. It’s uncommon for anyone around him to be so open, to proclaim their connection to him because most know he won’t return that sentiment. You, however, don’t seem to mind and simply letting him know balms over your heart more than him reciprocating would. You’re doing your best to lay out everything on the table because you know better than anyone that second chances are scarce.

Living in the moment. He likes that about you, and envies you despite knowing why you are the way you are. Knows full well that after everything you’d been subjected to, this was the only thing you had left.

And he’s not good at this ‘speaking your mind’ theatric like you, this is an alien situation to him. But he knows he has to reply somehow so instead he coughs awkwardly to cut the silence short.

“Got a tan.” He murmurs, chocolate-brown eyes dipping to inspect the shade of your bare arm, now slightly darker than it had been a few months ago. “Suits you.”

You laugh at his comment and fall back into his jacket, hair tumbling into the sand and merging with it, but you don’t seem to mind. You’d wash it out later or maybe you wouldn’t, it was your life, you were free to do as you wished. You cross your legs, knees pointing to the rosy, cloudless sky and one foot bobbing mindlessly in the air.

“It’s been an adventure.” You grin at him and pat your no longer caved-in belly with satisfaction. “The food here is amazing.” Then he gives you a skeptical look and you chirp like a bird instead of rushing to defend yourself. That single look tells you enough and you keep yapping not to sustain your image of innocence, but to ease his unspoken worry over you. “And don’t worry, I haven’t robbed anyone. Just been playing tricks at a local bar and washing dishes.” Your shining grin mellows out into a peaceful smile, one with an underline of sadness to it. “It’s not much, but it keeps me fed. I even got new shoes.”

You point to the discarded tennis shoes half buried in the sand to the side, watching them proudly because you’d actually bought those instead of having to resort to stealing or searching through a dumpster. They’re your second most prized possession next to his jacket, you’d kill a man for them. Literally.

You’re shifting in your spot ever so lightly, each kick of your foot bringing you slightly closer to Ghost until you hear a crinkling come from your jacket and check the cause. The old wrapper of crackers he’d given you was still there, now empty except for the old cigarette buds safely stored inside it.

You’d kept them, even the wrapper, even the buds he’d discarded when he was done smoking. He’d not paid those half a thought, but you’d gone out of your day to collect them all and secure them inside the wrapper with a rubber band. Your gaze moves up and you see he’s staring at them as well, eyes wider than they had been a moment ago.

You worry that the already cracked glass inside his chest will shatter from the knowledge.

Has he ever been as cherished by anyone before? You can tell he hasn’t. This is his first time facing the reality of being someone’s everything. You’re not embarrassed, you’d do it again in a heartbeat, but you fuss over his well-being first. You know he’ll find it gut-wrenching in the most pleasant of ways. Yet, you think of how he might beat himself up for not doing the same for you. Of you not being his everything and that making him feel guilty.

So you place your hand over his and veer his attention.

“Let’s not dwell too much on those, hm?” You tug on his glove until it’s off, finding a rough hand and clean-cut nails underneath, then you reach for the other, but he beats you to it, sliding it off by himself. “Come. Come swim with me.”

Your smile only deepens, the blade in his heart only twists deeper.

You’re on your feet in an instant, stood in front of him and bent down with your hands on your knees, waiting.

“Don’ like the sea.” Ghost scoffs, still shaking off the metric ton of weight that had been forced on his shoulder by a torn-up cracker wrapper. He’s rooted to the spot, expecting the sand to engulf him any moment, waiting to be awoken because this has to be a dream.

You…have to be a dream.

Everything is too tender, too sweet with just the right twinge of melancholy. This is Heaven and he’s been mistakenly picked for the role. He shouldn’t be the one here with you, he doesn’t deserve to be dragged along to softness and care and honeyed landscapes and soul-feeding sentences.

But you force him to come along anyway, you chose him because he’d been kind first even if he refused to believe it.

“Well I do and you will too.” You retort, not one bit insulted by his quip, and kick at his shoes dismissively before slowly starting to walk backward, beckoning him with your wide-spread hands. “Trust me.”

He doesn’t budge even when you crash into the water, disappearing from sight for a few seconds only to resurface with a gasp while wiping the salt out of your eyes. A tendon in his left leg twitches, his fingers gather handfuls of golden sand while he tries to bring himself back to Earth.

A part of him wants to follow you, heed your call like a drowning sailor. Then, another part of him keeps him in place, the same part that nags him to look back at the contents of your jacket pocket. That self-deprecating part scorns him for not reciprocating your devotion because he’s not worthy of such pure-hearted gestures.

“Look at them. Look at them and weep.”

You’re flailing in the sea, splashing water his way with so much fervor that it ends up pouring over him, speckling on his face, making his eyeblack smudge and become runny, soaking in his mask.

“Come on, old soldier.” You call out with euphoria and up and down in the water you go, like a restless bobber. “Let’s get your blood pumping again.”

His arms are shaky when he leverages himself on them and stand, his legs even more so as he takes robotic steps towards the water, charmed like a man in love by the look of satisfaction and pure bliss on your face. He doesn’t even take anything off when he joins you, letting all his gear soak up the salt water while you swim around his waist like a coy fish, happy to have him there with you.

You grip onto his belt, propelling yourself up as you resurface and puff away the droplets gathering on your upper lip.

“See? It’s not bad.” You hum at him, and rest your hands against his chest, leaving two small handprints into the fabric of his vest. “It’s like you’re weightless in the water. You can even do summersalts.”

You do your best to demonstrate. Pushing yourself away from him and diving back under, but you’re still uncoordinated even with the water trying to help you, so you end up falling in.

He snorts at your clownery, can’t help himself when you’re making a fool of yourself. And you don’t care, you’re happy, and you’re managing to make him happy, even for a little while.

It’s all worth it in your mind. He’s worth it.

When you try again and fail, he catches you, twirls you in the water before steadying you on your feet, each of his hands holding your arms tightly.

“Easy there, 46.” He scolds softly.

“My name is not 46.” You murmur and waddle closer before pressing your wet cheek to his collarbone. “Don’t call me that. Ever.”

When you give him your name there is silence, one you let extend as he registers the information before nodding without another word.

You want to ask him for his name because it’s only fair, but you’ve come to learn that he’s standoffish by default and pushing won’t do any good. So you leave that inquiry for another time and enjoy the present instead.

The waves rock you both gently and after a while, you feel him relax against you, breathing deeply. He rests one large hand on the back of your head as if shielding your vulnerable state from an unnamed sniper somewhere in the distance. You wrap your arms around his mid, using him as an anchor against the pull of the sea as you gaze at the sun slowly sinking into the horizon. He stiffens a bit at your closeness but lets you be and you’re grateful.

You stay as such for an eternity, bathed by both the vast water and the ruddy hues of the sunset, your melody – a distant cacophony of seagulls carried by the warm breeze. He pets you like a precious porcelain doll as you breathe evenly against his shoulder, lulled into a peaceful daze by the subtle swaying of the waves.

Eventually, he drags you back to shore, much to your displeasure and despite your mewling protests. His explanation is that you need to dry off before…

Before whatever happens next.

You don’t know if he’ll let you go home, don’t know if he won’t point his rifle at you the moment you’re both ready to continue your cat-and-mouse chase. You don’t know anything, but you don’t dread the coming moment.

You’ll find a way out, you always do and always will.

And so you sprawl over his jacket, feet buried in the sand again, hair clinging to your face and neck. He’s right there beside you, boots and socks now removed and left out to dry. You’re shoulder to shoulder, your hands behind your head while his rest idly on his stomach, and you both stare at the everlasting sky soon to be adorned with glinting stars that steal your breath away.

“How lucky are we to be alive?” You sigh before inhaling deeply, filling your lugs to the brim and letting your eyelids drop as you immerse yourself in the moment.

A scoff comes from your left and you crack an eye open to glance at the cynic lying next to you.

“We ain’t the luckiest ones, can tell you tha’ much.”

“Why not?” You ask, cock your head to the side. He’s too gloomy at times, a mood-killer really, but you don’t mind, you’ll chase away his shadows, show him the warmth of the sunlight, if he’s willing to let you. You smile at that thought and decide you’ll keep it close to your heart. It might just become your main reason for living, who knew? Nobody was sure of what the future held. “I think I’m quite lucky. I have a full belly, my clothes aren’t ripped, I have a place to sleep.” You crane your neck to face him, and he does the same once he notices. You smile, giggle while he stares at you with that tired look that tells you he’s seen too much and he doesn’t want to let himself go because he might get stung again. “And I have you here with me. I’m quite happy.”

Your hand reaches out timidly, pinkie finger brushing against his knuckles as you watch out for his reaction. When nothing changes, you slowly wrap your fingers around his and leave them there before turning back to the sky. You’re happy with this, happy that he lets you in this close, happy that he breaks the rules for you, goes against his code for you even if you don’t know why he does it.

He has his reasons and you have yours and here you are, an uncanny pair, just existing in each other’s presence. A small respite before the action continues.

“You don’t talk much.”

He shrugs at your observation.

“Ain’t got wha’ t’ say.”

“Of course you do, you just don’t know how to say it.” You wave off his answer, giving him chances he doesn’t want, adding explanations to everything he does and everything he is. Painting over his character and actions with pink just to make it more appealing. “I think you have plenty of stories to share. Maybe nobody to share them with. But I’m here now. I’ll listen…old soldier.”

At first, he thinks that you’re just looking at him through rose-tinted glasses, but the more he stares at you the better he understands that it’s worse than that. You’re not ignoring reality and replacing it with a fluff-filled fantasy, no. You take him as he is, take everything as is, and instead of wanting better, more, you’re satisfied with how things are.

It is what it is, and you’ve accepted it for what it is. Accepted him for what he is.

He turns his hand around and lets your fingers trace invisible patterns over his palm, skin to skin.

Ghost tells you about his past then, after some time of silently mulling it over. Bits and pieces of the darkness that haunts him he gives to you, gifts them to you. The more he talks, the easier it becomes and the lighter his chest gets, but he doesn’t want to look in your eyes because he knows there’s understanding and acceptance waiting there and he wants none of it. He manages to string together words that explain the pain he’s endured; the losses he’s suffered through. Explains in choppy, short sentences why he is the way he is, why he’s in the military, why they call him ‘Ghost’. He gives you his full name after, precautions be damned, you wouldn’t use this against him, he knows it, feels it in his blood.

And true to your word, you listen. You scoot closer to him and sit up, take his arm in your lap and stroke it there tenderly as he lets his heart bleed and ache. You nod at every interval, every agonizing breath he takes, and give him the luxury of privacy by not letting your eyes search for his no matter how much you want to.

He needs this.

When he’s done, you let the nothingness linger, let him bathe in the aftermath of his moment. No words are truly needed, he didn’t share with you because he wanted sympathy, he shared because it felt right, because you wouldn’t shed tears over him or pity him.

He shared because you wouldn’t try to fix him.

He didn’t want to be fixed.

Instead, you curl up into his side when he takes off his helmet and close your eyes when he takes off his mask.

You stay there until the sun completely sets and the night sky, dark and welcoming, hides your forms from the world.

“In my next life, I want to be a bird.”

“You wanna be free?” He asks and you shake your head lightly.

“No.” You pause and turn on your back, head resting on his shoulder. “I want to fly all around the world and find you. And then I’ll sing on your window every day until I die.”

His first thought is that he’ll let you inside, buy you a birdcage before he mentally slaps himself. He’d never put you in a cage, never cause you such pain when that’s what you’d endured for the majority of your life now. Instead, he’d simply leave you be, let you keep him company and serenade him at your whim.

You deserved to be free even if he wanted to keep you.

You didn’t want to be cherished back. You wanted to be left alone, to be free to cherish and love him as you wished and for him to just accept it as a gift or shoo you away, but not keep you, not cage you.

An urgent buzz comes from his helmet and he drags it to his ear, listening.

“Run.” He sits up, roughly tugs you up with him and slips both his mask and helmet on.

Serenity is ripped away from you in that moment and the peaceful smile on your lips disappears. You watch him as he stands in a hurry to put on his boots, a wide, hysterical look in his eyes.

“They’re comin’. You ‘ave t’ go. Now!”

Your heart leaps in your throat at his words and you rush to tug your shoes back on before grabbing his jacket and wrapping it around your waist.

“Wait. Wait!” You call to him while he shakes the sand out of his rifle. You grip onto his wrist and force him to glance down at you. “They’ll…They’ll take you off the search party if you let me go again. You can’t – ” You shake your head, thoughts running rampant as you swallow back tears. “ – I’ll never see you again.”

“Doesn’ ma’er. You ‘ave to run.” He tries to shove you away, make you go, but he can’t manage to pry your little fingers off his skin.

“No!” you bellow out, jerking his wrist so violently it takes him aback. “If they – ”

He manages to yank you off and pushes you away, making you stumble back before gaining your footing. The air is forced out of his lungs and he takes a step back at the force that had been thrust his way. It had felt like he’d been slammed against a wall of concrete.

Then he remembers why he’d been sent after you all over again. You weren’t harmless, far from it.

You were a killing machine.

And he’d been pressing you into his side just two minutes prior.

There’s a menace to your posture, something unnatural in the way the ground beneath him shudders with your every word. The corners of his vision vibrate with a force he can’t quite comprehend, the air is heavy with something, hatred. Despite his mind screaming at him that he’s in more danger than he’s ever been, Ghost doesn’t fold, doesn’t even consider his weapon a means to de-escalate the situation.

“ – If they take you away I’ll kill them.” You sputter between shaky breaths, fists clenched at your sides as you stare him down. “I’ll kill everyone they send after me.”

Your name slips past his lips in a soothing murmur and he extends a hand towards you in a meager attempt at calming you down, but you rip yourself away as soon as his fingers brush against your shoulder. The rifle in his other hand shakes with restrain and you wait for him to point it at you and force you to run. You know it’s coming, can see the gears in his head turning and him being left with no other choice.

“If they take you away from me, I’ll kill them. I don’t care. They mean nothing to me.”

Your words sink deep in his belly and stay there, weighing on him and making him choke back bile because he knows you’ll stick to your word. He’s seen what you can do, he knows what you’re capable of.

When he doesn’t do anything else your stance falters and you believe this is goodbye. Whether he comes after you again or not isn’t up to him and you want so bad for it to be different, but it isn’t. None of this is his fault and on top of everything, he’s been kind, gentle, and welcoming. He doesn’t deserve to be threatened. So you silently accept that this is for your own good, he’s doing what he can to protect you.

You run your tongue over your teeth, taste the tears there before preparing to say your farewell for life and bolt it.

But he speaks before you do.

“Knock me out.”

“What?” You blurt out and watch him grimace before pressing two fingers to his helm.

“Copy. This is Ghost. I found ‘er. Send reinforcements to my location.” His hand falls back to his side and he trudges to you with a determination you’d not seen in him before. “Knock me out. Let ‘em think it was a close call.”

“How? I can’t just – ” You stammer on, clutching at your sides for comfort as you stare up at him with teary eyes. “I can’t.”

“Gonna ‘ave to.” He grumbles and falls to his knees before you, takes your hands and places them on his neck and you feel his Adam’s apple bob before he speaks again. “Choke me ‘till I pass out and run.”

“Simon, please, I can’t do this.” You whine, hiccupping hysterically as your fingers tremble around his throat. You pull them away with disgust and bite into your bottom lip until it starts bleeding.

“Is either this or you neva see me again.” He snarls at you as he feels time ticking away and can almost hear the hurried footsteps of his comrades approaching as they surround the area. His eyes dart back to the field ever so often, keeping watch while he not so gently eases you into doing what needs to be done. “Choice is yours. I don’ care either way.”

You snort bitterly at that before circling him and kneeling behind him.

“You’re a bad liar.”

A ghost of a smirk creeps onto his lips, wiped off a moment later when he feels a vice around his neck, squeezing him so tight his eyes feel like bursting. He reaches up instinctively to try and pull off whatever’s cutting his breath short, but finds nothing there.

Smart little bird. You’ve not the physical strength to choke him unconscious, of course, you’d use your powers instead. He’d be proud if he didn’t feel like he was being suffocated to death.

He struggles against it, it’s only natural, and his ears ring with your sobs as you wrap your arms around him, easing his writhing form into your lap. With feet kicking into the sand and chopped coughs dampening his mask, he watches you, feels your little hands clutching at his vest as you cry above him with eyes closed and face directed up so you don’t have to watch him suffer.

You’re terrified you’ll kill him, one ounce more of pressure and his neck might snap. Or you might hold off his oxygen for too long and end up suffocating him. The thought plunges a knife into your chest. Your scalp is prickling with anxiety as you weakly hold him down with your own strength because you don’t want to subdue him to more of gravity’s cruelty.

And through this all, he trusts you. He trusts you with his life, the stupid bloke. He literally thrust it in your hands without a second thought.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Those words run on repeat, slipping off your tongue and raining down on him as his body exhausts its limited energy.

“I’m sorry you ever met me.”

A minute passes, then two, three and finally he stops fighting and the moment he does you release the hold on his neck. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you gently slip from beneath him and delicately lay his head back against the sand. Wiping the tears off your face, you lean down and press a kiss to his cheek, shivering against him like a leaf before standing.

You see the beams of headlights in the distance, hear the rumble of tires against uneven soil and you don’t want to leave him, but you force yourself on your feet.

“I’m sorry, Simon.”

You run, your lungs burning and stomach churning as you head straight for the hills, not letting yourself look back.

<<< Chapter 1

Chapter 3 >>>

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Tag list: @scaleniusrm

[imagine--if]

A/N: My New Year's gift to you and first attempt writing for the Grishaverse because I love it so much 🐦‍⬛🖤 and of course I had to write something for Kaz first, so let me know how you like it! I'd love to open requests for the Crows and this fandom soon and work on writing up some more fanfics for my Tumblr after a bit of a hiatus 🙂 and thanks so much for 2k followers!! This is for you all <3 Also I haven't seen a single fanfic for Kuwei??!?! which is a shocker since he's actually my favourite character lmao, might have to do something about that if anyone's interested in him 😎

Wordcount: 1.2k

Backstory: You have an indenture to Hoede and the Merchant Council - maybe you're a captured Grisha? - and Kaz decides to make you an offer.

If there was any justice in the world, Kaz Brekker would get what was coming to him.

He'd heard it many times before, spat at him in fury by outwitted merchants and marks, yelled out and pointed in his face by dirty workers who thought they could best Dirtyhands himself. And he'd give them his sharp, indifferent glance with eyes the shade of bitter coffee, and simply acknowledge their words in dry sardonic amusement, because they all knew how likely that was.

Nights in the Barrel like these, with the air spiked with damp and dirty pleasure, there was barely a difference from the dim, milky shine of the moon from the edges of a dagger. All faces were set in stone, guarded and weary and greedy, and the only boy to stand out subtly amongst them was the one who beat a steady, quick rhythm with a golden crow cane, tap tap tapping on the uneven grubby cobblestone as he marched down a dusky sidestreet.

He knew that the scheming gangs of Ketterdam led by anxious money-grabbing leaders and corrupt members of the Merchant Council would try to send someone out to keep tabs on him. It just so happened that it was you.

A new face to the dirty streets of the Barrel, admittedly a pretty one, who somehow looked completely out of place but blended in perfectly amongst the other innocent thrill-seeking tourists of the town, big eyes and a sweet smile, that made Kaz himself falter for a moment, his eyes lingering on you in a sceptical, bemused hint of interest.

"Here's your choices," were the boy's first words to you, eyes cool and barely blinking, one dark brow raised ever so slightly in keen, languid awareness.

He had led you straight to the Crow Club, a place teeming with pigeons looking for a quick win over cards - where you'd seen a tall young Zemini man with a cheeky grin and curious eyes open his mouth to chat you up, before Kaz had shot him a glare colder than ice - the faint metallic scent of kruge and alcohol in the air as he strode purposefully up to his office with you following behind in bemusement.

The noises of gamblers jeering and coins clattering and tinkering fell into a muffled hum when Kaz pushed the door to a close behind you, limping behind his desk and fixing you with that cold, unwavering look. He couldn't have been older than seventeen, with brown locks slicked back in one short swoop, a jutting chin and a watchful glare that gave nothing away. But at that moment, those eyes seemed to bore straight into yours, reading you inside out, analysing and directing you in unbridled, uncaring curiosity.

"I know you're working for Hoede. Don't give me that look. No one sold you out, if that's what you're worrying about. But I know."

You had blinked, blankly, gazing back at him in pure wonder and confusion, trying to get beyond that face of stoicism and detachment, one that could very well be a mask, if he hadn't worn it every second Dirtyhands gained his infamous reputation. He was simply what the city made him. He was Kaz Brekker.

"Know?" You'd repeated after a lingering moment of uncertainty, your eyes flitting his unchanging expression. "Hoede?"

Kaz had almost smiled then, a small amused flicker at the corner of his lips, a pull of a slight smirk that had given up before it'd started.

"I haven't figured that part out just yet," he continued dryly. "That pretty innocence. Big eyes, soft words and sweet smiles. Either you're incredibly naïve or an incredibly impressive actor. Still, I'll take the puzzle."

"The puzzle?"

"I love puzzles. Trickery is just my native tongue."

You'd blinked again, the blankness morphing to growing bewildered curiosity and slight doubtfulness. "Are you going to turn me in?"

"To who?" Kaz questioned in an unimpressed drawl, his brow raising further with a soft scoff. "The stadwatch?"

Maybe not.

"Kill me?" You tried again uneasily, your gaze intently following his movements and plain expression for any pointers or hints. You dared not to take a fleeting glance to any windows or possibly cracks to dart to and make a quick escape - this was Brekker's turf now, streets he knew like the back of his hand, and had a whole gang working for him in the palm of his hand to boot.

"An idea," he acknowledged plainly, not a flicker of unease written in his features as he mused aloud, nodding slightly to himself. "A neat one, at that. There are plenty of places a pretty young thing could go missing in these parts, and as new as you are, I doubt anyone would be eager to go tracking down your name with dogs and blazing torches."

You thought better to respond to his words, biting the inside of your lip gently and shifting where you stood by his desk uncomfortably instead.

"How much is your indenture?"

You'd hesitated for another long moment at his question, that same uncertainty rising up in your gut again. Kaz caught on before you'd even felt it, and shrugged with a light huff, sitting down behind his desk heavily.

"I'll pay it off," he stated bluntly, shark's eyes meeting yours again. "All of it. Every penny. Consider it my deposit."

The air left your lungs at his words in a hot rush of awe and confusion. I'll pay it off. Every penny. You could be free of the Merchant Council's tight grip, of being a possession of Councilman Hoede's, and go back home-

Deposit.

"Deposit for what?" You asked after the realisation of his words dawned on you, a small frown tugging at your brows in mild apprehension.

"I need a face like yours," Kaz responded easily, staring up at you in scrutinising interest, "a pretty, clean new face, to go cast the line for my marks, and reel them in. You're unsuspecting, you know that already. A sweet, pretty thing."

He'd said pretty three times now.

"Fahey will show you the ropes," he continued simply, his attention wandering now he knew he'd caught yours. "I'll make you a Crow yet. I can't think of a better investment. Can you?"

There were a million answers you may well have wanted to give him in argument, but you couldn't. You just couldn't. It was either a new chapter with these Crows and their Bastard of the Barrel, or skulking back to Hoede with your tail between his legs, and double the interest on your indenture once he'd known you'd failed in being his little lapdog, sniffing for clues about the dirtiest dealers in the dark corners of Ketterdam.

"There's a spare room just behind the ladder to the attic," Kaz answered for you in his rocksalt rasp, leaning back in his chair as he rested his golden cane to stand against his desk, the little crow's beak pointing down at the sleek hardwood surface. "Don't bother getting any things you had before at whatever lodgings Hoede directed you to, you won't be going back. You'll get new gear, maybe a new name. Just don't change that face. Or that mind. I'll need it for what comes next."

"And what comes next?" you found your voice after processing his instructions, your former trepidation subsiding and softening into a newfound wonder.

A mirror of his earlier smirk returned to tug at his thin lips, dark eyes peering back up at you, studying relaxed into contented observing.

"Tell me what you know about a Pekka Rollins."

⊱ ───────────────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────────────────── ⊰

just realised i set myself up for part two 🫣

[ofcrowsanddragons]

Now on Ao3!

Coffee (Shop) with the Crows

(Rated M for Canon-Typical Violence)

For the prompt "Confessions/Love Potions/Enemies to Lovers", but make it a Coffee Shop AU. Almost. Lucanis is just about to close up the shop when Rook stumbles onto the rooftop patio, tripping over the extended strap of her scribe’s purse. The bag tears open, sending Rook to the ground in a clatter of pens and broken ink vials. As another customer rises from her seat—in her usual shadowed corner, where she often stays until Lucanis kicks her out for the night—he drops his towel on the table so he can run to Rook’s side. “I’m sorry,” she says, helplessly, tears streaming from her cheeks as she looks up at him. “I didn’t want to get you involved in this. I just… didn’t know where else to go.” On her hands and knees, palms bleeding and ink-stained from where they’ve skidded across the broken glass, she smells like saltwater and sweat and something else, bittersweet. She’s breathing hard as his thumb hovers over her cheekbone, and her pupils are too wide, visible even in the dim light of the candles placed in intervals along the trellis that surrounds his little haven. His breath catches as she leans fully into him, one of her stained hands rising to clutch the fabric of his cheap linen shirt.

Pairing: Lucanis/Rook Other Relationships: Lucanis & Illario, Lucanis & Spite, Lucanis & Neve Chapters/Length: 1/3, 3k words

Tags: POV Lucanis Dellamorte, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Minrathous, Minrathous needs a good Antivan coffee shop, First Talon Illario Dellamorte, Antivan Crows, Antivan Crow Politics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, mentions of torture, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Love Potion/Spell, Love Potion as Truth Serum, Love Confessions, Blood Magic, Refugees, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Lucanis Dellamorte is Bad at Feelings, Neve Gallus: Detective Extraordinaire, Shadow Dragons, Drama, Suspense, Forehead Touching, Blood and Injury, First Aid, Hurt/Comfort

Link

Thanks to @beepoven for the quote in the image, and thanks to my workshop group @dymme, @biowaredisasterbisexual, @basedonconjecture, @mageofquandrix, @bygonesigh for all your feedback and support, and especially @hyperions-light for leading the workshop! Also a big thank you to everyone here for your ongoing support and encouragement!

[yanderestarangel]

୨♡୧ 𝐍𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 | 𝐁𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ୨♡୧

TW: angst, daddy issues, daddykink, praise kink, slight smut, gn reader, description of mental suffering, unreliable narrator.

Inspirations - "Daddy issues" the neighborhood and "the crow" by Edgar Allan Poe.

Bi Han was always your safe haven, the man who, despite being cold and harsh, managed to leave you well in his hands, the walks outside in the gardens, at sunset with the cool breeze of air on the two of you's sweaty skin, after an exercise from the Liu Kuei clan. The lights mixed incessantly with the desire for a new day, a new day that you could be in Bi Han's arms again, in a more intimate way, like a lover, like his odyssey.

The grand master, so feared by everyone, was a man who welcomed you in the worst moments, giving you the pleasure of being truly accepted by someone in such a cruel and empty reality, he was your master, your teacher, but also your friend , your man, your impossible passion.

Bi Han always found your eyes reflected by an impossible connection for several reasons of unfortunate fate, one of them being his position as grand master, he was and had to be a serious man and older than you, even though you two were adults he I just knew I wasn't good enough for you.

So many nights you ran, with sore, cut feet across the steep forest floor with tears in your eyes towards Bi Han's house, he was already waiting for you at the door, he knew your problems. His muscular and slightly cold arms surrounded you, a chaste and long kiss was received by the older man's lips.

"-Go ahead and cry, little boy/girl, nobody does it like you do, I know how much it matters to you. I know that you got issues." -Bi Han spoke with a deep and calm voice, a side that only you knew existed, as he ran his hand through your hair, your tears fell on his arm, salting his skin, but he didn't care what mattered was you, in that At the moment it was just you and him in everyone.

"-And if you were my little boy/girl, I'd do whatever I could do... I'd run away and hide with you.." -He whispered in your ear, an impossible promise, an empty truth, a sweet lie, but you needed sweet things and even though it was impossible you wanted to believe, to cling to a reality that you and Bi Han were more than just grand master and ninja apprentice.

It wasn't impossible to deny the exchange of looks between you, every touch, every caress wasn't a secret, but no one would dare question the nature of the two of you. The nights lying beneath him, with Bi Han's silky black hair falling over his face, his skin reflected in the moon.

"-Are you okay to continue?"

"-You're doing so well"

"-Those are such pretty sounds."

"-One more for me, you've done such a good job for me."

"-I think if you beg a little more sweetly, I might be convinced."

"-You open up so nice for me."

"-You look so silly and cute squirming like that."

"-I really want to spend my entire life by your side (Y/N)" - Bi Han spoke in a hoarse tone, grotesque moans, louder than the eternal evil of greed in his own mind, sickened by the thirst for power, you knew, you always knew he was a broken man but those moments of lustful voluptuousness, lying in the soft, gentle bed of your hidden lover. The moon was the only witness to such feats of the intimate encounter between the two of you.

But that didn't last long.

Bi Han broke, you could be his love, his refuge of peace, the hope of an empirical and silent future, unique and direct days, lost in a dismal space deep in the soul and mind of your former lover, he betrayed his brothers, he sought the power he so desired, you were now seen as weak, an obstacle for him.

Nothing else was important to him at that moment, the pain of immortal longing, the emptiness in his cold chest and his heart beating faster with each memory of you, sitting in his solitude, the fortress that surrounded him, echoed, seized the feeling of having you and understand the love and passion that was lost in the mortal days, where Bi Han's war for power made you turn away from him.

You sent letters and everything you could, trying to communicate with him, but no response, no sign of life in your love. Then, you saw him later, married to a powerful woman, who was going to help him make the new Liu Kuei clan strong, you were in shock, but you just walked past him, saying...

"-Nevermore."

He would never forget your words.

Bi Han, found sitting at rest, in vain, the quiet of his thoughts, the soft thought of your name echoed in his chest. "-(Y/N)." such a name, which he will never forget.

The snow and wind breached the open windows, entering the room unceremoniously, then a familiar voice whispered in the night along with the cold wind.

"-Nevermore."

Bi Han trembled, his legs slowly gave out, he had lost everything, he wanted you again, but it was just a projection of guilt, the punishment of fate for leaving you, even though he was meditating, waiting, conjecturing, your voice didn't stop , taking away the balm of little peace pretended and created, in a lie of power and conquest that he lived.

He whispered your name, letting it echo through the dimly lit room, the pain of guilt, the pain of having lost you, the pain of having thrown away a future with you left his soul in an eternal cry of regret and suffering, never calmed by these immortal hours.

The Time continued, his life passed, but without you, it was like claws opening his chest, a pain that was already raw, and remembering your words he understood, he would never have you back.